Stop Dead (7 page)

‘You said he drank and you thought he might have been in a brawl. It was your word.’

The widow’s eyes flickered round the room, avoiding Geraldine’s gaze.

‘Was he a violent man?’

‘No, he wasn’t violent. He was… He was a good man.’

‘Were the police ever called when he was in a fight?’

‘No, no, there was nothing like that. No one was ever hurt. He just used to drink a bit. It was nothing serious.’

Amy dropped her eyes and stared at her hands, while her fingers fidgeted with her wedding ring.

‘Two months ago you reported your husband for domestic violence.’

‘I retracted it,’ Amy whispered.

She looked pale.

‘It wasn’t true, it was just … a mistake.’

‘A mistake?’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ she went on, her voice stronger. ‘It was a mistake. It was my own fault. I thought Patrick was seeing someone else, but he wasn’t. He was just working long hours. I made a mistake.’

Amy stood up abruptly and walked over to the door.

‘I’d like you to leave now.’

Geraldine didn’t move. Amy spoke angrily.

‘I don’t want to discuss this any more. Please, just go. I’ve just lost my husband.’

Geraldine made no move to leave.

‘My sergeant will be here with a cup of tea for you soon, and then I’ll need to ask you a few more questions.’

‘No, no, I can’t, not now. Not yet. I can’t talk about this. It’s all too– too confusing.’

Amy sat down again and flung her head in her hands. Geraldine could see nothing of the widow’s face behind its trembling screen of hair.

‘Don’t you want to help us find out who killed your husband?’

Amy Henshaw sat up suddenly as though she had been stung, tossed back her hair and glared at Geraldine.

‘Of course I do.’

Sam came in holding a delicate china cup and saucer decorated with blue flowers.

‘Here you go,’ she said, handing the tea to Amy. ‘I’m sorry, this tea set was all I could find.’

Amy took a sip of tea and pulled a face. She put the cup down on the nearest table.

‘I don’t take sugar.’

‘You’ve had a shock, Mrs Henshaw. Sweet tea is the best thing for you right now. Drink it.’

‘And then we would like to ask you a few questions,’ Geraldine repeated gently.

‘Can’t you leave me alone?’

‘We’d like to run through a few routine questions first.’

Reluctantly, Amy sipped the tea and nodded, her eyes downcast.

‘Go on then. Let’s get this over with.’

‘Mrs Henshaw,’ Geraldine leaned forward. ‘Were you aware of any bad feeling towards your husband? Anyone he might have had a falling out with?’

Amy shook her head.

‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm him? Anyone who had a grudge against him? An aggrieved employee, perhaps?’

Amy put her cup and saucer down on the table beside her.

‘Patrick didn’t discuss his work with me. I don’t know anything about it. He never said anything.’

‘Did he ever mention any names? Any arguments he might have had?’

‘No. I told you, he never brought his work home.’

Her voice was clipped, curt, and she didn’t look up, every inch the bereaved wife in shock.

Despite feeling that Amy Henshaw was playing a role, Geraldine spoke more gently.

‘Had you been married for long?’

‘Twenty years.’

‘Was it a happy marriage?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your marriage. Was it a happy one?’

‘Yes. Of course it was. Patrick is – he was – a wonderful husband. Whatever I wanted –’

She broke down in tears, hiding her face in her hands.

‘We’ll leave it there for now, Mrs Henshaw.’

Geraldine stood up.

‘Here’s my card. Please call me if you want anything, or if you think of anything else you’d like to tell me. Now, would you like us to call anyone? You might not want to be alone –’

‘No, I’m fine. Just leave me alone.’

‘So what did you make of the grief stricken widow?’ Sam asked as the front door closed behind them.

‘I’m not sure,’ Geraldine admitted. ‘It was a bit much of her to claim he was never violent, just two months after she accused him of beating her up, or at least hitting her. Did she think we wouldn’t know about that?’

‘Well, there was something distinctly odd about her, if you ask me,’ Sam said.

‘Odd in what way?’

‘I don’t know, really. There’s nothing I can put my finger on, but I didn’t believe a single word she said.’

Geraldine nodded.

‘I thought that too. She’s covering something up, but what? It might have nothing whatever to do with her husband’s death, but she was definitely frightened.’

‘Yes, that’s the impression I had, which suggests –’ Sam left the sentence unfinished.

T
he pathologist’s report made unpleasant reading. The vicious injuries inflicted on Henshaw seemed to suggest the killer had known his victim. If that was true, with luck it could make the case relatively easy to wrap up; sooner or later painstaking investigation into everyone who knew Henshaw would lead to the murderer. In the meantime, Reg Milton was waiting impatiently to find out what information had been gathered so far. After spending most of the day studying reports, there had been little time to deal with a pile of paperwork that was growing on his desk, trivial but pressing.

The detective chief inspector had summoned his team for a late afternoon briefing and waited while they all gathered in the incident room. Geraldine and Sam entered together, both clutching cups of coffee, smiling at something they had just been discussing. Watching them, Reg felt a pang of regret at the camaraderie he had relinquished in moving up the hierarchy. He greeted them all cheerfully before turning to Geraldine.

‘You questioned Keith Apsley, didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what did you make of him?’

‘I think he was on the level, sir.’

‘My name’s Reg,’ he reminded her with a smile.

‘Sorry. Old habits die hard. I’m used to working in the Home Counties.’

When Geraldine returned his smile, Reg thought that perhaps he had been right to go for promotion after all. Forming an effective team out of a disparate group of strangers was just a different kind of challenge to those faced by officers working out in the community. Even behind a desk he could make a difference. He turned his attention to what Geraldine was saying.

‘Apsley was irritated that the Mercedes had been left right outside his garage, so he checked it out. At first he thought the man in the driver’s seat was asleep, probably drunk, but after a while he realised something was wrong – he noticed blood outside the vehicle and wasn’t able to rouse the man, so he called it in. That seems to be the extent of his involvement.’

‘Why did it take him so long to call us?’ someone wanted to know.

Geraldine shrugged.

‘That part of his statement’s not altogether clear. He claims he didn’t realise straight away that there was anything wrong. He didn’t notice the body in the morning.’

‘Didn’t notice it?’

‘Yes sir– Reg. The thing is, it’s possible, because the car’s got tinted windows. I believe him. He was in a hurry to get off to work and thought he could leave it till later to deal with. He was hoping someone would come and remove the car by the time he got home yesterday evening.’

Samantha Haley shook her head impatiently and looked as though she was about to speak, but Reg turned to a detective constable who had been doing some research into the witness. He wanted to share some facts before listening to any more speculation about whether or not he was telling the truth.

‘Has he got form?’

‘No. There’s nothing on him or his wife. Both working, nothing on either of them.’

Reg turned to another constable who had been looking into the victim’s background. It was similarly uneventful.

‘Not so much as a parking ticket, and that’s quite a feat considering they live in Hampstead. He wasn’t born to money. Grew up on a council estate in South London.’

‘So the money came from his wife?’

The constable shook his head.

‘Patrick Henshaw was a self-made man. In his twenties he made some very lucrative investments – shrewd or lucky, maybe both. Anyway, he made himself a tidy packet. By the time he reached forty, he was worth millions. When he married Amy he was forty-five and she was just twenty. He retired from business when they married then five years ago he bought a swanky restaurant in Soho. God knows why, he didn’t need the money.’

‘Perhaps he was bored,’ Reg suggested. ‘So his wife’s twenty-five years younger than him which would make her forty. He was more than double her age when he married her.’

‘Yes, she’s forty. She must be a very wealthy woman now.’

Sam broke in briskly.

‘Which makes it more likely it’s a crime of passion, something to do with his wife. Why else would the killer have been so violent? And if she’s inherited a fortune –’

Reg turned to her with a nod to indicate he was listening.

‘I don’t think we should be writing Keith Apsley off just yet. I think he might somehow be involved in it.’

Eagerly she outlined the reason for her suspicion, the body having arrived outside Keith Apsley’s house just when his wife was away.

‘It just seems a bit of a coincidence. It’s possible Keith Apsley was having an affair with Amy Henshaw. What if he killed her husband so they could get his money?’ she concluded triumphantly.

‘We’re not ruling anything out for now,’ Reg replied. ‘Not until we know more about what happened, but I agree it sounds as though Apsley might be implicated.’

‘You haven’t even spoken to him,’ Geraldine pointed out.

‘As I said, I’m not ruling anything out just yet,’ he repeated, a trifle sharply.

He considered Sam’s suggestion. On the face of it, the idea seemed reasonable. It was certainly an odd coincidence, a man’s body appearing outside the Apsleys’ garage just when Keith’s wife was away. But Geraldine’s explanation was equally plausible. He had only worked with her on one case, but her gut feeling then had proved spot on. He wondered if that had just been luck, or if she was one of those rare officers who possessed an uncanny instinct for the truth. There was no doubt she had an impressive track record.

‘Well,’ he concluded. ‘We’ll keep our minds open and carry on. See what we can find out.’

G
eraldine was annoyed that Reg had taken Sam’s theory seriously. Reg hadn’t even met Apsley, and they had found nothing to suggest he was having an affair with Amy Henshaw. She hoped the investigation wouldn’t be led astray by fanciful speculation. As her mentor, Geraldine had already warned the sergeant against unsubstantiated speculation. She had another go at impressing on Sam the importance of resisting committing to a theory without any evidence.

‘So you think I’ve got it all wrong, is that what you’re trying to tell me?’

‘I’m just saying we need to keep an open mind. Cases can throw up all sorts of surprises.’

‘I have got an open mind,’ Sam replied crossly and they drove the rest of the way to the morgue in silence.

Geraldine arrived at the morgue irritated with Sam, and even more annoyed with herself for handling the situation so clumsily. The pathologist met them with a smile. He had clear hazel eyes and light brown hair tinged with red. Although he must have been older, he looked about twenty.

‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he said with a hint of impatience in his voice.

He introduced himself as Miles Fellows. While Geraldine responded to the friendly greeting, Sam stepped forward for a sight of the body. She flinched and Geraldine threw the sergeant a sympathetic glance, aware that Sam felt queasy around corpses.

‘I’m afraid he was a bit of a mess when he was brought in,’ the pathologist began, sounding apologetic, as though he was somehow responsible for the victim’s injuries. Horrified, Geraldine and Sam studied the cadaver. The dead man’s face was bloodless, the effect emphasised by his dark staring eyes and gaping mouth. From one side his face was white and intact. With curiously angular features, he looked like an android. As Geraldine approached she saw a deep weal on his left temple surrounded by a bruise that extended from the edge of his straight eyebrow to disappear beneath his hair. But that wasn’t what held her attention.

‘Oh my God, what happened to him?’ Sam asked.

‘This was a vicious attack,’ Miles replied quietly. ‘The attack began with an injury to the side of the head.’

He pointed to the gash on the victim’s temple.

‘It may appear superficial, but the internal damage is considerable, a single blow inflicted with considerable force at close range. It would probably have been enough to stun the victim, if not knock him unconscious. And after that – as you can see – the victim was severely battered.’

No one spoke for a few seconds as they stared at the dead man’s pulverised genitals, a mess of bloody flesh.

‘That’s disgusting,’ Sam muttered at last.

Her voice sounded thick and slurred, as though it was an effort for her to move her lips.

‘There was a hell of a lot of blood in the car where he was found,’ Geraldine said. ‘Would it all have been the victim’s or –’

It seemed too much to hope the killer might have left his DNA at the scene.

‘The blow to his head might well have knocked him out, or at least it would have dazed him for a few seconds, but he was still alive when the other injuries were inflicted. I can’t imagine he would have remained conscious for long and the shock and blood loss would have finished him off pretty quickly even if he’d weathered the blow to his temple. But between the two injuries that could well account for very extensive bleeding,’ Miles told them.

There was another pause.

‘I daresay you already know a great deal about the victim. He was well nourished, worked out or exercised regularly, and looked after himself. My first impression was that we were looking at a man in his mid-fifties, but closer examination suggests he was past sixty.’

Geraldine said Henshaw was sixty-five when he died.