Stop Dead

by Leigh Russell

  It was a pleasant surprise to see the name on the display. Detective Inspector Ted Carter had acted as Geraldine’s mentor in Kent when she had been training for promotion to inspector. He had been consistently helpful, an unusually attentive listener. She leaned back on the sofa and was just wondering if it was too late to return Ted’s call when he phoned again.

  ‘Geraldine!’

  He sounded genuinely pleased to hear her voice and she couldn’t help smiling.

  ‘I thought you must be working. How have you been? I hear you’re in London now! Is it all bright lights and excitement there?’

  Geraldine felt a stab of guilt. Ted was one of the people she had intended to keep in touch with because she genuinely liked him, but time and circumstances had dictated otherwise. Although it worked both ways, he had more of an excuse not to have been in touch as he had family commitments in addition to work.

  ‘So how are you keeping?’

  Hearing his familiar voice reminded Geraldine how keen she had been, how hopeful about the future when she was first promoted, as though there was nothing she couldn’t achieve. The reality had turned out to be very different.

  The initial exchange of greetings over, he explained the reason for his call. He wanted to invite her to his retirement party.

  ‘I daresay you’re too busy to come along but –’

  ‘No,’ Geraldine interrupted him. ‘I’ll make the time. It’ll be great to see everyone again. Who else is going to be there?’

  Ted mentioned some names. A few were unfamiliar but she recognised most of them from her time spent working on the Kent constabulary.

  ‘And Kathryn said she’ll come,’ he finished, a hint of triumph in his voice. ‘I know she’ll be pleased to see you too.’

  Geraldine smiled on hearing the name of her former detective chief inspector. When she had first worked for Kathryn Gordon, Geraldine had found the older woman intimidating. Only when the senior officer had fallen ill had the two women begun to form a personal friendship. Geraldine felt another stab of guilt when she remembered her promise to keep in touch with Kathryn when she had retired.

  ‘So you’re in the Met now,’ Ted said. ‘I always knew you’d do well.’

  Hearing the smile in his voice, Geraldine tried to ignore the pressure of expectation his words engendered. It was gratifying to know that other people had faith in her ability, but she was afraid of letting everyone down. She almost launched into a diatribe about the disastrous case she was currently working on, getting nowhere as they investigated a growing body count. Nothing made sense. But there was no point concerning him with the details. He would only tell her to hang on, they’d get a result in the end. What else could he say? Only the same useless platitudes she would offer him if it was the other way round. Her problems were of no consequence to an older colleague on the point of retiring.

  ‘I’ll put the date in my diary straight away,’ she said cheerily.

  ‘We’re meeting about eight but it’s an informal gathering, no speeches and all that, so just come along when you can. You won’t miss anything if you’re not there on the dot.’

  That was what everyone said, no speeches, no presentations, no fuss. She would insist on that herself when the time came and her wishes would be ignored, just as Ted’s colleagues would take no notice of his request that nothing be said on the occasion of his retirement after a lifetime on the force.

  ‘Sounds perfect.’

  It would certainly be good to see Ted and Kathryn again. She expected to see her former sergeant, Ian, there as well although Ted hadn’t mentioned his name. Geraldine could count the number of people she had felt close to in her life on the fingers of one hand. Ian Peterson was one of them. They had worked together on a number of cases and she still missed working with him. The call ended, Geraldine went into the kitchen to fix herself something to eat.

  Talking to Ted had reminded her how readily she had once trusted her instincts about people. Somehow the more experienced she became, the less confident she felt. Sitting down to eat in front of the television, she found her attention wandering from one of her favourite comedy shows; intermittently she was aware of the audience roaring with laughter but she missed the jokes as she reviewed her gut feeling about the suspects in her current case.

  She had never believed Guy had killed Henshaw, let alone Corless, and now they knew Guy was out of the frame. Amy and Amanda Corless seemed equally unlikely to have killed each other’s husbands. Even if it had been credible to begin with, Sam’s desperate suggestion that the two women might be jointly culpable, acting out a pact to despatch their husbands, was completely discredited by the discovery of old Bradshaw’s body. Not only had Geraldine doubted that either of the women were in any way involved in the murders, she hadn’t thought any of the suspects guilty yet. How much time and energy they would have saved if the investigation had simply followed her hunches. But so far her instincts had merely rejected all the suspects they had come up with. Even she couldn’t home in on an unknown killer.

  She felt in her bag for her diary. The retirement do was exactly one week away. She hoped it wasn’t too optimistic to trust they would have made some progress with her current case before she met up with her old colleagues again. The way the investigation was going, they were more likely to discover another victim than the killer.

  CHAPTER 52

  Geraldine didn’t completely disapprove of her young sergeant’s fecund imagination, although Sam’s latest theory was particularly far-fetched. Nevertheless, Geraldine had to agree it was feasible. She had seen too much not to admit that if something was possible it didn’t really matter how improbable it might seem. When an investigation seemed to be going nowhere, any idea was welcome. Geraldine nodded at Sam to indicate she was listening as she continued to outline her latest theory, warming to her narrative as she spoke.

  ‘So what I was thinking is, let’s say Patrick was having it off with Desiree and George found out.’

  Sam sat forward in her chair, her short blonde hair falling forward to form an irregular fringe above her eyes. Geraldine couldn’t help smiling at the young sergeant’s enthusiasm.

  ‘You make it sound like a soap. This isn’t Eastenders, Sam.’

  Geraldine laughed but Sam didn’t join in.

  ‘No, but think about it for a moment,’ the sergeant insisted earnestly, undeterred by Geraldine’s amusement.

  ‘Patrick and Desiree must have known each other, mustn’t they? At the very least they must have met. They can’t not have known each other.’

  ‘OK, I get it, Patrick Henshaw knew Desiree. They knew each other. So what? Where is this going, Sam?’

  Geraldine glanced over at her screen, rapidly losing interest in Sam’s idea which seemed to be nothing but gossip.

  ‘Well, what if George found out that Patrick was having an affair with Desiree and killed him? George would’ve had plenty of opportunity, plus there’s the added inducement of getting his hands on the entire proceeds of the restaurant which would’ve come in very handy. He might have been considering getting rid of his partner for a while, only not in any serious way, and then the sexual jealousy pushed him into doing it. Well? What do you think? It makes sense, doesn’t it? Sexual jealousy can be a powerful drive.’

  Geraldine nodded, thinking about Corless’s gambling debts. His creditors might well be the kind of people who wouldn’t hesitate to resort to threats. There was a strong possibility he was being pressurised to settle up, and didn’t have the money. Sole ownership of a lucrative business would have been an attractive prospect to someone in his financial straits.

  ‘George might have gone to Patrick asking for help and been refused – or – well, there could be any number of other reasons why George might have resented Patrick. It’s hardly unheard of for business partners to fall out. The affair with Desiree might have been the last straw, and it would explain the injuries we saw on Patrick’s body as well. This was a personal attack motivated by
cupidity and sexual jealousy.’

  Sam paused expectantly. Geraldine still made no comment.

  ‘Then, when Desiree found out George had bumped Patrick off, she killed George.’

  Sam leaned back in her chair with an expectant grin, as though she was waiting for Geraldine to congratulate her for cracking the case.

  ‘Because?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why would Desiree want to kill George?’ Geraldine asked.

  Sam scowled.

  ‘I thought that was obvious. She killed him in revenge, because she found out he’d killed Patrick. Perhaps George told her. She might have been infatuated with Patrick –’

  She broke off, frowning, as though suddenly sceptical of her own idea.

  ‘After all,’ she resumed in a more reticent tone of voice, ‘Desiree was living with George. And she must have known how much she stood to gain from George’s will. Even if she didn’t know, she must’ve suspected it. Well, it’s possible, isn’t it?’

  Geraldine considered. The theory could have hung together except for two considerations: not only was she convinced that Desiree had genuinely cared for Corless, but there was the puzzling question of the DNA found on Henshaw; the DNA of a woman in prison. The records had been carefully checked and it appeared Linda Harrison had never given birth, yet the most likely explanation for the DNA match was that it had been left on Henshaw’s body by a daughter of Linda Harrison. And there was still the third victim.

  Geraldine called the forensic team who dealt with the DNA profiles but they were only able to confirm what they had already told her.

  ‘But it’s reasonable that this DNA belonged to a daughter?’ Geraldine persisted. ‘Theoretically, I mean, if there was a daughter.’

  ‘Yes, it’s certainly a possibility,’ the scientist agreed amiably, as though the conversation was purely conjectural, and there was no murder investigation to consider.

  Geraldine paused, phone in hand.

  ‘Don’t forget we’re checking against a DNA sample that was taken twenty years ago,’ the scientist said.

  ‘Yes, that’s true, but we could easily get another sample if a current one would help clinch it.’

  ‘Well, there have been a lot of changes in the way DNA is –’ the scientist began before Geraldine interrupted him impatiently.

  ‘Yes, thank you very much. What you’ve told me has been very helpful. Thank you.’

  She didn’t want another lecture about the progress with DNA, impressive though the recent advances were.

  ‘What if she did have a child and the child was adopted?’ Sam enquired with an anxious glance at Geraldine.

  ‘The child – it could have been a daughter – would have a different name so wouldn’t be immediately traceable.’

  ‘Good thinking, but we’ve checked Linda’s medical records and there’s nothing to indicate she ever had a child. That’s not an easy thing to keep quiet about.’

  ‘But twenty years ago… It’s possible, that’s all I’m saying.’

  Geraldine had to agree it was possible. Twenty years ago Linda could indeed have given birth in secret and offered the child up for adoption without leaving any official record of the birth. It was the simplest explanation of the DNA discovered on Patrick’s body, and the truth was often simple.

  ‘The only problem now is, without any record of a birth how are we ever going to find out if she had a child?’

  Geraldine stood up.

  ‘That’s not a problem.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Leave it to me. I’ll keep you posted.’

  Geraldine didn’t tell Sam she intended to confront Linda to ask her outright if she had ever given birth to a daughter. Sam was usually the one to come up with fantastical notions, but Geraldine was harbouring an idea so fanciful she wasn’t prepared to share it with anyone until she had discovered the truth.

  CHAPTER 53

  Geoff was in a bad mood as he carried the rubbish out at the back of the café early on Sunday morning. It was a foul job at the best of times, humping bags out to the stinking bins where the pungent odour of mildew and rotting food hung in the air like a fog. To make matters worse he was suffering from a thumping hangover and the sight of a homeless tramp propped up against the bins, blissfully asleep, did nothing to improve his temper. The sleeper’s face was barely visible, concealed in shadows beneath the protruding hood of a dark anorak. No doubt he was adding to the stench of the place.

  ‘Here, you, shove off out of it,’ Geoff snarled, nudging the stranger with his foot.

  The other man keeled over slowly until he was lying on his side in a puddle, legs stuck out in front of him at an odd angle. He was well out of it, oblivious to his clothes which were sodden after the heavy rain overnight.

  ‘Wake up!’ Geoff snapped. ‘You’re in my way. Push off! Some of us are trying to earn a living here.’

  He gave the tramp’s leg another kick, harder this time. The sleeper still didn’t stir. With a flash of rage Geoff booted him viciously but the man lay without moving, blocking the access to the bins. A few drops of rain began to fall. A horrible thought struck Geoff who set down the rubbish bag he was clutching and stooped down. Lifting the edge of the hood he glimpsed a face, grey and rigid. Geoff swore softly. That was all he needed, some bloody homeless yob dropping dead right outside his café. He considered dragging the inert body a few feet along to the far side of the bins, out of sight, where he could leave it for some other unlucky bugger to deal with. He had enough on his plate without having to faff around with strangers who drank themselves to death and then went and parked themselves right on his back doorstep.

  Geoff wanted to open the café in less than half an hour and really didn’t have time to start messing about with the police, and goodness knows what else besides. The geezer could have gone and croaked outside one of the big chains that could afford to close up for a day while the police investigated the area and removed the body. But he knew he couldn’t ignore it. With a sigh he pulled out his phone and hesitated for a second, uncertain who he should speak to. In the end he dialled 999 to report that he had discovered a dead person lying in the gutter outside his café.

  He seemed to be waiting for ages, fiddling with place settings on the tables, until a patrol car drew up in the street at the front of the café. He opened the door to admit two young uniformed police officers who followed him through the empty café and out of the back door to the bins where the three of them stood in a semi-circle gazing down at the body, still lying on its side. Glancing up, Geoff saw that the face of one of the policemen had gone slightly grey and he wondered if this was the first time the lad had seen a stiff.

  Geoff looked back down at the hooded face, half submerged in an oily puddle.

  ‘Can you move it now, please? Only I need to get to the bins.’

  He indicated the black rubbish bag he had left standing by the kerb.

  ‘I can’t get my litter in the bin.’

  His relief that the police had responded so promptly to his call soon vanished.

  ‘What do you mean you can’t move it out of the way?’ he protested. ‘What about my rubbish?’

  The younger of the two police officers suddenly darted away behind the bins. Geoff and the other officer watched his bent back for a second, listening to sounds of vomiting, before the older policeman politely suggested Geoff take his rubbish back inside for the time being.

  ‘And then we’ll need to ask you a few questions, sir.’

  Geoff gaped.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t stand around jawing. I need to open up. It’s already gone nine, and this is costing me money. I’m not bleeding Starbucks.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but we need to alert local CID and they’ll decide whether to call out the Homicide Assessment Team.’

  ‘What does that mean? Homicide team? Who’s talking about homicide? It’s just some old soak, isn’t it? Just take it away will you? This is outrageous – take i
t away. I’ve got a café to run here.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

  The policeman turned aside and began talking rapidly on his phone.

  The younger officer rejoined them, slightly red-faced, and blustering officiously as he turned to Geoff.

  ‘We’ll need to take a statement from you, sir. I appreciate this must have been a shock for you, finding a body like that, but –’

  George shook his head and interrupted impatiently. He insisted that he was fine. All he wanted to do was open up his café.

  ‘I’m losing customers. My regulars will all be going somewhere else. I might lose them altogether …’

  ‘I’m sorry sir, but there’s no question of your opening the café until we’ve established what happened here.’

  ‘What happened? I can tell you what happened. Someone kicked the bucket, that’s what happened. He took an overdose or his liver packed up, or something.’

  ‘Have you seen the victim before, sir?’

  Geoff was already heading for the door and the police officer scurried after him, notebook in hand.

  ‘Sir, I need to ask you a few questions.’

  Geoff turned on him.

  ‘I’ve got a question for you.’

  But the police were unable to give any indication as to when the body might be removed.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ Geoff sighed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll answer your questions, but first I need to put up a closed sign.’

  Grumbling to himself, he put a note on the door: ‘Closed today, Open tomorrow as usual.’