Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

Erin.’
    ‘So where are they now?’
    In the terrible fantasy, Linda shook her head.
    ‘I’ve no idea. I did hear one of them had joined the police force, and the other one is a killer. Seems to run in the family.’

     
    Geraldine’s first sensation on sitting down was an overriding sense of relief. The woman facing her looked nothing like Geraldine imagined her own mother would look now. She had a photograph of her mother aged around sixteen. There was no way the prisoner was the same woman as the one in that faded image. In the precious photograph, Geraldine’s mother looked uncannily like Geraldine as a teenager, with large eyes so dark they appeared black, and a small crooked nose.

     
    Geraldine didn’t recognise the prisoner in the flesh from the photograph she had found online in an old newspaper. Taken when Linda was barely twenty, the image had been on the front pages of all the papers, so it was possible Sam might have seen Linda’s face in the press during her trial. At that time Linda’s hair hadn’t been grey and badly in need of a wash, hanging down on either side of her pinched face in greasy straggly locks. Together with her extreme pallor, her unkempt appearance made her appear a lot older than forty. She pursed her thin lips and glared at Geraldine, her green eyes guarded.

     
    ‘Linda.’
    The prisoner continued to stare fixedly at Geraldine who smiled uneasily.
    ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions.’
    The other woman didn’t respond.
    ‘It would help you if you helped us,’ Geraldine added untruthfully.
    Silence.
    Geraldine took a breath and plunged in with a direct question.
    ‘Do you have a daughter?’
    The green eyes flickered for an instant.
    ‘Do you have a daughter?’ Geraldine repeated.
    Linda’s face had resumed its blank expression. Geraldine leaned forward and repeated her question once more, studying the other woman closely while Linda sat in stony-faced silence.
    ‘It would really help us if you answered my questions.’
    Unexpectedly, Linda erupted in hoarse throaty laughter, simultaneously beating a tattoo on the table with the flat of one hand. Behind her the prison officer at the door stepped forward, tensed for action.

     
    When the prisoner was quiet, Geraldine posed her question yet again.
    ‘What’s it to you?’
    Linda’s voice was gruff, as though she was unused to speaking.
    ‘It would help our enquiry.’
    ‘Help you?’
    Linda spoke with scathing derision. Too late, Geraldine amended her statement.
    ‘I don’t mean it would help the police exactly. You’ll be helping innocent people.’
    ‘Sod off!’
    ‘Linda, you don’t understand. It’s really important you tell me the truth.’
    ‘I don’t want to continue with this.’
    Linda enunciated the words coldly.
    ‘Please, Linda, if you could just answer a few straightforward questions –’
    It was no good.

     
    Frustrated, Geraldine watched the prisoner shuffle from the room without a backward glance, her past as secret as if she had died twenty years ago. In a way, she had.

CHAPTER 55
     
    I t was hard to credit how quickly the body count had risen without anyone coming forward with information. Henshaw, Corless, Bradshaw, and now a fourth victim had all been killed within a fortnight of each other. There were two gaps of four days between the first three murders, then only two days had elapsed before the fourth man was killed. A fifth body might be discovered at any time. It was all happening so fast, the killer must surely be making careless mistakes. By now someone must be harbouring suspicions about a family member, a neighbour or a colleague. Someone must have knowledge that could help point the investigation in the right direction, but apart from the usual cranks, the public had remained obdurately silent.

     
    Observing a press briefing, Geraldine watched as Reg stated the facts of the case, his calm delivery making no impression on the reporters. He had done a good job to conceal his irritation with their lurid suggestions and hysterical comments.
    ‘So you’re hunting for a serial killer?’
    ‘If you know who he is, why is he still on the loose?’
    ‘Are the streets of London safe any more?’
    ‘Can you assure us there won’t be any more killings?’
    Amy and Desiree joined Reg. Amy spoke stiffly about the loss of her wonderful husband.
    ‘This was a senseless murder,’ she concluded lamely.
    Desiree wanted to speak, but she kept breaking down in tears,