Returning to her desk, Jane noticed a typewriter on it along with some handwritten statements and officers’ reports. She picked up the reports, which were written by the Colonel, DS Stanley and DC Baxter. The office was empty apart from Katie, who was updating the incident board with the information gleaned from the earlier meeting. Jane put the reports back in each of the officers’ in trays on their desks and the statements on Katie’s.

Katie turned around. ‘What are you doing?’

Jane walked back to her desk. ‘DI Kingston told me that squad officers are expected to type up their own reports. Unfortunately I can’t help you with the statements as I’ve got to go out and make some important house-to-house enquiries.’

‘Well, you could do them when you get back.’

Jane jotted down the office phone number on the back of the house-to-house folder, then picked up her raincoat and small shoulder bag.

‘I won’t be coming back to the office tonight. I’ll be heading straight home when I’ve finished with the house-to-house.’

‘You have to come back here to book off duty.’

‘DI Kingston said it would be fine to ring in before I go home. Have a nice evening and I’ll see you in the morning.’

As Jane left the office, an irate Katie stormed into Kingston’s office.

‘Tennison has just dumped all the typing back on my desk and walked out of the door – she had the cheek to say you said she didn’t have to do it!’

Kingston stood up and gently held her by both arms.

‘I did, but—’

‘Why are you being so nice and obliging to her?’

‘Just calm down and let me explain. I told her to continue the house-to-house this evening for a reason—’

‘Well, it’d better be a good one.’

‘Everyone’s out of the office on enquiries and Murphy will be leaving at six for a commendation ceremony at the Yard, which means we’ll be alone.’

He slid his hands onto her backside and pulled her tight against his body.

‘That is a good reason.’

She smiled, stretching up to kiss him.

Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

Jane knocked on the door of flat 40 Edgar House and looked at her pocket notebook to check the name of the owner. The door was opened by a woman in her late sixties, wearing a floral kitchen apron over a white blouse and grey skirt with slippers on her feet.

‘Helen Clarke?’

‘Blimey, you’re quick off the mark – I only rang you a few hours ago,’ she said, looking pleased.

‘We haven’t spoken before, Mrs Clarke,’ Jane said, confused.

‘Haven’t we? Who are you then?’

‘I’m Detective Sergeant Jane Tennison,’ she replied, holding up her warrant card.

Helen looked embarrassed. ‘Silly me, I thought you were from the insurance company about the fire in our garage.’