Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

killed Henshaw, it seemed unlikely he would have gone on to kill Corless. Unlikely, but not impossible.
    ‘We can’t rule anything out at this stage,’ Geraldine said.
    ‘It might have been Amy herself who killed them,’ Sam pointed out. ‘Now she’s dropping Guy in it out of revenge as a way of saving her own skin.’

     
    Geraldine didn’t need to be told that George’s injuries were virtually identical to Patrick’s, but she listened attentively nonetheless as the pathologist ran through the details of the second killing. George’s head injury had prompted a fatal stroke, which was followed by an attack on his genitals; a nauseating repetition that seemed to confirm that the two men had been killed by the same hand.
    ‘So he died of a stroke,’ Sam asked, ‘after being hit on the head and before any other injury was inflicted?’
    She pointed to the damaged area of the body. The pathologist inclined his head.
    ‘The impact of the blow to his head was sufficient to trigger an internal bleed which would have caused him to lose consciousness almost at once. He wasn’t technically dead when the second injury was inflicted so there would have been blood loss, potentially fatal in itself if left unattended. But the blow to his skull and consequent internal bleed in the brain came first and that was what killed him.’

     
    Visiting the morgue was never a cheerful experience but a sense of gloom enveloped Geraldine and Sam as they left. Neither of them uttered a word on the way back to the car. Two identical deaths in a week would have been enough to depress anyone, even if they weren’t responsible for tracing the killer.
    ‘Bloody heck,’ Sam said as she got in the car, ‘this is a mess.’
    ‘What are you thinking?’ Geraldine asked.
    ‘Well, they were business partners, so this isn’t chance, is it? I mean, both of them in a week.’
    ‘No, it’s certainly not a coincidence. Apart from the obvious connection between the two victims, it looks like the same killer in both cases.’

     
    Sam nodded, her expression brightening.
    ‘At least that gives us something to go on,’ she said, brightening up. ‘It’s got to be someone who knew them both and that narrows it down a bit.’
    ‘We need to pay the restaurant another visit,’ Geraldine agreed, and Sam beamed.
    ‘We could go there for dinner.’
    In spite of her dismay at the latest development in the investigation, Geraldine couldn’t help laughing at the sergeant’s sudden enthusiasm.
    ‘You know perfectly well that’s not what I meant. As if we’ve got time to sit around having dinner.’
    ‘But we could find out a lot about the place by going there –’
    ‘Yes, and we’ll find out what we can by going there and doing our job.’
    ‘But –’
    ‘If you’re hungry, there’s bound to be a chippy on the way.’
    She didn’t add that she was sure Sam knew exactly where they could find one.

     
    In a fashionable parade of shops in Soho, Mireille was situated between a smart hair salon and an art shop that sold expensive prints and offered a bespoke framing service. The restaurant itself had an elegant frontage with a stylish dark blue awning, pristine blue paintwork and large windows slightly tinted to give an aura of privacy to the interior. The door was locked but a man in a dark suit opened it when Geraldine knocked on the glass. After checking her warrant card in silence he stepped back to admit them.

     
    The restaurant would routinely have been closed on a Monday even if business hadn’t been suspended due to the unexpected deaths of its proprietors. On this particular Monday Geraldine had arranged for all the staff to meet there at the end of the day. To begin with she thanked them for coming to the restaurant to give statements instead of reporting to their local police stations.
    ‘This is going to save us a lot of time,’ she concluded. ‘I’ve no doubt you’re as keen as we are to know who murdered Patrick Henshaw and George Corless.’
    Gazing at a group of tense faces clustered together, she wondered what would happen to the restaurant staff now. No doubt they were wondering the same thing themselves.

     
    The chef would doubtless find another position. Tall and imposing, with a substantial frame to support his huge belly, he looked every inch a chef. Even Geraldine, who knew nothing of gastronomy, thought she recognised his face. She suspected she had seen him on the television. Henri Gilbert was