Prime Suspect (Prime Suspect (Harper)) by Lynda La Plante Read Free Book Online Page B

Shefford’s dented and filthy Granada was angled across his space and hers and she had a tight squeeze to get out of the driving seat. Her pleated tartan skirt brushed against the Granada and she dusted it off in disgust, hoping that this would be the last time she would have to wear her court outfit for a while, unless the nasty little accountant engineered yet another stay of execution.
    In the female locker room, she hung her smart black blazer with the brass buttons in her locker, straightened her high-necked Victorian-style blouse, ran a comb through her short fair hair and slicked some gloss on her lips, all in a matter of moments. She rinsed her hands at the row of washbasins and thumped the soap dispenser, which was empty as usual. Her irritation deepened when she caught sight of Maureen Havers, wasting time tittering with someone at the open lockerroom door and fiddling with the Alice band she often wore to keep her thick red hair off her pretty face. As she talked she whisked it off, shook her hair and replaced it, still giggling, then shut the door.
    Havers started to sing as she opened her locker, then stopped short.
    “Mornin’, guv, didn’t realize you were here.”
    Tennison dried her hands and stepped back from the mirror. “D’you think this skirt could do with being shorter?” she asked.
    Havers peered around her locker door. “Looks OK to me. That shirt suits you.”
    “I’m in court this morning, remember?”
    “Ahhh, it’s Cary Grant Philpott, is it? In that case you’d better take the skirt up about a foot, keep him awake!”
    A short time later, Havers breezed into the office with the pile of photocopying Tennison had asked her to do.
    “We’ll have to wait, the machine’s in use.”
    Tennison exploded. “Tell whoever’s on the bloody thing to get off it, I must have the stuff before I go to court!”
    Havers beamed good-naturally. She was used to Tennison’s outbursts and knew better than to answer back. She had once, and regretted it; Tennison had a very sharp tongue. A perfectionist herself, Tennison expected the same diligence and professionalism from everyone else. Her pinched, angry look warned Havers that she was brewing a real explosion.
    “I’ll nip down and see if it’s free, boss, OK?”
    “Like now, Maureen, would be a good idea!”
    Havers couldn’t resist a little dig. “OK, boss, but DCI Shefford’s team have sort of got priority. They arrested someone yesterday for the Della Mornay murder, so the Paxman record’s being challenged again. DCT Shefford’s lads have started the countdown.”
    Tennison frowned. The name of the victim, Della Mornay, rang a bell, but before she could ask any questions Havers had ducked out of the door. She chewed her lips, drummed her fingers on the desk. “Come on, why do I know that name . . . ?” She remembered, then; in the Flying Squad two years ago she had brought Della Mornay in for questioning, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember what the case was. Something to do with a pimp who had beaten up one of his girls . . . Della was a tough little bitch, blond and rather pretty. She had refused to give evidence against the man. The fact that she had once interviewed the victim made Tennison all the more angry that she had not been given a chance to handle the case. Mike Kernan, the Superintendent, was going to hear about this.
    Tennison closed her office door and turned just as Sergeant Otley bumped into her.
    “Oh, sorry, ma’am.”
    “I hear you’ve got a suspect, that right?” She meant to sound just interested, but she could not disguise the sarcasm.
    “Yep, brought him in yesterday lunchtime. Word’s out that the ink won’t be dry on the warrant before the boss charges him. The DNA result was bloody marvelous.”
    “Yeah, and such good timing! I heard there wasn’t much else happening.”
    Otley shrugged. This was the one he didn’t like, the know-all who had been prowling around for the past