Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

grabbed at her assailant, twisting her arm up behind her back until Ingrid was forced to surrender to the pressure of extreme physical pain. The timbre of her screams altered as her hammer dropped to the floor once more.

     
    Panting, Geraldine snapped handcuffs on the woman, and shoved her onto the bed. Geraldine stepped back and leaned against the wall, her legs shaking from the shock of the attack.
    ‘Ingrid Tennant?’
    All the fight seemed to have gone out of her assailant who lowered her head submissively. She didn’t answer.
    ‘Back-up is on the way, so you might as well stay calm now and co-operate. I know who you are. There’s no point in keeping up the pretence. You’re Ingrid Tennant, and Linda Harrison’s your aunt.’

     
    It was easy to resume control with her assailant handcuffed. Ingrid nodded and sat passively while Geraldine tugged away her dishevelled blonde wig and spectacles. Shoulder length dark hair tumbled down in a straggly pony tail. Without her wig and glasses Ingrid resembled Linda Harrison more closely, despite her heavy make-up. Ingrid stared straight ahead, with the same sullen expression her aunt had worn. Geraldine was startled by the similarity.

     
    The silence was broken by a sudden loud crash as the door to the flat was smashed open. Geraldine heard voices calling out her name.
    ‘In here!’
    She kept her eyes fixed on Ingrid who didn’t appear to have noticed the fracas out in the hall. Two uniformed officers came trampling into the room, followed a moment later by Sam with a pair of constables at her heels.
    ‘Take off your filthy shoes, all of you!’ Ingrid yelled suddenly. ‘Take off your shoes. Take off your shoes,’ she shrieked. ‘Get out of my bedroom. This is my bedroom.’
    She began to cry.

     
    ‘You could have rung the bell,’ Geraldine said quietly. ‘There was no need to break the door down.’
    ‘We thought – I thought –’ Sam stammered. ‘There was no answer –’
    ‘Get out of here, all of you, and Sam, call SOCOs to come and take the place apart, starting with those.’
    Geraldine pointed at the wig and hammer lying on the floor.
    ‘There should be enough blood samples on there to confirm what Ingrid has to tell us. And there’s no need to look so stressed,’ she added firmly. ‘I had everything under control.’
    She remembered the dented worktop and shuddered.

CHAPTER 70
     
    I ngrid refused to speak on the journey to the police station where she emptied her pockets without a word, handed over her watch and shoes, listened to the custody sergeant’s questions and submitted to being searched. She gave her finger prints and DNA and even submitted to a medical examination, all without breaking her silence.
    ‘Maybe a few hours in the hotel will loosen her tongue,’ the custody sergeant said cheerfully.
    He led her into a cell to wait for the duty solicitor. As she had doggedly refused to answer one way or the other when asked if she wanted a solicitor present at her interview, Geraldine called one anyway to avoid unnecessary delay once the interview started.

     
    At last they were ready. The duty brief had arrived, the tapes were spinning, those present had been introduced and the regulations had been read to the suspect who had been formally arrested on a murder charge. Ingrid refused to answer questions about the deaths of Patrick Henshaw, George Corless, Maurice Bradshaw and John Birch.
    ‘I don’t know what you mean, I don’t know who you’re talking about, I wasn’t there, it wasn’t me,’ was all she said.

     
    Geraldine tried a different approach.
    ‘You can sit there and claim ignorance of these murders until you’re blue in the face, but you can’t deny your attempted assault on me earlier this evening, in your kitchen.’
    She paused for effect.
    ‘Attempted murder of a police officer. That’s not in question. You’ll go down for that, for a long time.’
    She paused, ignoring Sam’s gasp. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the sergeant staring at her, wide-eyed. The solicitor’s eyes flickered from Geraldine to Sam and back again, a quizzical expression on his sharp features. But nothing seemed to register with Ingrid who sat, staring dully at the table.

     
    ‘You never wanted to kill me, did you?’ Geraldine resumed. ‘It wasn’t me you were after. I’m not the one you want. Why don’t you tell us what’s going on, Ingrid? What exactly happened in your flat today, and why did you