فصل اول

Mrs Corinna Salbanna opened her eyes and looked at the clock when she heard the noise. It was almost 2 am. Angrily she went downstairs. As she passed Della Mornay’s room, she noticed the light was on.

‘That woman!’ she thought. ‘She owes me rent. She brings men back to her room. Now she leaves the front door open in the middle of the night.’

She knocked hard on Della’s door.

‘Come on! Open it!’ she shouted. ‘I know you’re in there.’

There was no reply. She pushed the door open.

Della’s room was as old and dirty as the other apartments in the house. It was untidy, clothes all over the place, and it smelled of cheap make-up. Blankets lay on the floor next to the bed.

‘Come out of there right now!’ Mrs Salbanna cried. ‘I want to speak to you!’

She pulled back one of the blankets.

She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came.

Chief Detective Officer John Shefford was the last person to arrive at the house. Two police cars and an ambulance were already there. A group of curious neighbours stood near the gate.

The policemen stood back when Shefford walked into the house. They all knew and respected him.

At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped for a moment. He had investigated many murders ‘in his time’ but this one was different. He forced himself to go upstairs.

Detective Officer Bill Otley was waiting for him.

‘It’s Della Mornay, boss,’ he said quietly.

Inside the room the police doctor was examining the body and speaking into a tape machine.

‘She’s lying on her face. Her hands are tied behind her back.’ The doctor waved at Shefford and continued. ‘. a lot of blood on her head and face, serious injuries to her shoulders and chest. She probably died about 12/30 am.’

The doctor turned the body over. Shefford turned away; he could not look at her. She had been pretty; now her face was destroyed. Her hair was covered in blood. One eye was completely gone.

‘Her name’s Della Mornay,’ Shefford said. ‘She’s a prostitute. I’ve seen her before.’

There was a small book lying under the bed. The doctor did not notice when Shefford picked it up and gave it to Otley without a word.

Otley put the book in his pocket. He would do anything for Shefford. Seven years ago, when Otley’s wife died, Shefford was the only person who understood his anger and sadness. Shefford was at the hospital the night Ellen died. He did everything he could to help.

He was always there when Otley needed him and, in the months after Ellen’s death, Otley spent a lot of time with Shefford and his family. Shefford was his friend as well as his boss. He loved the man, admired him. Otley would do anything for him.

All morning the investigation continued. The doctor continued to examine the body.

‘She was killed with a small sharp object, maybe a tool. She had sex with someone before she died. We can do DNA tests to find the blood type of the person who killed her. And something else - there are marks on her arms and wrists. She was tied.’

Policemen searched Della’s apartment. The murderer had not stolen anything - her jewellery and money were still there.

All the prostitutes and call girls who knew Della were interviewed. No luck. Nobody had seen her for many weeks. They thought perhaps she had gone north to visit a friend, but they did not say who.

At 11 am, Chief Detective Officer Jane Tennison parked her car outside the police station. It was a cold clear day and she hurried to her office. For three months she had worked on a financial case and she was bored. She had moved to this police department to work on interesting cases, not to sit at a desk all day.

‘Why’s Shefford here?’ she asked Police Officer Maureen Havers.

‘He’s got a new investigation. A prostitute was murdered last night in Milner Road.’

‘How did Shefford get the case?’ Tennison asked angrily. ‘I thought he was on holiday. I was here until after ten last night.’

Maureen shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

Tennison wanted to shout with anger. For eighteen months she had waited for a murder case but every time something happened, every time there was a murder case, it was given to one of the male officers. Murders were ‘man’s work’, it seemed. She stormed out and banged the door behind her.

Shefford received the message on his car radio that evening. DNA tests showed that Della Mornay had had sex with the same man who had attacked a woman in 1988.

‘George Arthur Marlow. In prison for eighteen months although he said he wasn’t guilty, said he didn’t even know the victim. He has the same DNA as the man who murdered Della, no question about it. He’s our prime suspect all right.’

Shefford drove straight back to the station to pick up the papers he needed to arrest Marlow.

‘Right,’ he said, putting on his coat again. ‘Let’s go and get him.’

Jane Tennison opened the door of the small apartment she shared with her boyfriend, Peter Rawlings. They had lived together for three months now. Peter came out of the kitchen and smiled at her. ‘Bad day?’ he asked. She nodded, walked through to the bedroom and threw her coat on the bed. ‘Want to talk about it?’ Peter asked.

‘Later,’ she said. ‘Let me have a bath first.’

Jane and Peter had been friends for a long time before they started living together. Peter had been married and had a young son, Joey. When his marriage ended, he spent a long time talking to Jane about what had gone wrong. Over the months they saw each other nearly every day and grew closer until Jane suggested that Peter moved into her flat.

Later, when they were eating dinner, she told him about her problems at the police station. He was a good listener, caring and thoughtful. She had become very fond of him, she realised with surprise. She told him about the way Shefford and the other men did not respect her.

‘They think I’m a joke,’ she said angrily. ‘My boss won’t let me work on murder investigations. He tells me to be patient.’

Peter touched her hand. ‘You’ll get something soon.’

Shefford stood at the door of George Marlow’s house. Marlow seemed amazed by the arrival of the police. He stood there holding his cup of coffee, unable to understand what they wanted.

‘I’m arresting you as a murder suspect.’ Moyra, Marlow’s wife, came out. ‘What do you want? Where are you taking him?’ she screamed. ‘He hasn’t had his dinner.’

The policemen did not reply. They led Marlow out to the police car. Two officers began to search the house from top to bottom, looking for something that would prove that Marlow had killed Della Mornay.

Moyra watched them; her eyes were cold and hard. She hated policemen, hated them.

Jane lay in bed next to Peter.

‘So what will you do?’ he asked.

‘I’m not leaving. They may want me to leave, but I won’t. One day I’ll get a murder case and then I’ll show them how good I am.’

Peter sighed. Jane thought about her work all the time. It was the only thing she talked about.

At the police station George Marlow was quiet but helpful. He asked to telephone his lawyer. Shefford prepared to question him.

‘OK, I’m ready. I know he’s the killer,’ he told Otley. ‘Let’s get in there and make him admit it.’

He kicked open the door and walked into the room where Marlow was waiting, his hands on his knees and his head down. Marlow looked up, surprised.

‘George? I’m Chief Detective Officer John Shefford and this is Detective Officer Bill Otley. We want to ask you a few questions before your lawyer gets here, OK?’

He smiled and offered Marlow a cigarette. ‘You smoke, George?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Good. Right. can you tell me where you were on the night of January 13th? Take your time.’

‘January 13th? Saturday? That’s easy. I was at home with Moyra. We watched television. Yeah, I was with my wife.’

‘Where were you at about ten o’clock?’

‘I was at home. Oh no - no, wait a minute, I wasn’t at home.’

‘Going to tell me where you were, then, George?’

Marlow smiled. ‘I went out for a while. I met a girl. You know, a prostitute.’

‘Met her before, had you?’

Marlow shook his head. ‘No, it was the first time I’d seen her. She was outside the train station at Ladbroke Grove. I stopped and asked her how much.’

‘But you’re sure you hadn’t seen her before? Della Mornay?’

‘Della Mornay? Who’s Della Mornay?’ asked Marlow.