Killer Plan E-Book

Leigh Russell

• Herausgeber: No Exit Press
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: A DI Geraldine Steel Thriller
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Seitenzahl: 481

Beschreibung

The Seventh DI Geraldine Steel Mystery Caroline's husband is killed, but she can't turn to the police without implicating herself in his murder. When one of her 10-year-old twins is kidnapped, the desperate mother is forced to resort to drastic measures to get him back. As time runs out, Geraldine realises she has a secret that might just help solve the case, but the truth could destroy her career. Faced with the unenviable decision of protecting herself or the widow she barely knows, Geraldine must grapple with her conscience and do the right thing before the death count mounts any further. 'Killer Plan is a fast-paced PoliceProcedural and a compelling read.'Mystery People 'Her previous six novels featuring DI Geraldine Steel marked her out as a rare talent, and this seventh underlines it'Geoffrey Wansell, Daily Mail 'the story and writing is back with a vengeance'Best Crime Books & More

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Critical Acclaim

Acknowledgements

Glossary of acronyms

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LEIGH RUSSELL

Copyright

Cut Short – CWA Dagger shortlist, #1 iTunes, #1 Women Sleuths

Road Closed – #1 Women Sleuths, Top 20 kindle, Top Read Euro Crime, Top 50 iTunes

Dead End – #1 Women Sleuths, Top 20 kindle, Top 20 WH Smith’s, Top 10 Miami Examiner

Death Bed – #1 Women Sleuths, Top 20 WH Smith’s

Stop Dead – #1 on Amazon Kindle

DI Geraldine Steel is a Lovereading Great Female Sleuth

KILLER PLAN

Caroline’s husband is dead, and she can’t turn to the police without implicating herself in his murder. When one of her 10-year-old twins is kidnapped, the desperate mother is forced to resort to drastic measures to get him back. As time runs out, and a second body is discovered, Geraldine realises she has a secret that might just help solve the case, but if revealed could threaten her career and reputation. Faced with the unenviable decision of protecting herself or the widow she barely knows, Geraldine must grapple with her conscience and do the right thing before the death count mounts any further.

CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR LEIGH RUSSELL

‘Unmissable’–Lee Child

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

‘taut and compelling, stylishly written with a deeply human voice’–Peter James

‘A brilliant talent in the thriller field’ –Jeffery Deaver

To Michael, Joanna, Phillipa and Phil

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Dr Leonard Russell for his expert medical advice, and all my contacts on the Metropolitan Police for their invaluable assistance.

I would also like to thank the inimitable Annette Crossland for her loyal support.

Producing a book is a team effort. I am fortunate to have the guidance of a brilliant editor, Keshini Naidoo, and I am very grateful to Ion Mills and Claire Watts, along with all the dedicated team at No Exit Press, who transform my words into books.

My final thanks go to Michael, who is always with me.

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 Identifications and Detections Office

1

The bench jolted as someone sat down. From the wheezing, she judged it to be an old man. Annoyed that someone was sharing her seat, she stared stonily ahead.

‘Caroline?’

Beneath her puffa jacket she felt her body tense.

‘It is Caroline, isn’t it? Caroline Henderson?’

She hadn’t been called that for years. It was Caroline Robinson now, worse luck. She turned to the stranger and glared at him. She had noticed him in the park before. Once or twice she had suspected he might be watching her, but they had never spoken. Until now. At close quarters he wasn’t as old as she had imagined, probably not much older than her, with a scraggy face and thinning ginger hair. She nearly stood up but she sat on this bench every day. It had the best view of the grassy area where the boys liked to kick a football around. They called it their pitch. Besides, she was curious.

‘How do you know my name?’

‘You remember me, Brian from Cartpool Juniors.’

She trawled through her memories. There had been a Brian in her class in junior school, but she could barely remember him. She certainly didn’t recognise the innocuous-looking man sitting beside her on the park bench.

Pale eyes peered at her from a pock-marked face. Despite his stooping shoulders, he gave an impression of latent physical power. He wasn’t bad-looking, in a way, although there was something off-putting about the coarse yellowy hair sprouting from the backs of his large hands. It even grew on his stubby fingers. He was wearing a grey raincoat and grey trainers. There was nothing remarkable about him. No wonder she couldn’t remember him.

‘Brian, of course!’ Beneath her falsely effusive greeting, she was wary. They might have been at junior school together, but that was twenty-five years ago. ‘How are you?’

He shrugged. ‘You know.’ His eyes slid away from hers.

The breeze picked up and she thrust her fists into her jacket pockets with a shiver. It was chilly for May, more like late autumn than spring.

An awkward pause followed the brief disturbance of mutual recognition.

‘Are you married?’ He was looking at her again.

‘Yes,’ she replied firmly, not meeting his eye.

‘You don’t sound very happy about it.’

He was fishing. All the same, she hesitated before replying. ‘We’re fine.’

‘I was married,’ he said, although she hadn’t asked.

‘How long have you been divorced?’

‘We weren’t divorced. She’s dead.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He looked away. ‘Suicide.’

Caroline felt a tremor of guilt at having jumped to conclusions, and pity for the softly spoken man seated beside her. He had been through a terrible experience. Besides, he knew she was married. There was no harm in expressing sympathy. ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?’

‘There’s not a lot to tell, really. She killed herself after I found out she’d been cheating on me. She was having an affair.’ He shuddered. ‘It was horrible at the time…’

It wasn’t clear if he was referring to his wife’s infidelity or her death.

‘I can imagine.’ It was a stupid remark. Of course she couldn’t imagine what he must have gone through. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she repeated. She didn’t know what else to say.

‘We were fine until she met someone else.’

Studying his profile, she saw his lips press together, contorting his face. Afraid he might break down, she was relieved when he spoke calmly.

‘It had to end. It couldn’t go on.’

Wanting to comfort him, she couldn’t think of the right words. Only his disgusting hairiness restrained her from reaching out and putting her hand on his.

‘I know how you feel,’ she said quietly.

‘Really?’

She turned away, unnerved by the intensity of his gaze. The bench beside her creaked as he shifted position.

‘How could you possibly understand?’

A few yards away on the grass the boys were playing football. With nothing else to distract her, she had a sudden urge to confess her unhappiness. Brian had told her about his wife’s suicide. That must have been a painful confidence to share, inviting her to divulge secrets of her own. It would be heartless to hold back. What did it matter anyway? Barely a vague recollection from the past he was, effectively, a stranger.

‘My husband’s unfaithful,’ she blurted out. All at once she thought she was going to cry. She had never spoken the words out loud to anyone but her husband who doggedly denied her accusations, claiming she didn’t understand his relationships with other women. She had believed him at first when he used to say he was working late, but it had been impossible to ignore the evidence. He was permanently besotted with one young girl or another. No amount of pleading on her part made any difference.

‘Bastard!’ Brian said.

She warmed to his anger. There was no reason for him to care about her distress. He didn’t know her, not any more. The fact that they had once sat in the same class room was irrelevant. The past had been overshadowed by a more immediate bond: betrayal.

Ed ran towards them, waving and calling out something she couldn’t hear. As soon as she waved back he ran off again.

‘Yours?’ he asked.

‘Yes. They’re football mad.’ She chuckled. ‘Have you got kids?’

‘No. I’d have liked a family but somehow it never happened. We never did get to the bottom of it, and then…’ He paused.

They watched the twins in silence for a few moments.

‘Your boys look as if they’re enjoying themselves.’

She followed his puzzled gaze.

‘They’re identical.’

‘Of course. Thought I was seeing double there for a minute.’ He smiled. ‘Must be hard work. How old are they?’

‘Ten.’

‘How could your husband even think of cheating, when you’ve got kids their age?’ He turned to her. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you let me help you? If I can, that is.’

Instantly on her guard, she asked what kind of help he had in mind.

‘I was just thinking,’ he paused, ‘it might be a good thing if we could wake your husband up with a dose of jealousy. What I mean is, he’s busy playing away from home, right?’

She nodded cautiously.

‘And all the time he knows you’re sitting at home. You’re always there whenever he wants to come back to you. I expect you even cook him dinner.’

She was tempted to tell him it was none of his business what went on between her and her husband, but she kept quiet, intrigued.

‘What he needs is a bit of a scare, something to make him think he might lose you if he’s not careful.’

‘Lose me?’ Her gaze wandered back to the boys, kicking their football around. ‘I could never leave him. Not before they’re grown up anyway.’

‘Good lord, no! I’m not suggesting you leave him. But there are other ways.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

He must have realised that she was irritated, because he spoke quickly.

‘What I’m suggesting is that I could maybe go to your house and make him think I’m interested in you. I can turn up on the doorstep and pretend I’m looking for you, didn’t expect him to be there, that kind of thing. Put the wind up him a bit. Let him wonder who the hell I am and what I want with you. People who are playing away from home always suspect everyone else is doing the same. It’s the way their minds work. That’s all I’m suggesting. Make him sit up and notice you.’

She smiled at him. ‘That’s sweet of you, but he’d never believe it. If you told him you fancied me he’d just laugh. He knows I’d never leave him. Not while the boys are around.’

She didn’t add that she was afraid Dave simply wouldn’t care if she found someone else. He might jump at a chance to get rid of her so he could pursue every little tart that took his fancy, without fear of recrimination.

‘Tell you what,’ Brian went on, warming to his idea. ‘Let’s take a selfie together, and I’ll make sure he sees it. “This is the woman I’m looking for – do you know where she lives? I seem to have come to the wrong house.” That kind of thing.’ He grinned. ‘What’s he going to think when he sees a picture of me with my arm round you? He won’t carry on taking you for granted, that’s for sure. You can brush it off by explaining I’m just an old friend, we met in the park – all true. But he’ll always have that doubt in his mind to keep him on his toes.’

She couldn’t help laughing at his childish enthusiasm. He had lost his hangdog air and looked quite attractive. He was a man, anyway. It could work.

‘Oh, go on then.’

He put one arm round her shoulders, extended his other arm and took a few pictures.

‘You choose.’

Wriggling out of his embrace, she scrolled through the images. They weren’t bad. She picked out one where they were both smiling, and wrote down her address on the back of an old receipt he had in his pocket.

‘Add a message,’ he urged her.

‘What sort of message?’

‘Nothing too incriminating. How about: “See you soon”, something along those lines, and sign it with a kiss.’

He watched her writing, then tucked the slip of paper away in his pocket.

‘When will he be at home by himself? I’d better do it when you’re not there.’

‘You could come round tomorrow afternoon. I take the boys to football practice at two, and we’re gone all afternoon. They’re football crazy. We don’t get home until five at the earliest.’

He nodded briskly and stood up with the air of a man who had concluded a satisfactory business transaction. She felt as though she had hired a hit man. In reality all she had done was arrange for an old school friend to go and have a talk to her husband. The innocent subterfuge gave her a guilty thrill. For so long she had been the victim with Dave. That was about to change. She started to thank Brian, but he was on his way to the exit and she would have had to shout. Watching his figure striding through the gate, she smiled, imagining Dave’s surprise when another man came to the house looking for her.

2

Geraldine glanced at her watch. It was only seven o’clock. There was no need for her to get up yet. As a detective inspector working in Serious Crime Command in London, she was prepared to work round the clock if necessary, but right now she wasn’t on a case. The paperwork for her previous investigation was finished, and she was on call waiting for the next job. Plumping up her pillow, she lay back in bed and gazed at the blind on her window. The slats were slightly open, allowing narrow shafts of bright sunlight to penetrate. That was what had woken her up. It was only May, but blue skies already held a promise of warm weather to come, heralding summer. She smiled and stretched out her legs, luxuriating in the knowledge that she could stay in bed all day if she wanted. For the first time in years, she felt at peace with her world.

After dozing for another hour she got up and opened the blind. Dazzling light hit her. It was a beautiful day. She couldn’t decide whether to have breakfast in her flat or walk down the road and treat herself to a pastry and cappuccino in one of the smart cafes along Upper Street. Early promotion to the rank of inspector, together with a generous inheritance from her mother, had enabled her to buy a flat in Islington when she had relocated to London from the Home Counties. It was expensive living in Central London, but she loved the area. Added to the lively atmosphere, it suited her working hours that shops stayed open through the night. She didn’t miss the slower pace of life on the Kent constabulary at all.

Half an hour later she was sauntering along Upper Street in bright sunshine, alone in a seething metropolis. Even at that hour the streets were busy with people hurrying by. Cafes had already put tables and chairs out on the pavements, in expectation of fine weather, although it was too chilly to sit outside that early. Only a few smokers were perched on the pavement, huddled in jackets, warming gloved hands on steaming mugs of coffee. Geraldine walked past them, enjoying the atmosphere. She had lived there for nearly two years, but walking along Upper Street still gave her a holiday feeling. In England’s capital city, all it took was a little sunshine to make her feel she could be in a Mediterranean town, with its cafe culture spilling out onto the street.

After a leisurely breakfast in one of the cafes, she walked briskly back to her flat. When she had finished a few household chores, she planned to catch up on a DVD box set she had been given for Christmas that she had not yet got round to watching. That, and a takeaway, would complete her lazy day.

The breeze had picked up and she wished she had worn a warmer jacket. She rounded the corner into Waterloo Gardens and her building came into view. The ground floor was occupied by offices, closed at the weekend. The first and second floors of the block were private flats, accessible only through electronically controlled metal gates. For a detective working on murder investigations it was perfect, discreetly tucked away in a side street, yet central, and, above all, secure.

Reaching her building she hesitated, and her good intentions vanished. She couldn’t bear the thought of a case being opened while she was at home messing around. It would be different if she had something useful to do with her time off. It was shameful to hanker after the challenge of a murder investigation, but she sometimes felt that her work was all that stood between her and despair about the futility of her life. In another era she might have become a missionary, or a suffragette. As it was, she dedicated herself to the pursuit of justice in an attempt to find purpose in her existence. It was ironic that she felt most alive when investigating the circumstances of someone else’s death.

Twenty minutes later, instead of loafing around at home, she was sitting in traffic on her way to work. By mid-morning she was gazing despondently at a pile of claim forms piled neatly on her tidy desk, regretting her decision to go into her office. No new case had turned up demanding her attention. She had merely exchanged her chores at home for mundane tasks at work. As she turned to stare out of the window, she heard the door to her office open and a voice broke into her reverie.

‘You’re looking thoughtful today.’

Geraldine recognised the drawling voice of Nick Williams, the detective inspector who shared an office with her. She looked round to see him smiling at her, his eyes fixed on hers.

‘Penny for your thoughts,’ he said softly.

‘I’m busy,’ she fibbed, resenting the intimacy his tone seemed to imply.

‘I can see that.’ Nick heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘I just thought you might be ready for a little distraction.’

‘I don’t like being distracted when I’m working.’

He laughed. ‘Your powers of concentration are enviable. You know, I’m just the opposite. I find it almost impossible not to be distracted when you’re in the same room as me.’

She laughed, trying to quell her irritation at his flirting. She knew his reputation for womanising. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him meticulously arrange papers on his desk into neat piles. It looked as though he had forgotten all about her. So much for him finding her impossibly distracting. They worked in silence, side by side for a while.

‘Geraldine.’ He spoke so quietly she could barely hear him. ‘You haven’t heard anything about a white van on an undercover op?’

‘No.’

‘Or seen a white van hanging around outside?’

‘I haven’t seen a white van, or heard anything about a white van. Why?’

‘It’s nothing. Oh shit, I nearly forgot. Reg asked if you were in today. I said I’d let you know he was asking for you when I saw you.’

‘Thanks.’

It couldn’t be important or Reg would have sent a formal summons rather than passing a casual message via Nick. All the same, she was apprehensive about going to see the detective chief inspector. She hoped she wasn’t in trouble.

‘Ah, Geraldine, I thought you’d be in at some point today,’ Reg greeted her.

He knew it was her day off but had assumed she would turn up anyway. She wasn’t sure if he considered that was to her credit. Being unable to switch off from work wasn’t healthy. They all knew of cases where officers had suffered burnout from overwork. She hoped he wasn’t about to suggest she take some time off.

‘I want you to meet Max Grey,’ Reg continued affably, ‘drafted in from West London to cover for Samantha Haley while she’s out of action. He’s in his early twenties, a graduate on the fast track, a bright young lad, should go far. Take care of him, won’t you?’

Geraldine nodded. The sergeant she had been working with, Sam Haley, was recovering from an injury she had suffered on their last case.

‘You’ll find him,’ Reg added with a nod at the door.

Geraldine understood she was being dismissed. Relieved, she left the room and went to search for Max Grey. She eventually found him in the canteen, where he was chatting to another young officer over coffee.

‘That’s Geraldine,’ she heard his companion say as she approached their table.

Max leaped to his feet. Small and wiry, he had closely cropped dark hair and sharp pointed features.

‘Hello, I’m Max Grey,’ he announced. ‘Fast track graduate, DS, and posted here to work with you. Reg told me to look out for you, and here you are.’

Geraldine was impressed, but at the same time wary. Max carried himself with an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance. Knowing that Reg would have told her about him, there was no need for him to boast about his rapid promotion to sergeant. She had met youngsters like him before, clever young men who thought they knew it all. Resisting the temptation to introduce herself as, ‘Geraldine Steel, experienced DI, and your superior officer,’ she sat down as Max’s companion left.

‘Hello. Would you like to get me a coffee, and then you can tell me all about yourself.’

Without a word he turned and went to join the queue at the canteen. She didn’t particularly want a coffee, but it was important to assert her authority right from the start. Watching Max move slowly along the counter, she hoped he would live up to Reg’s description.

3

‘Are you going to come and give me a hand with the shopping?’ Caroline called out again, with growing exasperation.

No one answered. She could hear thumping through the ceiling. Putting down the bags she was holding, she crossed the hall.

‘It’s not a trampoline up there!’ she yelled from the foot of the stairs.

The dull thuds continued, beating out a regular rhythm. The boys were jumping on their beds again, oblivious to her return.

‘Dave! Come out here and give us a hand, will you?’

Her husband didn’t answer. He was probably asleep, if he was still at home. It would be typical of him to go out, leaving their two ten-year-old boys alone in the house while she was spending her Saturday morning at Tesco.

‘Mum’ll be home soon,’ he would have warned them as he left, ‘so don’t go making a mess.’

Fuming, she carted the shopping bags into the kitchen and went back for the next load. Just as she had finished putting the last of the shopping away, Dave sauntered into the kitchen.

‘Hello, love.’

‘Bloody hell, Dave, where have you been?’

‘In the shed.’

‘You could have helped me bring the shopping in. Why the hell didn’t you answer when I called you?’

She knew the answer to that. He was a lazy sod.

‘I told you, I was out in the shed. I didn’t know you were back. You should’ve come to get me.’

‘You could have listened out. You knew I’d be back with the shopping.’

Heaving a noisy sigh, she put the kettle on and followed him into the living room. Sprawling in his armchair, frowning at his phone, he didn’t even look at her when she spoke to him. She wondered which young floozy he was thinking about this time. If he noticed her disapproving scowl he paid no attention. There might as well have been a wall between them. If it hadn’t been for the twins, she would have sent him packing a long time ago, if she had married him in the first place. She suspected he felt the same. She watched him scrolling down his screen, muttering under his breath.

‘Are we going to see anything of you this weekend?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Dave, I’m out of cash.’

He shrugged.

‘If we got back all the money you’ve wasted, we’d be out of debt by now.’

He grunted without looking up. It was a familiar gripe. Above their heads voices rose in shrill anger as the boys began squabbling. Yelling up at them to behave, Caroline went to fetch the ironing board. Dave glanced up as she dragged it into the living room.

‘Do you have to do that here?’

‘Where do want me to do it?’

Annoyed, he jumped up out of his chair. It was typical of him to vent his irritation on their ten-year-old sons.

‘Shut up! You’re doing my head in,’ he bawled up the stairs.

She glanced at her watch. It was nearly time for the boys to change into their football kit. She had only ironed a couple of Dave’s shirts, not that she would get any thanks for it. Grumbling, she shouted up to the boys to get ready. They beganclatteringabout overhead. A few moments later they charged downstairs. She could hear them in the hall, swiping at each other and shouting cheerfully.

‘You’re dead!’

‘Well, I’m a zombie, so you’re dead!’

‘I’ll get you!’

‘You can’t kill a zombie.’

She had to raise her voice to be heard above their clamour.

‘Stop making all that racket and get your boots. It’s nearly time to go.’

Dave leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs. His eyes were closed. Seemingly oblivious to her attempts to calm the boys down, and the din that signalled her lack of influence, he could have been lying on a lounger on the beach.

‘Don’t go to sleep, Dave. Aren’t you taking the boys to football practice?’

‘Can’t you take them?’

‘I went last week.’ And the week before. And the week before that.

‘Iwould, only I need to stay here and cut the grass. It’s going to rain later.’

‘Oh, all right. I’ll take them again.’

Dave knew her grumbling was put on. She liked taking the twins to football.

‘See you later then.’

He sprang to his feet and ruffled the boys’ hair so it stood up in spikes.

‘I’ll get the grass cut so we can have a kick around out there later,’ he said, and the boys cheered.

Caroline couldn’t help smiling. For all his faults, Dave was a good father. The boys adored him.

‘See you later then, love. And don’t fall asleep before you’ve cut the grass.’

He leaned forward and pecked her on the cheek. ‘You’re not a bad old girl.’

4

In the shed,a man was struggling to untangle the cable of a lawnmower from the legs of a garden chair. Absorbed in his task, he was unaware of Brian’s arrival. Stepping over a bright green hose coiled loosely by the entrance, Brian stole towards him. The other man had cheated on his wife. He deserved what was coming to him.

With trembling hands, Brian reached for a large garden spade. Using a weapon that was already there meant it couldn’t be traced back to him. Gripping the handle, he imagined the racket that would ensue if he disturbed the shelf it was leaning against; dirty tins of creosote and flower pots crashing to the ground in a cascade of broken opportunity. Breathing silently, eyes stretched wide with the fear of discovery, he raised the spade. Even slamming it down with all his strength, he wasn’t confident the blow would be enough to knock the other man out cold. His arms shook. Intending to hit his target with the flat of the spade, he watched in horror as the handle twisted in his gloved hands. The spade slid from his grasp, its edge slicing into the side of the other man’s head as it fell.

His victim let out a grunt. His legs gave way and he sank to the floor, hitting his head on the lawnmower with a loud thud. The impact disturbed some blades of dry grass. A few came to rest on a dark pool of blood that was oozing across the floor. The felled man began to moan and his arm twitched in a convulsive movement. Brian swallowed a mouthful of sour vomit. If he threw up in the shed, he would never get away with it. The spade felt heavy when he picked it up a second time. Blood on the handle made it slippery, as the man rolled over before he finished the job.

Arms aching, he dropped the spade. It hit the floor with a startling clatter. As he backed away, his elbow knocked a tin off the shelf. The lid must have been loose. Thick black creosote oozed out, mingling with the pool of blood. With a whimper he turned and darted out of the shed, pushing the door shut with his elbow. The stench of creosote followed him as he sprinted away, wiping his shoes on the grass as he ran. His chest was burning but he kept running until he reached his car. He peeled off his gloves, taking care not to touch the outer surfaces, and kicked off his shoes.

Tearing off his jacket, he laid it on the passenger seat beside him, inside out, and rolled it up with his blood-spattered shoes inside it. He wasn’t so worried about being seen now. In the darkness blood stains didn’t show up against the black fabric of his trousers. As far as he could tell, his jumper was clean. He hoped there were no bloody smears on his face. A trace of his own blood near the scene of the crime could be enough to land him in the nick. But he had been careful. No one had seen him. All he had to do now was get home, shower, and dispose of the incriminating clothes, and it would be over.

Caroline was free, and her husband had been justly punished. He smiled to himself as he turned the key in the ignition. It had been so easy.

5

It was growing late by the time they returned home. The boys were grouchy, and Caroline was tired. It had been cold standing on the touch line. The Labrador was whining in the hall. Dave had forgotten to put him out. Irritably she sent the boys upstairs to shower while she went to the freezer.

‘I’m putting on some chicken nuggets for the boys!’ she shouted. ‘Do you want some?’

Dave didn’t answer.

‘Do you want some chicken nuggets?’

Dave still didn’t answer, so she threw the whole packet on the baking tray and shoved it in the oven. It was too late to take the dog for a walk, so she let him out in the back garden. The soppy animal shot through the door, yelping. She cleared the work surfaces before trotting upstairs to check on the boys. On the way she glanced in her bedroom, half expecting to see Dave lying on the bed, fast asleep. He wasn’t there.

After telling her he wanted to stay at home to cut the grass, he had slipped off while she was taking the boys to football. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he had forgotten to let the poor dog out. Angrily she stabbed at his name on her phone. He didn’t answer.

‘Lying toad,’ she muttered.

‘Mum, where’s dad?’ Matthew asked as he joined her in the kitchen.

A moment later his brother followed him in. Caroline forced a smile at them as she dished up their supper. Apart from inheriting his blonde hair, they were already developing into miniature versions of their father, slightly built with classic good looks.

‘You both played really well today,’ she fibbed, feigning enthusiasm.

‘Where’s dad?’ Matthew repeated. ‘I want to tell him about my goal.’

‘It was just a lucky shot,’ his brother said. ‘You were rubbish.’

‘It was brilliant. I was brilliant,’ Matthew replied.

‘You were rubbish. He was rubbish, wasn’t he, mum?’

The boys settled down to eat.

‘Slow down, Matthew,’ Caroline said.

The boy looked up from his supper. ‘Where’s Dobby?’

‘He’s out in the back garden.’ She glanced at her watch. It would be dark outside. ‘I’ll go and get him.’

When she opened the back door cold air struck her like a slap, making her eyes water. Somewhere in the garden the dog was whimpering. She called him and stood in the doorway, waiting for him to bound over to her. There was no sign of him.

‘Dobby!’ she yelled. ‘Get in here now!’

Only his whimpering alerted her to his presence in the darkness, but he refused to answer her summons.

‘Oh, stay out there and get cold then!’ she snapped, slamming the door, aware that she was venting her anger with Dave on the dog.

It wasn’t unusual for Caroline to feed the boys and put them to bed by herself during the week, but Dave was generally around on a Saturday. Doggedly she kept up a pretence of being cheerful until, finally, the boys were settled in bed. Dave still wasn’t home. Furiously she tried his mobile again. There was no answer. Her anger turned to a familiar aching bitterness. It was all right for Dave. He did whatever he wanted, leaving her alone with the chores. They might as well not be married at all. She put the television on. At least she could choose what to watch, while he was out throwing hard earned money at some little tart.

With a guilty start she remembered Dobby, outside in the cold. The dog almost knocked her off her feet in his haste to come in. He dashed past her so fast she couldn’t make out what he was holding in his jaws. Afraid he was bringing a dead rat into the house, she hurried after him.

‘Dobby, drop it! Drop it!’

Head lowered, tail down, the dog obeyed. She gazed at the misshapen lump on the kitchen floor. It took her a few seconds to recognise Dave’s shoe, glistening with Dobby’s saliva, the dirty white fabric stained with blood.

The next few minutes passed in a blur. To begin with Dobby dashed ahead of her, barking and yelping, as she made her way across the garden. It was beautiful in the moonlight. As they approached the shed he hung back, cowering, his tail between his legs. Apprehensively she peeked inside. The shed door creaked and groaned as it swung on its hinges in the cold night air, while the dog’s howling echoed eerily across the garden.

At first she didn’t see the body lying at her feet. As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness she made out a shape on the shadowy floor.

‘Dave? Dave? What’s happened? Is that you?’

It was impossible to believe that her husband was lying there on the filthy floor. Crouching down, feeling the hard mound of his shoulder cupped in her hand, touching the skin on his stiff cold neck, she was momentarily baffled. Only when she felt slippery wetness on the side of his head, slightly sticky on her fingers, did she have a glimmering of understanding.

Apart from the sound of Dobby, whimpering softly, the night was still. Trembling, she scrambled to her feet and stumbled back to the house to call for help. As she stepped indoors, she saw her fingers were bloody. Her legs were shaking. She was afraid she would collapse before she reached the phone. As she heard it ringing, she realised she had left the back door unlocked.

6

Geraldine was pouring a glass of wine when her phone rang. She felt a familiar thrill at the summons. As a detective inspector working in Serious Crime Command, a call at home could mean only one thing. Within seconds of answering the phone, she was pulling on her shoes, still listening to the call.

‘I’m on my way.’

She arrived half an hour before the briefing was due to begin and went straight to her office, expecting to find it empty at that hour. To her surprise, her colleague Nick Williams was still at his desk.

‘I thought you’d gone home,’ he greeted her.

‘You’re working late.’ He grinned at her. ‘I couldn’t think of a nicer way to spend the evening than looking at you.’

Preoccupied by the pending case, Geraldine wasn’t sure she appreciated Nick’s flattery at that hour. It sounded insincere, and was quite frustrating because she couldn’t tell if he fancied her, or was just being friendly. Taking everything into account, she hoped it was the latter. Sharing an office, it could become uncomfortable if they grew intimate, or fell out.

Normally clean shaven and smartly dressed, Nick appeared uncharacteristically unkempt. His hair was a mess, the lower part of his face grey with stubble. Aware of her scrutiny, he turned away and began to fidget with files, straightening them so they lay parallel to the edge of his desk.

‘Are you OK? You look a bit rough.’

He countered with a flippant comment about some women liking ‘a bit of rough’.

‘I’m serious, Nick.’

‘Well, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.’

He forced a laugh, and mumbled something about going drinking with some mates. He refused to meet her eye as he spoke.

‘Is something going on here, or is it problems at home?’ she probed gently.

He shrugged. ‘A bit of both, to be honest. But how about you? What are you doing here at this ungodly hour?’

Geraldine told him she had been summoned to a short briefing at the station before the investigation began.

‘Reg cracking the whip?’

Geraldine had a grudging respect for Detective Chief Inspector Reg Milton, the senior investigating officer on the case.

‘He probably just wants to keep us all out of bed,’ she said, lightly dismissing Nick’s comment.

He turned away from her with a shrug. ‘If that’s what you think.’

She was drawn in, despite her reluctance to engage Nick in conversation. ‘What do you mean?’

Undecided what to make of Reg, she was curious to discover what Nick thought of him.

‘I’ve got a lot of time for Reg,’ Nick said. ‘We go back a long way.’

‘But?’

Prompted, he came over and perched on the edge of her desk, very close to her. She restrained herself from shifting her chair further away from him.

‘But nothing. Reg is – well, he sometimes comes across as more interested in himself and the progress of his own career than in the case, if you get what I mean. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,’ he added quickly. ‘There are plenty of very good career officers on the force. But not all of them have the same passion for the job that we have.’

Geraldine nodded. If she was honest, she had entertained a few reservations about Reg’s motives herself. He was clearly ambitious, and she suspected he would probably prioritise his own career over any other considerations. It could be dangerous to make a mistake on a case where he was senior investigating officer.

‘Fortunately his promotion depends on carrying out successful investigations,’ she said, ‘whatever his personal motivation.’

‘I didn’t mean to say he isn’t dedicated to the job,’ Nick seemed to backtrack. ‘He’s a bloody fine officer.’

There wasn’t time for Geraldine to reply. The briefing was due to begin.

‘The body of a man has been discovered in his own back garden, just off Ballards Lane,’ Reg announced to the assembled officers.

He turned to a picture of the dead man as he spoke. It looked like a passport photograph. In his thirties, with short curly fair hair and wire-framed glasses, the victim stared levelly back at them. ‘David Robinson, living with his wife and ten-year-old twins.’ He read out an address in Finchley, North London.

Someone asked who had found the body. The victim’s wife had discovered him in his garden shed. A faint sigh rustled round the room.

‘Imagine if he’d been discovered by one of his kids,’ someone muttered, voicing what everyone was thinking.

‘It was his wife who found him,’ Reg repeated firmly.

Geraldine drove to the victim’s house, accompanied by her new sergeant, Max Grey. He seemed enthusiastic and conscientious, but they hadn’t worked together before. She was pleased to find that he was impatient to view the crime scene before too much had been moved. As far as they knew, the body had not yet been taken to the mortuary.

It was Saturday evening, and everyone had had a busy day. The usual crowd of spectators had not yet gathered, hungry for information and gossip. In the light from the street lamps uniformed officers were visible, guarding the entrance to the house, but the street was otherwise deserted. Passing through the cordon, they followed a constable down an unlit side passage that ran alongside the house and into the back garden.

‘He was found by his wife,’ the constable told them as they pulled on their protective suits. ‘It’s lucky she happened to spot him, really. There are two kids living here who could’ve found him. His kids. They’re only about ten. His own kids. Can you imagine? He’s not a pretty sight.’

Geraldine thanked the constable and turned to enter the protective tent that had been erected over the entrance to a garden shed.

‘I wish he hadn’t said that,’ Max muttered as he followed Geraldine.

She didn’t answer. Beneath his dark hair, the young sergeant’s sharp face looked pale in the brilliant lighting that had been rigged up inside the tent. She hoped he wasn’t going to turn out to be squeamish. It was a surprisingly common handicap for a detective working on a murder investigation team. Geraldine herself had never been fazed by the horrors they witnessed in the course of their work. She liked to attribute that to her single-minded focus on the job. The dead gave invaluable clues to the identity of their killers. But apart from her professional interest, she found them intrinsically fascinating.

‘His wife and kids are in the house with a constable,’ they were toldas they went in.

‘Widow,’ Max said.

Geraldine noted his pedantic remark with silent approval. Attention to detail could be crucial to the success of a case.

A scene of crime officer and a doctor were inside the tent, the former gathering data, the latter kneeling by the corpse conducting a preliminary examination. Any question over whether the death might have been accidental vanished as soon as they set eyes on the body. The victim lay on his back. With thin arms and legs sticking out from his slight frame, he resembled a monstrous four-legged insect. One side of his face had been smashed in. A large metal gardening spade lay on the floor nearby, the blade stained with blood. Blobs of soft tissue clung to it, like rock barnacles.

‘Jesus,’ Max mumbled.

The doctor turned to greet them and Geraldine was pleased to see Miles Fellowes. She had worked with the young pathologist on previous cases. He had been summoned straight away, since there was no doubt this wasmurder.

‘Can you tell us the time of death?’ she asked.

‘Between four and five this afternoon,’ Miles said. ‘It looks as though he was taken by surprise, felled from behind and then repeatedly hit when he turned to face his attacker.’

Geraldine stared at the dead man’s pulverised head.

‘It was a violent attack,’ she said.

‘You can say that again,’ Max agreed. His voice shook slightly.

The pathologist nodded. ‘There were multiple blows to the head, possibly none severe enough on their own to kill him, although I’ll be able to tell you more about it once I’ve had a chance to carry out a full examination. The killer hit him repeatedly with the flat of the spade, but the edge of it caught him a couple of times too, slashing the side of his head. The murder weapon was a heavy garden spade…’

‘Suggesting it wasn’t premeditated?’ Max interrupted him. ‘The killer didn’t bring the murder weapon with him.’

‘Yes, it looks as though the killer used whatever came to hand.’

‘But we can’t be sure of that,’ Geraldine said.

They looked down at the body.

‘Is it possible to say how many times he was hit?’ she asked.

Miles shrugged. ‘At least six times, possibly as many as a dozen. I’ll know more once I’ve examined him properly.’

‘It’s possible the killer wasn’t very strong, if he had to hit him repeatedly before he managed to kill him,’ Max said.

‘It’s possible,’ Geraldine concurred, ‘but it might have beena frenzied attack.We can’t be sure of anything yet.’

‘We can be sure he’s dead,’ Miles pointed out with a slight grin.

Geraldine suppressed a smile. She suspected the killer had hit the victim repeatedly in a rage. Someone who wasn’t very strong would be unlikely to seize a heavy spade and use it to beat a man to death. Not only that, but the longer the attack lasted, the more chance there was of discovery. The nature of the attack suggested the killer had been out of control.

‘He fought back,’ Miles went on, ‘but he was already on the ground. The first blow must have caught him off guard because it felled him. He didn’t stand a chance really.’

While Max went to speak to scene of crime officers again, Geraldine went in the house where the dead man’s widow and two sons were sitting huddled together on a sofa in the living room. The woman looked older than her thirty-five years, her dark hair streaked with grey. Two identical blond-haired boys were sitting on either side of her, leaning against her. Both children were crying. Their mother stared straight ahead, the desolation in her eyes more desperate than tears.

Geraldine approached. ‘Mrs Robinson?’

The woman nodded without looking up. Geraldine introduced herself and asked if she would answer a few questions.

‘We can do this later, if you prefer. But we’re keen to find out what happened as quickly as we can.’

The woman gave another nod to indicate she had understood and was prepared to talk. After a female constable had taken the two boys to the kitchen, Geraldine sat down.

‘Can you tell me what happened? Take your time.’

7

It was only natural for Caroline to be distressed. As the recently widowed mother of ten-year-old twins, she would be expected to be shocked by her husband’s sudden death. That was lucky, because it gave her time to think. But she couldn’t delay answering the sharp-eyed inspector indefinitely. The detective was watching her, waiting for her to regain control of herself. With her head down, Caroline wondered what would happen to her sons if the truth ever came out. Shaken by a bout of crying, she glanced up at the inspector who was sitting perfectly still, waiting.

‘I’m sorry,’ she stuttered, ‘I can’t think straight. What did you want to know?’

‘There’s nothing to apologise about.’ The detective smiled. Her huge black eyes stared at Caroline without blinking. ‘This can wait. I can come back tomorrow.’

Tomorrow.

Caroline struggled to understand the implications of her husband’s death. Dave hadn’t been mugged in the street. He had been killed in their own back garden. Worse than that, it was her fault he was dead. She shivered. She had never meant it to end like this. Whatever else happened, the police must never discover that she had not only met her husband’s killer, but she had given him their address and told him when the coast would be clear so he could find Dave alone. The police would never believe the truth. They would assume she had arranged for Brian to kill Dave.

‘I want to know who did it,’ she muttered fiercely. ‘I want to help. Ask me anything you like. Anything at all.’

She wasn’t sure what she was talking about, or what she would be saying if she was innocent. She tried to imagine how she would be feeling if she hadn’t been involved in the murder. Of course Dave’s death had come as a total shock, but there was no escaping the dreadful truth. She may not have been wielding the murder weapon, but she was responsible for the death of her husband, her children’s father, the man she had once loved more than life itself. All that mattered now was her sons. She felt herself trembling with fear in case she slipped up and betrayed her guilt. If the police suspected her, they would take the boys away from her. Wherever this nightmare carried her, she mustn’t lose the boys.

If the questions were too difficult for her to handle she would have to break down in tears, or complain of a headache, and postpone the interview. She almost did. It was crazy, allowing herself to be interrogated in her present state. But leaving the detective unsatisfied meant the prospect of yet more questions. Far better to get it over with as quickly as possible. At least she had a cast iron excuse for sounding confused right now.

All she wanted was to be left alone to rebuild her life quietly, in her own way. Things were going to be very different now. She dropped her gaze, afraid the detective would see through her lies. It was hard to take in the reality of the situation. Never again would she sit downstairs by herself, wondering if her husband was going to return home before morning. Worse than his infidelity had been his deception. Lies had fallen easily from his lips, as though he hadn’t cared whether she believed him or not. Losing her trust had meant nothing to him. Her own lies had to be convincing.

The inspector’s words cut through Caroline’s chaotic thoughts.

‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm your husband? Take your time. Think carefully.’

‘No.’ She answered, too quickly.

‘Was there anyone who might have held a grudge against him for some reason?’

Caroline tried to speak slowly and make her words sound considered, but she could hear herself gabbling, close to hysterics.

‘No. No one. He wasn’t that sort of man.’

‘What sort of man?’

Caroline hesitated. She wasn’t fooled by the inspector’s sympathetic expression. Behind a show of compassion, the woman was waiting for her to slip up so she could pounce. Caroline could see it in her eyes. She was desperate to pin this murder on someone, and the victim’s wife was bound to be a likely suspect, especially if they ever found out about his other women.

‘He wasn’t the sort of man to get killed,’ she announced firmly.

The inspector’s eyes widened slightly. That was bad. Caroline’s reply had surprised her. In all her years as a detective, the inspector had obviously never heard an innocent person say that. It was as good as a confession of guilt. Any second now, Caroline expected to be arrested. She closed her eyes in an effort to stop shaking, and waited for the inspector to speak. What would happen to her sons if she went to prison? But when Caroline opened her eyes, the inspector was rising to her feet.

‘If you can think of anything else, call me.’

Stunned, Caroline took her card and stared at the name: ‘Detective Inspector Geraldine Steel’.

‘If you think of anything else that might help us,’ the inspector repeated, ‘you can call me at any time.’

Caroline nodded.

‘I’ll see myself out. Would you like PC Perry to wait with you until your neighbour gets here?’

Caroline shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll be fine.’

She just wanted the police to go away and leave her alone. On top of having to deal with the shock of Dave’s death, she had to cope with the stress of telling lies to an inspector trained to detect the truth. She could barely control herself from confessing her guilt just to put an end to the terror. But she had to stay strong for the sake of her boys.

As soon as the inspector had gone, Caroline dropped her head into her hands and began sobbing uncontrollably. At last she pulled herself together and went upstairs to wash her face. The boys had been taken to a neighbour’s house. They hadn’t wanted to go, but the police had suggested it would be best.

‘We need to get on with our work here,’ they said quietly.

Caroline understood that they wanted to move the body. It would be better if the boys weren’t around when that happened.

‘But what about you, mum?’ Ed insisted. ‘We can’t leave you here by yourself.’

She had to promise them she would be fine on her own before the boys agreed to leave. She didn’t add that she needed time to rearrange her face, and her thoughts. She was a widow. Her husband had been violently murdered in their own back garden. She told herself fiercely that she hadn’t the faintest idea who had killed him, or why. He must have been the victim of a random attack by a maniac, or a drug addict. His death made no sense. It had nothing to do with her chance encounter in the park the previous afternoon. The best thing she could do right now was forget all about that. There was certainly no point in mentioning Brian to the police. Even in her confused state of mind she understood that they were bound to suspect her of being implicated in Dave’s murder. For the sake of her sons she had to ensure no hint of suspicion fell on her.

When her neighbour finally brought the boys back, Caroline had her crying under control. No one could have suspected she was feeling overwhelmed, not by grief but by fear.

8

By the following morning a team of constables had been assembled to speak to residents in The Ridgeway where Caroline lived. Leaving Max to co-ordinate the door-to-door questioning, Geraldine turned her attention to the neighbours on either side of the Robinsons’ house. She would have liked to speak to all the residents in the street herself, but she had to be practical. First she walked along the pavement to the first corner in one direction, then back the other way as far as the next side turning, observing.

The door to the adjoining property was opened by Arthur Mortimer, a stout ruddy-faced man who enquired her business in a brisk tone. As soon as she introduced herself his demeanour altered.

‘It’s all been a terrible shock,’ he admitted solemnly. ‘My wife’s very upset about the whole thing.’

‘Were you close to them?’

‘Close? No. I wouldn’t say we were close, exactly. But we knew them to speak to. We were neighbours, you know. We were… neighbourly.’

Arthur took Geraldine through to a tidy little kitchen where he introduced his wife, Mavis. Wide-eyed with dismay, she ducked her head deferentially to Geraldine.

‘We heard all the sirens going, but it never occurred to us there’d been a murder, just the other side of the fence. We watched all the comings and goings, but when we saw the ambulance we thought there must have been a terrible accident, didn’t we? It wasn’t until we saw the tent in the garden that Arthur told me what had happened. “There’s been a murder,” he said, didn’t you, Arthur? He knew straight away.’

Arthur’s face turned a deeper shade of red.

‘Of course we knew something was wrong,’ she went on, ‘but we weren’t sure whether to go round there or not. There are children in the house.’

‘It wasn’t our place to go interfering,’ her husband interrupted her firmly. ‘We’re not family.’

Geraldine had the impression this wasn’t the first time they had discussed it.

‘After all they’ve been through, as well,’ Mavis continued, ‘to have it all end like this.’ She shook her head. ‘It could have been them that found their father out in the garden like that. After all they’ve been through, poor things.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Geraldine wanted to know. ‘What have they been through?’

‘What?’

‘You said, “after all they’ve been through.” What did you mean?’

Mavis threw a worried glance at her husband before mumbling about hearing shouting next door.

‘We heard them a few times,’ Arthur agreed, ‘shouting obscenities at each other. I don’t think they got on well.’

‘They had no business using language like that in front of their children,’ his wife added.

Having established they had nothing more to tell her, Geraldine left. It had begun to rain so she pulled up the hood of her raincoat and walked quickly along the road to question the neighbours on the other side.

A woman with straggly blonde hair came to the door.

‘What?’ she demanded.

Geraldine introduced herself and explained the purpose of her call.