Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

wasn’t difficult, because he was shitting himself in case his mother found out. He could just imagine her reaction.
    ‘I don’t know what come over me, sir. I’ve never done nothing like it before, and –’
    ‘Take off that hood,’ the manager barked.

     
    Charlie’s heart sank. So much for expecting kindness and charity.
    ‘It was a mistake, sir. I forgot I’d picked it up. Jesus, it’s only a fucking bar of chocolate. Here, you can have it and I’ll pay you the money – I’ve got ten quid –’
    He chucked the Toblerone down on the manager’s desk and rummaged in his pocket for the note.
    ‘I don’t even want it. It was for me sick granny. For fuck’s sake, it’s not fair to make such a bloody fuss over a fucking bar of chocolate. I’ve never been in no trouble before. It’ll kill me mum.’
    He stared at the old man, trying to look all young and innocent, but the manager wasn’t taken in.

     
    ‘You should have thought of that before you attempted to steal from my store. I’ve had more than enough of you youngsters carrying on as though the world owes you a living. It’s all take with you lot, isn’t it, all rights and no responsibilities. Do you have any idea how much money this store alone loses every month from this sort of petty pilfering?’
    Charlie tried to think of a way out, but he was well and truly screwed, his escape route blocked by the security guard who was built like a tank. The manager refused to listen to reason and kept banging on about responsibility. It was so boring, Charlie might as well have been at school. There was no getting away from it. He was nicked.

CHAPTER 65
     
    G eraldine fretted at her desk, checking her phone and her screen for updates, but there was no news. Every few minutes she slipped along the corridor to check with the intelligence officer who was liaising with the borough intelligence unit, working to trace the singer. Each time Geraldine went in her colleague shook her head.
    ‘Not yet. I’m still waiting to hear, but it shouldn’t take long.’
    Trying to quell her impatience, Geraldine returned to her desk and fiddled about but she couldn’t concentrate on anything else until she had followed up her hunch about the singer, Ingrid.

     
    ‘Is everything alright?’ Nick asked, swivelling his chair round to face her.
    She found his fixed stare disconcerting.
    ‘Fine, thank you.’
    ‘Only you’re like a cat on heat this morning.’
    Instead of replying, she turned back to her screen. Nick was only trying to be sociable, but his approaches were increasingly grating on her nerves. She wasn’t sure if Sam’s antipathy for him was colouring her own feelings. Certainly she resented the fact that Sam rarely wandered into the office to talk over cases since Nick had returned to share Geraldine’s office. When challenged, the sergeant acknowledged so readily that she was being petty, that Geraldine suspected there was more to the falling out than either Nick or Sam had told her. Perhaps he had been insulting about Sam’s sexual orientation, without realising she was a lesbian. Whatever the cause of their bad feeling, Sam didn’t feel comfortable in Nick’s presence.

     
    ‘We’re getting somewhere,’ her colleague told her at last, looking up with a smile. ‘Ingrid used to sing with a band called Lazy Bones but she split from them nearly a year ago. Since then she’s been working alone, singing with a variety of different groups and doing solo gigs in pubs and restaurants mainly. She seems to float about.’
    ‘And the address?’
    ‘We’re still checking. We’re working our way through all the venues where she’s worked over the past year trying to get her full name, but it’s a slow job. All the managers who organise music seem to be taking a day off today. And we can’t raise any response from the agent listed on one of the venue’s sites. The email address doesn’t exist.’

     
    The intelligence officer was called Jessica, which reminded Geraldine of Hannah’s daughter, and her insistence on changing her name.
    ‘We’ve drawn a blank so far for Emily Tennant,’ she said, ‘but we haven’t tried Ingrid Tennant. Let’s try that. Ingrid Tennant.’
    ‘Did you say Ingrid Tennant?’
    ‘Yes. Go on, try it. It’s just an idea.’
    ‘OK. If you say so.’

     
    Reg looked puzzled when Geraldine told him she was looking for Emily Tennant, the woman she believed was the niece of a convicted murderer, Linda