302 Prime Suspect 2 - Jane Tennison by Lynda La Plante

Author:Lynda La Plante
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 1992-06-21T14:31:06+00:00

Oswalde rang the bell of the second-floor flat. From within he heard the murmur of voices, and a moment later the door was opened by Esta, Tony’s wife-to-be.

She glared up at him, chewing her lip.

“Is Tony in?”

Before she could answer, Tony appeared in the narrow hallway. He grabbed the edge of the door.

“You know I am, you followed me home.”

“Can I come in, Tony?”

“No, you can’t.”

“I’d like to ask you a few questions,” Oswajde said.

“You heard him, he said no,” Esta snapped.

Tony pointed a finger, which was quivering with pent-up rage. He said hoarsely, “I don’t have to answer your questions.”

“Who told you that?” Oswalde said. His face wore a twisted grin.

“Sarah the Law Student?”

Cleo, dressed in her pyjamas, holding a teddy bear by its ears, was standing in the lounge doorway. Esta waved to her distractedly.

“Go back inside, love…”

Pumping himself up, convinced he was in the right, Tony was jabbing his finger in Oswalde’s chest.

“She says you either arrest me or stop harassing me.”

That did it. If Oswalde’s mind hadn’t been made up already, that made it up for him. He lunged forward and grabbed Tony’s arm, dragging him through the door on to the landing.

“Tony Allen, I am arresting you for the murder of Joanne Fagunwa.”

“No!” Esta shouted. But she was too late.

Oswalde had Tony in an arm-lock and was frog-marching him to the stairs.

“You can’t…” Esta wailed.

“Where are you…”

Bent double, Tony yelled back.

“Esta, phone my Dad … phone my Dad!”

Oswalde bundled him down the stairs.

Seeing her father snatched away in front of her eyes, Cico had burst into tears; but the child’s crying didn’t deter DS Oswalde, who knew what had to be done, and did it.

Harvey had been miked up. Tennison sat close to the bed, leaning over, while Muddyman kept an eye on the tape-recorder’s winking red light.

Jason stood behind Muddyman, his face and cap of blond hair a shadowy blur.

“Do you wish to consult a solicitor or have a solicitor present during the interview?”

“No.” The lost, bleary eyes stared up at the ceiling.

“Water.”

Tennison poured water into a glass and helped him to a couple of sips. Her entire job, it seemed, consisted of waiting, and she waited now, very patiently, for Harvey to compose himself.

Custody Sergeant Calder and an Asian PC were having one hell of a struggle, trying to get Tony Allen from the charge room into the cells. The boy was close to hysteria, his eyes wide and terrified in his sweating face.

He was babbling, “No, don’t lock me up, don’t lock me up, please don’t lock me up…”

Eventually, after much straining and heaving, they managed to get him inside cell 7 and slammed the door.

Calder walked back to the charge room, wiping his bald head, and tugging his uniform straight. He was an experienced officer and he didn’t like the look of it; the kid was half-demented, and even now his moaning voice echoed down the corridor, pleading, “Let me out … don’t leave me alone, please … please let me out!”

Calder entered the charge room, shaking his head worriedly.

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