Prime Suspect (Prime Suspect (Harper)) (7 page)

The Super was already picking up the phone, shouting for a doctor, an ambulance, as Otley grabbed Shefford and tried to ease him back into his chair. But the man was so big that Otley staggered under his weight.

Shefford’s body suddenly relaxed and his head lolled on Otley’s shoulder. Otley cradled him in his arms, shouting hysterically for an ambulance . . . Kernan ran round the desk to help him lower Shefford to the floor. They loosened his tie, opened his shirt, and all the while Otley was saying over and over, “S’all right, John, everything’s OK, just stay calm . . . Don’t move, guv, it’s all being taken care of, ambulance is on its way . . .”

The photocopier throbbed into life and shot out three crumpled sheets of sooty paper. Tennison gave a satisfied sigh and stood up, brushing at the black specks on her hands.

“Right, Maureen, try it with a sheet we want to shred, just in case it eats it.”

It seemed that a herd of elephants suddenly charged down the corridor outside. Tennison opened the door and stepped back to avoid being trampled as the stretcher-bearers raced along. They passed too swiftly for Tennison to see who their patient was under the oxygen mask.

The corridor suddenly filled with people, propping doors open, running to follow the stretcher. Word went round like wildfire; John Shefford had collapsed.

Tennison hurried into her office to watch the ambulance in the street below, but found the window space already occupied by two WPCs. She slammed the door.

“Get away from the window, come on, move it!”

WPC Hull whipped round. “Sorry, ma’am, but it’s DCI Shefford . . .”

“Well, peering out of the window isn’t going to help him! Come on, move over, lemme have a squint!”

Tennison could see the ambulance with its doors open, the stretcher being loaded. She turned back to the room.

“OK, back to work. The copier’s been repaired, and we may not have a lot of work to do but we might as well clear the desk. You never know, I might be needed!”

She meant it as a joke, and it was taken as one, because they didn’t know then that Shefford would never regain consciousness. He was dead on arrival at hospital.

When the panic had died down, Tennison sat alone in her office and pondered . . . She was sorry Shefford was ill, of course she was, but someone had to take over the investigation. This time Kernan had to give her the job; everyone else on the rota was busy.

Deeply shocked, Otley shut himself in the gents’ toilets and wept. He couldn’t face anyone, and was unable to carry the news back to the men waiting in the Incident Room. He had lost the best friend he had ever had, his only real friend.

When he was able to face the men he found them sitting in stunned silence. He tried to tell them more, but all he could say was, “It’s Tom’s birthday today, it’s his son’s birthday . . . I bought him a magic set, and . . .” He wandered over to his desk. There at the side was the big package, the train set he had taken so long to choose. He stood staring down at it. The men, deeply shocked, didn’t know what to say.

Otley’s voice was barely audible. “We were going to set it up, surprise Tom. It’s from Hamley’s . . .”

DI Burkin, head and shoulders taller than his skipper, slipped an arm around him. The big officer’s tears were streaming down his face, but Otley had no more tears. He clenched his fists, shrugged Burkin away.

“Right, let’s nail this bastard Marlow! We do it for our guv’nor, we break the fucking record, agreed?”

It was down to Superintendent Kernan to visit Sheila Shefford. Otley had agreed to accompany him, but Kernan didn’t know if it was such a good idea, the man was so distressed. In the end he decided to take DI Burkin along. No matter which way you looked at it, it was tragic.

Anticipating a harrowing time with Sheila and her family, Kernan’s mood was not receptive. When Jane Tennison asked for a few minutes with him his first reaction was to refuse, but she had insisted it was important.

When he realized what she wanted he stared at her in disbelief. He was still in shock himself and he turned on her, ordering her out of his office. But she stood her ground, fists clenched.

“Look, please, I’m sorry if I appear heartless, but all I am doing is offering to finish the investigation. John was ready to charge the suspect and someone has to take over, he’s not going to be well enough. We can’t hold Marlow much longer, we’ll have to apply for a three-day lay-down, but either way someone has to take . . .”

Kernan gripped her tightly by the elbow. “The man’s not even cold! For God’s sake, I can’t make any decisions now. When I do, you will be the first to hear. Now
get out of my office . . .”

“Cold?” She stared at him. “He’s
dead
? But he can’t be . . .”

“I didn’t realize you hadn’t been told. John was dead when he reached the hospital. Now will you get out?”

Appalled, she shook her head as if to clear it, drew a deep breath, then plunged on, “But you will have to make a decision, sir, and I am offering to step in right now. I can familiarize myself with the case tonight, and if charges . . .”

“I said I would consider your offer, Jane.”

“No, sir, you said you couldn’t make any decisions right now. I think, however, a decision has to be made, and fast. You can’t back out of this one, you know I am here. I am available and I am qualified. Someone’s got to prove that bloody survey’s a load of bullshit. You pass me over on this one and I warn you . . .”

Kernan’s face twisted with barely controlled anger. “You don’t warn me, Chief Inspector, is that clear? Now you and your feminist jargon can get out of my bloody office before I physically throw you out. A friend, a close friend, and associate of mine died in this room this afternoon, and I am just on my way to tell his wife and children. Now is not the time . . .”

“When is the time, sir? Because we don’t have any to spare—if Marlow’s not charged very soon he will have to be released. I am deeply sorry for what happened to John, please don’t insult me by thinking otherwise, but at the same time someone has to—”

“Please leave
now.
Don’t tell me my job. I will not be forced into making a decision I will regret at a later date. Please leave my office.”

Maureen Havers hiccuped through her tears and Tennison put an arm around her shoulders.

“Do you want to go home, Maureen love? You can if you like, there’s not much to do.”

Havers wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but he was always so full of life, and only today I heard him laughing, you know that big laugh of his . . . He said . . . he said he’d beaten Paxman’s record!”

Leaving it that Havers could go home if she felt like it, Tennison left for court.

Superintendent Kernan called a two o’clock meeting with Commander Geoff Trayner to discuss the situation, particularly Tennison’s request to take over the Marlow case. Neither man liked the idea, even though the file on the desk proved she was fully qualified and her exboss in the Flying Squad had given her a glowing recommendation.

Tennison had been with the Flying Squad for five years, and had taken a lot of flak from the men. Unlike two of her female colleagues in a similar position she had stayed her course. Her report noted that she had been offered a position training female officers because of her previous experience working with rape victims and her instigation of many changes which had been adopted by rape centers all over the country. She had turned the offer down, not wishing to go back into uniform, and had subsequently been transferred to AMIT. She was, as they were well aware, the only female DCI attached to a murder squad; with someone of her record it would be very difficult to bring someone in from outside to take over.

Kernan drummed his fingers on the desk. “The men won’t like it, you know that, but as far as I can see we don’t really have a choice. There’s no one free on AMIT except her. I’ve checked locally, and of the usuals I know Finley’s in Huddersfield, Smith and Kelvin are still tied up on that shooting last week in Shepherd’s Bush . . . And she’s got a mouth on her, I don’t want her creating a stink. She as good as threatened to resign if she was overlooked again.”

“She’s one of these bloody feminists, I don’t want any flak from that angle. We’ll give her a trial run, see what happens, but if she puts a foot out of line we’ll have her transferred and get her out of our hair. Agreed?”

Kernan nodded and slapped Tennison’s file closed. “I’ll get her in to see you, and I’ll break it to the men.” He pressed a button on his intercom and requested Tennison’s immediate presence.

“DCI Tennison’s in court today, sir,” his secretary replied.

“Hell, I’d forgotten . . . Let everyone know I want her the moment she comes in.”

Jane Tennison was lucky for once. The jury was out by two-fifteen and she was away. Still upset by John Shefford’s death, she drove straight to the building site where Peter was working.

Peter was in his hut, talking to one of his workmen. Jane held herself rigid and waited until the man was gone, then rushed to Peter and sobbed her heart out.

It was a while before she was calm enough to make much sense, but he eventually pieced the events of the day together. He put his arms around her; it felt so good to have him to come to that she started crying all over again.

“You know, from everything you’ve said, this Shefford was well-liked, it must be a shock to everyone. Perhaps you should have given it a few days.”

He bent to kiss her cheek, but she turned away. “You don’t understand,” she snapped, “Marlow will be released tomorrow unless we charge him. If they want extra time they have to have someone to take it before the magistrate, someone who knows what’s going on. If the magistrate doesn’t think there’s enough evidence to hold him, he’ll refuse the three-day lay-down.”

Peter didn’t really care if they released Yogi Bear, but he made all the right noises. At last she blew her nose and stood up, hands on hips.

“If those bastards choose someone else to take over, you know what I’ll do? I’ll quit, I mean it! I’ll throw in the towel, because if I don’t get the case—I mean, with Shefford dead it leaves only four on the AMIT team, and I know the other three are working, so they’d have to bring in someone from outside. And if they do, I quit. Then I’ll take them to a fucking tribunal and show them all up for the fucking chauvinist pigs they are! Bastard chauvinists, terrified of giving a woman a break because she might just prove better than any of them! I hate the fuckers . . .”

Tentatively, Peter suggested that they go home early, have a relaxing evening, but she shot back at him, “No way, because if they should call me and I’m not hanging by that phone, then the buggers have an excuse.”

“Use your bleeper.”

She grinned at him, and suddenly she looked like a tousle-headed tomboy, “You’re not going to believe this, but I was so pissed off I left it at the station.” Then she tilted her head back and roared with laughter. It was a wonderful laugh, and it made him forget the way she had snapped at him.

That was the first time he became aware of the two separate sides of Jane Tennison; the one he knew at home, the other a DCI. Today he’d caught a glimpse of the policewoman, and he didn’t particularly like her.

The moment Tennison reached her office the telephone rang. She pounced on it like a hawk. She replaced the receiver a moment later and gave it a satisfied pat. She took a small mirror from her desk drawer and checked her appearance. She suddenly realized that Maureen Havers was sitting quietly in the corner.

“Wish me luck!” she said, and gave Havers a wink as she opened the door.

Havers sat at her neatly organized desk and stared at the closed door. She’d seen Tennison’s satisfaction and knew something was going down.
Wish me luck?
She put two and two together and knew that Tennison was going after John Shefford’s job. She was disgusted at Tennison’s lack of sensitivity; she seemed almost elated.

Havers picked up the phone and dialed her girlfriend in Records. “Guess what, I think my boss is going after Shefford’s job . . . Yeah, that’s what I thought, real pushy bitch.”

3

O
tley was the last to arrive in the Incident Room. He apologized to the Super and received a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

The room was filled with palpable depression; there was a heaviness to every man. Some of them couldn’t meet Otley’s eyes but stood with heads bent. Only yesterday they had been laughing and joking with their big, burly boss. Shefford had been loved by them all and they took his death hard.

Kernan cleared his throat. “OK, I’ve gone over all the reports on the Marlow case and it looks in good shape. I think, when I’ve had time to assess it all, we can go ahead and charge him. But until that decision is made, and I know time is against us, I am bringing in another DCI to take over. You all know Detective Chief Inspector Tennison . . .”

A roar of shock and protest drowned his next words, and he put up a hand for silence. “Now come on, take it easy, just hear me out. As it stands, I reckon we’ll have to try for a three-day lay-down, so I want all of you to give Inspector Tennison every assistance possible. Let her familiarize herself with the case, and then we can charge Marlow . . .”

Otley stepped forward. “I’m sorry, sir, but it isn’t on. Bring in someone from outside, we don’t want her. We’ve been working as a team for five years, bring in someone we know.”

Kernan’s face tightened. “Right now she is all I have available, and she is taking over the case at her own request.”

“She moved bloody fast, didn’t she, sir?” Otley’s face twisted with anger and frustration, his hands clenched at his sides.

DI Haskons raised an eyebrow at Otley to warn him to keep quiet. “I think, sir, we all feel the same way. As you said, time is against us.”

“She’s on the case as from now,” Kernan said firmly, unwilling to show his own misgivings. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss this further. She will access the charges; just give her all the help you can, and any problems report back to me. Thank you . . .” He got out fast to avoid further argument, but he heard the uproar as he closed the door, heard Otley calling Tennison a two-faced bitch, a cow who couldn’t wait to step into a dead man’s shoes. Kernan paused outside the room, silently agreeing with him. But the investigation was at such an advanced stage, they wouldn’t be stuck with Tennison for long.