Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

suddenly as though she had been stung, tossed back her hair and glared at Geraldine.
    ‘Of course I do.’

     
    Sam came in holding a delicate china cup and saucer decorated with blue flowers.
    ‘Here you go,’ she said, handing the tea to Amy. ‘I’m sorry, this tea set was all I could find.’
    Amy took a sip of tea and pulled a face. She put the cup down on the nearest table.
    ‘I don’t take sugar.’
    ‘You’ve had a shock, Mrs Henshaw. Sweet tea is the best thing for you right now. Drink it.’
    ‘And then we would like to ask you a few questions,’ Geraldine repeated gently.
    ‘Can’t you leave me alone?’
    ‘We’d like to run through a few routine questions first.’

     
    Reluctantly, Amy sipped the tea and nodded, her eyes downcast.
    ‘Go on then. Let’s get this over with.’
    ‘Mrs Henshaw,’ Geraldine leaned forward. ‘Were you aware of any bad feeling towards your husband? Anyone he might have had a falling out with?’
    Amy shook her head.
    ‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm him? Anyone who had a grudge against him? An aggrieved employee, perhaps?’
    Amy put her cup and saucer down on the table beside her.
    ‘Patrick didn’t discuss his work with me. I don’t know anything about it. He never said anything.’
    ‘Did he ever mention any names? Any arguments he might have had?’
    ‘No. I told you, he never brought his work home.’
    Her voice was clipped, curt, and she didn’t look up, every inch the bereaved wife in shock.

     
    Despite feeling that Amy Henshaw was playing a role, Geraldine spoke more gently.
    ‘Had you been married for long?’
    ‘Twenty years.’
    ‘Was it a happy marriage?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Your marriage. Was it a happy one?’
    ‘Yes. Of course it was. Patrick is – he was – a wonderful husband. Whatever I wanted –’
    She broke down in tears, hiding her face in her hands.
    ‘We’ll leave it there for now, Mrs Henshaw.’
    Geraldine stood up.
    ‘Here’s my card. Please call me if you want anything, or if you think of anything else you’d like to tell me. Now, would you like us to call anyone? You might not want to be alone –’
    ‘No, I’m fine. Just leave me alone.’

     
    ‘So what did you make of the grief stricken widow?’ Sam asked as the front door closed behind them.
    ‘I’m not sure,’ Geraldine admitted. ‘It was a bit much of her to claim he was never violent, just two months after she accused him of beating her up, or at least hitting her. Did she think we wouldn’t know about that?’
    ‘Well, there was something distinctly odd about her, if you ask me,’ Sam said.
    ‘Odd in what way?’
    ‘I don’t know, really. There’s nothing I can put my finger on, but I didn’t believe a single word she said.’
    Geraldine nodded.
    ‘I thought that too. She’s covering something up, but what? It might have nothing whatever to do with her husband’s death, but she was definitely frightened.’
    ‘Yes, that’s the impression I had, which suggests –’ Sam left the sentence unfinished.

CHAPTER 11
     
    T he pathologist’s report made unpleasant reading. The vicious injuries inflicted on Henshaw seemed to suggest the killer had known his victim. If that was true, with luck it could make the case relatively easy to wrap up; sooner or later painstaking investigation into everyone who knew Henshaw would lead to the murderer. In the meantime, Reg Milton was waiting impatiently to find out what information had been gathered so far. After spending most of the day studying reports, there had been little time to deal with a pile of paperwork that was growing on his desk, trivial but pressing.

     
    The detective chief inspector had summoned his team for a late afternoon briefing and waited while they all gathered in the incident room. Geraldine and Sam entered together, both clutching cups of coffee, smiling at something they had just been discussing. Watching them, Reg felt a pang of regret at the camaraderie he had relinquished in moving up the hierarchy. He greeted them all cheerfully before turning to Geraldine.
    ‘You questioned Keith Apsley, didn’t you?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And what did you make of him?’
    ‘I think he was on the level, sir.’
    ‘My name’s Reg,’ he reminded her with a smile.
    ‘Sorry. Old habits die hard. I’m used to working in the Home Counties.’

     
    When Geraldine returned his smile, Reg thought that perhaps he had been right to go for promotion