Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

money to her, after such a long time apart?’ he asked.
    The question hung in the air for a moment. They all understood the significance of the DNA found in the back of Henshaw’s car, and on his body. The woman he had been with on the day he died would be able to give key information about his movements on the day he was killed. If she wasn’t culpable herself, she might have been a witness to his murder.

     
    ‘It has to be Amy or Stella,’ Sam broke the silence.
    ‘Let’s hope so,’ Geraldine replied, wishing she shared Sam’s assurance. It was almost impossible to infer anything else, but she had been working on murder investigations for too long to be confident about anything until they had irrefutable evidence.
    ‘It’s possible the killer isn’t any of these people,’ she said softly. ‘It could be someone we know absolutely nothing about.’
    As Sam protested, Reg threw Geraldine a sharp glance and turned away without a word. Like Geraldine, he had been around for too long to be swept away with excitement before they had any proof.

CHAPTER 25
     
    E very time she closed her eyes she heard the words going round and round in her head: “Nine hundred and seventeen thousand pounds to Stella Hallett, nine hundred and seventeen thousand pounds to Stella Hallett.” Patrick must have left his wife well off, but near enough a million pounds was still a lot of money to lose. He had chosen to share his fortune with Stella, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that. No wonder Amy had been furious. Stella could do whatever she wanted with all that money. After all the time she had wasted feeling abandoned, it was staggering to know that Patrick had never stopped caring about her. With her stylish outfits and expensive face, Amy had never succeeded in winning back his affection. Blonde, glamorous and smug, she looked like a rich man’s wife. But he had mentioned Stella in his will. She was the other woman, even after he was dead. She smiled at the thought.

     
    “Nine hundred and seventeen thousand pounds to Stella Hallett,” she muttered to herself, “nine hundred and seventeen thousand pounds to Stella Hallett.” The practical implications of her unexpected fortune hadn’t sunk in yet. The money would be welcome, when it came, but she didn’t care about wealth for its own sake. What pleased her was knowing that Patrick had thought about her. She knew it was evil, but she couldn’t help feeling exultant, as though she had somehow won him back from Amy – a hollow victory, because Patrick was dead. She would have traded every penny of her unexpected fortune to have him back, even if he had come to her penniless. Tears overwhelmed her at the enormity of her loss. She had never wanted things to turn out this way.

     
    Before she met Patrick, Stella’s days had passed comfortably enough, without any emotional disturbance. Her life was transformed when she was appointed Patrick’s personal assistant. For the first time in her life, Stella had fallen in love. Responding to her hints, Patrick had taken her to a hotel for the night. Shortly after that, he had moved her into a flat so they could continue their affair. Patiently she had waited for Patrick to leave his wife, and for a long time he had been full of promises. But instead of walking away from his marriage, he had abandoned Stella after her miscarriage. Stella’s initial shock had turned to despair which, in turn, had given way to a terrible rage. She was still angry when she remembered how badly he had treated her.

     
    Eventually she had calmed down and found another job. Outwardly her life returned to the same dull routine she had followed before she met Patrick. But everything had changed. Claiming she suffered from migraines, she took an occasional day off work to sit in a café opposite Mireille and watch for Patrick to arrive, noticing how his hair was greying, his waistline expanding. She knew she was being ridiculous, spying on him like that, but she derived comfort from this tenuous connection to him. She looked forward to seeing him, although he had no idea she was there, watching and waiting, like a guardian angel. It became a habit, almost an addiction, to sit there once a month, daydreaming that he would walk into the café and see her. She imagined him throwing himself at her feet to implore her forgiveness, and beg her to marry him. But he had never gone into the café to tell her he loved her, and now he never