Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

despite being incarcerated.
    ‘She couldn’t have been there.’
    ‘Yes, I know that, but how do you explain her DNA being found at the crime scene?’
    ‘Parole?’
    ‘None.’
    ‘Did she have an identical twin? It has been known.’
    ‘She had one sister who died thirty years ago.’
    ‘How about a daughter then? Can’t DNA be strikingly similar in some cases?’
    ‘She didn’t have any children.’
    Nick gave a sympathetic grin.
    ‘I see your problem.’
    Geraldine wondered what Sam and the constable had been saying about him. He struck her as committed and professional.

     
    ‘The funny thing is,’ she went on, ‘I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about her that Sam found familiar.’
    ‘Did she recognise her?’
    Geraldine shrugged.
    ‘Kind of. But not really –’
    Nick nodded.
    ‘I’ve had that exact same sensation with offenders in high profile cases years back. And it must’ve been a very serious crime if she got life.’
    Geraldine nodded.
    ‘So twenty years ago this woman’s face would have been all over the press, in the papers, on the news. Seeing her picture probably triggered Sam’s memory of what she saw when the case came up all those years ago. The thing is, these cases can make a huge impression once the media get hold of them.’

     
    Overlooking the fact that Sam would have been about five at the time Linda Harrison was convicted, Nick turned back to his desk with an air of finality, as though he had cleared up Geraldine’s problem. She considered what he had said. Linda had no children. All the facts indicated that Nick’s theory must be right. Sam’s mind was playing tricks on her, throwing up an image from the past as though she had seen it only yesterday. With a sigh she filed the printout of Linda Harrison’s face and went to find out what the constables’ research into Bradshaw had thrown up. There must have been more to his existence than his shabby flat, his dog, and his occasional trips to the pub.

CHAPTER 50
     
    R emoving her long blonde wig, she shook her own hair free as she kicked off her outdoor shoes and placed them neatly, side by side, on the rack by the door. Wearing her indoor shoes, she went to the bedroom to put her wig away. Her head felt light without it, as though she was floating. She liked the strange empty feeling in her brain. Remembering the pills her doctor had given her, she smiled. Life was too difficult to face with a clear head. Better to be cushioned from it, unable to think about anything. She had already had her medication for the day but she swallowed just one more pill, knowing they were good for her. The stillness calmed her. Nothing disturbed the order of her rooms. Everything remained in position, precisely where she had placed it.

     
    Her eyebrows twitched with annoyance as she noticed a picture had shifted so that it no longer hung exactly parallel to the wall. She reached forward and gave it a little nudge. Straightening up, she stepped away so she could scrutinise it with narrowed eyes until she was satisfied the picture was back where it belonged. She would have to be more careful in future. It must have shifted when she walked past, touching it with her arm without noticing. Unnerved that she had unwittingly displaced the picture, she turned her attention to the rest of the room. She had the same problem with the rug, which had moved a fraction out of place. It was almost brand new, because her dog had pissed on the last one. That was the final straw. She had bought the dog for protection, but the animal had become unbearably unpredictable, jumping up at her with dirty feet and barking. To begin with she had loved it, but in the end she had to get rid of it.

     
    It took her twenty-eight minutes to take all her cutlery out of the drawer, wash and dry it, and replace it tidily in the drawer. Each knife, fork and spoon was stacked tidily in its own compartment, lined up with the rest of the set. It was an uncomplicated part of her daily routine, and necessary. Germs could find their way through the smallest cracks. People picked up all sorts of nasty diseases by eating with cutlery that wasn’t clean. As a teenager she had refused to eat out. Even at home she wouldn’t touch metal knives and forks, throwing the plastic ones away after one use. Once it occurred to her that she should wash plastic knives and forks before they came in contact with her food, there seemed no point in wasting money on