Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

anyone to mourn the violent death of this diminutive human being, or if he had lived on his own. Like her. On balance she wasn’t disturbed to discover that a victim could still touch her emotions after all her experience with death; nevertheless she turned her face away from the young pathologist. Some things were best kept private.

CHAPTER 42
     
    ‘W ill you tell him or shall I?’ Reg shook his head and gestured wearily towards her.
    His tall figure looked slightly bowed and there were grey creases under his eyes she had never noticed before.
    ‘You can have that pleasure, Geraldine.’
    ‘You never thought it was him anyway, did you?’ Sam asked when the detective chief inspector had left the Major Incident Room.
    The question sounded like an accusation.
    ‘No, but –’
    Geraldine didn’t finish the sentence. They were all dismayed that a third murder had been committed while Guy was being held in the custody suite. Under normal circumstances they wouldn’t have been able to keep Guy in custody past Thursday night without a formal charge. The detective chief inspector had been jumping through hoops to extend the period they could hold him for questioning, while a team of officers had been tied up investigating the wrong man. And all the time the killer had also been busy, pursuing his dreadful business
    *
    The heavy door swung open. Its shadow moved slowly across the grimy floor. Guy suppressed a shudder. His rage had given way to exhaustion with the effort of keeping himself together. It wouldn’t do to show his alarm. Far better to tough it out and act as though he felt aggrieved, like any innocent man would do. It was an effort to keep his temper under control. Shouting only succeeded in making them even more smugly assured of his guilt. It was insane. Everyone he knew lost their temper sometimes. It didn’t make them all murderers.

     
    ‘What now?’ he asked.
    He made no move to stir from the bunk where he was sitting, shoulders hunched forward, hands dangling between his knees.
    ‘Mr Barrett, you’re free to go.’
    Still he sat without moving.
    ‘You’re free to go, Mr Barrett,’ the inspector repeated. ‘You can go home now.’
    She smiled at him.
    ‘You mean – that’s it? I can go?’
    For an instant he didn’t believe it. He thought it was a trick to catch him off guard. Then it crossed his mind that he ought to make a stink about wrongful arrest or something, but he couldn’t help returning her smile as he stood up and stretched his legs.

     
    The relief as he strode out of the police station in his own shoes, his wallet back in his pocket, was like nothing Guy had ever experienced before. Every day of his life he had been free, but he had never before appreciated the joy of simply walking along the street. He had checked his cash and cards before leaving the station. It was all there. He was free, the sun was shining, and he had close on fifty quid in his pocket. Although he hadn’t been banged up for long, he felt as though he had been released back into the world after an absence of weeks, or even months. It reminded him of his first game of football after a long childhood illness. He whistled at an attractive girl who passed him on the street, short red skirt swinging with the rolling motion of her butt. He was free and life was full of possibilities. And he knew exactly where he was heading.

     
    It took Guy a few attempts before he managed to fit his key in the lock and open the door. He staggered along the narrow hallway to the toilet, eventually flinging himself onto his bed to savour the familiar tangy odour of the sheets. He fell asleep almost immediately. It was eight o’clock when he opened his eyes, groggy with alcohol and sleep. At first he thought it was morning and he had been woken by his alarm. It took him a few seconds to realise it was the evening, and his phone had disturbed his sleep. With a groan he turned on his side and waited for it to stop. It was Amy calling, and he didn’t intend to have anything more to do with her. After all her protestations of love her behaviour had been unforgivable. She had tried to manoeuvre her way out of trouble by using him as a scapegoat. He wouldn’t put it past her to have deliberately set him up. She might have been planning to kill her old man all along and blame it on him. He had seen a film where that had happened. He couldn’t remember the ending, but no doubt the dupe had taken the rap for the conniving