Stop Dead E-Book

Leigh Russell

• Herausgeber: No Exit Press
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Seitenzahl: 477

Beschreibung

Detective Inspector Geraldine Steel returns in the fifth in the series, facing a case of grisly murder in London When a successful businessman is the victim of a vicious murder, all evidence points to his wife and her young lover. But then the victim's business partner suffers a similarly brutal fate and when yet another body is discovered, seemingly unrelated, the police are baffled. The only clue is DNA that leads them to two women: one dead, the other in prison. With rumours growing of a serial killer in the city, the pressure to solve the case is high. But can Geraldine find the killer before there's yet another deadly attack?

Leseprobe

Contents

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

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Copyright

CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR LEIGH RUSSELL

'taut and compelling' - Peter James

'Leigh Russell is one to watch' - Lee Child

'Leigh Russell has become one of the most impressively dependable purveyors of the English police procedural' - Marcel Berlins, Times

'A brilliant talent in the thriller field.' - Jeffery Deaver

Dedicated to, Michael, Jo and Phill

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Dr Leonard Russell for his expert medical help, my brilliant editor Keshini, my advisors on the Metropolitan Police for their time and consideration, and all the wonderful team at No Exit Press.

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 cause of death)

CCTV

–

Closed Circuit Television (security cameras)

Prologue

She dashed across the cold kitchen floor. The sound of his feet pounded in her ears as he raced down the stairs. It wouldn’t be long before he caught up with her. Her thoughts spun wildly. She had to get away. Hide somewhere. Anywhere. As the back door swung shut behind her, the evening air felt cool on her tears. She stared around in terror at the darkness, searching for somewhere to hide. The garden was overgrown with scratchy brambles. Frantically she ran across the weedy lawn, the dry grass prickly beneath her bare feet, forcing her muscles to keep going, faster and faster. Any second now he would emerge through the door behind her.

She darted into the shed. Bent almost double, she struggled to catch her breath. Her chest was burning. Her lungs felt as though they would burst. She was drowning. As her breathing slowed, she became aware that her legs ached painfully from running. They were shaking so violently she could barely stand.

He burst in, slamming the door against the shed wall. With a roar he launched himself at her, dragging her onto the ground. She hit her head as she fell, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was that he was there. She grappled feebly with him, but was no match for his vigorous assault. It was happening again and she was powerless to stop him.

Over his shoulder, through her tears she saw a figure hovering in the doorway, one hand raised in a futile gesture. But there was no point calling out for help. Scrabbling on the ground, her fingers closed on the handle of something very heavy. In that instant, she knew what she had to do. With a surge of adrenaline she raised the hammer as high as she could and swung it down.

There was a loud crack, like a window breaking, and he slumped forwards. Whimpering, she struggled out from beneath him. It wasn’t easy. His inert body weighed down on her, but she managed to crawl free. Groaning, he rolled away from her, onto his back, exposing his genitals. Yelling in fear and ecstasy she raised the hammer again.

CHAPTER 1

Amy glanced fearfully at her watch.

‘I’ve got to get going. He’ll be expecting me.’

She sat up and swung her slim legs out of the bed.

‘Stay a bit longer. You only just got here. Stay.’

‘You know I can’t.’

‘Of course you can.’

Guy propped himself up on one elbow and leaned across to pat her pillow with his free hand.

‘Come back to bed. Can’t you forget about him for once? What’s he going to do? You’re not his bloody prisoner.’

Amy twisted round and caressed his smooth chest delicately with the tips of her dark red nails. Blonde curls swung around her face as she shook her head.

‘You don’t know him like I do. You don’t know what he’s capable of when he’s in a temper.’

Guy lunged forwards, grabbed her by the wrist, pulled her back down onto the bed beside him and kissed her, savouring her perfume and the smell and feel of her body still warm from lying in bed.

Guy had never met anyone like Amy before: on the surface so intimidating with her sophisticated, knowing manner, yet beneath that show of confidence more vulnerable than anyone he had ever known. At twenty-three his previous relationships had been short-lived affairs with shallow ignorant girls, mannequins with screechy voices. Amy was a mature woman, wealthy and classy, informed about life and the wider world. It seemed to him almost miraculous that she would treat him as an equal.

‘So who’s this mystery woman of yours?’ his mates clamoured to know.

‘I can’t say.’

‘She married then?’

When Guy shrugged the lads had chuckled and slapped him on the back. Only one had warned him to take care.

‘What about her husband?’

‘Don’t be a prick,’ another one chipped in. ‘He’s getting his leg over, isn’t he? She must be a looker at any rate, and that’s all there is to it. Guy’s not going to be banging her forever, are you? Get out before the problems kick off, and you’re alright, mate.’

‘It’s not like that,’ Guy had begun then stopped, embarrassed to admit that he was in love.

His mates had roared with laughter.

‘He’s got it bad.’

A few months earlier, Guy would have shared their amusement if any of his friends had turned soft but since meeting Amy his perspective had changed completely. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Not having her to himself was driving him crazy.

Amy shook her head, pushing him away.

‘Stop it, Guy. I’ve got to go. I’m late.’

Extricating herself from his embrace she slipped out of bed and he lay back, watching her blonde hair skim the top of her round white shoulder. Her profile didn’t do her looks justice, emphasising her straight nose which was a shade too big and her pointed chin, while her long hair concealed the piercing grey eyes which were her most striking feature.

‘Maybe we should just forget the whole thing,’ he grumbled, watching the curve of her vertebrae as she crouched down to gather up her clothes.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked without turning round.

‘You’re never going to leave him, are you? It’s the same thing every week. I mean, what the hell are you doing, staying with him? What are you waiting for?’

She turned and looked down at him, her grey eyes troubled.

‘I’m working on it. I do want to be with you, you know I do. But you’ve got to let me deal with this in my own way. You just have to be patient. It’s the only way.’

‘Amy, I want you to come and live with me all the time, now. Why does it have to be so complicated? Just leave him. What are you waiting for? Pack a bag and come here. Tonight. In fact, don’t even bother going back for your things. We can get you new stuff tomorrow. I’ll take the day off and we’ll go shopping, I’ll buy you anything you want –’

She sat down again, cupping his shoulder in her hand. He seized her wrist and kissed her fingers, one after another.

‘Oh Guy, he’d take everything, the house, the car, everything’s in his name. He’d even take the dog from me. You don’t know what he’s like when he doesn’t get his own way. He’s vindictive. I’m scared of him, Guy.’

‘Why don’t you let me deal with him then? There’s nothing for you to worry about, trust me. I’ll take care of everything. We don’t need his money. I can take care of you.’

‘You don’t know him.’

She paused, watching his face closely, then looked away.

‘Sometimes he can be violent when he’s been drinking. He yells at me – threatens me – it’s happened more than once –’

Guy sat upright, gripping her hand so tightly she winced.

‘What do you mean he threatens you? Jesus, if he so much as touches a hair on your head – Just leave, Amy. Do it tonight.’

His eyes shone with passion and she smiled.

‘Oh Guy, don’t be so naïve. I’m not worried for myself. He won’t hurt me, not really. But he’ll kill you if he finds out about us.’

Guy laughed uneasily.

‘Not if I kill him first,’ he blustered, flinging himself back on his pillow. ‘If he so much as touches you, I’ll do it. I swear I will.’

Amy perched on the edge of the bed without looking at him, her shoulders tense. Although she spoke softly, he heard every word.

‘You know what to do.’

She pulled on her shoes, stood up, smoothed her pencil skirt over her thighs and, with a flick of her blonde hair, was gone.

Guy lay on the bed gazing up at the ceiling, biting his lip. He wished she had the guts to leave her bastard of a husband. It was hard to ignore the nagging suspicion that she was never going to give up her affluent lifestyle to move in with him. What did he have to offer a woman like Amy? Turning his head from side to side on the pillow he considered her suggestion. She made it sound so simple.

‘The restaurant’s called Mireille,’ she had told him, warning him not to write it down.

She made him repeat the address until he knew it.

‘He leaves after it closes around one in the morning, earlier on a Sunday. All you have to do is follow him and– Well, just make sure he doesn’t get home, that’s all.’

At first he hadn’t been sure he understood. Finally she had grown impatient.

‘Oh do I really have to spell it out to you? Once he’s out of the way, everything will be ours. It all comes to me. We’ll be free of him, and you’ll never have to work again.’

‘A kept man,’ he had laughed, not believing she was serious.

But she had leaned forward until her hair fell across his face as she whispered, ‘You could do it for me. For us.’

He had kept silent, not knowing what to say. Thinking about it, he still wasn’t sure if she was seriously asking him to kill her husband.

CHAPTER 2

It was only three o’clock but Geraldine felt like going to bed, she was so tired. She wondered if she was going down with a virus, but decided it was more likely a reaction to all the stress she had gone through in recent weeks. It wasn’t much more than a month since she had moved to North London. Her salary as a detective inspector on a Homicide and Serious Crime Command wouldn’t have stretched to buying her new flat, but her mother’s death a year before had left Geraldine enough money for the move to Islington. The flat was perfect, with two small bedrooms, one of which she would use as an office. It could double up as a spare room when her niece came to stay. After all her enthusiastic plans when she had first moved in, after six weeks she had barely finished unpacking. Arriving in London she had been thrown into a murder investigation, which had only finished a week ago. She had just completed writing up her final report. With nothing pressing to do, she succumbed to a numbing exhaustion.

When her phone rang, she answered it reluctantly. Although she loved her job, and always felt slightly depressed by the hiatus between cases, right now she was ready for a break. But her spirits rose when she recognised the voice of her former sergeant in Kent. They had worked together on several cases, becoming friends in the process.

‘Ian, it’s great to hear from you.’

Just for a second she felt like crying, she was so pleased to hear his voice. Her new sergeant, Sam, was great, but Geraldine missed Ian.

‘I was wondering if you were planning to come over this way some time to visit your sister, and fancied meeting for a drink?’ he said.

On the spur of the moment she told him she would be in Kent that evening. Saying the words made it true.

Geraldine hung up, taken aback by the desperation of her impulse. She hadn’t realised how lonely she was in London. But there was no time to question the sense in driving for two hours to meet an old friend for a drink. It wasn’t as though she had anything else to do. Tidying her flat could wait. With a tremor of anticipation, she showered and pulled on jeans and a new jumper. Quickly she ran a brush through her short black hair, and flicked mascara lightly above her dark eyes to highlight her long lashes. The sky was overcast as she set off, threatening rain. Nearly October, the air had an autumnal chill and the evenings were drawing in. By the time she reached Kent it would be dark.

Two hours later she was seated in a pub near her old police station, not far from the estate where Ian lived in a maisonette with his fiancée, Beverley. They were reminiscing about a case they had worked on together.

‘And do you remember his wife?’ Ian asked with a mischievous grin and Geraldine laughed.

She gazed at his familiar features, blue eyes bright beneath neatly combed hair that would spring out of place as soon as he ran his hand through it. If she hadn’t known the care he habitually took over his appearance, she might have suspected him of making a special effort to look smart for her this evening, with his well-pressed shirt and coordinating tie. Yet despite his efforts, he still managed to look awkward, seated at a low table that exaggerated his bulk. With his broad shoulders and huge hands, Geraldine had found his presence reassuring when he had accompanied her as her sergeant.

‘You look well,’ she told him, although she actually thought he seemed downcast, and somehow older than she remembered him. Even in the poorly lit pub she spotted that he was greying around his temples. His shoulders drooped forward and he appeared to have lost his characteristic exuberance. She hoped he was tired, rather than bored with the evening. It had been his idea to meet, after all. He raised his glass.

‘Another one?’

‘I’d better not,’ Geraldine replied. ‘I’ll have a soft drink though.’

‘Cheap round,’ he grinned, standing up.

‘It’s good to see you again, Ian,’ she said as he returned from the bar and he smiled easily at her.

‘How’re the wedding plans coming along then?’

His smile faded.

‘My God, Geraldine, you have no idea. It’s more complicated than any investigation … I wish we’d just gone off and done it quietly, but it’s too late now. Bev’s got the bit between her teeth and you’d think it was a bloody royal wedding the way she’s carrying on. The sad thing is, I don’t think she’s enjoying it, she’s so stressed, but when I suggested we drop the whole idea – of the big wedding, that is, not getting married – she went ballistic. Said we were too far committed to back out now, which I suppose is true.’ He sighed. ‘It’s crazy. But she had her heart set on this grand occasion. Cast of thousands. She wants me to wear a bloody penguin suit.’

Relieved to discover the source of Ian’s dejection had nothing to do with her, Geraldine gave what she hoped was a sympathetic smile.

‘I’m hardly in a position to offer advice. I’ve never been even close to getting married.’

That wasn’t strictly true. In her twenties, Geraldine had lived with a boyfriend, Mark, for six years. She had taken it for granted they would end up together until, without any warning, he had left her for someone else. With hindsight she should have noticed the signs. He was always complaining she put her work first, but she had been too wrapped up in her career to realise anything was amiss with their relationship.

She turned her attention back to Ian who was bringing her up to date with gossip about her former colleagues on the Kent constabulary. He expressed surprise when she asked about the detective chief inspector who had recently retired. He shook his head.

‘I’m not sure what happened to her. There was a rumour she’d gone off, travelling round the world, but then someone said they saw her in Margate. I can’t remember who it was.’

‘I really should get in touch with her.’

Ian gave her a quizzical look.

‘I never realised the two of you were close. I thought you didn’t exactly see eye to eye?’

Geraldine shrugged.

‘I wouldn’t say we were close, exactly, but –’

The conversation drifted back to Ian’s wedding plans.

‘Oh well, I’d better be off,’ he said at last, glancing ruefully at his watch. ‘Can’t afford to upset the future missus.’

‘It’s good to see you, Ian. Give my best to Bev, won’t you?’

He nodded and stood up.

‘Will do.’

Seeing his sheepish grin, Geraldine suspected he wasn’t going to tell his fiancée about their meeting. Bev had resented the close relationship that had developed between him and Geraldine when they were working together. Sometimes people outside the force struggled to understand the camaraderie that grew up between officers. Like members of other emergency services, they had quickly developed an absolute trust in one another. Without it their jobs, and at times their lives, would be in danger.

‘See you at the wedding, then,’ she said with forced cheerfulness, and Ian groaned.

CHAPTER 3

‘The roads won’t be busy at this time of night,’ he assured her.

She leaned back in the passenger seat. It was a smart car, with polished wooden dashboard and leather upholstery. As they glided along dark streets she stared out of the window while he talked incessantly. She was so preoccupied, she barely noticed when they turned into a narrow alley. Tyres squealed as he slammed on his brakes beside a row of dingy lock-up garages.

‘Sod it! I’ve missed the bloody turning. I thought this didn’t look right. Too busy talking. I don’t suppose you’ve got any idea where we are?’

She shook her head and pressed herself against the back of her seat, arms folded across her chest, heart pounding in sudden alarm.

‘No. Sorry.’

‘Well, don’t look so worried. It’s not a problem. I’ll get the sat nav out.’

His teeth gleamed in the shadows as he grinned at her. She turned her head and saw peeling paintwork on a garage door before he flicked the headlights off. Darkness closed in on her.

Leaning across to unlatch the glove compartment, he let his hand drop onto her knee. At the same time, he slapped his other hand over her mouth while his fingers crawled beneath the fabric of her skirt, clawing at her thigh.

‘Don’t make a sound,’ he hissed, his breath hot on her cheek.

The man’s cheek felt rough against hers as his wet lips nuzzled her neck. She tried to reach for the door handle but terror sapped her energy, and she lay immobile. For so many years she had believed herself safe. Now he had returned and the nightmare was closing in on her once more. This time he was going to kill her. She closed her eyes and tried to block out the sour taste in her mouth, and the smell of his sweat. The hard ridges of the car seat rubbed painfully against her back.

It was soon over.

In the driver’s seat once more, he made a wisecrack about getting lost on his way to finding the sat nav. He threw his head back and laughed at his pathetic joke.

‘Right then, time to get the sat nav out. Come on,’ he added impatiently when she didn’t react, ‘I want to get home tonight.’

Slowly she sat up, blinking in the darkness, trying not to think about what had happened. A small light came on inside the glove compartment when she opened it, and she leaned forward to reach inside. The sat nav felt impossibly light, but then her fingers closed on a stout metal torch.

She was still whimpering softly when she scrambled from the car. Her ankle twisted awkwardly as she fell out onto the tarmac, scraping her knees. Without stopping to examine her injuries, she snatched her bags from the car and hobbled away, shaking with sobs. Her only thought was to get home as quickly as possible. Once out of sight of the car, she stopped and rummaged in her bag for her mirror; she looked no worse than many other women staggering about on the streets of London at night. With a quick glance along the empty street, she pulled off her coat. Rolling it into a tight wad, she rammed it into her bag so no one else could see the stains. It made her feel sick to look at it.

Every time a car zoomed past she cringed in case he was coming after her and turned her head away, trying to keep out of sight. Then she marched on doggedly, muttering to herself. ‘Keep going, you’ll be fine once you get home.’ At last she found her way back. The pavement was empty apart from a couple of youths hanging around outside the station, smoking. They threw her a bored glance as she scurried past. The small parade of shops beside the station were all shut, and there were only a few cars on the main road as she turned into the side street where she lived. It was an effort of will to walk the last few yards, but at last the door closed behind her. Shaking, she crossed the dark hallway and sank to her knees at the bottom of the stairs.

It seemed to take her hours to climb the stairs and stagger along the landing. As if in a dream she looked around her bedroom, irrationally surprised to see that nothing had changed. Without stopping to remove her jacket or shoes, she grabbed a black bin liner and hurried to the bathroom. Ripping off her clothes, she stuffed them in the bag, together with her coat and shoes. Everything was contaminated. She tied the top of the bag tightly so his smell couldn’t escape, before stepping into the shower. Her skin turned mottled purple under the flow of water which began to run lukewarm, then hot. Steam swirled around her as she scrubbed every inch of her flesh until she felt hot and raw.

In the misty mirror she was surprised to see her face hadn’t changed. She tied her wet hair back in a ponytail, pushing her fringe off her face and scowling at a dripping strand that slipped out, falling to her shoulders. The flesh above her top lip felt tender when she touched it but she couldn’t see any bruises where his teeth had pressed against her. Her ordeal was over, but she would never report the outrage. She couldn’t bear to think about what had happened, let alone talk about it.

‘You survived,’ she told herself with desperate satisfaction. She was home. She was safe. He couldn’t touch her again. It was over. No one else knew what had happened. Once she had disposed of the black bin liner there would be nothing left to link her to the events of that evening. No one else would ever know. The incident existed only in her head. If she could erase all thoughts of it, she knew the memory would disappear like a horrible dream. Slowly her shock gave way to a growing feeling of exhilaration as she studied herself in the mirror. Having survived this ordeal, she could survive anything.

CHAPTER 4

Taunted by the perfume that lingered on his sheets, Guy fretted for a while, unable to sleep. Finally he punched the pillow where she had been lying and sprang out of bed. Pulling on pants and a sweatshirt he went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. With a sudden expletive he took a beer from the fridge and wandered into his cramped living room where he flopped down on a chair and swigged from the bottle, irritated by the clutter that surrounded him. Everything reminded him of Amy. It was easy for her to criticise his mess. She had no idea how difficult it was to keep the place tidy with so little space. He threw his head back and gulped the last of the cold beer. One thing was for sure, he couldn’t carry on like this. He had been seeing Amy for over three months but despite her repeated assurances that things were going to be different, nothing changed. He was sick of being pushed around. Enough was enough. If Amy was too scared to confront her husband, he would do it himself. He wasn’t going to be intimidated by anyone, least of all some geezer old enough to be his grandfather.

He finished another beer and chucked the bottle at the overflowing bin. He watched it roll slowly across the floor and come to rest against the wall. It troubled him that Amy claimed to feel so intimidated by her husband. She didn’t strike him as a woman who could easily be dominated. He wondered if it was an excuse to cover up misgivings about abandoning her marriage. It was a lot to give up. He had seen where she lived; lavish wasn’t the word. Compared to his crummy little room, her house was a palace. He glanced peevishly around and scowled. He wouldn’t blame her for being reluctant to leave her stunning mansion for his pokey little flat. Then again, she might bring a pile of dosh with her. He pictured moving into a neat little house, just the two of them, together every night. Her lifestyle wouldn’t be luxurious like it was now, but he would make her happy, which was more than could be said for her lousy husband. With her money, they could live very comfortably on what Guy earned. If she wanted more, he would willingly put in as much overtime as it took to keep her happy.

That was how they had met, when he was working on her conservatory. He had noticed her on the first day. After that he had watched and waited, hoping for an opportunity to talk to her alone. It was just a fantasy, something to think about while he was working, but he soon discovered she was looking for an opportunity to approach him. That was where it had all begun. He’d met her husband too. A tall miserable looking git who strutted about like he was something special, just because he owned a big house near Hampstead Heath. The thought of that arrogant bastard putting his hands on Amy made Guy feel physically sick. He closed his eyes and pictured his rival’s pale angular face. He bit his lip and thumped the arm of his frayed armchair, grinning at the thought of giving Amy’s husband a bloody nose, and a black eye into the bargain. But what was the point of punching a chair? It didn’t make him feel any better.

And what if Amy was right – what if her husband would kill him if he found out about the affair? For now Guy had the advantage. He knew Patrick Henshaw’s identity, knew where he lived and worked. Amy thought Guy hadn’t taken any notice of her suggestion to get rid of her husband. She didn’t know that he’d waited on the pavement opposite the swanky restaurant Patrick Henshaw owned in Soho, watching and thinking. Perhaps she was right and the time had come to act, while they were ahead. The thought made him shiver with fear and excitement. He gulped down the dregs of his beer. With her husband out of the way, nothing would stand between him and Amy. She would be a seriously wealthy widow. There would be no need for her to move out of her big house. Guy could simply move in with her, after a decent interval so as to avoid arousing suspicion. She’d be able to keep her dog. Whatever she wanted. They might even get married. He glanced around his untidy room and smiled.

He fetched another beer and sat down, speculating. He knew he was slightly drunk, fabricating an unattainable fantasy, but he couldn’t stop himself. It did no harm to dream. The point was to get rid of Amy’s husband. But how could he possibly do that? He had to come up with a plan. Amy was a clever woman. She had told him where to find her husband.

‘He’s usually had a few to drink by the time he leaves the restaurant.’

‘But what if someone sees?’

His question had been rewarded with a tender kiss.

‘There’s an alleyway runs along the side of the restaurant that isn’t lit. You just have to be ready when he leaves. I’d do it myself, if I didn’t think he’d overpower me too easily. But if I had the strength, it would be almost too easy …’

He knocked back his beer and went to the kitchen for another one, cold and refreshing. Sitting down again he imagined how it would feel to save Amy from her tyrannical husband. It was his duty as a decent man, to protect her. When his head hurt from all the thinking, he staggered back to bed. Alone – but not for much longer, because he made up his mind he was going to do it. Soon. He would move into the big house and Amy would be his whenever he wanted her. He would devote the rest of his life to making her happy.

It was late but he was too edgy to feel tired. With a burst of energy, he jumped out of bed, pulled on his trainers and went outside. In contrast to the warmth of the day, the night air felt chilly, perfect for an invigorating run. With no particular route in mind he ran in a wide circuit of quiet streets, his feet pounding a rhythm on the pavement. He ran along minor streets parallel to Holloway Road, avoiding the main thoroughfare where police cars tended to cruise, likely to stop and harass a young man running along the street at such a late hour. An occasional car sped past but he kept to side streets which were mostly deserted at that time of night. The run didn’t tire him out. On the contrary, by the time he arrived home he felt more wired than before. It was nearly one o’clock and he had to be up early in the morning. His head ached with a tightness in his temples above his ears. He lay down in bed, still worrying about what to do about Amy’s husband, wishing she was there with him.

CHAPTER 5

There was a fair amount of traffic when Geraldine returned home on Sunday evening. At least it was moving. The major routes into London were always busy, whatever the time. Even though it was past midnight, the queue of cars crawled past a section of the motorway that was closed for resurfacing. In no hurry to get home, she didn’t mind sitting in the car with no decisions to make, no evidence to consider, no need even to think as she travelled along in limbo, helpless to do anything about her situation. By the time she arrived home it was past midnight. Turning off Upper Street she drove past elegant white and brick terraced houses and turned left into Waterloo Gardens, where high wrought iron gates closed soundlessly behind her. In the quiet of her street, it was hard to believe she was living in the centre of London. Much as she had enjoyed her excursion to Kent, she was pleased to be home.

Tired from her journey, she kicked off her shoes and padded into the bedroom. The flat had been painted in pastel colours, easy to live with, although bland and impersonal. She had been considering redecorating, starting with the pale green bedroom which reminded her of a hotel room. In pyjamas and dressing gown, she went to the kitchen where a half-drunk bottle of Chianti stood on the table, waiting to be finished. It was a nice wine, but she hesitated only for a second before putting the kettle on and making a mug of tea.

It had been good to catch up with Ian. He had helped her out of several dangerous situations in the past, saving her life more than once. Seeing him again made her realise how much she missed working with him, but London was not just a positive career move, it was an exciting place to live.

After she finished her tea, she didn’t feel tired. Perched on the side of her bed, she took a small photograph from her bedside drawer. It was framed under protective glass to prevent it from fading with exposure to daylight. She gazed wistfully at what could have been a photograph of herself as a teenager – if the picture hadn’t been taken before she was born. Her own black eyes and dark hair stared up at her. Only a crooked nose ruined the otherwise perfect features of the mother who had given Geraldine up for adoption at birth. She had been adopted by a prosperous family, fulfilling Milly Blake’s wish to help her daughter by giving her up. Not only had Geraldine enjoyed a comfortable upbringing, she had grown up in happy ignorance of the circumstances of her birth, until her adoptive mother died. The agency that had arranged her adoption was unable to put her in touch with Milly Blake, who had flatly refused any contact with the daughter she had given away. Geraldine couldn’t suppress her desire to meet her birth mother in the hope that she would change her mind about refusing contact if they met, face to face. With a sigh, she replaced the photograph in the drawer. Although she was determined to find her mother, she wasn’t ready to deal with the pain of further rejection.

She overslept and arrived at work late on Monday morning. Mentally prepared to deal with a stack of paperwork to clear up from her previous case, she was surprised to find all the lights were on in her office. The bin had been moved from beside her chair. A man sitting at the other desk in the room looked up as she came in and rose to his feet, smiling. He was broad shouldered, with muscular arms. Light brown hair cut short along his temples grew longer on top of his head where it was brushed straight back from his wide round forehead so that it stuck up in a slightly comical way. Above a large blob of a nose his left eye was more widely open than the right one, as though he was caught in the act of winking, which gave him a good natured appearance.

‘You must be Geraldine. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Nick Williams.’

Shrugging off a slight irritation that she was now sharing the office which had been her personal territory for her first London case, Geraldine returned her colleague’s smile.

‘Hello, Nick. Nice to meet you. How long have you been here?’

‘Three years. You new to the Met?’

‘Haven’t you heard? I’m a county mounty.’

‘I transferred here from the West Country three years ago, when I was promoted to inspector, but it’s not so bad. London’s not the friendliest of cities, but you get used to it. It’s a huge force, of course, but from what I hear, you’re already making a bit of a name for yourself.’

He smiled kindly, and Geraldine felt herself blush.

‘I do my best,’ she muttered.

‘Working on anything right now?’

‘No, just clearing up a few odds and ends of paperwork.’

Nick gave a sympathetic groan.

‘Oh those bloody odds and ends of paperwork. I’ll let you get on then. I’ve just been assigned a new case. I’ll tell you about it when we’ve got time, but right now –’

He picked up the file on his desk with a resigned shrug.

When Geraldine was ready for a break she invited Nick to accompany her but he shook his head, smiling.

‘Thanks, but I’ve got something I really need to finish.’

She was sipping coffee in the canteen when Detective Sergeant Samantha Haley entered the canteen and strode purposefully up to the servery. Geraldine had worked with Sam on her previous case and her colleague’s cheerful grin broadened when she turned round and saw her. She approached, clutching a mug of coffee and a plate.

‘You joining me?’

For answer, the young sergeant sat down and took a huge bite of her pastry.

‘Mmm,’ she grinned, her lips dusted with fine sugar. ‘You really should try these, Geraldine. They don’t do much that’s nice here,’ she added, glancing towards the servery to make sure no one could hear her, ‘but these pastries are fantastic. I mean, I know they don’t make them here, but even so –’

She had a tendency to speak very fast, as though she was permanently in a hurry. Geraldine watched Sam tucking into the pastry, envying the young sergeant’s ability to eat so heartily without putting on weight; slim rather than thin, with well-toned arms that verged on muscular.

‘So?’ Sam asked as she finished a mouthful.

She licked her sticky fingers and wiped them carefully on a serviette.

‘How’s things?’

‘Can’t complain. How about you?’

Sam nodded complacently and they smiled at one another.

‘I see Nick Williams is back.’

‘Yes. I met him just now.’ Geraldine leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘What’s he like, Sam?’

‘He’s nice enough,’ Sam answered promptly. ‘If you have to share an office, you could do worse, I suppose.’

Geraldine frowned at the sergeant’s evasive response as Sam turned her attention back to her pastry. Geraldine waited, sipping at her coffee, noting the tension in her colleague’s voice.

‘What else, Sam?’ she asked at length.

‘Why the sudden interest in Nick Williams?’

‘It’s just that I’m sharing an office with him, that’s all.’

‘Watch out, Geraldine, he’s married,’ Sam teased her, laughing. ‘And he’s an arsehole,’ she blurted out.

Geraldine was taken aback by the sergeant’s unexpected flash of anger.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s nothing. I didn’t mean that. He’s alright. But be careful, that’s all.’

Geraldine was puzzled.

‘He struck me as a nice guy, that’s all. Or am I missing something?’

Sam just shrugged.

‘So, how’s things with you?’ Geraldine asked, when it was obvious Sam wasn’t going to say anything else about Nick. ‘Still happily single?’

Sam gave a sheepish grin.

‘Actually, I might be seeing someone, but it’s early days. You know how it is. There’s nothing to tell yet.’

‘Anyone I’ve met?’

‘No.’

Sam didn’t seem inclined to talk about her new girlfriend, so Geraldine didn’t pursue the subject.

When Geraldine returned to her office Nick was on the phone. She waited for him to finish his conversation before approaching his desk.

‘Nick, there’s something I’d like to ask you –’

‘Fire away.’

She wasn’t convinced it was wise to quiz him about Sam, and resolved to be circumspect. But her curiosity was aroused. She couldn’t just ignore the vindictive tone that had crept into Sam’s voice when they had been discussing him. Sam could be outspoken, but she wasn’t malicious.

‘It’s about DS Haley.’

‘Sam?’

He gave a wry smile and turned away from her, leaning his elbows on his desk.

‘Did you have a falling out over something?’

Nick sighed.

‘You could say that. She’s a bit of a firecracker, isn’t she?’

‘So – what happened between you?’

He turned to face her with sudden decisiveness.

‘Have you ever made a thoughtless comment that appeared to trivialise an issue that someone else felt serious about?’

Geraldine nodded, suspecting Nick had made some sexist remark that had not gone down well with Sam. She waited and after a few seconds he continued.

‘We were investigating a rape case, not getting anywhere, following random leads that led nowhere. Anyway, you know how it is, we were all getting irritable and I made some stupid comment about how it probably wasn’t rape at all, the girl probably asked for it, that sort of thing. It was just a careless comment, I didn’t mean anything by it. Anyway, Sam reacted as though I’d accused the girl of fabricating the whole thing. She was bang out of order, speaking like that to an inspector. I probably should have reported her after the way she spoke to me, but she’s a good officer so I decided to overlook it. I put it down to a moment’s aberration on her part, a momentary unpleasantness. There was no point in blowing it up out of all proportion. She’s young.’

Geraldine knew Sam could overreact, but couldn’t help thinking the incident raised a serious query over Nick’s judgement.

CHAPTER 6

Patrick wasn’t in bed beside her when Amy woke up next morning. Working such late hours he rarely woke up before ten. He would get up late for a leisurely breakfast before setting off back to the restaurant in time for lunch. Relieved to find herself alone, she lay spreadeagled in the cool sheets and thought about Guy’s firm toned torso and muscular limbs, his youthful impatience that made her feel like a teenager again, in the flush of a first love affair. But the young man’s appeal was more than mere physical attraction; his youth and passion were infatuating. In contrast to her husband’s indifference Guy’s love making was addictive, what he lacked in technique more than made up for by his eager gratitude. In twenty years of cold marriage she had forgotten how stimulating the company of a man could be.

After a while she got up slowly and washed, in no hurry to go downstairs. Her elegantly furnished bedroom, the en suite tiled in natural travertine with a sunken Jacuzzi bath, formed a stark contrast to Guy’s shabby room and cramped shower cubicle, but she felt wretched in the lonely luxury of her home, aching for him to be with her. She went down one side of the wide curved staircase. The house was silent. The ornate dining room with its carved walnut furniture and plush velvet curtains was empty, as was the wide sunlit conservatory, and there was no sign her husband had been in the kitchen, no familiar smell of coffee and toast in there. She let out a sigh of relief.

While the kettle boiled she went in the garden and followed an elegant path that wound through landscaped terraces past a miniature lake where a large carp revolved with a lazy flick of its tail. It was a mild morning and she walked past high banks of rhododendron bushes, acers and hibiscus, admiring the fuchsias and late flowering roses. There was no denying Patrick kept the garden looking lovely. Even in late September it was packed with glorious and startling colours, every bush in place and barely a weed in sight.

Patrick expressed regret that Amy didn’t share his passion for gardening but she had no intention of becoming involved. Far better to keep away from any activity controlled by her bullying husband. Nevertheless she admired his approach to gardening, the way he kept the trees neatly shaped and level, the edges of the lawns trimmed with mathematical precision and the flowers organised in patches of colour, pink with pink, white with white, and so on, with no mingling of colours in the different beds. He was obsessed with cutting and pruning, dead heading the rose blooms as soon as they started to wilt.

‘Cut them off when they’re dead and you get more flowers,’ he’d explained, snipping at the bushes. ‘Otherwise all the plant’s energy goes into the hips, and we don’t want seeds, we want a display.’

It seemed rather sad to Amy, the survival instinct of all those rose bushes thwarted by a man’s desire to adorn his property.

She tried to put her husband out of her mind as she brewed some coffee and thought about what to do with her day. On the dot of eight thirty the housekeeper, Christina, arrived. Amy checked her diary. She had a busy afternoon with a hair appointment booked at two, followed by a manicure and a facial. Later on she would see Guy. But today wasn’t a usual day. She couldn’t face the inane chatter of her hairdresser and manicurist so she phoned and cancelled her appointments, saying she had a migraine. Since meeting Guy she had become an accomplished liar, she thought with a rueful smile.

After checking automatically that Christina was carrying out her tasks satisfactorily, Amy took a stroll around the garden and decided she should call Patrick’s mobile. He didn’t answer. She watched a bit of television, picked up a magazine, but couldn’t settle to anything. The later it got the more agitated she became, wondering what to do. Finally she pulled her phone out of her bag and punched in Guy’s number.

‘Come on, come on, pick up, please pick up.’

She was close to tears by the time she heard Guy’s voice.

‘Hallo? Is that you, Amy? Amy?’

‘Oh Guy, Guy –’

‘Amy? What’s wrong? Amy? Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine. It’s nothing like that. I haven’t seen him today. He hasn’t been home. I don’t think he came home at all last night.’

‘Thank Christ for that.’

‘No, no, you don’t understand.’

She was almost hysterical.

‘I’m scared something might have happened to him. I’m really scared, Guy.’

‘What do you mean? Amy? What are you talking about? There’s nothing to worry about.’

‘But what if… what if he followed me? What if he knows where you live? What if –’

Guy interrupted her, forcing a loud laugh.

‘Don’t be daft, Amy. What could possibly have happened to him?’

‘I don’t know, but –’

‘He’s bound to be fine. Tell you what, let’s make the most of it. I’ll say I’m feeling rough and go home and you can come round. What do you say?’

‘What?’

‘Come over now. Or we could meet somewhere if you like. Go out together.’

They had only ever been to Guy’s rooms since their affair began. Amy was too nervous to meet Guy in public in case anyone saw them.

‘You know we can’t, Guy. It’s too risky,’ she protested.

‘Maybe it’s time we started taking a few risks,’ he replied testily. ‘I’m sick of all this having to hide away all the time. Look I didn’t mean meeting anywhere public.’

‘What then?’

‘I’m not suggesting we parade up and down outside your house arm in arm.’

She giggled.

‘But why don’t we go to a posh hotel in London? Meet in a nice bedroom for a change. What do you say?’

She was tempted, excited by his eagerness.

‘Where were you thinking of?’

There was a pause and Amy realised he probably didn’t know any decent hotels.

‘I’ll book a room, shall I, and text you the details?’ she suggested.

‘Great. I’d do it but I’m still at work. It’s awkward.’

Hearing the relief in his voice it occurred to her that he had never booked a room in a hotel, an uncomfortable reminder that she was seventeen years older than him, old enough to be his mother.

‘Leave it to me,’ she said.

Amy booked the hotel and texted Guy to meet her there after lunch. Then there was nothing to do but wait for the cleaner to finish. She sat in the conservatory leaning against the high curved back of a bamboo chair. Gazing at the arched windows and brilliant white frames, she remembered when the construction had been installed. She had noticed one of the builders straight away, his muscles tensed beneath a damp white T-shirt stretched taut across his back. When he’d turned unexpectedly their eyes had met in a flicker of mutual interest. Amy had been nearly forty then, but she took good care of herself and there was no doubt the young man had looked at her with significant intensity. Amy had looked away first but not before his eyes had registered a hot blush that spread over her cheeks. After that first silent exchange she had kept an eye out for the young labourer, seizing on the first opportunity to offer him a cold beer. Dazed and terrified, she wasn’t sure whether to hope he would realise that a beer wasn’t all she wanted to offer him. The danger somehow added to her excitement, and when he made his first tentative advance she had found him irresistible.

She went up to her dressing room to decide what she was going to wear for her rendezvous with Guy. She had wasted enough of her life fretting about Patrick. It was time for her to start enjoying life, while she was still young enough.

CHAPTER 7

Keith had barely started his breakfast when the doorbell rang three times in quick succession. It didn’t sound like the postman. ‘Someone’s impatient,’ he thought, surprised to have a caller so early in the morning. The bell rang again. Faintly uneasy, he wondered if Jenny had come home unexpectedly, without her key. But his next door neighbour was on the doorstep.

‘What the hell are you playing at?’ Dave demanded, his large square face flushed with fury.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your bloody car’s blocking my garage and I’m going to be late. Move it, will you? Right now.’

Keith shook his head in bewilderment.

‘She’s not back till tomorrow.’

‘What?’

‘Jenny’s gone to see her sister in Luton and she won’t be back till-’

Dave’s face turned a shade darker. He inched forward. Keith took an involuntary step back so that his infuriated neighbour stood poised with one foot on the threshold.

‘I’m not interested in your wife. What’s she got to do with it? I’m talking about your car, parked right across my garage door and –’

Keith shook his head again.

‘But Jenny’s taken the car and she isn’t back till tomorrow.’

‘I’m talking about the Mercedes.’

‘What Mercedes?’ Keith frowned. ‘I haven’t got a Mercedes, it’s a Vauxhall.’

He gave a rueful smile.

‘I wish it was a Mercedes.’

Dave took a pace back to stand squarely on the step outside.

‘Well, some selfish bugger’s gone and left a dark green Mercedes right outside your lock up and it’s blocking my garage. I need to get my car out, I’m due in Bedford at nine and if I don’t get off soon, I’m going to be late.’

‘Well, it’s not mine and I don’t know whose it could be.’

‘I’ll have to call and tell them I can’t make it for nine,’ Dave grumbled. ‘But you’d better do something about getting that Merc moved. It can’t stay there.’

‘Not sure what I can do.’

‘Call the police. Report it. Or get onto a garage, I don’t care. Just get it moved.’

Disgruntled by the encounter, Keith returned to his breakfast. What the hell did Dave expect him to do about some wretched Mercedes? It wasn’t his responsibility. But as he munched cold toast and sipped lukewarm coffee, he had to agree that his neighbour had a point. If Jenny couldn’t get the car in the garage they’d have a problem parking. They paid a fortune to use that garage. By the time he finished his breakfast, he was as outraged as Dave. He went storming round the back to see what was going on. He hoped the Mercedes would have gone, but rounding the corner into the narrow access lane he saw it, gleaming dark green, positioned right across the front of his garage, its boot jutting out past Dave’s garage door.

‘Bugger!’

He felt his heart begin to race.

‘Selfish bloody bastard.’

No one with a scrap of decency or common sense would park like that, blocking access to someone else’s garage. Such stupidity suggested the car had been stolen and abandoned there, in a quiet corner off the main road. Joyriders. Kids, most likely. All the same, Keith hesitated about calling the police straight away. They might want to talk to him and it was already quarter to eight. If he hung around much longer he would be late for work. It was a smart car and there was a chance the owner had been too drunk to drive home and had left it there for the night intending to return for it during the day, in which case the problem would simply go away. He decided to give it a day, and get onto the police if the Mercedes was still there that evening when he returned from work.

After a difficult day at work, Keith was in no mood for any more aggravation, but the dark green Mercedes was still parked right outside his garage when he arrived home, gleaming in the moonlight. Although he couldn’t have said why, he had an uneasy sensation something was wrong. Frowning, he approached the vehicle for a closer look. He couldn’t see anything through the tinted side windows. Moving to the front he peered through the windscreen. It looked as though a man was sitting slumped in the driver’s seat. Keith ran round and tapped sharply with his knuckles on the driver’s window.

‘Oi! Wake up!’

Stepping back, he noticed a trickle of dark oil had oozed into the road from the bottom of the driver’s door. It appeared to be leaking from behind the door, nowhere near the engine. In the meantime, there was no response from inside the car. Keith must have been mistaken. Frustrated, he went home to have something to eat and think about what to do. As if his day hadn’t been bad enough, he saw a dark smear appear on their new beige hall carpet. He must have trodden in the oil leaking from the Mercedes. Slipping off his shoes he went into the kitchen. Before he did anything else, he opened a beer.

He almost knocked the bottle over when his mobile rang, startling him. It was Jenny.

‘How are you doing?’

‘Fine,’ he fibbed.

It was almost true. He would soon have the oil patch cleaned up, and the owner of the Mercedes was bound to come back for it and drive off before long.

‘How about you?’

Jenny chattered for a few moments about her trip.

‘I can’t wait to see you,’ she finished.

‘Me too.’

He gulped down the last of his beer, promising himself another one after he had sorted out the hall carpet. Clutching a wet rag and a bottle of washing up liquid he dropped to his knees and scrubbed wretchedly at the stain, hoping he could clean it up before Jenny saw it. After a moment’s furious exertion, he sat back on his heels and a worried frown spread across his face. The patch had altered as he rubbed at it, turning from black to blood red.

With a burst of energy he sprang to his feet and ran into the kitchen. He rummaged frantically in the drawers where he knew Jenny kept a torch. At last he found it. Torch in hand he pulled on his trainers, grabbed his keys and ran outside to circle the green car, careful to avoid treading in the dark slime again. To begin with, all he could see was the reflection of the torch beam, and the shadow of his staring face behind it. He left it until last to go round to the front of the car and shone the torch through the windscreen. There was definitely someone in the driver’s seat, his head hanging forward so his face was hidden. Keith gazed at the stranger’s grey hair and shivered.

‘Hey! You in there!’