Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

Mr Parker I should say, and he says we just have to take it on the chin, but it cost me my bus fare to come in today, not to mention my time, and if I’d known they wasn’t going to pay me I’d never have come in. And now it looks like we’re all going to be out of a job into the bargain. Typical. They never think of us. You know, I could have spent this time finding another place, couldn’t I? What if there was something and I’ve missed out through being stuck here waiting, and for what?’
    Geraldine invited her to sit down and Ginny subsided into a chair, still grumbling.
    ‘You don’t care, do you? I’m just the cleaner.’

     
    Geraldine studied the wiry little woman, her short curly hair awry, her face a study in resentment.
    ‘Ginny, this is a murder enquiry and we would have had to speak to you sooner or later.’
    ‘I can’t see what any of this has got to do with me.’
    Ginny folded her arms and glowered across the desk as Geraldine began questioning her gently, aware that sometimes the people in the humblest positions knew more about what was happening within a company than anyone else. Having established that the cleaner had been employed at the restaurant for over two years, going in daily for two hours to clean the place up in the morning, she led the conversation on to the staff.

     
    Resigned to having to waste her time at work unpaid, Ginny settled into her chair and began to talk. And once she started she was forthcoming in expressing her opinions about the restaurant. She was equally forthright in her views on the two victims. She dismissed Henshaw as a ‘snooty stuck-up piece of shit – if you’ll pardon my language. I’m sorry to speak ill of the dead and all that, but you did ask for the truth. I’m nowhere near important enough – or pretty enough – for him.’
    ‘Not pretty enough?’ Geraldine queried politely.
    ‘Oh, he had an eye for the girls. You ask them what he was like. Always fawning over them, he was. He was the one wanted those girl singers, and he’d have had them do more than sing, I daresay –’
    She broke off with a knowing shake of her head.
    ‘What singers?’
    ‘Oh, don’t ask me. I never saw any of them. It was nothing to do with me. They were only here of an evening at the weekend. Apparently he thought it added a bit of class to the place. Huh. I don’t think Henri thought much of that, or anyone else for that matter.’
    Geraldine asked if Henshaw favoured any of the waitresses over the others but Ginny said he wasn’t particular.
    ‘Now George, he was a different kettle of fish altogether. He had no pretensions, not like Mr Henshaw. George was friendly, but not over-familiar, if you get my drift. I was sorry to hear about him. Of course I’m sorry to hear about what happened to them both,’ she added quickly.

     
    The sharply-dressed manager was glib and irritatingly self-assured. His black hair was smooth and sleek, his features perfectly proportioned, his gestures camp in spite of his sober clothes.
    ‘I suppose they’ll be closing the place down now,’ he said as soon as he sat down. ‘I’m already working on my CV. Shame, I’ve only been here for a year and just when I thought I was settled, this goes and happens. Isn’t that just typical?’
    Geraldine didn’t answer straight away but let him talk through his dissatisfaction with his situation, hoping to glean his views on the two murdered men. He answered her questions clearly and at length, but gave little away, carefully restricting himself to bland comments on his bosses.

     
    Geraldine asked if anyone else had been working at the restaurant on the evenings when the two owners were killed.
    ‘Ginny said something about a singer?’ she prompted him.
    ‘Oh yes, of course. We usually have performers in at the weekends, and often on a Friday as well. It adds to the customer’s experience.’
    ‘Was anyone performing here the night of the murders?’ she asked again.
    The manager frowned, thinking.
    ‘There was a girl last Friday, yes.’
    ‘What about the previous Sunday, the night Henshaw was killed?’
    ‘To be honest, with all that’s been going on, I couldn’t tell you. Patrick used to book the performers and I’m not sure if he kept any written records. If he did, they weren’t here. It was all quite informal, you know.’
    Geraldine didn’t return his guarded smile.

     
    ‘What can you tell me about the singer who was here last Friday?’
    ‘Not a