Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

glamorous and I’m so ordinary. But like I said, you always hope, don’t you? And then –’
    She fell silent, lost in her memories. Geraldine wondered if sexual jealousy had prompted the particularly nasty attack on Henshaw.

     
    ‘What happened?’ Geraldine prompted her.
    Stella heaved a shuddering sigh, dropped her head in her hands and began to rock in her chair, wailing.
    ‘Stella, perhaps you’d like me to come back later –’
    The weeping woman shook her head and raised her glistening face, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. Then she smiled apologetically and assured Geraldine she was fine.
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ she hiccupped. ‘I think perhaps – that is, can I offer you a cup of tea? Or something?’
    Geraldine shook her head.
    ‘But please go ahead if you’d like one.’
    ‘Yes, I think it might help. It’s been a bit of a shock.’
    Her eyes began to water again. Muttering that she would only be a moment she hurried off leaving Geraldine alone in the living room.

     
    Geraldine gazed around the room registering the worn carpet, faded curtains frayed at the hem and broken springs in the chair beneath her, and wondered if Stella had known the terms of Patrick Henshaw’s will. It looked as though she could do with the money.
    ‘Here, I thought you might like to look at this,’ Stella said. She handed a photograph album to Geraldine who flicked through it with a show of interest: Stella and Patrick by the sea, the pair of them sitting by the river, Stella on a park bench, Patrick on the same bench. Geraldine closed the album and turned to Stella.
    ‘Tell me what happened,’ she repeated.

     
    Stella stared straight ahead while tears rolled unheeded down her round cheeks. She spoke in a flat voice, barely louder than a whisper.
    ‘I think he was only with me because he wanted a child. He didn’t want me, not for myself. We’d been seeing each other for just over a year when I fell pregnant. He seemed so happy about it. He said he’d leave her and marry me. And I believed him. I think he really meant it. He made me give up work, said I had to look after myself, he’d take care of everything. But then I lost the baby and that was the end of everything. Nothing was the same after that. He became distant, cold, then one day he didn’t come round. He didn’t say anything but I knew he wouldn’t get in touch again. He stopped paying my bills and I had to move out of the flat I was renting and I’ve been here ever since. I never saw him again. And now I never will.’

     
    Stella’s bottom lip wobbled and Geraldine spoke briskly before she broke down again.
    ‘We need to eliminate you from our enquiries, Stella.’
    ‘Eliminate me?’
    ‘Where were you last Sunday evening?’
    ‘I don’t know. Sunday evening? Was that when it – when he – when it happened?’
    Geraldine inclined her head without speaking.
    ‘I didn’t go anywhere on Sunday. I was here. I don’t go out much.’
    Stella had no witnesses who could vouch for her whereabouts on the evening Henshaw had been killed.

     
    Stella appeared surprised when Geraldine asked her to go to the police station so a sample of her DNA could be taken.
    ‘What do you want that for?’
    ‘So we can eliminate you from the enquiry.’
    ‘But –’
    ‘It will be better for you if you come willingly.’
    ‘Yes, alright.’
    ‘You do know you’re mentioned in his will?’ Geraldine asked cautiously.
    Stella raised bloodshot eyes to stare at her.
    ‘Am I? So that means he did remember me – still thought about me. Do you think he still cared about me, deep down?’

     
    Geraldine could only speculate about whether Henshaw had been motivated by affection or guilt when he chose to leave his money to Stella. She glanced around the spotless room, wondering if Stella was lying when she had claimed to know nothing about the will. It was possible her tears were phony; and even if her emotion was genuine, there was still no way of knowing if her tears were prompted by grief or remorse.

CHAPTER 17
     
    A fter reading through all the reports, Geraldine tried to put the investigation out of her mind when she went to bed. There was nothing more she could do now. In the morning she would ask around and see what else she could find out. But she slept uneasily, her dreams haunted by images of Patrick Henshaw’s mutilated corpse. After a hurried breakfast on Thursday morning, she drove straight to Hampstead hoping to catch Amy