“Yeah, course you did, Frank,” Haskons said, nodding, as if Burkin was insisting that Santa Claus really did exist.
The discussion dried up as Oswalde entered the room. No one greeted or looked at him, and he didn’t seem to care either way, going straight to his desk and sitting down. He was a stranger in a strange land, no use seeking sympathy or comradeship around here.
A moment later Tennison arrived. The men gathered around. The mood wasn’t one of sweetness and light.
“Morning everyone.” Her gaze swept over them-Burkin, Muddyman, Lillie, Rosper, Haskons, Jones-and last of all Oswalde, who was standing on the edge of the circle.
“I expect you’ve all heard about the events of last night. Just to clarify. Tony Allen hanged himself in cell Number seven-using strips of his own clothes. I informed his parents shortly afterwards. Now, obviously we can expect some adverse publicity. I’m told we can also expect an internal inquiry led by DCI Thorndike to begin almost immediately.”
There were dark looks and a few suppressed groans. Those who knew Thorndike didn’t like him. Those that didn’t know him were well aware of his reputation as a cold-blooded bastard, a career policeman who’d never collared so much as a shoplifter.
“Needless to say, I regret what has happened, but Operation Nadine continues…”
Lillie raised a hand. “But surely, ma’am, if Harvey’s confessed-I mean, that’s it, isn’t it?”
“Quite frankly, I’m not convinced by David Harvey’s version of events.”
This was news to Muddyman. He said, “Admittedly, there are some inconsistencies, Guv…”
“Inconsistencies?” Tennison raised an eyebrow. “He said she wasn’t wearing a bra. She was. He said he put a gag on her-there was no trace of a gag.”
“He could have removed it,” Muddyman pointed out. “It could have rotted away.”
“Yes, it could have,” Tennison conceded. With the possible exception of Oswalde, she was aware that she was in a minority of one. The rest of the team agreed with Muddyman: the case was signed, sealed, and as good as delivered. She went on, “Harvey said he killed her in the kitchen, but the fragment of tooth was found in the front room.”
Muddyman had an answer for that too. “Perhaps there was violence in the front room-he said he hit her-before the murder took place. Perhaps he moved the body after…” He spread his hands. “I mean, he did say he hit her.”
“ ‘Perhaps.’ ” Tennison said doubtfully. “ ‘Perhaps’ won’t stand up in court. I’m not sure the confession of a dying man will stand up in court either.”
“He knew her hands had been tied with a belt.”
“Yes-and he said ‘my’ belt.” That was something that had nagged at her. Tennison appealed to them. “Does the belt we found look like something Harvey might wear?”
Muddyman patiently went through it, counting off on his fingers. “She was wrapped in polyethylene sheeting. And there was a plastic bag buried with her. And he said the body remained above ground-which ties up the maggots and that… none of those details were mentioned in the press!”
By now most of the team was nodding. It was an open-and-shut case. The evidence was overwhelming, whatever inconsistencies there might be. Murder was a sloppy business, not a scientific theorem.
“Look,” Tennison granted them, “I’m as certain as you are that Harvey was involved. Most probably in the disposal of the body. But I’m not sure he killed her. We need to go over Harvey’s statement with a fine-tooth comb. We need to examine what Tony Allen said-”
“You won’t get much there, Guv,” Burkin interrupted. “I know, I was there.”
“You may have been there,” Oswalde said derisively. “You obviously weren’t listening.”
“… Sir.”
Oswalde glowered at him. “Sir.”
“Frank,” Tennison said with a touch of asperity, “don’t you think it’s a bit late to be pulling rank?” She faced them. “Now listen. We messed up. Very badly. Which means we’ve got to work twice as hard from now on. Why, if he wasn’t involved in the actual murder of Joanne, would Harvey involve himself in the burial of the body? Can we connect Tony Allen with David Harvey? A connection strong enough for Harvey to confess to a murder he didn’t commit.”
She gave each and every one of them a hard searching look.
“I want to go back to Eileen Reynolds. I want evidence. I want corroboration. I want to solve the case.”
And with that, ignoring their muttered grumbles, she dismissed them.
Thorndike got out of the Rover, briefcase in hand, and waited while his driver locked the car. Together they strode briskly to the main entrance of Southampton Row. One of Esme Allen’s customers, the middle-aged woman with silvery hair, was in the act of placing a small bunch of flowers on the steps. She straightened up, tears streaming down her face, and turned to go. The two MS15 officers exchanged a look and went inside.
“DCI Thorndike, DS Posner to see Superintendent Kernan,” Thorndike informed the young PC behind the duty desk. “We’re expected.”
The PC pressed the buzzer, releasing the glass-paneled door reinforced with steel mesh, and they passed inside.
Barely three hours’ sleep made Tennison edgy and fractious; and what she didn’t need right now was Thorndike’s oily, unctuous presence and smarmy twitterings. God, how she despised the man. Closer acquaintance had only increased her dislike. Sitting opposite him in the interview room, watching him fuss with his papers, she really had to control herself, fight the impulse to burst out and tell him what an officious prick she thought him.
“Southampton Row’s reputation precedes it, Jane,” he said, sighing and shaking his head. He gave her a frank, accusing look. “If you come in the front, you’re likely to go out the back with blood on your face.”
“Is this on the record, David?” Tennison asked politely.
“Of course not,” Thorndike said, smiling his tepid smile. “We’re just talking…”
“Good,” Tennison said. “Because that’s bullshit.” With satisfaction she saw his smile drain away. “If it was ever true, it’s not anymore. I’ve never seen excessive force used in this station. Oswalde’s certainly not like that.”
“What with the Cameron case…”
She could see his game. He was trying to dredge up the past, the Derrick Cameron saga recently revived by Phelps, and use it as smear tactics. But she wasn’t about to let it happen.
“Look,” she told him, “you’re here to investigate a death in custody.”
“I know why I’m here, Jane.”
“Well then, let’s concentrate on the case in hand.”
“I intend to, don’t worry.” He was flustered, and started fussing through the documents spread out in front of him. He had thin, bony hands that gave her the creeps. “I think it’s important for you to know I take this job seriously,” he said, putting on the stern voice of authority. “I’m not prepared to do a whitewash.”
“No one’s asking you to.”
“It’s my belief that when one of the foot soldiers messes up it comes down to the officer in charge.”
“I accept that.”
“I don’t know…” Thorndike gave her his fishy-eyed stare. “Perhaps you let your personal feelings cloud your judgment.”
Tennison went cold. The same words, or very close, to the ones Mike Kernan had used. Suddenly she understood. What an idiot that it had taken her till now to realize that it was Thorndike who had done the blabbing. This was the slimy toad who had spread the rumors about her and Oswalde.
“I beg your pardon?” she said frostily.
“It’ll keep.” His eyes slid down to his papers. “Can you ask the Custody Sergeant…” He pretended to search for the name.