Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

burn.
    ‘No, you don’t understand.’
    She felt close to tears.
    ‘I’m looking for someone whose name is Guy. He lives here.’

     
    ‘Alright, love, keep your hair on. I was pulling your leg. I can see you’re not on the game, at your age. Now, who was it you were after?’
    Forcing herself to speak calmly, Amy repeated that she was looking for Guy.
    ‘He’s a friend of mine, a close friend.’
    The man shook his head.
    ‘Sorry, love, you’re too late.’
    ‘Too late? What do you mean? Where’s Guy?’
    She should have realised something terrible had happened when he hadn’t been in touch or answered his phone.

     
    ‘He’s not here any more. He moved out,’ the man explained.
    He started to close the door.
    ‘Moved out?’
    ‘Yes. He’d been in some sort of trouble with the police from what I heard. Anyway, he scarpered without giving notice. Left a load of gear here as well. I only moved in here yesterday. It was all a bit sudden, but the room came up and I was desperate and here I am. So it worked out well in the end.’
    He grinned at her.
    ‘You missed him. Isn’t that just typical?’
    ‘Where did he go?’
    ‘How would I know? I’d have thought you’d know that, seeing as you’re close friends.’
    He spoke the last two words with a sneer and Amy felt herself blush.

     
    As the door shut, she stared at the familiar peeling paintwork on the front door, fighting back tears of frustration. A horrible sick feeling clutched at her guts, like a parasite sucking her energy. Panicking, she drove home and ran through the house to Patrick’s study. She hesitated before opening the door to what had been her husband’s private space. She hadn’t been in there since his death, had hardly ever gone in there when he was alive. Only the police had been there, looking through his papers. Entering, she thought she caught a faint whiff of Patrick’s aftershave and felt the breath catch at the back of her throat. She wanted to be out of there as quickly as possible.

     
    To her relief she discovered the household files all neatly organised and she found what she wanted in a box file labelled Maintenance: a series of invoices from Winhold and Co, the firm which had constructed their conservatory three years earlier. Pleased that Patrick had kept the relevant documents, she jotted down the address and phone number of the firm which employed Guy. He might want to avoid her after all that had happened, but she knew he would change his attitude once he saw her again. He had to. He couldn’t abandon her now.

     
    To begin with, the receptionist at the building firm where Guy worked didn’t understand Amy’s request. Her pencilled eyebrows frowned elegantly.
    ‘If you have a complaint against one of our employees, it’s Mr Furrows you need to speak to. He’s out on a job at the moment but he should be in later. If you’d like to leave your number, I’ll see he gets the message –’
    Amy interrupted impatiently to explain that she didn’t want to lodge a complaint against Guy. She just needed to speak to him.

     
    The receptionist looked edgy. Tapping the end of her biro on her cluttered desk, she gave a forced smile.
    ‘I’m afraid we don’t give out personal details of our employees to –’
    She paused and stared at Amy, one eyebrow raised as though questioning her motives for wanting to know the whereabouts of the young builder.
    ‘He’s a friend … ’ Amy stammered, ‘I just need to see him. Surely there’s no reason why you can’t tell me where he’s working. I’m not asking for private information. He’s – he’s a family friend. ’
    The receptionist tapped her biro more rapidly on the table and here eyes flicked sideways to a white board on the wall. Amy followed her gaze.
    ‘It’s not really for me to deal with this – if you can wait until Mr Furrows comes in …’
    Amy adopted an authoritative tone with the young woman.
    ‘I’m afraid this can’t wait.’
    ‘I’m sorry, madam, but I really have to check with Mr Furrows. I can try and contact him?’
    As the receptionist turned to her phone Amy glanced over at the white board, scanning down a list of names until she saw Barrett, the third name under a heading White House Hotel. Without another word she turned and hurried away.

     
    Guy cringed when he saw Amy walk through the door. For an instant he considered blanking her, but he knew he could never carry it off. She might get hysterical, which