Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

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!’
    His voice trembled and the torch shook in his hand. The sleeper didn’t stir. Keith tapped on the windscreen, then went around to the side of the car and rapped more forcefully on the window nearest the man’s head. He returned to the front of the car, trying to ignore the obvious. An inert figure, blood red liquid.
    ‘Wake up! Wake up! You in there!’
    Behind him a window was flung open and someone called out.
    ‘Oi! What’s all the racket? Put a sock in it, mate.’
    Keith switched off the torch and ran back home.

     
    On the point of calling the police Keith paused, phone in hand, wondering if he was overreacting. But there was no getting away from the suspicion that there was a dead body in a car outside his garage. Feeling lightheaded, he opened another beer. He had to call the police.
    ‘Police please. And – can you hurry up. This is serious.’
    In a trembling voice he gave his name and phone number.
    ‘There’s a body, at least I think there is, someone dead, in a car outside my garage. He’s been there all day. He isn’t moving and there’s blood on the ground. It’s dripping out of the car.’
    ‘Blood dripping out of the car.’
    His words repeated by the calm voice at the other end of the line made them sound far-fetched.
    ‘Yes. I trod in it. I thought it was oil –’
    He shook with relief when the operator took his address and told him a patrol car was on its way. As he waited for the police to arrive, he wondered if they would want to know why he hadn’t called them in the morning, when he had first become aware of the Mercedes parked outside his garage. He was asking himself that same question, wondering if the body in the car had still been alive then. If he had acted promptly, he might have saved a man from bleeding to death.

CHAPTER 8
     
    G eraldine was at her desk when Nick Williams arrived on Tuesday morning.
    ‘Right,’ he said briskly, ‘I don’t know about you but I’ve been thrown straight back in. Hopefully –’
    He broke off as her phone rang. After taking the call Geraldine replaced the receiver with a rueful grin.
    ‘Oh well, that was the duty sergeant. I’m off.’
    She stood up.
    ‘Catch you later,’ he said with a smile.

     
    The bulky figure of Detective Chief Inspector Reg Milton was standing in