Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

hit?’
    The pathologist nodded.
    ‘You’re sure of that? I need to know …’
    ‘Yes, but –’ he broke off and nodded, his eyes narrowing. ‘You want to see what that can tell us about the killer.’
    Geraldine leaned forward.
    ‘Is it possible to estimate the killer’s height from the angle of the impact? Can you tell that without knowing about the instrument that hit him?’

     
    Miles nodded thoughtfully. The dead man had been hit on the back of his head, just above the nape of his neck, with a heavy implement.
    ‘But what was used, exactly?’
    ‘Still no sign of a murder weapon then?’ he asked.
    They studied the injury. The bottom edge of the weapon had made a deeper impression than the top edge, suggesting he had been hit from below. The dead man was five foot ten. The pathologist estimated the killer’s height to be somewhere between five four and five six, although it wasn’t conclusive.
    ‘The weapon might have been swung, like a hammer, and made an impact on the upward trajectory,’ he pointed out.
    ‘Was he killed where he was found or moved after death?’
    ‘He was killed there, in the alley.’

     
    Geraldine was pursuing her own line of thought.
    ‘Could he have been hit by a woman? I mean, five foot four isn’t that tall. How powerful would you say the blow was?’
    ‘Powerful enough to knock him down – but yes, it could certainly have been dealt by a woman, if the victim was caught off guard. And he was hit from behind. If he’d had any idea what was coming, surely he would have turned round and tried to stop it.’
    He looked up at Geraldine, frowning.
    ‘You’ve got no idea who did this, have you? You don’t even know if he was killed by a man or a woman.’
    ‘We’re following several leads right now,’ she replied frostily. ‘We’ll get the killer. It’s just a matter of time.’

CHAPTER 60
     
    W hile Geraldine had been at the morgue, Sam had been painstakingly tracing Lynn Jones’ history. As a teenager Lynn had left her family home in Acton after a falling out with her parents. They had reported her missing, but she had turned sixteen by the time she was traced. At sixteen she could not be compelled to return home, and she refused to go back voluntarily. After that the trail had gone cold for about a year until she had turned up in central London under her new name, Lolita. Somewhere in the interim she had become an addict and begun working for a pimp and dealer known to the drug squad. They had finally nailed him and he died of pancreatic cancer while serving a prison sentence. There was no record of how Lolita had managed without him. Presumably she had moved on to a new pimp.

     
    After lunch, Sam and Geraldine drove to the address in Peckham where Lynn’s mother still lived. The man who came to the door must have been in the hall because the door opened as soon as the bell chimed. He looked about fifty, with grey stubble on his cheeks and chin, and a balding head. Small eyes peered out at them, almost completely concealed in fleshy pouches.
    ‘What do you want?’
    His voice was shrill and he screwed up his face as though they had brought a bad smell with them. ‘We don’t buy no shit on the doorstep and we’re not interested in no crap religion.’
    He made to close the door but Geraldine stepped forward, explaining the reason for their visit.

     
    The man’s belligerence slipped in surprise.
    ‘Lynn?’ he repeated. ‘Did you say you’re looking for Lynn?’
    A woman’s voice screeched incoherently from inside the house and the man turned away to yell in reply.
    ‘Someone’s here asking about Lynn!’
    A woman appeared in the hall, hovering just behind the fat man, who shifted his bulk aside to allow her to speak to Geraldine. With wrinkled skin and stooped shoulders, she looked old enough to be her companion’s mother. She too seemed startled when she heard the purpose of their visit.
    ‘You want to know about Lynn?’ she repeated in surprise, her vacant eyes animated with fleeting interest. ‘After all this time, why would you want to know about her now?’

     
    ‘I know it’s a long time since she left home –’ Geraldine began.
    ‘Home!’ the fat man interrupted, rolling his piggy eyes. ‘If she ever thought of this place as her home, I’ll eat my hat.’
    At her side, Geraldine heard Sam cough. It sounded as though she was trying not to laugh. Geraldine turned and glared at the sergeant who looked down, biting her