Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

early. Arriving at eight thirty she opened the gate in time to see a small dark-haired woman approach the front door. Geraldine watched from the gate as the woman rang the bell and waited, oblivious of Geraldine standing a few yards behind her. No one came to the door. The woman fidgeted impatiently, looked at her watch and rang the bell again, several times. At last she turned away and as she walked back down the path caught sight of Geraldine hovering on the pavement.

     
    Geraldine stepped forward, blocking the woman’s exit.
    ‘I’m looking for Mrs Amy Henshaw.’
    ‘Mrs Henshaw lives here, but she’s not in. She knew I was coming. I’m here every Monday and Thursday to clean for her. She always lets me know when she’s not going to be here. Do you think she’s forgotten?’
    The little woman’s face twisted in irritation.
    ‘Well, she’ll have to pay me. It’s only fair. I’ve come all this way for nothing. So how do you know her?’ she added, suddenly suspicious.

     
    Geraldine introduced herself without explaining the reason for her visit. She learned the woman’s name was Christina.
    ‘You know the household. I’d like to ask you a few questions about Mrs Henshaw.’
    Christina’s black eyes narrowed in alarm.
    ‘Where’s Mrs Henshaw? What’s happened to her?’
    ‘Calm down, please. Nothing’s happened to Mrs Henshaw, but I’d like to ask you a few questions.’
    At first the cleaner was reluctant to divulge any information. She insisted she had to get home, but wavered when Geraldine offered to reimburse her bus fare.
    ‘Mrs Henshaw gives me breakfast,’ she said promptly.
    A veiled threat, added to the offer of breakfast and her bus fare, clinched it; a small price to pay for what might prove key information about the Henshaws.

     
    Seated in a dingy café Geraldine sipped lukewarm milky coffee, while Christina tucked into greasy egg, bacon and toast. A plate of food and a mug of tea on the table in front of her loosened her tongue, as Geraldine had hoped; Christina became positively garrulous. Chomping on her breakfast, she explained she had been visiting the house twice a week for about six years. Only when Geraldine enquired whether the Henshaws were happy together did Christina clam up.
    ‘That’s not my place to say.’

     
    ‘Christina, we’re investigating the circumstances of Mr Henshaw’s death. I‘m afraid you have no choice but to answer my questions, unless you want to find yourself facing prosecution for obstruction.’
    Christina’s mouth fell open in surprise and the knife and fork she was clutching dropped onto her plate with a loud clatter. Geraldine turned away from the disagreeable sight of half masticated egg and bacon and took a gulp of coffee before resuming.
    ‘Now, I’ll ask you again. In your opinion, was the marriage a happy one?’

     
    Carefully Christina wiped a piece of toast round her plate mopping up egg yolk, her eyes fixed on her breakfast. At last she raised her head, apparently making up her mind.
    ‘I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but he was a foul-tempered man. If you ask me, poor Mrs Henshaw couldn’t possibly have been happy with a man like that. No one could. He was a lot older than her and I don’t think he paid her much attention. Money maybe, but that’s about all he gave her. If you ask me,’ she leaned forward in her chair, ‘that’s why she married him in the first place. For his money.’
    ‘Was he seeing other women?’
    ‘Mr Henshaw?’
    Christina sat back in surprise.
    ‘Now how would I know a thing like that?’

     
    A slight belligerence in the way Christina spoke drew Geraldine’s attention.
    ‘What about Mrs Henshaw – was she seeing anyone else?’
    Geraldine was surprised to see Christina blush.
    ‘Oh well, I suppose you’re going to find out anyway so there’s no harm in spilling the beans. Yes, she was. She had another man, and I can’t say I blame her.’
    Geraldine sat, pen poised, but Christina merely sipped her tea without saying any more.

     
    ‘Who was he?’ Geraldine prompted her at last.
    ‘Who? Her fancy man? I don’t know. I don’t know anything about him. I never saw him but he was on the phone to her all the time.’
    ‘Are you sure it wasn’t her husband she was talking to?’
    ‘Oh yes. I used to overhear her sometimes though I’d blush to repeat some of what she said. And it wasn’t her husband she was talking to, I can tell you that for a fact.’
    ‘How