Otley stared at her with loathing, tried to face her down. But she had him backed into a corner; his eyes flicked from side to side as he said, “Why don’t you leave it alone! The man is dead!”

Tennison pointed to two photographs on the wall. “So are they! Karen Howard and Della Mornay! So explain this, Sergeant . . .”

Opening her desk drawer again she produced Della Mornay’s diary. “It was in your desk along with the original Vice file.”

Otley had no reply to make. Kernan thumped the desk. “What the hell is going on?”

“This, sir, is Della Mornay’s diary, not tagged, not logged in. There are pages missing, obviously torn out.” She turned to Otley and asked icily, “Do you know what happened to those pages?”

“I can explain about the diary. I gave it to John . . . er, DCI Shefford. I presumed he would have . . .” He dropped his gaze to the floor. “I found it when I was clearing out his desk. He must have removed the pages.”

Through gritted teeth, Kernan whispered, “Jesus Christ!” He looked at Tennison. “You realize what this means? You are accusing a senior officer of doctoring evidence.”

“Marlow made two statements. In the second one he stated that he picked up Della Mornay. He has to have got her name from Shefford. Yes, I know what I’m saying. If I discover any further irregularities . . .”

“Any so-called irregularities, Chief Inspector, you bring straight to me. I will decide if the matter is to be taken further.”

“Until I have verification that both women were murdered by the same man, I’d like to keep the discovery of Mornay’s body under wraps.”

“Marlow still your main suspect?”

“Yes, sir. I want him kept under pressure, round-the-clock surveillance. I know it’s expensive, but if he’s killed twice . . .”

Kernan nodded, and she continued, “I’d also like to handle the press releases myself from now on, sir—reporting to you, of course.”

She had won, and she knew it. She walked out and left them there, closing the door quietly behind her.

There was a moment’s silence. Otley just stood there, still looking at the floor, waiting for the explosion.

“You bloody idiot! She’s effing wiped the floor with the lot of you! You were lucky this time, she let you off the hook, not me!”

Otley dug into his pocket and brought out his wallet. “It was just the days John went to see her, nothing to do with the case.”

His face set, Kernan held out his hand. Otley laid a few crumpled pieces of paper on his palm.

“He was fond of her . . .” When he looked up, Kernan was gone. He turned to face the photograph of Della on the wall. “He was very fond of her.”

George Marlow was looking at the TV guide in his Evening Standard. He paid no attention to the large photograph of Karen Howard on the front page.