Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

was a palace. He glanced peevishly around and scowled. He wouldn’t blame her for being reluctant to leave her stunning mansion for his pokey little flat. Then again, she might bring a pile of dosh with her. He pictured moving into a neat little house, just the two of them, together every night. Her lifestyle wouldn’t be luxurious like it was now, but he would make her happy, which was more than could be said for her lousy husband. With her money, they could live very comfortably on what Guy earned. If she wanted more, he would willingly put in as much overtime as it took to keep her happy.

     
    That was how they had met, when he was working on her conservatory. He had noticed her on the first day. After that he had watched and waited, hoping for an opportunity to talk to her alone. It was just a fantasy, something to think about while he was working, but he soon discovered she was looking for an opportunity to approach him. That was where it had all begun. He’d met her husband too. A tall miserable looking git who strutted about like he was something special, just because he owned a big house near Hampstead Heath. The thought of that arrogant bastard putting his hands on Amy made Guy feel physically sick. He closed his eyes and pictured his rival’s pale angular face. He bit his lip and thumped the arm of his frayed armchair, grinning at the thought of giving Amy’s husband a bloody nose, and a black eye into the bargain. But what was the point of punching a chair? It didn’t make him feel any better.

     
    And what if Amy was right – what if her husband would kill him if he found out about the affair? For now Guy had the advantage. He knew Patrick Henshaw’s identity, knew where he lived and worked. Amy thought Guy hadn’t taken any notice of her suggestion to get rid of her husband. She didn’t know that he’d waited on the pavement opposite the swanky restaurant Patrick Henshaw owned in Soho, watching and thinking. Perhaps she was right and the time had come to act, while they were ahead. The thought made him shiver with fear and excitement. He gulped down the dregs of his beer. With her husband out of the way, nothing would stand between him and Amy. She would be a seriously wealthy widow. There would be no need for her to move out of her big house. Guy could simply move in with her, after a decent interval so as to avoid arousing suspicion. She’d be able to keep her dog. Whatever she wanted. They might even get married. He glanced around his untidy room and smiled.

     
    He fetched another beer and sat down, speculating. He knew he was slightly drunk, fabricating an unattainable fantasy, but he couldn’t stop himself. It did no harm to dream. The point was to get rid of Amy’s husband. But how could he possibly do that? He had to come up with a plan. Amy was a clever woman. She had told him where to find her husband.
    ‘He’s usually had a few to drink by the time he leaves the restaurant.’
    ‘But what if someone sees?’
    His question had been rewarded with a tender kiss.
    ‘There’s an alleyway runs along the side of the restaurant that isn’t lit. You just have to be ready when he leaves. I’d do it myself, if I didn’t think he’d overpower me too easily. But if I had the strength, it would be almost too easy …’

     
    He knocked back his beer and went to the kitchen for another one, cold and refreshing. Sitting down again he imagined how it would feel to save Amy from her tyrannical husband. It was his duty as a decent man, to protect her. When his head hurt from all the thinking, he staggered back to bed. Alone – but not for much longer, because he made up his mind he was going to do it. Soon. He would move into the big house and Amy would be his whenever he wanted her. He would devote the rest of his life to making her happy.

     
    It was late but he was too edgy to feel tired. With a burst of energy, he jumped out of bed, pulled on his trainers and went outside. In contrast to the warmth of the day, the night air felt chilly, perfect for an invigorating run. With no particular route in mind he ran in a wide circuit of quiet streets, his feet pounding a rhythm on the pavement. He ran along minor streets parallel to Holloway Road, avoiding the main thoroughfare where police cars tended to cruise, likely to stop and harass a young man running along the street at such a late hour. An occasional car sped past but he kept to side streets which were mostly deserted at that