Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

no worse than many other women staggering about on the streets of London at night. With a quick glance along the empty street, she pulled off her coat. Rolling it into a tight wad, she rammed it into her bag so no one else could see the stains. It made her feel sick to look at it.

     
    Every time a car zoomed past she cringed in case he was coming after her and turned her head away, trying to keep out of sight. Then she marched on doggedly, muttering to herself. ‘Keep going, you’ll be fine once you get home.’ At last she found her way back. The pavement was empty apart from a couple of youths hanging around outside the station, smoking. They threw her a bored glance as she scurried past. The small parade of shops beside the station were all shut, and there were only a few cars on the main road as she turned into the side street where she lived. It was an effort of will to walk the last few yards, but at last the door closed behind her. Shaking, she crossed the dark hallway and sank to her knees at the bottom of the stairs.

     
    It seemed to take her hours to climb the stairs and stagger along the landing. As if in a dream she looked around her bedroom, irrationally surprised to see that nothing had changed. Without stopping to remove her jacket or shoes, she grabbed a black bin liner and hurried to the bathroom. Ripping off her clothes, she stuffed them in the bag, together with her coat and shoes. Everything was contaminated. She tied the top of the bag tightly so his smell couldn’t escape, before stepping into the shower. Her skin turned mottled purple under the flow of water which began to run lukewarm, then hot. Steam swirled around her as she scrubbed every inch of her flesh until she felt hot and raw.

     
    In the misty mirror she was surprised to see her face hadn’t changed. She tied her wet hair back in a ponytail, pushing her fringe off her face and scowling at a dripping strand that slipped out, falling to her shoulders. The flesh above her top lip felt tender when she touched it but she couldn’t see any bruises where his teeth had pressed against her. Her ordeal was over, but she would never report the outrage. She couldn’t bear to think about what had happened, let alone talk about it.

     
    ‘You survived,’ she told herself with desperate satisfaction. She was home. She was safe. He couldn’t touch her again. It was over. No one else knew what had happened. Once she had disposed of the black bin liner there would be nothing left to link her to the events of that evening. No one else would ever know. The incident existed only in her head. If she could erase all thoughts of it, she knew the memory would disappear like a horrible dream. Slowly her shock gave way to a growing feeling of exhilaration as she studied herself in the mirror. Having survived this ordeal, she could survive anything.

CHAPTER 4
     
    T aunted by the perfume that lingered on his sheets, Guy fretted for a while, unable to sleep. Finally he punched the pillow where she had been lying and sprang out of bed. Pulling on pants and a sweatshirt he went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. With a sudden expletive he took a beer from the fridge and wandered into his cramped living room where he flopped down on a chair and swigged from the bottle, irritated by the clutter that surrounded him. Everything reminded him of Amy. It was easy for her to criticise his mess. She had no idea how difficult it was to keep the place tidy with so little space. He threw his head back and gulped the last of the cold beer. One thing was for sure, he couldn’t carry on like this. He had been seeing Amy for over three months but despite her repeated assurances that things were going to be different, nothing changed. He was sick of being pushed around. Enough was enough. If Amy was too scared to confront her husband, he would do it himself. He wasn’t going to be intimidated by anyone, least of all some geezer old enough to be his grandfather.

     
    He finished another beer and chucked the bottle at the overflowing bin. He watched it roll slowly across the floor and come to rest against the wall. It troubled him that Amy claimed to feel so intimidated by her husband. She didn’t strike him as a woman who could easily be dominated. He wondered if it was an excuse to cover up misgivings about abandoning her marriage. It was a lot to give up. He had seen where she lived; lavish wasn’t the word. Compared to his crummy little room, her house