Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

about it. That is why you’re here, isn’t it?’

     
    As she followed Mrs Foster into a tiny living room, Geraldine reassured her that she wasn’t calling about the dog, but in response to Mrs Foster’s report about her neighbour.
    ‘It’s his dog,’ the old woman repeated. ‘And that’s how I discovered he was missing. Poor Toby.’
    She leant down to pat the little creature’s head and the dog twisted round to lick her fingers.
    ‘Toby never makes a sound, he’s a good boy, aren’t you, Toby? Yes, you are. But he’s been making a terrible racket all day, howling and yelping, so I knew something was up. I left it as long as I could bear it and then I went in to have a look, he was making such a din. I just knew something had happened.’
    ‘How did you get in?’
    ‘Me and Maurice, we’ve got the keys to each other’s flats. We’re not close, nothing like that – he’s a funny man, very private, very shy. But we keep each other’s keys, just in case. It’s so easy to lock yourself out, isn’t it? We’ve done it a few times, both of us, so it’s handy to be able to knock next door for the spare.’

     
    Geraldine waited a moment while Mrs Foster patted the dog’s head and fussed over him.
    ‘What happened?’
    ‘I don’t know. That’s why I phoned you people.’
    The old woman’s eyes opened wide as she described how she had gone in next door fully expecting to find her neighbour had passed away.
    ‘To tell you the truth, I was that relieved he wasn’t there, dead or dying. I was afraid I’d find him on the floor, you know, in a pool of blood or something, like you see on the telly. I mean, it could have been an intruder, couldn’t it? But he wasn’t there, only poor Toby going crazy all on his own. That’s how I knew something was wrong because Maurice would never have left Toby like that without food or water. Not in a million years. He loves Toby, doesn’t he? Yes he does.’
    She bent forward to fondle the dog again.

     
    Geraldine could have shown the old woman a photo of the body, but she decided not to tell the old woman the police suspected Maurice had been pulled out of the canal. Instead she asked for the key to the flat next door, hoping to find a photograph as a means of establishing whether the body found in the canal was indeed Maurice.
    ‘Do you think I ought to let you in there?’
    ‘I can call the station to send a couple of officers to break the door down if you prefer.’
    ‘Oh dear no. Wait a minute then, while I fetch the key.’

     
    It was a depressing job searching the musty flat next door: a free standing wooden wardrobe stuffed with cardigans and jumpers, grimy bathroom, kitchen smelling of dog food, living room covered in a fine film of dust. She wished she had brought Sam with her for company. Hidden in a drawer she found proof of the dead man’s identity: his face gazing stoically up at her from a small framed photograph. She found no evidence of alcohol anywhere in the flat.

CHAPTER 45
     
    W hen she called the police station on Friday morning Amy learned from the desk sergeant that Guy had been released the previous day. Although pleased, she was nevertheless upset that he hadn’t been in touch with her as soon as he had left the police station. She went straight home to check the answer phone machine on her landline, though Guy always called her mobile. There were no messages. Puzzled, she keyed in his number on her mobile.
    ‘This is Guy. I can’t speak right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.’

     
    The normality of his tone was reassuring, but she needed to know where he was. She punched the number in again and then again, although it was pointless; each time she heard the same message after the beep.
    ‘Where are you?’ she asked out loud.
    With gnawing unease she ran out to her car and drove to Guy’s flat. If he was there she should be with him, like old times, before all the problems that had beset them since Patrick’s death. She drove fast, swearing at a red light, unbearably impatient now that she had decided to go to him. She knew that once he saw her, he would stop being angry with her.

     
    The door creaked open. A wiry little man peered at her from beneath a straw coloured fringe.
    ‘I’m looking for Guy,’ she blurted out.
    ‘You’re looking for a guy?’ the man repeated.
    He looked her up and down before shaking his head. He looked wary.
    ‘Sorry, love, not interested.’
    Amy felt her face