Prime Suspect 3: Silent Victims Read Online Free PDF Page A

I mean, that is stupid, isn’t it?”
    Vera threw up her hands, the knuckles red where she’d been kneading them. She swallowed hard, the Adam’s apple doing a double gyration. “It could have been any number of people—you see, it was well known I leave a key on top of the front door . . .”
    Otley made a sound, a kind of muffled snort. He sighed and shook his head, crumbling the sugar cube between his long hard nails.
    “About seventeen years old?” Hall said. “Reddish blond hair . . . ring any bells?”
    Vera bit her lip, staring down at the table. Then a tight, rapid shake of the head. She was steeling herself for the next question when she was saved by Norma’s face at the small glass panel in the door. She tapped and stuck her head in.
    “Fire team would like Mr. Reynolds as soon as possible. There’s sandwiches and coffee served in the Squad Room. Can you get everybody mustered, same as this morning, for twelve-thirty sharp.” Norma waggled her dark unplucked eyebrows at them. “She’s here.”
    While Inspector Hall escorted Vera Reynolds out and put her in the charge of two uniformed men, Otley followed Norma along the corridor to Tennison’s office, which at the moment was minus Tennison. The Skipper peered in, an evil grin on his face, watching Norma in the dim, dusty cubbyhole trying valiantly to wrench open one of the desk drawers. Norma looked up, perspiring.
    “She won’t like this,” Otley gloated, rubbing his hands.
    “She’s not here, Sarge. Nor should you be,” Norma said pointedly.
    Otley cackled.
    Tennison capped her fountain pen with a decisive click and stood up. She tugged her suit jacket straight at the front and came around the desk to face them. The Squad Room stilled. Not very tall, under five feet five, her honey-blond hair cut in a swath across her forehead, she seemed rather out of place in a room of hulking men; all but one of the women police officers were taller, even if they didn’t have her rounded, sensual figure.
    The tension in the hot, crowded room was almost palpable. Tennison certainly wasn’t relaxed, and neither were they. A new Detective Chief Inspector heading Vice might spell all kinds of trouble, and already she had two strikes against her. Her reputation as a tenacious round-the-clock obsessive who worked her team to the bone, and the fact that she was female. Even the WPCs were wary of that.
    Fingers laced together at her waist, feet braced apart, Tennison let the silence gather for a moment. She wanted control from the start, and was determined to have it.
    “So . . . please accept my apologies. Not got off on a very good footing on my first day.” Small smile. Let them know you can afford it. “I will obviously need everybody’s cooperation, and I would also appreciate it if . . .”
    She caught a movement as Hall slithered in. He gave her a weak, apologetic smile and she returned a curt nod. He grabbed a sandwich from the cafeteria tray and it was halfway to his mouth when Tennison said:
    “It’s Inspector Lawrence Hall, yes?” He nodded, mouth open, sandwich unbitten. “Well, let’s you and me start off on the right footing, shall we? If I ask everyone to be at a place at a certain time, and only unless you have a good excuse . . .”
    “I’m sorry,” Hall interrupted, “but I had to arrange for Reynolds to be taken over to the Fire unit. I was waiting—”
    “Is Sergeant Otley with Reynolds?” Tennison asked sharply.
    Hall hesitated. “Yes,” he lied. “You know about the fire, do you?”
    Tennison nodded, slowly folding her arms. “Why is this fire and the boy of such interest to you, or this department? I know Vernon Reynolds. I know what he is, but that isn’t against the law.”
    “Well—one—it was on our patch. And in the area we have been targeting, Euston and St. Pancras, on Operation Contract. The dead boy was possibly a rent boy.” Hall glanced toward the door, wishing Otley would show up.