“If you were a man I’d punch that snotty look off your face, I’d do it and wouldn’t give a shit about the consequences. Right now I’m off duty . . .”

Tennison wanted to shriek, but she controlled the impulse to land a punch on Otley’s sharp nose. She snapped, “I don’t give a damn whether you are off or on duty, Sergeant Otley. If Shefford hadn’t been so damned eager to try and beat that bloody stupid Paxman’s record, then maybe he wouldn’t have fucked up!”

Otley looked at her with loathing. “There was never any such person as Paxman, ma’am, it was a joke. The guv’nor just made it up to gee the lads up a bit, there was no record. If you’d known him you would have sussed that out! Just as he sussed that George Marlow was our man. He even reckoned Marlow’d done a girl up north . . .”

Tennison turned quickly to face Otley. “What did you say?”

“The boss reckoned Marlow had done a girl up north, years ago. That’s why he wanted him nailed, wanted him banged up. And if he bent a few rules, so fuckin’ what? Because Marlow’s gonna kill again . . . and when he does, it’s down to you and your fuckin’ rules and your precious book.”

She clenched her fists to control her fury. “You’re telling me that Shefford believed Marlow had killed before? And said nothing? Is that what you’re saying?”

Otley backed off, shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not saying anything. I got a lift back with Eastel, I’m on my way . . .”

Tennison followed him. “If what you say is true, why isn’t it in the records? Or in Shefford’s memos? Why?”

“As I said, ma’am, it was just supposition. He died before he could take it any further, he died, ma’am, remember? That’s how come you’re here!”

“I want your report on my desk first thing in the morning. And Otley, I’ve told you before, if you don’t like working for me, then you can put in for a transfer.”

He stared at her and she was taken aback by the loathing in his small, dark eyes. “You mean like the rest of the lads? Fine, I’ll think about it. Good night.”

As he stomped off, Tennison became aware that their conversation had been overheard. She gave Eastel a cursory nod of thanks, then turned back to repeat her thanks to the officers still searching the area. She was very close to the edge of the bunker; she teetered and lost her footing, landed on her backside in the mud. There were sniggers. Two uniformed men jumped to assist her and she gave a grin. It was all she could do under the circumstances.

“Ah, well, they say mud’s good for the complexion!”