Stop Dead Page 3

  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 des
k.

  ‘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 h
er 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.