Deadly Will E-Book

Leigh Russell

• Herausgeber: No Exit Press
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: A DI Geraldine Steel Thriller
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 452

Beschreibung

THE NEXT NOVEL FROM ONE OF THE UK'S FAVOURITE CRIME WRITERS WITH OVER 1.5 MILLION COPIES SOLD. The body of a wealthy businessman is discovered in the river, but this was no accidental drowning. He was shot before his body entered the water. The police question the dead man's young girlfriend and his two adult children, all of whom are hoping to inherit his fortune. Before the killer is found, the dead man's girlfriend is murdered, and pressure mounts for Geraldine and her team to solve the case. Geraldine's partner is called away to work undercover. Soon after he leaves, their baby vanishes along with the child minder. Geraldine struggles to focus on the murder investigation while she desperately tries to find her child. Afraid that one of her colleagues may be in contact with the kidnapper, she knows she has to work alone, but time may be running out for her child. The next thrilling crime investigation, and the 22nd Instalment in the bestselling Geraldine Steel series.

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CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR LEIGH RUSSELL

‘A million readers can’t be wrong! Clear some time in your day, sit back and enjoy a bloody good read’ Howard Linskey

‘Taut and compelling’ Peter James

‘Leigh Russell is one to watch’ Lee Child

‘Leigh Russell has become one of the most impressively dependable purveyors of the English police procedural’ Times

‘DI Geraldine Steel is one of the most authoritative female coppers in a crowded field’ Financial Times

‘A brilliant talent in the thriller field’ Jeffery Deaver

‘Brilliant and chilling, Leigh Russell delivers a cracker of a read!’ Martina Cole

‘A great plot that keeps you guessing right until the very end, some subtle subplots, brilliant characters both old and new and as ever a completely gripping read’ Life of Crime

‘The latest police procedural from prolific novelist Leigh Russell is as good and gripping as anything she has published’ Times & Sunday Times Crime Club

‘A fascinating gripping read. The many twists kept me on my toes and second-guessing myself’ Over The Rainbow Book Blog

‘Well paced with marvellously well-rounded characters and a clever plot that make this another thriller of a read from Leigh Russell’ Orlando Books

‘A well-written, fast-paced and very enjoyable thriller’ The Book Lovers Boudoir

‘An edge-of-your-seat thriller that will keep you guessing’ Honest Mam Reader

‘Well paced, has red herrings and twists galore, keeps your attention and sucks you right into its pages’ Books by Bindu

‘5 stars! Another super addition to one of my favourite series, which remains as engrossing and fresh as ever!’ The Word is Out

‘A nerve-twisting tour de force that will leave readers on the edge of their seats, Leigh Russell’s latest Detective Geraldine Steel thriller is a terrifying page-turner by this superb crime writer’ Bookish Jottings

‘An absolute delight’ The Literary Shed

‘I simply couldn’t put it down’ Shell Baker, Chelle’s Book Reviews

‘If you love a good action-packed crime novel, full of complex characters and unexpected twists, this is one for you’ Rachel Emms, Chillers, Killers and Thrillers

‘All the things a mystery should be: intriguing, enthralling, tense and utterly absorbing’ Best Crime Books

‘A series that can rival other major crime writers out there…’ Best Books to Read

‘Sharp, intelligent and well plotted’ Crime Fiction Lover

‘Another corker of a book from Leigh Russell… Russell’s talent for writing top-quality crime fiction just keeps on growing’ Euro Crime

‘A definite must read for crime thriller fans everywhere’ Newbooks Magazine

‘Russell’s strength as a writer is her ability to portray believable characters’ Crime Squad

‘A well-written, well-plotted crime novel with fantastic pace and lots of intrigue’ Bookersatz

‘An encounter that will take readers into the darkest recesses of the human psyche’ Crime Time

‘Well written and chock full of surprises, this hard-hitting, edge-of-the-seat instalment is yet another treat… Geraldine Steel looks set to become a household name. Highly recommended’ Euro Crime

‘Good, old-fashioned, heart-hammering police thriller… a no-frills delivery of pure excitement’ SAGA Magazine

‘A gritty and totally addictive novel’ New York Journal of Books

To Michael, Joanna, Phillipa, Phil, Rian and Kezia.

With my love.

Glossary of Acronyms

DCI – Detective Chief Inspector (senior officer on case)

DI – Detective Inspector

DS – Detective Sergeant

SOCO – scene of crime officer (collects forensic evidence at scene)

PM – Post Mortem or Autopsy (examination of dead body to establish cause of death)

CCTV – Closed Circuit Television (security cameras)

VIIDO – Visual Images, Identification and Detections Office

MIT – Murder Investigation Team

1

Time seemed to crawl by as he stared at the intruder. He could only have stayed silent for a few seconds, but it felt like hours.

‘No, no,’ he croaked. His throat felt as though it was closing up. He tried again, forcing the words out in breathless bursts. ‘Why are you doing this? Who are you?’ His words rose in a shrill crescendo and he broke off, struggling to control his shaking.

‘You don’t need to know who I am.’ The voice was hoarse, impossible to identify.

All he could see of the face were dark eyes glittering at him through holes in a balaclava. The stuff of nightmares. The intruder lifted one arm and a faint light from the window shone on the barrel of a gun.

‘Get out of my house!’ he yelled suddenly, terror finally loosening his tongue. ‘Get out! Get out!’

Muffled by the disguise, the intruder’s laughter sounded barely human. ‘That’s not how this works. You do what I say or—’ There was a loud click and the gun jerked in a leather-clad hand.

‘What do you want?’ he gasped.

He took an involuntary step backwards, as though a few inches distance would shield him from a bullet threatening to rip through his flesh. Desperately he glanced around for his phone, but it wasn’t beside the bed.

His initial burst of adrenaline gave way before a visceral fear that gripped him, making it difficult to move or utter a word. He struggled to control his thoughts. He knew he ought to be observing the intruder, memorising details to tell the police, but he couldn’t focus. In any case, it was impossible to see anything under the shapeless jacket, balaclava and gloves, which concealed every inch of skin.

‘What do you want?’ he repeated. The words sounded unreal, but he ploughed on. ‘I’m rich.’ Sensing a way out of danger, he became garrulous in his relief. ‘That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? If it’s money you’re after, you’ve come to the right place. Come to my study and I’ll open the safe. You can have everything. Only please don’t hurt me,’ he added, almost breaking down as the intruder stirred. ‘You can have all my money, my wife’s diamonds, passports. They can all be yours if you don’t hurt me. Is it a deal?’

He was in no position to bargain, but he had to try. Dimly aware of the alarm wailing outside, he knew if he kept his nerve this harrowing situation could be over quite soon. Somewhere in the room his phone rang. The burglar alarm monitoring service was following up the alarm signal. When he didn’t pick up, they would alert the police.

‘Go to the garage.’

‘What? There’s nothing there. Only my car. The money’s in my—’

‘Stop talking and move!’

Unable to buy his way out of danger, he had no choice but to obey. With the barrel of a gun repeatedly prodding the back of his neck, he stumbled down the stairs and through the door that took them from the kitchen to the garage. Climbing into the driving seat, he picked up the remote control he kept in his car. Conscious of the masked figure sitting behind him, as if in a dream, he watched the electric door slide upwards.

‘Drive or I shoot,’ the voice rasped. ‘Go! Now!’

As he reached the end of the road, he heard a siren in the distance. If the police were responding to his alarm call, they were too late. He didn’t dare brake but continued driving down towards the river, the gun pointing at the back of his head. If only he hadn’t insisted on tinted windows, someone might have noticed the masked face of his captor, directing him from the back seat. But the intruder and the gun were shielded from the outside world. Late-night carousers staggered along the pavements in a blur, oblivious to the drama speeding past them. On the crowded streets of the city, he was facing death alone. He wondered whether to crash the car deliberately, but was afraid any sudden impact might cause the gun to go off. His adversary might be injured or even killed in an accident, but he himself would almost certainly die. One tremor of a stranger’s finger on a trigger was all it would take. So he drove on, doing exactly as he was told, while his senses seemed unnaturally alert, watching and waiting for an opportunity to escape.

They reached the river at just after two o’clock. There was no one else around as they pulled up in a secluded spot.

‘Open your door and get out,’ the passenger rasped. ‘We don’t want to make a mess in your expensive car.’

He held his breath, clinging to the steering wheel as though that could save him. ‘What if I refuse?’ he asked.

‘It’s your car.’

The barrel of the gun jabbed him suddenly in the back of his neck, and he let out an involuntary whimper. Trembling, he opened the door and stepped out of the car. Raw night air whipped at his face, and he realised he was sweating. He stared at moonlight rippling on the water, and wondered whether it was the last sight he would ever see. It struck him that he had never taken the time to appreciate just how beautiful the river was, flowing darkly under a night sky pierced by brilliant points of light. The moon hung ahead of him, a softly glowing crescent. For a fleeting instant he found it strangely comforting. He was alive in a beautiful world. As though celebrating his realisation, a shooting star shot across the sky in a wide arc, ephemeral as life itself.

‘What do you want?’ he asked. ‘You can have anything. But don’t hurt me, please.’

‘Silence!’ The voice was no longer disguised, and with a thrill of fear he understood.

2

After her initial rush of excitement at the prospect of returning to work, Geraldine was seized by a spasm of guilt over leaving her six-month-old baby. Geraldine knew Tom so well, it was a wrench to hand him over to a childminder, and she almost changed her mind at the last minute. But Zoe, golden-haired and freckled, was relaxed and efficient and relentlessly patient. She seemed suitable, and had turned up at exactly the right time with impressive testimonials. Not only was Zoe happy to look after Tom, she was available at short notice just when Geraldine needed her. Ian questioned whether Tom might be better off in a situation where he learned to socialise with other infants, but Geraldine thought Tom would benefit from Zoe’s undivided attention, and they both liked the fact that she had no car. So everything was arranged.

The day before Geraldine was due to return to work, she left Tom with Zoe for the afternoon, so he could get used to her. He seemed quite content with the arrangement, and when she picked him up, Zoe assured her he had been fine. But now that it was almost time to leave him for a whole day, Geraldine felt uneasy.

Ian dismissed her apprehension with a sympathetic smile.

‘It’s only natural to feel nervous about it,’ he said kindly. ‘But you’re not doing anything wrong. Most mothers leave their children and go back to work.’

Geraldine nodded uncertainly. ‘I know. It’s nothing against Zoe personally. I’m just feeling anxious all of a sudden. And guilty,’ she admitted.

‘Well, there’s absolutely nothing to feel guilty about. Do you want a hug?’ he asked.

A hug was Ian’s answer to most of her wobbles and, as usual, the reassuring warmth of his arms around her really helped. Rationally, she knew she was right to return to a job at which she excelled. As a detective, her skills had been honed over many years dedicated to investigating serious crimes. Tom would be better off with a woman experienced in child care. Most mothers leave their children, she repeated to herself as she drew up outside Zoe’s neat little house. It was ridiculous to worry about him. And she would still be home to put him to bed. Holding him close, she peeled him away from his car seat, and hid her reluctance when she handed him over. Zoe put him down and handed him a soft toy that jingled when shaken. Dismissing her misgivings as natural, Geraldine turned to leave, but Tom seemed to sense what was happening and let out a wail of protest. Even though Geraldine had left him with the childminder before, there was a finality about her departure this time, an abandonment of their shared life.

‘Don’t worry. He’s going to be fine,’ Zoe assured her, ushering Geraldine out of the front door on to the chilly November street. ‘As soon as he can’t see you, he’ll stop crying.’ She was right. The crying had stopped and there was a faint sound of jingling coming from the house.

Uncertain whether she should feel relieved at Tom’s easy acceptance of her departure, Geraldine forced herself to drive away, wondering whether she had done the right thing. Ian had encouraged her to stay at home for another six months, which she could easily have done. She had been desperate to return to work, but now that the moment had arrived, she couldn’t remember why she had been so impatient to give up being a full-time mother. She almost turned the car around to go back and reclaim Tom. She would admit she had made a stupid mistake, and she wasn’t ready to go back to work yet. Tom was her baby and he should be with her, not with some stranger who was only caring for him because she was being paid. This painful parting was unnecessary. She didn’t have to do it. But she didn’t turn around.

Her reservations vanished as soon as she entered the police station. She had done her best to adapt to living at home with a baby, but there was no denying the police station felt like home to her. The tension in her neck and shoulders seemed to ease as she crossed the entrance hall. Admittedly her job could be stressful, but she relished the familiar challenges of her work. The unpredictable demands of a baby were a different matter entirely, with Tom’s needs a seemingly interminable reminder of her inexperience as a mother.

‘If only you could tell me what you want,’ she had murmured to him in the middle of the previous night, when he had woken up screaming for no apparent reason. After about fifteen minutes he had abruptly gone back to sleep, leaving her frustrated and exhausted. Her sister, Celia, who had two children, assured her Tom was just teething, or suffering from harmless colic, but Geraldine had no way of knowing if that was true. Skills acquired over years spent interrogating hardened criminals didn’t help her when she was investigating why her six-month-old baby was crying.

The desk sergeant glanced up from a file he was studying and smiled at her. ‘Hello again,’ he greeted her, before looking back at the document he was reading.

And just like that, with no fuss, she was back. There was a similar absence of fanfare when she walked into the serious crime workspace where most of her colleagues were too preoccupied to give her more than a cursory nod and smile of welcome before returning to their tasks. What felt like a momentous change to Geraldine was unremarkable to everyone else. Only her friends, black-haired Ariadne and blonde Naomi, jumped up from their desks and hurried over to greet her.

‘I’m so glad you’re back,’ Naomi said, her pretty face creased in a welcoming grin.

‘We missed you,’ Ariadne added, beaming.

Geraldine smiled back at her two colleagues. An experienced officer, Ariadne Moralis took after her Greek mother, with hair and eyes as dark as Geraldine’s. Like Geraldine, she was in her early forties, while Naomi Arnold, not long ago promoted to detective sergeant, was barely out of her twenties. While they could not have been more different in appearance, both were intelligent and hardworking, and Geraldine considered herself fortunate to have such dedicated colleagues working alongside her in murder investigations. They made a good team.

‘It’s great to be back,’ she said.

‘We’re not on a case right now,’ Ariadne told her, ‘but there’s always the usual catching up to do.’

‘Plenty of paperwork to keep us busy,’ Naomi added.

Ariadne mimed a yawn and Naomi smiled.

Geraldine spent the morning getting to grips with the changes that had been introduced while she was away. There were the usual alterations to acronyms, and so-called improvements had been made to the systems she needed to use. It took time to update her passwords and note the changes, all of which was dull work, but she didn’t mind. Hopefully they would be able to enjoy a relatively relaxed period in the run up to Christmas. She was having disturbed nights now Tom had started teething – or suffering from colic – and she didn’t want any additional stress in her life, if she could avoid it. Ian was excited about Tom’s first Christmas although, at little more than six months old, he wouldn’t know anything about it. Geraldine was more concerned about what to give the childminder, and whether she ought to buy a present for Zoe’s daughter who would be home from university soon. At lunchtime she phoned Zoe who reassured her that Tom was fine and reiterated a promise to call if there were any problems. Geraldine wasn’t far away.

The nights were drawing in. While there were disadvantages to investigating murders in warmer weather, particularly when a body had been left exposed to the elements for more than a few days, nevertheless shorter days made investigations more challenging, especially in bad weather.

‘Hopefully everyone is too focused on Christmas to be thinking of killing anyone just now,’ Geraldine smiled.

‘I don’t know about that,’ Naomi replied sourly. ‘If you ask me, family gatherings are where vicious quarrels are most likely to break out. Throw in excessive drinking, and it’s a tinder box waiting to ignite. Who wants to spend a whole day with their family? Surely that’s exactly where most murders are plotted.’

Geraldine smiled uneasily, wondering what lay behind her colleague’s remark. She and Naomi had worked closely together on several cases. Facing danger side by side on more than one occasion, they had formed a strong bond. Yet Geraldine knew almost nothing about Naomi’s personal life. It was a salutary reminder not to make assumptions about other people.

3

The boys were messing about on the dinghy. The boat belonged to Dean’s family, but no one ever used it apart from him and his friends. He and Benjy had often gone out on the river together when they were younger, but now they were away at different universities and only occasionally had time to go rowing together. They were both in York for a mutual friend’s party, and it was Benjy’s suggestion that they take the boat out on the water. At that time of year the river was deserted so early in the day, and they had the stretch between the railway bridge and Lendal Bridge to themselves. The morning mist had begun to lift as the late autumn sun broke through the clouds, leaving the air damp and fresh, but it was still freezing cold. Benjy was already regretting having persuaded his friend to go out. His gloves didn’t seem to be doing much good. He let go of his oar, one hand at a time, and wriggled his fingers. That didn’t help either.

‘I’m freezing to death,’ he called out as they reached Lendal Bridge. ‘It was a stupid idea to come out on the river.’

‘It was your idea in the first place,’ Dean pointed out.

‘Well, I’ve changed my mind. It’s no fun in this weather, and it’s going to start raining soon. I vote we go back and have a coffee or something to thaw us out before we die of hypothermia.’

‘All right,’ his friend replied, laughing. ‘If you’re going to be melodramatic about it. I’d hate to see you give up the ghost in my– Hang on. What’s that?’ He raised his oar and pointed at something floating at the edge of the water under the bridge.

‘Let’s just go back,’ Benjy repeated. ‘I’m freezing my bollocks off here.’

‘Yes, all right, but first, I want to go over and see what it is.’

‘Forget it. It’s only a log or something, trapped under the bridge. It’ll free itself in the current. And if it doesn’t, who cares?’

‘I think we should check it out. Someone could be in trouble.’ He looked round at his friend with a worried expression. ‘It looks like a body.’

‘Don’t be daft. Who the hell would want to go swimming? No one would last five minutes in the water at this time of year.’

‘I’m not saying anyone’s gone swimming, but they might have fallen in. Could be pissed. Come on, we’re going over there to take a closer look.’

They rowed towards the floating bundle, Benjy grumbling all the way. At last Dean leaned over the side to inspect the floating object and yelled out in alarm.

‘What?’ Benjy asked, intrigued in spite of his freezing fingers which were beginning to really hurt. ‘What is it?’

‘I was right. It’s a body. Bloody hell. Someone has fallen in. I can’t see his face but he’s not moving. Hello! Hello! Can you hear me?’ He poked at it with his oar and it bobbed about without responding. ‘Shit, I think he’s dead.’

Benjy said that was hardly surprising. No one could survive in that freezing water.

‘Are you sure it’s human?’ he added.

Dean nodded and said he could see it was a person, lying face down in the water.

‘You’d better call the police,’ Benjy said, snapping out of his fixation on his own discomfort.

They had left their phones in the locker at the boathouse, afraid of dropping them in the water. They now regretted what had seemed like a sensible precaution. After a hurried exchange they set off back to the boathouse. It wasn’t far, but their hands were numb, and it seemed to take forever. At last they reached the boathouse, shipped their oars and moored up as quickly as they could. A moment later Dean was calling the police, while they hurried back along the path to watch what happened. A cordon was already in place by the time Benjy and Dean neared the bridge, and a police boat roared up as they arrived. One of the officers on the bank stopped them.

‘I’m sorry, sir, I’m afraid you can’t go any further. This section of the footpath is temporarily closed to the public.’

The policeman didn’t look much older than Dean and Benjy, but he spoke with the authority of a man in uniform. Dean stepped forward officiously to explain that he wasn’t just any passerby but was, in fact, the witness who had called the police to report finding a body underneath Lendal Bridge. The young policeman nodded equably and asked him and Benjy to wait until someone was available to talk to them.

‘What happened to him?’ Benjy asked.

‘We don’t have any details yet,’ the policeman replied. ‘We’ll be bringing him out of the water shortly.’

‘Can we watch?’

‘You can’t go past the cordon,’ the policeman replied. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he added, ‘but that’s official. There’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘But we can’t see anything from here,’ Dean objected.

‘Someone will be here to question you in a moment and then you’re free to leave,’ the policeman replied, ignoring Dean’s protest.

‘We don’t want to go home,’ Dean insisted. ‘We want to see what’s going on. We found him in the first place.’

The policeman nodded at that, but didn’t reply. There appeared to be some activity on the far side of the bridge. They could hear shouts and someone calling out to ‘Be careful there,’ and ‘Just a little more and we’re clear,’ but without being able to see what was going on it was difficult to work out what was happening.

‘It sounds like they’re pulling him out of the river,’ Benjy said.

Just then, another policeman in uniform arrived. He was slightly older than the first one, and officiously echoed what his young colleague had told them. After making a note of their contact details and asking them what they had been doing before their discovery, he thanked them for their time and turned away.

‘Wait,’ Dean called out. ‘We want to know who it is – was.’

The older of the two policemen didn’t deign to reply.

The younger one gave an apologetic smile. ‘I’m afraid we can’t give out any details at this point.’

‘They obviously don’t know yet,’ Dean said.

‘Let’s leave them to get on with their job. Rather them than me,’ Benjy added, as they turned away.

‘He probably jumped off the bridge,’ Dean said.

Benjy shuddered. ‘I suppose we’ll read about it online.’

‘If it’s considered newsworthy,’ Dean replied. ‘It probably isn’t that unusual for people to throw themselves off the bridge. Just before Christmas as well.’ He sighed.

‘It’s a difficult time for a lot of people,’ his friend said.

‘Come on, let’s go out for breakfast. I’m starving,’ Dean added, cheering up.

Benjy nodded. ‘Me too.’ It had been an exhausting morning, even though they had spent most of the time standing around in the cold, waiting to be questioned.

It began to rain as they walked away, and they hurried along the path, debating where to go.

4

At lunchtime the three friends met in the canteen. They were halfway through their lunch, enjoying each other’s company and agreeing that it was ‘like old times’, when all of their phones buzzed simultaneously. They exchanged a glance.

‘Just like old times,’ Geraldine said, with a grimace

‘At least it’s not the middle of the night,’ Ariadne added.

‘Five minutes,’ Naomi told them, reading the message.

They turned their attention to their lunch, eating as quickly as they could, before they hurried off to the major incident room together. Detective Chief Inspector Binita Hewitt was already in place, waiting, as the team assembled.

‘A man’s body has been discovered caught in weeds under Lendal Bridge,’ she began straightaway, giving Geraldine a brief nod in acknowledgement of her return. This was no time for pleasantries.

‘A jumper?’ someone suggested.

‘Possibly,’ Binita replied solemnly. ‘But the initial response team have reported suspicious circumstances. We need to see what they’ve got for us.’

Leaving the police station shortly after the meeting ended, Ariadne drove Geraldine down to the river, parking near Lendal Bridge. On the way, Ariadne enquired after Tom. Geraldine gave an appropriate response. She couldn’t explain that she was trying to distance herself from her baby so she could concentrate on the crime scene. She trusted the childminder to do her job; she had to focus on her own. It was hard to believe how swiftly she had been able to switch from one mindset to another, as easily as flipping a switch. With luck they would solve this case quickly, leaving her free to think about her child once more. In the meantime, the investigation had to be her priority.

‘Faster,’ she said, switching on the siren, and grumbling about their speed as Ariadne accelerated for a moment only to hit the brakes again.

‘We won’t get there any quicker by trying to barge our way through the traffic,’ Ariadne said.

‘I know, it’s just that we need to get there before they move the body.’

‘Actually we don’t,’ Ariadne muttered.

As a rule, Ariadne was content to leave it to scene of crime officers and the medical officer on duty to determine what had happened at a crime scene, but whenever possible Geraldine insisted on viewing murder victims before they were moved. Observing the victim in situ could sometimes leave her with a sense of what might have happened, as though a kind of atmosphere hovered in the air around the scene. Many of her colleagues, including Ariadne, dismissed such speculation as irrational, but there was no doubt Geraldine’s hunches often proved correct.

It was early afternoon when they set off. The sky was overcast and a cold wind was blowing through the trees that bordered the river, making their sparse leaves flutter as they clung to the branches. The forensic tent had already been erected by the time they arrived and a cordon was in place, blocking access to the path by the river. A uniformed officer had been posted at either end of that stretch of the bank to turn back cyclists and pedestrians. A lone car was parked nearby. Geraldine and Ariadne learned that the vehicle was registered to a local man named Martin Reed. The initial suspicion was that Martin had been pulled from the river, although the dead man’s identity had not yet been confirmed. Several white-suited scene of crime officers were walking carefully over the muddy ground, examining footprints, taking photographs and marking potential evidence.

‘It looks as though he drove himself here when it was dark, and slipped and fell in the river,’ Ariadne said, adding that he might have thrown himself in.

It had been raining during the night, making the path slippery; it was reasonable to suppose the death had been accidental.

‘So what are we doing here?’ Geraldine asked, gazing around. ‘It looks as though he fell in by accident, or jumped.’

‘It’s not that simple,’ the officer leading the scene of crime team replied, coming forward and introducing himself. ‘It’s true the victim ended up in the river, but he didn’t drown and he didn’t freeze to death either, although both looked likely before we got him out.’ He paused and screwed up his eyes against the wind before adding that the victim had been shot before he entered the water.

‘Shot?’ Geraldine repeated in surprise.

‘Someone wanted to make sure he was dead,’ Ariadne muttered.

‘He was killed by a shot to the head at close range. Whoever did that wasn’t taking any chances. The entry and exit wounds are both within his hairline, so it’s possible his killer was hoping we would assume he fell in the water and drowned by accident.’

‘Someone hasn’t been watching enough CSI,’ another scene of crime officer quipped. ‘Anyone who watches crime on the telly knows there are obvious signs when someone’s drowned.’

‘And it’s not difficult to tell when someone’s shot,’ Geraldine added drily.

‘You’re welcome to take a look,’ the first scene of crime officer said solemnly, ignoring the flippant exchange. ‘The doctor’s gone, but his report won’t be very illuminating. That’s to say, he’ll just confirm what I already told you, that the man was fatally wounded by a gunshot to the head, and his body was then thrown in the water. It looks like the killer brought a cushion along to muffle the sound of the shot. We found it further up the bank. It’s been taken away for examination.’

‘How long after he was shot did he end up in the river?’ Geraldine asked.

The scene of crime officer shrugged. ‘You’ll have to wait for the report for a more detailed timeline. All we know is that he was dead before he hit the water, and he may have come here in his own car. There’s a vehicle nearby registered to a local man, Martin Reed. Whether or not he was driving, or came here alone, is something for the forensic team to look into. They’re checking the car now, but chances are they won’t be able to tell you much until they take it away for a closer examination. There’s not much more to say for now.’ Swearing about the weather, he turned away to speak to a colleague.

After they both pulled on protective shoe covers, Ariadne went over to talk to the officers studying the car, while Geraldine put on full protective clothing and made her way along the common approach path to the tent. The seeming confusion outside gave way to an atmosphere of quiet and orderly activity inside. Like their colleagues outside on the path, the scene of crime officers in the forensic tent were scrutinising the ground, studying footprints that were faintly visible under the bright lights inside the tent, and collecting samples of earth and other detritus scattered on the muddy grass.

In the middle of the tent, the mound of a man’s body was clearly visible. Geraldine approached as closely as she was allowed, and stared down at him. The dead man was lying on his back. Under the glare of brilliant electric lighting, she could see the thick dark grey hair on the top of his head was streaked with sludge. Through dirty crimson stains on his temples, tiny threads of white hair showed up like tapeworms. His open eyes bulged, blighting his otherwise handsome features. There were none of the usual visible signs of drowning, such as froth at the nostrils or around the mouth. The lips were stretched open in a semblance of a grin, and the tongue appeared swollen. The man’s skin was pale and wrinkled, signs of maceration.

‘Do we have a time of death?’ Geraldine enquired.

The nearest scene of crime officer shrugged. ‘Last night some time,’ she replied. ‘The doc thought any time from after midnight. She said it wasn’t—’

‘I know, I know,’ Geraldine interrupted her. ‘It’s impossible to give an exact time, or even an approximation of it, because the body’s been immersed in water for hours, not to mention exposed to all manner of muck and pollution.’

Her colleague’s eyes creased in a smile above her mask.

‘Well, he’s dead anyway, so it makes no difference to him,’ she said.

‘But knowing when he died could help us find out who killed him,’ Geraldine replied, more for herself than the scene of crime officer who had already turned back to her work.

5

The following day, Geraldine went to the morgue to find out as much as she could about the man who had been shot. She had often worked with the pathologist, Jonah Hetherington, and was pleased to learn that he was conducting the post mortem. His assistant, Avril, was happy to see her again. She was not the kind of girl Geraldine would naturally have befriended. For nearly a year before Geraldine’s maternity leave, Avril’s main topic of conversation had been her wedding plans, a topic which didn’t interest Geraldine in the slightest. All the same, over the years they had become cordial acquaintances, if not exactly friends, in addition to being colleagues. Avril was keen to hear about Tom, and even more eager to talk about her own marriage which had taken place while Geraldine had been on maternity leave. Avril chatted happily about her party, and Geraldine duly admired the pictures of her dress and her venue and her exotic honeymoon. In return, Avril wanted to see a photo of Tom.

‘He’s just a baby,’ Geraldine laughed, but Avril insisted.

‘He’s so cute!’ she gushed, when Geraldine finally took a small photo out of her wallet. ‘Are you planning on getting married?’ Avril went on. ‘You know I can give you lots of tips, and I can recommend the venue and the caterer we used. They get booked up so you’ll need to plan way ahead, but by the time it happens, you’ll be able to dress Tom as a page boy in a cute little outfit. Anyway, the point is, it all went really well for us in the end, so there’s no need to reinvent the wheel. You can ask me anything and I don’t mind if you do the same as us. Quite the opposite, in fact. It would be brilliant for us to see it all as guests. You know I would have invited you and Ian, if you hadn’t just had Tom.’

‘We’ve got no plans to get married just yet,’ Geraldine interrupted her firmly. ‘It’s not long since Ian and his first wife divorced, and I don’t think he’s too keen on having another wedding.’

Avril stared earnestly at her. ‘He can’t let one bad experience scar him for life. That’s hardly fair on you. What about what you want?’

Geraldine shook her head. ‘Honestly, it’s not something we’ve ever discussed. There just never seems to be time to think about it, and I can’t say I’m that bothered.’ She didn’t add that with so many marriages failing, wedding celebrations had always struck her as a waste of money. ‘But I appreciate your offer of advice,’ she added kindly. ‘I know you just want to help. If we ever decide to tie the knot, I’ll be sure to take you up on your offer. And now, I’d better get on. Work to do.’

Jonah looked up as she entered, his squashed face lighting up in a smile. He held out his bloody gloved hands in a theatrical wave from the other side of the room.

‘Well, well, well,’ he greeted her. ‘Hello, stranger. It must be getting on for a year since you were last here.’

‘Nearly eight months,’ Geraldine replied, returning his smile. ‘But it feels like a lot longer.’

‘So you missed me too,’ he replied with a grin. ‘That’s a relief. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about me.’

‘How have you been?’ she asked.

‘Other than pining for you?’ he replied, with mock gravity. He placed a bloody hand on his chest and looked at her with a pained expression. ‘The days have dragged so slowly while you’ve been away, it’s been agony, sheer agony. And how’s your little one?’ he added, brightening up.

Geraldine smiled. For all his protestations of interest, Jonah evidently didn’t know if she had a son or a daughter. ‘He’s fine,’ she replied. ‘He’s called Tom.’

‘Tom,’ he repeated, nodding as though he was committing the name to memory. ‘Congratulations on looking so well on it. Being a mother clearly agrees with you. Ah, I remember the sleepless nights.’ He chuckled. ‘Would you believe it? With my good looks, I actually looked worse than him for a while?’ He gestured at the corpse.

Geraldine turned her attention to the body. ‘What can you tell me about him?’

Jonah nodded. The time for banter was over. He told Geraldine that the victim had suffered a fatal gunshot wound.

‘So he definitely didn’t drown?’

‘He was killed, instantly I would say, by a gunshot. The bullet passed through one of the ventricles through which cerebrospinal fluid flows. You have to appreciate that over ninety per cent of gunshot wounds to the head are instantly fatal, and this one was definitely one of the ninety per cent. So you’re right, he didn’t drown. There was no froth, and no cerebral anoxia.’ He pointed at a repulsive heap of sludge which Geraldine barely recognised as what had once been a human brain.

She turned her attention back to the body with its mutilated head and pale hands and feet, wrinkled from immersion in the river. ‘Do you think someone shot him and then carried or dragged the body to the river and threw him in?’

‘There are no post mortem injuries, which suggests he wasn’t dragged bodily from the car to the river, and no signs of resistance. My impression – and this is just speculation, so please don’t quote me on it – my impression is that he walked right to the water’s edge before he was shot and then fell straight into the water.’

‘He might have been forced to walk to the edge at gun point,’ Geraldine murmured.

Jonah shrugged. ‘There’s no way of knowing, but that would make sense, yes, given that he was shot.’

‘He was shot from the side and then fell or was pushed into the water. We’re examining the footprints along the river bank.’

Jonah grunted. ‘Once your people have finished, I dare say you’ll have a better idea of what happened. All I can tell you is that he was shot dead before he entered the water. I take it you know his name?’

She nodded. ‘We suspect he was called Martin Reed. That’s the registered owner of a car found abandoned near where the body entered the water, and as far as we can tell the body seems to match his appearance. It’s not yet been confirmed, but we’re confident that’s who he was.’

‘What else do we know about him?’ Jonah asked.

‘We’re looking into the circumstances of his life. Now, what can you tell us about his death?’

‘Oh, it’s like that, is it? You’ll show me yours if I show you mine.’ Jonah teased her with a laugh. ‘Very well then, I’ll go first. We’re looking at a man in his late sixties, I’d say, in very good physical shape for his age. He took good care of himself and exercised regularly. He had eaten well not long before he was killed: steak, green vegetables and potatoes. The medical examiner who attended the scene estimated the time of death at between midnight and four o’clock in the morning.’

She nodded, thinking. The scene of crime officers would already have studied the ground, but Jonah’s report would be read alongside their findings and every different piece of information needed to be meshed together like a giant jigsaw. It was impossible to say exactly how long it would take to discover all the pieces, and then gather them into a coherent picture. They still hadn’t confirmed the identity of the dead man. And, in the meantime, the murder weapon had not been found. An armed gunman was on the loose in the city, a gunman who had already committed one murder, and might be prepared to kill again.

6

They needed to move quickly. However careful they were to avoid contaminating the crime scene, any traces left by the killer were inevitably deteriorating, exposed as they had been to the wind and intermittent drizzle overnight. The longer they spent closely examining the area, the less they were likely to find. While scene of crime officers carried out their painstaking scrutiny of the river bank, searching for recent footprints, Geraldine needed to establish the identity of the victim. The body was almost certainly that of Martin Reed, so she went to his house, a large red brick property in Friars Terrace, near the minster. The walls looked as though they had recently been repointed, and the tall windows were well maintained, with handsome bay windows on the ground floor.

A woman of around thirty opened the gleaming black front door. Her heavily made-up eyes widened on seeing Geraldine waiting on the threshold. She swept glossy honey-blonde curls back off her face, displaying long scarlet nails. Her elegant pink and silver dressing gown shimmered as it swirled around her.

‘Have you come to see Martin?’ the woman enquired in a low and gentle voice. ‘Only he’s not here and before you ask, I don’t know where he is. He didn’t leave any message and he’s not answering his phone.’ Beneath a show of insouciance, her eyes betrayed her anxiety. ‘Who are you?’

Geraldine held up her identity card and the woman leaned forward to squint at it before she drew back with a scowl.

‘May I come in?’ Geraldine asked, taking a step forwards to prevent the woman from closing the door.

‘I don’t think so. What I mean to say is, it’s not my house so it’s not really my place to let you in. What do you want?’

‘Can you tell me first who you are, and why you’re here?’ Geraldine responded with questions of her own.

The woman answered that her name was Serena, and she lived there with Martin. ‘But it’s his house. Like I said, it’s not my place. I only moved in with him recently.’

‘You just told me Martin’s not here, and you said you don’t know where he is.’

Serena nodded.

‘We’re trying to find him. I’m afraid we’re going to have to come inside to look for any clues to his whereabouts.’

Serena frowned and she shifted her weight, poised to retreat and close the door. ‘I don’t understand. Has something happened to Martin?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Why else would you be here? What’s happened to him?’ Suddenly alert to the situation, Serena responded with a series of questions. ‘Tell me what you’re doing here. Something’s happened to him, hasn’t it? What? Tell me!’ She was becoming slightly hysterical.

‘I suggest we go inside and you can sit down and answer a few questions.’

‘I don’t understand what you’re doing here,’ Serena insisted. ‘I haven’t reported him missing.’

‘Let’s go inside where we can talk more comfortably.’

Her outburst over, Serena nodded and led Geraldine past a grandfather clock and a tall vase of flowers, across a narrow hall with several closed doors leading off it, and past a broad staircase with a wooden balustrade that swept upstairs. Geraldine waited until they were both seated in a lavishly furnished living room before she started questioning Serena.

‘When did you last see Martin?’

Serena stared at her, no longer defensive. ‘Where is he? Is he all right?’

‘We’re not sure. When did you last see him?’

‘I was away for the weekend. When I got home on Monday morning, he wasn’t here. I thought he’d be back in the evening, but he never appeared. I tried his phone but couldn’t get hold of him. I kept trying all day yesterday, but he still wasn’t answering. When he hadn’t called me by the evening, I called every hospital in the area, but no one had any record of him being admitted. They all said the same thing – to wait, he would probably turn up. I guessed his car had broken down, or something had come up and he had gone out without telling me, but by last night, I was really worried. He had been gone for more than twenty-four hours, and possibly longer because I didn’t speak to him over the weekend. I was planning to go to the police station in person this morning to report him missing. It’s better than phoning, I think.’ She shrugged. ‘But anyway, now you’re here I’d like to report him missing. Can we do that? I mean, officially? It would save me having to go to the police station, although I’ll probably do that anyway.’

‘Tell me about your relationship with Martin Reed,’ Geraldine replied, ignoring the question.

‘We worked together. That is, I worked for him as his personal assistant. But then, after his wife died, we fell in love. The truth is, I’d always had feelings for him, but he was married, so nothing ever happened between us and I thought nothing ever would. But after she died, I discovered he felt the same way. I know there’s a bit of an age difference between us.’

‘Forty years,’ Geraldine murmured.

‘Forty-five. I know what you’re thinking, but we love each other. There’s no point in pretending we don’t. Martin asked me to come and live with him, and I agreed. Why wouldn’t I? I love him. We love each other. So here I am.’ She gazed at Geraldine, her attractive features creased in a worried frown. ‘Only I don’t know where he is. Why would he go off without telling me? Do you know where he is?’

Geraldine listened as Martin’s girlfriend justified moving in with a man so much older than herself. Serena didn’t mention Martin’s wealth, although Geraldine supposed that might have been part of his attraction. She took down details relating to Martin’s disappearance and concluded by asking for his toothbrush or comb. Serena gasped and covered her mouth with both hands.

‘You think he’s dead, don’t you?’ Serena whispered, her eyes glistening with tears. ‘You’ve found his body. That’s why you want his DNA, isn’t it? Isn’t it?’

Watching her closely, Geraldine wondered whether Serena’s concern for Martin was as fake as her nails and eyelashes.

7

Returning to the police station, Geraldine discussed the case with her colleagues.

‘According to the pathologist’s report, there was nothing to indicate he had been dragged along the ground, no contusions or scratches inflicted before or after death, which suggests his killer must have carried the body quite carefully right to the water’s edge. So that means we’re probably looking for a man,’ Naomi suggested.

‘A man or a strong woman,’ Ariadne added.

‘Not necessarily,’ Geraldine said. ‘Let’s not jump to conclusions when there are other possibilities. The victim could have been forced at gun point to walk to the water’s edge and then been shot right there so he would have fallen into the water without needing to be pushed. Even carrying him carefully might have left some bruising, but there was nothing, and no defence wounds.’

‘He could have been shot actually on the water, forced to stand up in a boat,’ Naomi speculated.

‘Or even once he was in the water,’ Ariadne added. ‘You’re right, there are all sorts of possibilities.’

‘We need more evidence, and in the meantime we have to keep open minds. It’s a pity other people walked along the muddy footpath before SOCOs got there to examine it, but there’s still a chance they’ll come up with something.’

‘There might have been two sets of footprints, but we’ll never know,’ Ariadne said.

‘The body could have been carried there really carefully, but it does look like no one dragged it to the water’s edge,’ Naomi added.

Geraldine sighed. ‘I know it’s difficult when you have a theory that seems to make sense, but just because something could be true doesn’t mean it is. And so far, the evidence isn’t helping much.’

They finished their coffee and were about to go back to work, when they received confirmation that the DNA on Martin Reed’s toothbrush was a match for the body pulled from the river. No one was surprised. While it was never a cheerful discovery, it made their job simpler knowing the identity of the victim. Confident Martin Reed was the dead man in the river, Geraldine had already instructed Naomi to start looking into his background.

‘Our upright citizen Martin Reed had an interesting past,’ Naomi told them. ‘He was married to his second wife Ann for nearly forty years, since he was thirty, and they had two children, a son and a daughter.’

‘What happened to his first wife?’ Geraldine asked.

‘His first marriage didn’t last long, and his ex-wife went abroad after the divorce. She lived in America for around forty years and only returned to the UK two years ago when her partner there died.’

‘She came back around the time his second wife died,’ Geraldine said.

‘Yes, although there was no suspicion of foul play at the time. It was a brain tumour, all very sudden.’

‘So it was a coincidence, his first wife returning just then?’

Naomi nodded. ‘It seems so. She lives in Surrey and doesn’t appear to have had any contact with Martin for many years. As far as we know, she didn’t attend Ann’s funeral. So she seems to be out of the picture, although we’ll check, just to make sure. What may be more interesting is that six months after Ann died, his young PA moved in with him.’

‘How did his children feel about that, I wonder?’ Geraldine murmured.

Naomi nodded. ‘We need to find out whether he made any changes to his will,’ she added thoughtfully.

There seemed to be a handful of potential suspects, all of whom might turn out to have alibis. Until they knew for certain who could be ruled out as guilty, there was a lot of work to be done. DNA suggested the pillow found at the scene had come from Martin’s own bed, but it wasn’t yet clear who had brought it to the river bank. Possibly Martin had kept it in his car.

Ian had collected Tom and by the time Geraldine walked through the front door and kicked off her shoes, the baby was already asleep. She felt a flicker of disappointment that she hadn’t been there to put him to bed.

‘You could have waited for me to get home,’ she muttered.

‘He was tired,’ Ian replied. ‘And I thought you would be too, after your first day back. I hope it wasn’t too much of a shock?’ He smiled kindly. ‘Why don’t you go and put your feet up and I’ll get something out of the freezer?’

Geraldine was pleased that Ian seemed supportive, now he had accepted that she was back at work. All the same, she hesitated to tell him about the case she was working on. She was afraid he would remonstrate with her, arguing that she ought to ease herself back into work slowly. She could imagine him questioning whether she was in the right mental state to deal with the demands of a murder investigation. She knew she ought to reassure him before he could mention his concerns to the detective chief inspector, who could easily take her off the case. Puzzled by the shooting, she was determined not to abandon the case without a fight. She certainly wasn’t prepared to step back because Ian took it upon himself to worry about her needlessly. Tom was fine with the childminder, and she was enjoying the challenge of being back at work. Objectively, Ian had no reason to be concerned.