Deadly Alibi E-Book

Leigh Russell

• Herausgeber: No Exit Press
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Seitenzahl: 441

Beschreibung

A hand gripped her upper arm so suddenly it made her yelp. Biting her lower lip, she spun round, lashing out in terror. As she yanked her arm out of his grasp, her elbow hit the side of his chest. Struggling to cling on to her, he lost his footing. She staggered back and reached out, leaning one hand on the cold wall of the tunnel. Before she had recovered her balance he fell, arms flailing, eyes glaring wildly as he disappeared over the edge of the platform onto the rails below. . . Two victims and a suspect whose alibi appears open to doubt... Geraldine Steel is thrown into a double murder investigation which threatens not only her career, but her life. When her previously unknown twin Helena turns up, her problems threaten to make Geraldine's life turn toxic in more ways than one.

Leseprobe

DEADLY ALIBI

Cut Short– CWA Dagger shortlist, #1 iTunes, #1 Women Sleuths

Road Closed– #1 Women Sleuths, Top 20 Kindle, Top Read Euro Crime, Top 50 iTunes

Dead End– #1 Women Sleuths, Top 20 Kindle, Top 20 WH Smith’s, Top 10 Miami Examiner

Death Bed– #1 Women Sleuths, Top 20 WH Smith’s

Stop Dead– #1 on Amazon Kindle, People’s Book Prize shortlist

Fatal Act– Top Five on Amazon Kindle

DI Geraldine Steel is a Lovereading Great Female Sleuth

Longlisted for the CWA Dagger in the Library

Two murder victims, a suspect whose alibi appears open to doubt… Geraldine Steel is plunged into a double murder investigation which threatens not only her life, but her career. And then her previously unknown twin Helena turns up, with problems which are about to make Geraldine’s life turn toxic in more ways than one.

CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR LEIGH RUSSELL

‘a rare talent’ –Daily Mail

‘Unmissable’–Lee Child

‘Leigh Russell has become one of the most impressively dependable purveyors of the English police procedural’ –Marcel Berlins,The Times

'taut and compelling’ –Peter James

To Michael, Joanna, Phillipa and Phil

Contents

Acknowledgements

Glossary of acronyms

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

About the author

Copyright

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Dr Leonard Russell for his expert medical advice, and all contacts in the Metropolitan Police for their invaluable assistance.

I would also like to thank the inimitable Annette Crossland for her loyal support.

Producing a book is a team effort. I am fortunate to have the guidance of a brilliant editor, Keshini Naidoo, and I am very grateful to Ion Mills and Claire Watts, along with all the dedicated team at No Exit Press, who transform my words into books.

My final thanks go to Michael, who is always with me.

Glossary of acronyms

DCI – Detective Chief Inspector (senior officer on case)

DI – Detective Inspector

DS – Detective Sergeant

SOCO – scene of crime officer (collects forensic evidence at scene)

PM – Post Mortem or Autopsy (examination of dead body to establish case of death)

CCTV – Closed Circuit Television (security cameras)

VIIDO – Visual Images, Identification and Detections Office

Prologue

The chain was on the door. This wasn’t the first time she had locked him out. Cursing under his breath, he rang the bell. Summer had arrived but it was growing dark and had just begun to rain. He shivered, waiting impatiently for her to let him in.

He rang the bell again. His anger mounted until he thought his head would burst from the pressure. He banged on the door. It quivered beneath his furious onslaught, but remained shut.

‘Open up, will you? I can’t get in. You know bloody well the chain’s on the door!’

A few moments passed before he heard her voice. ‘Who is it? What do you want?’

‘Who the hell do you think it is at this time of night? It’s me, of course!’

His hair was dripping and his shoulders were damp by the time he heard the faint scraping of the chain sliding across. He would probably end up with a cold, thanks to her crazy paranoia.

Slowly the door swung open. She stood motionless, staring at his chest, refusing to meet his gaze. Her face was pale and she looked scared. He tried to swallow his annoyance, reminding himself that she couldn’t help it.

‘I didn’t know who it was,’ she muttered.

‘Who else would it be at this time of night?’ he repeated.

Seeing the fear in her eyes, his anger dissolved into pity. She was pathetic.

‘I wasn’t sure if it was you.’

‘Who else would it be?’ he replied, speaking more gently.

As he leaned down to kiss her, she turned and moved away. Closing his eyes to savour the scent of her shampoo, he wasn’t sure if she even noticed the touch of his lips on her hair. He wanted to stroke the soft glossy curls, but she was already out of reach. Watching her narrow hunched shoulders as she walked away, he wanted to yell at her to stand up straight and stop being so feeble.

Struggling to swallow his returning rage, he felt himself shaking. Almost against his will, he felt his hands tighten into fists. He took a deep breath, holding the air in his lungs for as long as he could. He had to calm down so he could deal with the situation rationally.

In spite of his good intentions, it wasn’t long before the row began. Recognising the signs, he was powerless to stop it developing.

‘What the fuck do you think you were doing? Just who do you think you are, treating me like that?’

Boxed in, there was no escape from the blows that rained down in a sudden frenzy.

‘Don’t you ever do that again! Ever! You do that again and I’ll kill you!’

They had played out this scene so many times before. Recovering from the violent outburst, and the subsequent fit of self-reproach, they would revert to a kind of normality.

Until the next time.

One day it would go too far.

1

Waking with a start,she was just in time to see they were leaving Oakwood station. She swore under her breath because she had missed her stop. Feeling sweaty and slightly sick, she glanced around. In an old-style Piccadilly line underground train, there was no easy way to move away from the only other passenger in her carriage. With one more stop before they reached the end of the line, it wasn’t worth the effort of yanking open the external doors between carriages. Instead, she sat perfectly still, trying to ignore him.

Every time her eyes flicked over to him, he was staring at her. She was drunk enough to want to leap to her feet and shout at him, ‘What the fuck are you staring at, you fucking weirdo?’, sober enough to resist the temptation. For all she knew, he might react violently. He had a mop of greasy dreadlocks, and his mouth hung slack beneath his wildly staring eyes. It was impossible to tell if his pupils were dilated, but there was definitely something demented about his expression.

Unnerved, she pulled her hood up and kept her eyes on the filthy floor of the carriage. Without looking at him, she was aware of his presence, every muscle tensed to resist if he approached her. She wanted to close her eyes and drift off to sleep again, but she didn’t dare relax her vigilance. In a few minutes they would reach the end of the line. She willed the train to move quickly, hoping there would be other people around when they arrived.

To her dismay, the train juddered to a halt before they reached the station. Every second she sat opposite the stranger seemed to stretch out as though time had become elastic. The air in the carriage felt so stuffy, she thought she would throw up. Sick and frightened, she struggled not to burst into tears. She was too old for this. It wasn’t as if she had even enjoyed the evening. After ten years of London clubbing, she was disillusioned with her pursuit of meaningless fun. There must be more to life than frenetic dancing, shagging strangers, and throwing up in gutters.

And now this.

The stranger stirred. ‘We’re not moving,’ he said.

She froze. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him leering at her.

‘Don’t be upset,’ he went on, his words slurring into each other. ‘There’s nothing to be upset about. Now we get to spend more time together.’

A thrill of terror ran down her spine. This was it. He was going to attack her. She wondered if her rape alarm would deter him. It was deafening, but with no one else around to hear it, the shrill sound would be pointless. As she glanced around for the emergency cord, the train jolted and moved again.

She fished in her bag for her Oyster card and clutched it, so she would be able to leave the station as quickly as possible. If she was fast enough, she would be out in the street before he could follow her. She checked her hood was up and sat on the edge of her seat. As the train drew into the station, she leapt up and dashed to the door.

Without looking back, she could sense the other passenger was close behind her as the train left. She smelt his stale breath when he spoke.

‘You in a hurry?’ he asked softly.

She didn’t turn round. It was best not to answer. He might think she hadn’t heard him.

‘I asked you a question, bitch.’

A hand gripped her upper arm so suddenly it made her yelp. Biting her lower lip, she spun round, lashing out in terror. As she yanked her arm out of his grasp, her elbow hit the side of his chest. Struggling to cling on to her, he lost his footing. She staggered back and reached out, leaning one hand on the cold wall of the tunnel. Before she had recovered her balance he fell, arms flailing, eyes glaring wildly as he disappeared over the edge of the platform onto the rails below. There was a sharp crack followed by a dull thud and a faint wheezing.

With a shudder, she craned her neck and peered over onto the rails where the man lay, twitching and moaning. He appeared to be having a seizure of some sort. Drawing back, she hurried towards the exit, forcing herself not to break into a run.

At that time of night the station was deserted. For a terrifying instant she thought her Oyster card hadn’t registered. But the barrier slid open and she was through.

Outside, the street was empty. In desperation she looked around for a taxi. There was nothing else for it. She had to get away from there. Pulling out her phone, she called her father.

‘What are you doing, calling me in the middle of the night? Do you know what time it is?’

‘Dad, I need your help.’ She hated herself for saying it.

‘What?’

‘I fell asleep on the train. Can you pick me up? Only…’ she hesitated to mention the weirdo.

‘Is everything all right?’ her father asked.

‘Yes, everything’s fine,’ she lied. ‘I can take care of myself. But I can’t see any taxis here and I need a lift home.’

Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm down. As her panic subsided, she realised that she could be in serious trouble. Her father wouldn’t turn up for about half an hour, maybe more. In that time, the weirdo might recover or, if he was dead, his body could be discovered. Either way, she wasn’t keen to risk being raped or else dragged into a police enquiry. As she vacillated, she checked on her phone and found a night bus that ran from Cockfosters. The next one was due in just over five minutes.

She was on the point of calling her father. Thinking better of her impulse, she stuffed her phone back in her bag. Let him worry about her. It would serve him right. Smiling to herself, she set off for the bus stop.

2

Geraldine wanted to be alone on her birthday. It wasn’t her age that was making her miserable, although she was hardly pleased to be turning forty. The reason she was preoccupied was that her mother was going to be cremated that week. So although she had reached a significant birthday, she didn’t feel like celebrating. She hadn’t discussed her feelings with anyone.

‘You can’t change decade without getting hammered!’ Sam insisted, her short spiky blonde hair sticking up on top of her head as though to emphasise her indignation. ‘Just because you’re a detective inspector, and getting on a bit, doesn’t mean you have to be all stuffy and boring.’

Geraldine couldn’t help laughing at her young detective sergeant. ‘Well, thanks for reminding me that I’m so much older than you, and getting older by the minute. I’m not in my twenties any more.’ She didn’t add that partying was the last thing on her mind. ‘But seriously, Sam, don’t tell everyone. I don’t want any fuss.’

‘Aren’t we even going out for a drink? We don’t have to make a huge deal out of it. We can go out just the two of us.’

Geraldine smiled. She wasn’t close to many of her colleagues. Although she knew that Sam socialised with a lot of their fellow officers, nevertheless she was gratified by her sergeant’s friendship.

‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I’m going to see my sister.’

That was not an out and out lie. Geraldine had arranged to visit her adopted sister, but not until the weekend.

‘Not even one drink?’

Geraldine shook her head. ‘Not even one. I’m not as young as you.’

With a guilty twinge she remembered the bottle of wine she was planning to open at home that evening after work.

‘Are you trying to tell me the fun ends once you quit your twenties?’

Geraldine smiled at her friend’s daft grimace. ‘I can’t remember back that far.’

‘If that’s the case, I need to pack in as much fun as I can, while I still can. Time’s running out for me. I’ll be thirty in a couple of years so I need to party now, even if I won’t remember it when I’m old. Older,’ she added quickly.

Geraldine laughed. ‘Imagine how I feel.’

‘Look, fair enough you’ve arranged to spend this evening with your family, but we must go out at the weekend and celebrate. You can’t deprive me of this chance to go out on the town. I don’t have much longer to go before I’m thirty and then what? Will I really have to grow up and be sensible all the time? Bloody hell. You had to blurt it out, didn’t you? And there I was, thinking the fun would never end. Another ten years, and I’ll be sipping cocoa at home in the evening, and in bed by nine. You had to tell me, didn’t you?’ She heaved an exaggerated sigh and Geraldine grinned.

When Sam left, Geraldine turned to her screen, but she was too dejected about her mother to feel aggrieved by her latest budget cut. What would once have started her ranting no longer seemed important. She was growing older. One day she would end her life among strangers, as her mother had done. Pulling herself up short for allowing such negative thoughts to cloud her mind, she turned her attention back to her screen. Whatever else might be happening in her life, her job mattered. As a detective inspector working in serious crime, investigating murder cases, she couldn’t allow her personal problems to affect her focus, even for a moment.

Sam called by Geraldine’s office at the end of the day.

‘Still here?’ she asked, looking slightly put out. ‘I thought you were off to see your sister this evening?’

Geraldine did her best to conceal her irritation. It felt as though Sam was checking up on her. At the same time, she didn’t want to be caught out in a fib.

‘Oh, is that the time?’ she said, instead of answering directly. ‘I’d better be off. Thanks, Sam.’

Quickly closing down her screen, she grabbed her bag, and left the building with Sam at her side.

‘Have a good evening,’ Sam called out as they parted in the car park. ‘And don’t forget I owe you a drink.’

‘Only one?’

‘Now, now, remember you have to be careful at your age.’

At home, Geraldine poured herself a generous glass of wine before taking her iPad out of her bag. She hadn’t yet finished checking her budget. Juggling the figures, she tried not to imagine what Sam would say if she could see her now.

When her phone rang, she almost didn’t answer, assuming Sam was calling to find out if she had changed her mind. There was still time to go out drinking. Glancing at the call screening, she was pleased to see the name. She had worked with Ian Peterson in Kent before her relocation to London. They had remained friends, and kept in touch even after he had moved away to York. Surprised and pleased that he had remembered her birthday, she picked up her phone.

‘Hi. How are you?’

Ian was one of Geraldine’s few good friends, but he wasn’t calling to wish her a happy birthday. He had called to talk about his marital problems. When he finally got round to asking how she was, she muttered that she was fine. After she hung up, she was overcome by regret that she hadn’t been honest with him. He was her closest friend, apart from Sam. Working together led to a kind of bond she had not experienced with anyone else. She had always been able to talk freely with him, but he was preoccupied by his own problems and it wasn’t fair to burden him with hers. Besides, his situation could be put right. His wife was alive. Nothing could be done to alleviate Geraldine’s misery. With her mother dead, she felt isolated in her grief. On her fortieth birthday, an occasion most people would celebrate with friends or family, she had never felt more alone.

She stared at one glass on the table beside an open bottle of red wine. She was used to being on her own. It didn’t normally bother her. In fact, as a rule, it suited her. Occasional bouts of loneliness were a price she was willing to pay for her independence. But this evening her thoughts were darting around in confusion. The following morning she was going to her mother’s funeral. Working with the deaths of strangers every day had not prepared her to deal with her own grief.

3

There had been no chance of him falling asleep until he heard the front door close, telling him that his daughter was home. The last train left from town at around midnight, so she should have been back by now. He had tried to relax, listening out for any sound from downstairs. Five minutes had passed. And another five minutes. In the darkness, time had moved slowly.

It had been gone half past twelve when his phone had rung.

‘Dad, thank goodness you’re still up. I fell asleep on the train.

‘Where are you?’

Beth was at Cockfosters station, about ten miles away. It was the end of the line. He glanced at his watch. At that time of night it might only take him twenty minutes to drive there.

‘The station’s deserted, and I don’t know what to do.’

She had known exactly what to do. She had called him.

‘She’s twenty-seven,’ his ex-wife would say if she knew what had happened. ‘She’s an adult. Stop running after her. Let her find her own way home. What would she do if you weren’t there? She managed all right by herself when we used to go away. It’s not healthy to be so obsessed with her. You have to let her live her own life.’

His ex-wife accused him of wanting to keep Beth dependent on him, but it was easy for her to be harsh. Beth wasn’t her daughter. He wondered if Veronica was right, and his overprotectiveness was to blame for Beth turning into such a wild teenager. Only six when her mother had died, she had become withdrawn. When Daniel remarried, he had hoped her stepmother would encourage her to feel more settled. Hitting puberty, Beth had flipped to the opposite extreme. Veronica and he had spent years arguing about his daughter’s unruly behaviour, but she had grown out of it in the end. She had finally landed herself a job with prospects of a kind.

‘It’s only a job, dad. There’s no need to go overboard.’

‘Stick with it and you could end up managing the shop.’

He climbed out of bed, feeling his way in the dark.

Beth sounded slightly hysterical. ‘Can you come and get me? I wouldn’t ask, only it’s late, and I’m outside and there aren’t any taxis. There’s a man in a van, watching me. Please come, dad.’

Pulling on pants and jeans under his pyjama top, he hurried downstairs. He should have told Beth to go back inside the station and call the police if she felt threatened, although they were unlikely to turn up before him. Fumbling with the phone as he drove off, he called her back to reassure her he was on his way, but there was no answer. He put his foot down. If he was pulled over for speeding, so much the better. The patrol car could drive to Cockfosters station with him.

Although the streets were not exactly busy at that time of night, there were still a surprising number of cars on the road. As he drove, he calmed down. He realised Beth had exaggerated the potential danger of her situation to make sure he went to pick her up. He should have known better than to worry. She could manipulate him so easily. There was no reason why she couldn’t stay sober and leave her own car at the station when she went out. He had given her a nice motor he had done up himself at the garage. But she insisted on going out late, drinking and goodness knows what else besides, and then expected him to be on tap to pick her up whenever she needed a lift. Irritated, he rehearsed what he was going to say. Her stepmother was right. Beth was old enough to know better, too old to be causing him this kind of stress in the middle of the night.

‘How could you fall asleep on the train at this time of night? You knew how late it was.’

Yet he was pleased she had chosen the safest option, and knew he would say nothing that might discourage her from calling him if she was stranded again. All that mattered was that she was safe. He could easily catch up on a few hours’ missed sleep.

A battered black Ford Transit van was driving away from the station as Daniel pulled up. As it passed, he caught sight of a dark-haired man driving, with a blond woman at his side. Too late he remembered Beth had mentioned a van parked at the station. He looked round just in time to catch the registration number. Apart from the van, the road was empty. Annoyed, he climbed out of the car. Beth could at least have run over, grateful to him for turning out at that time of night. Instead she expected him to leave his warm seat to go and look for her. He strode into the station but couldn’t see her. He looked around but the station was deserted. He went over to the ticket office and knocked on the window but no one came to his assistance. He hadn’t expected to find anyone there.

‘Beth?’ he called out.

Recovering from his momentary panic, he tried to think logically where she might be. Either she had gone to the toilet, or a late train had arrived, or else she had decided to make her own way home. Perhaps a taxi had turned up. It would be incredibly selfish of her to have summoned him, only to make her way home independently, but he wouldn’t put that past her. She might have thought she could get home before he left. It would have been a nice surprise if she had.

He checked his phone. There was no message. The only call he had received that night had been at twelve thirty-seven, when he had been lying comfortably in bed. He tapped redial and got through to her voicemail.

‘Beth, it’s me. Where are you? Call me as soon as you get this, please. I’m at the station, waiting for you.’

He waited ten minutes in case she was in the toilet, before he went home. As he opened the front door, he was sure she would be there, in the hall, crying about her phone having run out of charge.

‘I’m really sorry. When a taxi turned up I took it,’ she would explain. ‘I thought I could get here before you left. It was so cold, hanging around at the station, and I didn’t feel very safe with no one else there, so I thought it was a good idea to get home.’

The hall was empty. He ran up to Beth’s room. She wasn’t there. He checked the kitchen, and the living room, the toilets and bathrooms, everywhere in the house, even his own bedroom. There was still no answer from her phone. In desperation he called her stepmother.

‘Is Beth with you?’

‘Jesus, Daniel, is that you? Do you know what time it is?’

‘Have you heard from Beth tonight?’

‘What?’

‘Beth’s disappeared.’

‘Let’s talk about it tomorrow. It’s nearly two o’clock in the morning for Christ’s sake!’

In the background he could hear her husband’s voice growling.

‘I know it’s late, and I’m sorry to call you, but I wanted to check she wasn’t with you before I called the police.’

‘Look, Daniel, you’ve got to stop getting so het up about her. It’s no good for you. Carry on like that and you’ll give yourself a heart attack. She’s twenty-seven. She’s entitled to spend the night wherever she wants…’

‘No, you don’t understand. It’s not like that.’

‘She’ll be home in her own time. Stop worrying. She’s probably spending the night with a friend. Good of her to let us know, but that’s Beth. If you hadn’t spoiled her…’

‘No. She called me after midnight to ask me to go and pick her up…’

‘There you are then. It’s outrageous.’

‘No, you don’t understand.’

He explained what had happened.

Veronica sounded irritated. ‘Are you sure she wanted a lift?’

‘Yes. She called me from the station to say there weren’t any taxis and she needed to be picked up.’

Veronica mumbled crossly about mini cabs and Uber before she hung up.

Thinking about the deserted station Daniel remembered the black van that had been pulling away as he drove in. He was no longer sure that the blond woman had not been Beth, after all. He should have followed it. But at least he had made a note of the registration number. Whoever had taken Beth was not going to get away with it. Shaking, he called the police.

4

Every Thursday Tom went out with his mates from work. To begin with he had appreciated his wife’s ready acceptance of this arrangement.

‘Why should I mind?’ had been her response when he asked if she minded his going out without her. ‘I’m pleased you’re seeing your mates. It’s not like you’re out on the booze every night, not like some.’

Tom had suspected Louise had been planning to run off with her fancy man for a long time. Although he had only seen her in a café with a stranger once, he had been convinced they were seeing each other. There had been an unmistakable air of intimacy between them, and he had glimpsed a tenderness in her expression that he had never seen before. She had never looked at him in that way, as though she wanted to store every detail of his face in her memory to treasure when she was alone.

She had laughed at him when he mentioned it, and told him he was reading far too much into it. But her earnest denials hadn’t been enough to quell his suspicions.

‘Why did you lie about it?’ he had fumed, after he had seen them together.

‘I wasn’t lying,’ she had protested, flicking her head so that her shoulder length blonde hair swung with the movement. ‘I just forgot, that’s all.’

‘You forgot you’d gone out with another man?’

‘Oh Jesus, Tom, do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound? I wasn’t “going out with another man”. I happened to bump into him when I was out shopping and we went for a coffee together, that’s all. There was nothing more to it than that. We used to work together. I hadn’t seen him for years, and I haven’t seen him again since then. It’s hardly something I’m likely to remember.’

At first annoyed with him, she had become tearful, until he had felt compelled to pretend to believe her. He loved his wife. With her blue eyes and wide smile, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met. He knew he was lucky to have her. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her. After a pointless argument, they had a chilly reconciliation. Somehow Louise had made him feel as though the argument had been his fault. He had done his best to forget all about the incident, but the memory rankled.

It was a while before he had begun to suspect her motive for tolerating his Thursday outings might not be as generous as he had supposed. While he was out, playing cards over a few beers, she was at home. He had always taken it on trust that she was alone. But once it had occurred to him that she might have a regular visitor while he was out, he couldn’t get the idea out of his head. He pictured her fury if she discovered his suspicions. Every Thursday evening he had to force himself not to rush home early to check, telling himself he was overreacting. In reality, he was afraid of what he might find there.

So he had continued to go out on Thursdays as usual, and might have continued doing so indefinitely, if one evening he and his mates hadn’t packed it in early. It was bound to happen sooner or later. He felt as though he’d been sitting on a time bomb, waiting for a terrible truth to blow his world apart. He almost wanted to drive around for an hour, so he wouldn’t arrive back earlier than usual, but something compelled him to go straight home.

As he drove, he told himself he was being an idiot. But when he reached his front door, he thought he heard voices in the hall. His heart racing, he ran back to the car and kept watch. After about half an hour the front door opened, and he caught sight of a man stealing away from the house. At ten to midnight, this was not a casual social call. A stranger had been in his house, with his wife, while he was out. Given the way Louise had lied about it, there could be no doubt about what was going on. Sitting motionless in the car for a few moments, he was uncertain what to do.

He was still home slightly earlier than usual, so there was no rush for him to go inside just yet. Meanwhile, his wife’s visitor was hurrying off down the road. Tom was tempted to catch up with him and smash his face in. But after a moment’s reflection, he decided to follow him and find out where he lived. It felt strange, cruising along, trying to avoid drawing attention to himself. He often drove as fast as he could. He’d never before tried to drive as slowly as possible. Aware that he should feel relieved, he was almost disappointed that the man never once looked round. He was oblivious to the fact that he was being stalked by a man who wanted to kill him.

Eventually, Tom lost him when he cut across a park. He considered abandoning the car and following him on foot. His hesitation probably saved him from doing something stupid. Too angry to think straight, he spun the wheel and returned home, arriving at around his usual time. Louise was already in bed. With a shiver, he wondered if she had been there before her visitor had left the house.

5

‘Bloody hell, will you look at that?’ Moira called out as she approached. Stevie was already in the doorway, sheltering from the rain. Although he had been working as a volunteer in the Oxfam shop for over a year, he hadn’t yet been given a key. As manager, Moira was supposed to arrive first, but Stevie was usually early. She felt slightly guilty, but the young lad never complained.

‘I hope you haven’t been waiting long,’ she added, glancing at her watch.

‘So not only have they given us their old junk, we’ve got the whole damn bin as well.’ She manoeuvred her way past the green wheelie bin. ‘Still, I suppose we can use it for rubbish.’

‘What’s in it?’ Stevie asked.

‘I don’t know. Let’s get inside out of this rain before we start poking around. You never know, there might be something nice in it.’

Stevie grinned. Tilting the bin, he pushed it into the shop behind Moira.

‘It’s really heavy.’

‘Why don’t you take it through to the back and have a look?’ Moira suggested. ‘Then you can come and tell me what treasures you’ve found.’

It was a long time since Moira had felt curious about the things people deposited on the doorstep. Most of it was garbage. People tended not to leave valuables outside overnight. Even the things that were donated over the counter were virtually worthless. It was sad, really, watching people give up their old junk with as much fuss as if it had been worth a fortune. Of course it often had sentimental value to the owner, but that didn’t make it worth anything to the shop. She had barely started to key the code into the till when Stevie came running out of the back room, flapping his arms.

‘There’s a woman inside the bin!’ His voice was shrill with excitement. ‘I can’t wake her up!’

Moira smiled kindly at him. Poor lad. He was a good-looking boy. She sometimes forgot he was a bit simple. There must be a mannequin in the wheelie bin, or perhaps a child’s doll.

‘That’s nice,’ she said. ‘What else is in there?’

Stevie looked surprised. ‘There’s nothing else. She’s all crumpled up. I called her, and shook the bin, and she never moved. Do you think she’s dead? I didn’t touch her,’ he added earnestly. ‘I seen the murder shows on the telly. I know you mustn’t touch anything at a crime scene because it could contaminate the evidence.’ He paused, watching her tapping at the till. ‘Shouldn’t we call the police?’

Moira nodded, frowning. It was time to start the day’s business but she supposed she ought to go and see what Stevie was fussing about before she opened the door. Customers rarely came in first thing in the morning.

‘Come on then,’ she said, ‘let’s go and see what you’ve found. And then we’ll get the door open.’

Following Stevie across the store to the back room, she noticed the hats needed tidying and made a mental note to put Stevie on to it as soon as they had dealt with the wheelie bin.

‘Well, what have we got here?’

Stepping forward, she peered over the top of the bin and drew back with a faint yelp.

‘Sweet Jesus, I see what you mean,’ she said. ‘It does look like a body.’

She leaned forward and stared inside the bin. Below the mannequin’s head, its arms and legs appeared to have been folded up and crammed down. Its face was almost hidden by a wig that resembled real hair. Tentatively she reached inside and touched one of the ears. It felt hard and cold. She turned her attention to the face. Pushing the head backwards against the side of the bin, she squinted down at battered features. That was odd. She had never seen a mannequin with a bruised face before. It must be dirt from the interior of the bin, which would have been filled with rubbish at one time.

‘Who is she?’ Stevie asked.

‘No one,’ Moira replied. ‘It’s just a model. Now come on, let’s open up the shop. We’re already late.’

‘But what about her?’

‘We’ll deal with that later. Just leave it here for now.’

They went back into the shop.

‘You’re dirty. You need to wash,’ Stevie said.

‘What?’

Looking down, Moira saw a dark stain on one of her hands, where she had touched the mannequin’s head. Involuntarily, she wiped it on her skirt, leaving a bright red smear on the fabric.

‘It looks like blood,’ she whispered.

All at once she felt sick. Running back to the store room, she took another look inside the wheelie bin. Whoever had abandoned the bin the previous night had not been donating their unwanted belongings to charity. They had been getting rid of a dead body.

‘I do believe you’re right,’ she muttered to Stevie, who was also staring down inside the bin.

‘Is she dead?’ he whispered.

Moira nodded.

‘Who is she?’

‘We don’t know that. Hopefully the police will be able to find out.’

‘I know. They can tell who you are from your teeth.’

‘We’ll leave her exactly as she is,’ Moira said, ‘while we go and phone the police. And then we’re going to have a nice cup of tea with plenty of sugar.’

‘You don’t take sugar in your tea.’

‘That’s true, but I think I will today. This is not a normal day.’

‘No,’ he agreed solemnly. ‘This is not a normal day.’

Stevie trotted obediently behind her back into the shop. Moira closed the door to the back room firmly.

‘Go and check we shut the street door when we came in,’ she said as she picked up the phone.

‘We have to open the door. We can’t shut it. Not when it’s opening time.’

Stevie seemed more disturbed at the prospect of staying closed during opening hours than at finding a dead body.

‘Go on, now,’ Moira insisted. ‘We can’t let anyone in. This is a crime scene.’

As Stevie scurried over to the door, she picked up the phone. ‘I need the police please. Yes, the police. Someone left a dead body at the Oxfam shop in Highgate High Street. Yes, a dead body. We’ve found a woman inside a wheelie bin, and she’s dead.’

Hanging up, she told Stevie the police were on their way. Then she burst into tears.

‘It’s all right,’ he reassured her. ‘They won’t think you did it. No one’s going to put you in prison. It wasn’t your fault. Anyway, I found her, so if anyone’s in trouble, it’s going to be me. You don’t need to worry. It’s going to be fine. You’ll be fine. I’m the one who’s going to be in trouble. They’ll find my fingerprints on the bin, not yours. That’s how they do it. They look for fingerprints.’ He looked around, a worried expression on his face. ‘I shouldn’t have touched the bin. Now they’re going to think it was me, aren’t they?’

‘Don’t worry, the police aren’t going to suspect either of us.’ She could not help smiling at him through her tears. ‘You’re a good lad, Stevie.’

‘I’ll tell them you didn’t have that blood on your hands when you got here,’ he said seriously. ‘Otherwise they’ll lock you up.’

6

Without telling anyone atthe police station the reason for her absence, Geraldine had booked the morning off. She hadn’t mentioned her mother’s cremation to anyone apart from her adopted sister Celia, who had offered to accompany her. It was a long way for her to travel and, in any case,Celiawas four monthspregnant.

‘There’s no need. You didn’t know her,’ Geraldine had answered. ‘You never met her, and she wasn’t your mother.’

‘I want to support you.’

‘That’s good of you, but you don’t need to come for my sake. I know she was my mother, but she was a stranger to me too. I only met her once, very briefly. It’s not like when our mum died.’

‘Well, if you’re sure. You would say if you wanted me to come with you, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes, and thank you. It’s really nice of you to offer.’

Uncertain of her own feelings, Geraldine preferred to go to the funeral by herself. After waiting for years to meet her birth mother, death had cheated her of any hope of ever developing a relationship, or even having a conversation, with her. There was so much Geraldine wanted to know, but her adoptive mother was dead by the time Geraldine had learned the circumstances of her birth. Now her questions might never be answered. She would probably never discover her biological father’s identity. He might not even be aware of her existence. The finality of that thought was like a physical pain in her guts.

What was particularly upsetting was that it could have been very different. Geraldine had repeatedly requested to meet her birth mother when she had discovered, as an adult, that she had been adopted at birth. For years her mother had steadfastly refused to see her. Only after a coronary had she relented and they had met once, briefly. Shortly after that, Milly Blake had suffered another heart attack, and this one had proved fatal.

While her mother had been struggling to make ends meet, Geraldine had been brought up in a stable family, alongside her adopted sister, Celia. She understood that, as a sixteen-year-old single parent, her birth mother had felt it was best for both of them if she was adopted. If she hadn’t given her daughter that chance for a better life, perhaps Geraldine would never have become a successful detective inspector, working in North London. Geraldine understood that. What was harder to forgive was her mother’s refusal to meet her years later.

Before she died, Milly Blake had written a letter informing Geraldine that she had a twin. Shocked, Geraldine had managed to trace Helena Blake, and confirm they shared a mother and a date of birth. Their father was not named on the records of their birth. She knew nothing about her twin sister except the little their mother had divulged, and the limited information she had been able to ascertain from the borough intelligence unit. It was enough.

Everything she had learned about her twin dismayed her. With no permanent address, Helena had moved around a lot, in and out of London, returning at intervals to South London where Milly Blake had lived. A heroin addict, she had been arrested several times for petty theft and prostitution, no doubt committed to support her drug habit.

It was distressing but, having discovered she had a twin, Geraldine was wary of meeting her. She had joined the police force driven by a desire to help protect civilised society. Doing what little she could to make the world a better place, she had always considered herself a morally upright citizen. She had no intention of rejecting her own sister because she was a user, the kind of person Geraldine only encountered across an interview table. Nevertheless, it was a potentially difficult situation.

Geraldine had worked hard for many years to build the life she wanted. Her successful career and her independence were largely a result of her own efforts, with a little help from her inheritance from her adoptive mother. She didn’t want anything to undermine her carefully constructed life. But despite her reservations, she couldn’t suppress her excitement at the thought that she might meet her twin sister that morning. She wondered if Helena felt the same.

Dressed in black trousers and jacket, with a new white shirt, she sat down on her bed and took her mother’s photograph out of the drawer in her bedside cabinet. It was the only picture she had of her mother, and must have been taken when she was about sixteen. The faded image could have been a photograph of Geraldine herself as a teenager. Milly Blake might even have been pregnant with Geraldine and Helena when it was taken.

The girl in the picture bore little resemblance to the sick stranger Geraldine had met in the hospital. They would never have a conversation, never exchange a smile. Geraldine would never feel her mother’s arms around her. She supposed she had been whipped away from her mother quite quickly after the birth. The decision to give her up for adoption had probably been made before Geraldine was born. A penniless single mother of sixteen couldn’t have brought up twins by herself in those days. Milly had only kept Helena because she hadn’t been expected to survive for long.

She took her mother’s letter out of the drawer, where she kept it with the photograph.

‘When you were born,’ her mother had written, ‘they told me Helena was going to die. But she didn’t. And then time went by and I couldn’t give her away. It sounds bad, but nothing I ever did went right. Now I’m gone, you need to find Helena, and help her. God knows, I tried. I wish I’d kept you as well but what happened was better for you. The social worker said the family you went to were good people. It would have been better for Helena if she’d gone with you but she was sick and they said she wouldn’t live. I can’t help Helena but you can, if she’s still alive.’

With a sigh, Geraldine replaced the photograph and the letter in her drawer. They were all she had from her mother. She had recovered from her anger at the way her mother had prioritised Helena’s welfare over her own. Her reservations about meeting her twin had nothing to do with sibling rivalry. She was simply worried about seeing her hard-won life disrupted by a stranger. She had seen too many prostitutes and drug addicts on the other side of an interview table to choose to welcome one into her life with open arms. Her situation was challenging enough without this unlooked-for complication.

But Helena was her sister.

It began to rain as she set off for the crematorium. She felt nervous, knowing she might see her twin for the first time. She didn’t know if they were identical, but was sure she would recognise Helena if she saw her. By the time she arrived at the crematorium, the rain had passed over. The car park was almost deserted. A couple of men greeted her when she went in.

‘I’m here for Milly Blake. I’m her daughter.’

One of her daughters, she ought to have said.

The younger of the two men glanced towards a solitary coffin. It looked very small in the empty room. The place was well maintained, with carpeted floor, polished wooden seats and clean white paint on the walls. Compared to a graveside it was very sanitised, with no sign of the furnace concealed behind red velvet curtains. Geraldine sat down near the front and waited. It was very quiet. After a few minutes an elderly priest arrived, a reminder that Geraldine’s mother had been brought up as a Catholic. Her parents had probably not reacted kindly to their daughter’s teenage pregnancy. Milly’s condition was likely to have been considered scandalous to a Catholic family forty years ago. Geraldine wondered how it had come about. She would have liked to have known how her parents had met and whether they had been in love, and if her father had known about the pregnancy. There were so many unanswered questions.

The priest approached her and seemed relieved when she reassured him that she was happy for him to choose the text for the ceremony. A few moments later he began, mumbling in a dreary monotone about life everlasting. It seemed an odd phrase to use in connection with someone who had just died. After intoning some prayers, the priest announced a hymn and began to sing in a reedy voice. One of the men who had greeted Geraldine on her arrival joined in, his baritone drowning out the sound of the priest’s thin warbling.

As they finished a hymn, Geraldine glanced around and noticed a woman had slipped in and taken a seat on the far side of the room. Straggly dark hair stuck out from under her head scarf, framing a gaunt face. Despite her skinny build she looked oddly familiar, like a figure glimpsed in a nightmare. With a thrill like an electric shock, Geraldine recognised the large dark eyes that she had inherited from her mother. Helena had arrived.

Seemingly oblivious to what was going on around her, Helena sat staring straight ahead throughout the remainder of the service. She didn’t react, even when the curtains opened and the coffin disappeared. Geraldine studied her covertly, surprised that Helena didn’t seem curious about the stranger who resembled her so closely, yet looked so different to her. From what Geraldine could see of it, Helena’s hair was streaked with grey. Her skin had an unhealthy pallor, and from across the room her lips looked cracked and dry. She showed so little interest in the woman who was obviously her sister that Geraldine wondered if their mother had even told Helena about her. Despite her curiosity, she thought it might be best to simply leave at the end of the funeral, without speaking to anyone. She had managed for forty years without a twin in her life. She wasn’t sure she was ready to meet Helena yet.

7

As the ceremony drew to a close, Geraldine rose to her feet and slipped out of the room. She hoped it wasn’t disrespectful to the priest to leave without thanking him, but he was looking the other way. She would have had to cross the room to talk to him. Telling herself that he must be used to people failing to behave with customary good manners on such occasions, she hurried off. It wasn’t the priest she was avoiding, but the haggard woman who had ignored her throughout the service. Their mother’s funeral might not be the ideal venue for their first meeting.

Outside, she glanced at her phone and swore. A call had come in while she had been at the crematorium. One death interfering with another, she thought miserably, as she called the station and noted the details.

‘An Oxfam shop?’ she repeated, slightly surprised.

As she reached the car park, she looked up. Helena was a few feet away, hurrying towards her. It was too late for Geraldine to pretend she hadn’t seen her. She turned to face her unknown sister.

‘You’re Erin.’

About to tell Helena her adopted name, Geraldine hesitated. Erin Blake was the name on her original birth certificate. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to invite this stranger into Geraldine Steel’s life. First it might be wise to establish a relationship with her using her birth name. Helena had taken the first step and approached her. There was nothing to indicate she would be unfriendly. All the same, Geraldine was apprehensive. She was afraid her experience with the worst aspects of human nature had made her cynical.

‘It’s hard to believe we’re twins, innit?’ Helena said, squinting in the bright sunlight. ‘Ain’t you always wondered what it would be like, having a sister?’

‘I have got a sister. I’ve always had a sister. She’s…’

On the point of revealing that she had a sister called Celia, Geraldine hesitated. She wanted to get to know Helena before introducing her to Celia and her daughter, Chloe.