Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

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    ‘You’re lucky to be working with Geraldine Steel,’ was the general response people gave when she had told colleagues about her new boss.

     
    Few people appreciated how much Geraldine embodied the cliché of a successful career woman isolated in her private life. A failed relationship with a man who had unexpectedly left her for another woman after six years, followed by a succession of unsatisfactory affairs, had left her bitter and isolated. What made it worse was her discovery in her thirties that she had been adopted as a baby, leaving her feeling cut off from the people she had believed were her blood relatives. Although they had only been working together for just over a month, Geraldine had shared the secrets of her past with Sam, who appreciated her confidence. Out of such familiarity, friendships were forged. Geraldine trusted her. If anything were to happen to her, Sam would never forgive herself. She had met Ingrid. She should have spotted her as a suspect straight away. Now Geraldine might be in danger, and it was all her fault. She glared at the busy road ahead, frustrated with herself for not being there to help her friend, and angry with Geraldine for going out on her own.

     
    Driving on blues and twos they made faster progress through the busy streets and finally arrived at their destination. A patrol car was parked outside number 26. Sam leaped from the car and saw two uniformed officers knocking on the front door of the building.
    ‘When did you get here?’ she yelled as she ran up the path.
    ‘We’ve been here about five minutes, but no one’s answering,’ a burly constable replied.
    ‘Oh shit. Let’s hope we’re not too late. Get that door open.’
    ‘But –’
    ‘Just get us inside.’
    The constable glanced at his companion and then together the two of them kicked the door open with a resounding crash. They ran inside, Sam close on their heels.
    ‘It’s number 26a,’ she shouted and one of the officers put his shoulder to the door of Ingrid’s flat.

CHAPTER 69
     
    D espite her terror, Geraldine couldn’t suppress a wild feeling of relief. At last they had tracked down the woman who had been carrying out the killing spree. Geraldine raised her arms to protect herself as, with a loud grunt, Ingrid raised the hammer again. This time Geraldine was ready. She dodged, at the same time clenching her fists together and punching up against her assailant’s arm as it descended, jabbing it sideways to deflect the blow. The hammer landed on the floor with a heavy thud. Ingrid was slight, but she was agile and surprisingly strong. If she had pressed on with her attack, she might have dealt Geraldine a serious injury. But she was distracted by her weapon. As Ingrid lunged to recover the hammer, Geraldine turned and fled.

     
    She ran from the gleaming kitchen and raced along the narrow hallway to the front door, almost slipping on the polished floor. Ahead she could see the door was bolted, top and bottom. By the time she reached it, Ingrid would have caught up with her, hammer raised. Geraldine darted sideways into another room and shut the door, glancing around for a window. They were on the first floor, but she would be better off risking a few broken limbs than a caved in skull. She was in a pristine bedroom. On the bed a pillow lay precisely parallel to the top of the duvet cover which appeared freshly ironed. Looking around she noticed the paintwork on the window sill was faded and flaky, as though it had been scrubbed. Apart from that, the decor was flawless.

     
    Before she had time to cross to the window, the door flew open. Flipping out her truncheon, Geraldine turned and braced herself for the next attack. There seemed little point in trying to reason with Ingrid. Geraldine’s heart was pounding, yet her mind felt unnaturally clear as she faced her assailant. She looked completely demented, blonde wig askew, dark eyes burning.
    ‘What are you doing in my bedroom?’ she shrieked.
    Ingrid was shaking so violently, Geraldine wondered if she would be able to hang onto the hammer she was grasping, let alone wield it.

     
    Ingrid’s scream sounded barely human as she charged forward, hammer raised. Even as she feared for her life, Geraldine registered the absurd sight of Ingrid’s blonde wig, precariously attached to the side of her head by a few hair pins, swinging crazily. Geraldine had to time her defensive leap just right. Taking a deep breath, she