Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

slim blonde woman in her late thirties, well groomed rather than beautiful. She was wearing a figure hugging dark green pencil skirt and matching shoes, with a pale green silk blouse which set off blonde hair as glossy as that of a model in a shampoo advertisement. Grey eyes peered at them through a long fringe. There was something guarded in her solemn expression. Whatever other emotions she might be feeling, the widow was clearly frightened.

     
    ‘Amy Henshaw?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Geraldine held out her warrant card.
    ‘I’m Detective Inspector Geraldine Steel and this is Detective Sergeant Samantha Haley. May we come in?’
    ‘This is about my husband, isn’t it? Has something happened to him? He hasn’t been home since Sunday and I’ve been so worried –’
    She raised a manicured hand to her mouth.
    ‘Let’s go inside, shall we?’

     
    Amy led them across a spacious hall into a living room comfortably furnished with armchairs, a small settee, and several occasional tables neatly positioned within easy reach of every chair.
    ‘I suggest you sit down, Mrs Henshaw.’
    ‘What is it? What’s happened? Tell me he’s all right.’
    She was chattering nervously, seeming far too jittery considering she had no idea yet what had happened.
    ‘I’m afraid your husband’s dead, Mrs Henshaw.’
    ‘Dead? He can’t be!’
    Her surprise seemed genuine.
    ‘It’s not –’
    For an instant Geraldine thought she caught a glimpse of real terror in Amy’s expression before she threw herself forward, hiding her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with noisy sobs.

     
    Geraldine gave Sam a quick nod and the sergeant set off to find the kitchen.
    ‘Detective Sergeant Haley’s gone to make you a cup of tea,’ Geraldine said quietly. ‘When you’re ready, I’d like to ask you a few questions.’
    ‘Questions?’
    Her shoulders were motionless now, her face still hidden.
    ‘What sort of questions?’
    ‘We’re investigating your husband’s death.’
    ‘Investigating? What do you mean?’
    ‘Mrs Henshaw, your husband didn’t die from natural causes. He was murdered.’

     
    Amy Henshaw shuddered. Dropping her hands, she peered up at Geraldine through her fringe and spoke rapidly, almost hysterically.
    ‘I don’t understand. You haven’t told me how he died. What makes you think he was murdered? That’s insane.’
    Her grey eyes glared at Geraldine.
    ‘It’s a horrible thing to say. No one would have wanted to harm Patrick. No one. What happened? Was it a drunken brawl? He liked to drink sometimes …’
    Her voice petered out.

     
    Geraldine leaned forward, watching Amy’s expression closely.
    ‘Was your husband often involved in fights?’
    ‘No. He wasn’t. He was never involved in any fighting. What makes you think he was ever in a fight?’
    ‘You said he drank and you thought he might have been in a brawl. It was your word.’
    The widow’s eyes flickered round the room, avoiding Geraldine’s gaze.
    ‘Was he a violent man?’
    ‘No, he wasn’t violent. He was… He was a good man.’
    ‘Were the police ever called when he was in a fight?’
    ‘No, no, there was nothing like that. No one was ever hurt. He just used to drink a bit. It was nothing serious.’
    Amy dropped her eyes and stared at her hands, while her fingers fidgeted with her wedding ring.
    ‘Two months ago you reported your husband for domestic violence.’
    ‘I retracted it,’ Amy whispered.
    She looked pale.
    ‘It wasn’t true, it was just … a mistake.’
    ‘A mistake?’
    ‘Yes, that’s right,’ she went on, her voice stronger. ‘It was a mistake. It was my own fault. I thought Patrick was seeing someone else, but he wasn’t. He was just working long hours. I made a mistake.’

     
    Amy stood up abruptly and walked over to the door.
    ‘I’d like you to leave now.’
    Geraldine didn’t move. Amy spoke angrily.
    ‘I don’t want to discuss this any more. Please, just go. I’ve just lost my husband.’
    Geraldine made no move to leave.
    ‘My sergeant will be here with a cup of tea for you soon, and then I’ll need to ask you a few more questions.’
    ‘No, no, I can’t, not now. Not yet. I can’t talk about this. It’s all too– too confusing.’

     
    Amy sat down again and flung her head in her hands. Geraldine could see nothing of the widow’s face behind its trembling screen of hair.
    ‘Don’t you want to help us find out who killed your husband?’
    Amy Henshaw sat up