Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

money at stake as well.’
    ‘That’s two possibilities certainly,’ Geraldine agreed cautiously, ‘but it’s just guesswork.’

     
    A sulky expression crossed Sam’s face as Geraldine continued.
    ‘All we can say with any certainty so far is that his name was Patrick Henshaw, he was sixty-five, married, with no children that we know of.’
    ‘He was a heavy drinker,’ the pathologist told them. ‘He’d been drinking shortly before he was killed. I’ve not got the toxicology report yet but I could smell it on his breath and his stomach contents. He’d eaten a couple of hours before he died – steak and salad – and he’d been drinking too. I’m pretty sure I smelt beer and I’d hazard a guess at whisky too.’
    ‘OK, we’ll check his credit card payments, see if we can find out if he was on his own that evening.’

     
    ‘What was the actual cause of death?’
    ‘That was a nasty wound on his head. Resultant internal bleeding would probably have caused permanent damage, if it hadn’t in itself proved fatal, but as for the actual cause of death, that was blood loss, compounded by shock.’
    He nodded his head in the direction of the injuries to the victim’s body.
    ‘What if he’d been found earlier? Could he have been bleeding to death for a while?’ Geraldine asked.
    ‘Placing the time of the attack earlier than the time of death, you mean? No, there’s no way he was going to survive those injuries for very long. He would have bled profusely over a short period of time, ten or maybe twenty minutes at the most.’
    ‘It had to be a jealous rival,’ Sam insisted. ‘Why else would anyone do something like that? Nothing else makes sense.’

     
    ‘It’s a vulnerable area,’ Geraldine said. ‘Is it possible the murderer wanted to be certain the victim was dead? I mean, I’d have thought that was a pretty good way of making sure.’
    She addressed her question to the pathologist who shook his head.
    ‘It was certainly a frenzied attack,’ he agreed. ‘But as for the motive, that’s for you to discuss. Now, is there anything else I can tell you?’

     
    ‘We’re looking at a vicious murder all right,’ Geraldine said as the two detectives arrived back at her office.
    ‘Horrible,’ Sam agreed.
    ‘Murder most foul, is it?’ Nick asked with a smile.
    Geraldine was surprised to hear him quote Shakespeare and picked him up on it.
    ‘You a Shakespeare boffin then?’
    ‘Huh?’
    ‘You quoted Hamlet just now.’
    ‘And you recognised it. Does that mean we’re both boffins?’ he replied and they both laughed.
    Sam turned away and it occurred to Geraldine that Sam might resent her rapport with Nick. Geraldine turned to her.
    ‘Let’s go and get a coffee and mull over what we know.’
    Sam’s face immediately brightened. Geraldine would need to handle her efficient young sergeant sensitively.

     
    Sam was still convinced they were dealing with a crime of passion.
    ‘It makes sense, Geraldine. Henshaw is playing around with another woman, her husband finds out and – there you are. It explains the injury. Revenge by a jealous husband. I’ll bet he was having it off with Keith Apsley’s wife!’
    ‘Unless Henshaw’s wife was the one playing around,’ Geraldine said. ‘And had a jealous lover who wanted her husband out of the way.’
    ‘And Henshaw’s death leaves her a wealthy woman,’ Sam added, her eyes alight with enthusiasm. ‘Maybe she put him up to it.’
    ‘They could have been in it together.’
    Despite herself, Geraldine was catching the sergeant’s fervour.

     
    Geraldine made a quick phone call and discovered Amy Henshaw had already been to the morgue to identify her husband’s body.
    ‘Damn,’ she said as she rang off. ‘I thought I might catch her there. Sometimes people let their guard down when they’ve seen the victim. She might’ve been more likely to talk. We’ll speak to her again soon. In the meantime, let’s see what else we can find out about the Henshaws, and if you discover one of them was having an affair, so much the better.’

CHAPTER 13
     
    P etrie and Waterman’s door was sandwiched between a kitchen showroom and a beauty salon in Temple Fortune. Geraldine rang the bell and was buzzed in. A carpeted staircase led to the solicitors’ premises. She introduced herself to a receptionist who ushered her into a small, neatly furnished office where a distinguished-looking older man was seated behind a wooden desk.
    ‘A