Murder Ring E-Book

Leigh Russell

• Herausgeber: No Exit Press
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: A DI Geraldine Steel Thriller
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Seitenzahl: 426

Beschreibung

The seventh in the detective series featuring DI Geraldine Steel When the dead body of unassuming David Lester is discovered in a dark side-street, DI Geraldine Steel is plunged into another murder investigation. The clues mount up along with the suspects, but with the death of another man in inexplicable circumstances, the case becomes increasingly complex. As Geraldine investigates the seemingly unrelated crimes, she makes a shocking discovery about her birth mother. Hearing footsteps pounding along the street behind him he glanced back, fleetingly worried, then laughed because the street was deserted. All the same, he felt uneasy. Everything looked different in the dark. Then he heard more footsteps approaching, and a hoarse voice called out. Turning his head, he made out a figure hovering in the shadows and as it raised one arm, the barrel of a gun glinted in the moonlight. 'Kept me guessing throughout' Noelle, Crime Book Junkie 'Smoothly professional fare from the always-consistent Russell'Barry Forshaw, Crime Time

Leseprobe

MURDER RING

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, People’s Book Prize shortlist

Fatal Act– Top Five on Amazon Kindle

DI Geraldine Steel is a Lovereading Great Female Sleuth

Longlisted for the CWA Dagger in the Library

Hearing footsteps pounding along the street behind him he glanced back, fleetingly worried, then laughed because the street was deserted. All the same, he felt uneasy. Everything looked different in the dark. Then he heard more footsteps approaching, and a hoarse voice called out. Turning his head, he made out a figure hovering in the shadows and as it raised one arm, the barrel of a gun glinted in the moonlight!

The dead body of unassuming David Lester is discovered in a dark side street, and DI Geraldine Steel is plunged into another murder investigation. The clues mount up along with the suspects, but with the death of another man in inexplicable circumstances, the case becomes increasingly complex. As Geraldine investigates the seemingly unrelated crimes, she makes a shocking discovery about her birth mother.

Critical Acclaim

CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR LEIGH RUSSELL

‘a rare talent’ –Daily Mail

‘Unmissable’–Lee Child

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

'taut and compelling’ –Peter James

To Michael, Joanna, Phillipa and Phil

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Dr Leonard Russell for his expert medical advice, and all my contacts in 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

Prologue

Staggering out of the restaurant, David was up for another drink before catching the train home. One by one his staff made their excuses until he was left alone on the pavement.

‘Well, sod you,’ he mumbled, ‘lightweights the lot of you.’

Still fumbling with the buttons on his new leather jacket, he stopped outside a bar. ‘Here it is then. One for the road.’

A young woman with pink hair came over to serve him. Coloured glass glittered on her fingers as she put his pint down on the bar.

‘Get one for yourself,’ he told her, handing over a tenner. He glanced down at her fingers. ‘You like jewellery?’

‘Sure.’

In a convivial mood, he was ready for a chat.’I had my wife’s engagement ring reset. Just got it back today.’ He leaned against the bar and raised his voice, eager to impress her. ‘It wasn’t cheap. Must take you a year to earn what her ring cost me.’

‘Really? Your wife’s lucky.’

‘She deserves it,’ he said solemnly. ‘She has a lot to put up with – me!’

He burst out laughing. Sometimes he forgot how witty he was. The girl behind the bar laughed too, displaying perfect teeth. Her smile gave him a warm feeling.

‘This is a nice place,’ he said. ‘And you’re a very nice girl. I can see that. Would you like to see my wife’s ring? I’ve got it right here.’ He patted his trouser pocket. ‘It cost me over twelve grand.’

‘You shouldn’t shout about it in public.’

David was about to speak to her again, but she moved away to serve another customer. Finding a seat at a corner table, he hung his jacket carefully over the back of his chair before sitting down. At the bar the pink-haired girl was talking to someone else. Finishing his pint, he stood up. He felt a little woozy. With a last glance over his shoulder at the girl behind the bar, he staggered out. The night air sobered him slightly, making him shiver. All he wanted was to go home and lie down. The pavement along Oxford Street was crowded. Turning on to a side street he walked more quickly, heading in what he thought was the right direction.

Hearing footsteps pounding along the street behind him he looked over his shoulder, fleetingly worried, then laughed because the street was deserted. All the same, he felt uneasy. Everything looked different in the dark. He was bursting for a slash, so he turned off Wells Street into a narrow unlit lane. There was no one around to see him stagger over to the wall. Before he could unzip his trousers he heard footsteps approaching, and a hoarse voice called out. Turning his head, he made out a figure hovering in the shadows.

‘Gimme the ring.’

‘What?’ Sober enough to understand what was going on, he was drunk enough to be angry. ‘If you think I’m going to hand over my wife’s ring –’

As the shadowy figure raised one arm, the barrel of a gun glinted in the moonlight.

1

Geraldine went to bed early but she couldn’t sleep. For years she had dedicated herself to her career as a police detective. While her personal life was unfulfilling, her track record on murder investigations was excellent. Nothing had ever interfered with her focus on her work. Until now. With the murder of a close colleague, she had discovered that years spent observing the bereaved had not prepared her to deal with grief of her own. She wondered if she would ever feel ready to investigate another murder, or if every corpse from now on would take her back to that one unbearable death. Rigid with misery, she sat at her kitchen table considering whether she ought to resign. At last she went back to bed.

She must have fallen into a deep sleep because when her phone rang, she reached out to switch off her alarm. A few seconds later, it rang again and she realised it was her phone. Cursing, she reached out to answer the call. It was ten to nine. Hearing the curt voice on the line, she was instantly awake, automatically registering the details and dressing hurriedly. Passing through the hall she grabbed a waterproof jacket. She had no idea what the weather was like. Her phone rang again as she opened her front door, car keys in hand.

‘I’m on my way.’

A body had been found in Central London, in a narrow cul-de-sac north of Oxford Street, halfway between Oxford Street station and Tottenham Court Road station. Geraldine drove straight to the location. It was not far in terms of distance, but the morning London traffic was heavy. As she drove, she listened to the report that had been sent. It gave only the basics. In a way she was relieved because that made it easier to process the information while she was driving. By the time she arrived at Wells Street she knew that a middle-aged man had been shot, once, in the chest. He had no wallet on him, suggesting he had been mugged. So far they were assuming the victim’s name was David Lester, the owner of the Oyster card found in his pocket, although his identity had yet to be confirmed.

The doctor had left by the time Geraldine arrived. The cul-de-sac where the dead man had been found was cordoned off. Several uniformed officers were standing at the end of the close, stopping any pedestrians from viewing the site. A scene of crime officer filled Geraldine in on the details. The body had been discovered by someone using the back entrance to one of the office blocks. The man who had reported the body had given a brief statement. Geraldine glanced through it before turning her attention to the victim.

‘What can you tell me?’

The scene of crime officer could add little to what Geraldine already knew.

‘The doctor placed time of death an hour or two before midnight last night. She couldn’t be more precise than that because he’s been lying here all night. She estimated he’s in his early to mid-fifties.’

Geraldine nodded. That tied in with the date of birth on the Oyster card, according to which the victim was fifty-two. Although the body was partly sheltered by an external fire escape, it had been exposed to rain which confused the evidence. Geraldine turned her attention to the victim, lying on his back, brilliantly illuminated inside the forensic tent. Apart from the dark patch on his chest, his blankly staring eyes and ghastly pallor proclaimed him dead. White-clad scene of crime officers were busily examining every inch of the scene, scraping and collecting traces of evidence. She drew closer and crouched down beside the body.

Behind her a familiar voice said, ‘Great start to the day.’

Geraldine turned to greet her sergeant. Sam grinned. Her short, spiky blonde hair gave her an elfin look despite her stocky build.

‘The body was moved post mortem,’ a scene of crime officer said.

‘In order to rob him?’

The other woman shrugged. ‘That’s for you to work out. It’s not my job to draw conclusions from the evidence, just to gather it.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Sam chimed in. ‘We know that. But what do you think?’

The white-clad officer blinked at Sam in surprise, then laughed. ‘I think he was moved so he could be robbed, because he has no money and no plastic on him, just a set of keys and an Oyster card. Most likely he had a wallet or at least loose cash on him, although we don’t know that. But he’s well dressed. Why would he be here, in Central London, with no money on him at all? I think he was moved shortly after he was killed, by whoever it was mugged him.’

Sam nodded. ‘Makes sense.’

‘That doesn’t mean it’s necessarily true,’ Geraldine said quietly. ‘Now, he was killed an hour or two before midnight. There must have been people around at that time on a Monday night. Someone might have heard the shot.’

‘In Central London? With all this traffic?’ Sam said. ‘You are joking.’ The scene of crime officer agreed with Sam. ‘And in any case, how are you going to trace all the people who were in the vicinity? I’m sorry,’ she added, seeing Geraldine’s expression, ‘that’s not my job. What do I know about it?’

She turned away as one of her colleagues called out.

‘We’ve got another one.’

‘What have you found?’ Geraldine asked her.

The officer turned back. ‘So far we’ve got three bullets, apart from the one that hit the victim.’

‘Were they all fired from the same gun?’

‘They’ll need to be examined properly to confirm that.’

‘But what’s the chance there were two guns fired?’

‘Almost zero, I’d say. I may be sticking my neck out here, but the bullets have all got an irregularity on one side, visible with the naked eye, so it looks very much as though they were all fired from the same handgun.’

‘What do you mean an irregularity?’

‘A tiny ridge, or dent down the side, more like a scratch, where the barrel’s damaged.’

‘And all the bullets were aimed at the victim?’

‘That’s difficult to say really.’

‘Depends on how good his aim was,’ another scene of crime officer added, overhearing Geraldine’s question. ‘He might have missed, he could have been firing around to scare the victim, or more likely he was so out of it he didn’t know who or what he was trying to hit.’

All they could tell for certain was that more than one bullet had been fired, probably from the same gun.

‘So we know he was fifty-two.’ Geraldine paused, staring down at the body. ‘What was he doing here at night?’

‘Going home from work, perhaps?’ Sam suggested.

‘Towards midnight?’

‘The guy finishes work at eight, eight thirty, goes for something to eat, a few drinks, then he’s on his way home at ten thirty, eleven, to catch the last train – perhaps there was a drinks do if someone was leaving from his office – or maybe he had a romantic tryst after work – there’s any number of reasons why he might have been on his way home at that time.’

‘Sam, you’re not being helpful.’

‘All I’m saying is there’s nothing out of the ordinary about him being here in the evening.’

‘You’re right. In any case it’s far too early to start speculating like this. Let’s get back to the station and see what else we can find out about David Lester.’

‘We don’t know that’s who he is,’ Sam muttered. ‘Now who’s speculating?’

2

Whenthey had finished talking to the scene of crime officers it was nearly time for the morning briefing, so they went to the police station. There was nothing more to learn from the crime scene. Geraldine was keen to be on time for her first meeting with her new detective chief inspector, her previous senior investigating officer having taken early retirement. The traffic lights were with her and she reached the police station with time to stop off at the canteen for a quick breakfast.

‘Mind if I join you?’ Sam asked as she plonked a tray down on Geraldine’s table.

It was a rhetorical question.

Geraldine looked at Sam’s plate. ‘Are you sure you’ve got enough there? I’d hate to see you go hungry.’

‘Best to stock up while we can. You never know when we might have an opportunity to eat again.’

‘Bloody hell, Sam. You must use that excuse at least three times a day. We’re not explorers crossing the Arctic!’

Sam grinned as she tucked in to a plate piled with fried eggs, toast, sausages and beans.

‘How can you survive on that anaemic muck?’ she asked, with a nod at Geraldine’s bowl.

‘Porridge is very healthy.’

‘Boring!’

Neither of them had met the new detective chief inspector before. As she ate, Sam related the gossip she had heard about him. Adam Eastwood had been working as a detective inspector in South London before his recent promotion.

‘And,’ she went on, spooning beans on to her toast and cutting a dripping square, ‘he recently got divorced, which might explain all the fuss some of the other girls are making, because apparently he’s drop dead gorgeous. If you like that sort of thing.’

‘By that sort of thing you mean men?’

Sam wrinkled her nose, her mouth full.

‘What else have you heard?’

Sam shook her head. With a last gulp of coffee, Geraldine stood up. Sam remonstrated, gesturing at her plate.

‘I’ll see you there then,’ Geraldine said. ‘Don’t be late.’

Geraldine had to concede that Sam’s praise was justified. Detective Chief Inspector Adam Eastwood was certainly an attractive man. Tall and slender, everything about him gave an impression of neatness, from his cropped, dark hair to his navy fitted jacket and polished shoes. He was clean shaven and his features were well proportioned. Although his voice was soft, his diction was so precise it was possible to distinguish every word as he ran through what they knew of the victim.

‘You know what to do, so let’s get going,’ he concluded, gazing round the team before they split up to carry out their allotted tasks. ‘You might want to double-check with the duty sergeant before you start. We’re not going to have any cock-ups.’

Scowling at a couple of female constables who muttered crudely about fancying a cock-up from their detective chief inspector, Geraldine hurried away. Her first task was to question Andy Hilton, the man who had reported the body to the police. Concerned that he had probably already forgotten most of what he had seen, she was keen to speak to him as soon as possible. Sam was put in charge of organising a team of constables to watch film from CCTV cameras in the streets surrounding Wells Mews. There were cameras along Oxford Street, but none in the little cul-de-sac itself. It was a huge job involving many hours of work, but vitally important.

Andy lived in a converted Victorian terraced house along the Caledonian Road. In his twenties, he had sandy-coloured hair and a very long nose that dominated his pinched face.

‘Are you the police? They said you’d be coming.’

‘Yes, I spoke to you on the phone.’

He barely glanced at her warrant card.

‘Well, come in.’

Sitting opposite her in his small kitchen, he launched into an account of how he had discovered the body, adding little to what she already knew. He had been out drinking with his work colleagues on Monday evening, celebrating someone’s birthday.

‘I’m not a great drinker,’ he added apologetically, as though it was a shameful admission. ‘But I was a bit pissed, because we’d been drinking, you know? Anyway,’ he gave an embarrassed laugh, ‘I went along Wells Mews –’

‘Why did you go there?’

His cheeks flushed as he shrugged without answering.

‘This is a murder investigation,’ Geraldine said firmly. ‘It would be criminal as well as foolish to conceal anything.’

‘It’s a quiet dead end. I was desperate for a pee. We’d been drinking.’

‘So, you needed to urinate and went into Wells Mews.’

‘Yes. That’s not illegal is it?’

‘I’m conducting a murder investigation. Let’s focus on that, shall we?’

‘Yes, yes. Of course. Well, I went to the end of the mews and was taking a piss, when I saw this bloke lying there. Actually, I kicked him, by mistake. He didn’t budge. I can’t remember much else but I must have called the police and next thing I knew there were police everywhere and I was being asked all these questions and that’s all there is to it, really. I told them what had happened, that I’d seen this body lying there.’

‘How did you know he was dead?’

‘I didn’t know if he was dead or out cold, not at first. Then I saw his eyes were open and he was just staring, not blinking. When I saw the blood on his clothes, that’s when I put two and two together and called the police.’

‘Well?’ Sam asked when Geraldine returned to the police station and went to check on her progress with the CCTV.

‘Well what?’

‘What do you think of our new DCI?’

‘What do you think?’

‘He looks like Ken.’

‘Who’s Ken?’

Sam rolled her eyes. ‘Didn’t you have Barbie dolls? No, I guess they were after your time.’

‘No, they weren’t after my time. And in any case, I do have a niece.’

‘Please tell me you haven’t bought her a Barbie doll.’

‘Of course. She’s got all sorts of frilly pink outfits, and high-heeled shoes, and –’

‘Oh shut up. Anyway, what’s your impression of him?’

Geraldine considered. ‘I think he speaks very clearly.’

‘Let’s hope he thinks clearly.’

3

Lenny woke with a pounding headache. At first he thought he was still in the nick. He turned and bashed his head on the seat in front of him. Hearing a noise, he looked up. A line of people was filing past his face. The stench made him feel sick. Coming to, he realised he was lying across the seat of a bus. The rough fabric felt damp against his cheek. He hoped it was just wet with his dribble. Someone shook his arm.

‘Fuck off!’

‘Oy, wake up!’

Travelling on the night bus had been unpleasant. For hours he’d sat hunched in a seat, face to the window, trying to shut out the raucous bursts of laughter from kids who were intoxicated, high, and volatile; a pathetic collection of riotous clubbers and despondent, neglected youngsters who had spent a few hours together sheltering from the night.

Daylight was just beginning to break as he made his way home, approaching from the opposite direction to Central London and the quiet corner where he had stumbled across a bit of luck. No one had seen him in the mews. He had been clever enough to distance himself from the stiff and, to cap it all, he was a hundred quid better off. Gina would never know he had blown his official dosh. It was all working out just fine, which was fair enough. A bloke couldn’t be dogged by bad luck all the time. Sooner or later he had to have a break, although to be fair he’d made his own luck by having the wit to nick the stiff’s wallet when he had the chance. That cash would save him getting it in the neck from Gina, at least for a while. He couldn’t have coped with one of her flare ups just then. On top of a foul hangover, he had slept fitfully and had woken with a sharp pain in his neck from lying with his head twisted round in an awkward position. All he wanted to do was get home to his own bed.

He hoped she’d be out when he got there, but no such luck. Her grating voice cut through him as soon as he opened the door.

‘Where the hell have you been?’

Some homecoming. He didn’t even bother to answer. She knew perfectly well where he’d been for the past eighteen months. He slipped past her into the hall muttering that he just wanted to go to sleep, and a cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss. She spun round, slamming the front door. Her mousy hair was a mess. In a face pitted with acne scars, her eyes shone blue and beautiful.

‘Lenny, I’m talking to you.’

‘I can hear you.’

‘I asked where you been?’

‘You know bloody well where I been.’

‘Why would I be asking where you been, if I knew where you been?’

‘I been in the nick. You can’t have forgotten.’

‘Course I know you was in the nick. I seen you there. And I know you was out Monday. And I want to know where you been since then.’

‘What, since Monday you mean?’

‘Yeah, since Monday. I been waiting here for you to come home.’

It was only Tuesday. He had been out less than twenty-four hours, meeting up with some mates. At first he couldn’t be bothered to answer but she kept on and on at him until he lost his temper. It was always the same with her. She could never leave it alone.

‘I suppose you been at your mum’s, and she took all your pay off you what should’ve come to me.’

‘I haven’t spoke to my mum.’

He reached into his pocket for the wallet. In the daylight he could see it must have cost a fair bit, real leather by the looks of it. He drew out a handful of notes. That shut her up. Eyes fixed on the dosh, she took a step forward and snatched at it. He let her have it. Poor cow, it must’ve been a struggle for her while he’d been inside.

‘How you been managing, babe?’ he asked.

He watched her count the money. Sixty quid. That meant he still had over forty for himself. He grinned as she stuffed the notes in her pocket.

‘You can feed yourself up a bit,’ he said. ‘You look skinnier than ever. You don’t eat properly.’

‘Where’s the rest of it?’ she demanded, hands on hips.

‘That’s all they give me.’

‘Liar.’

Just then he remembered the small blue box he had nicked off the stiff along with his wallet. He felt in his pocket for it.

‘Look, I got you this!’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s a present. I got it for you.’

She took the little box, scowling. When she opened it her chin dropped and her eyes grew round with wonder. Poor cow didn’t get many presents.

‘Where the hell did you get this?’

He hesitated an instant too long and cursed himself for failing to prepare his story. ‘Never mind that. It’s for you. Do you like it?’

‘I bloody love it!’

He was taken aback by her enthusiasm. She picked the ring out of the box and slipped it straight on the third finger on her left hand. Without taking her eyes off the jewel, she waved her hand in the air.

‘It’s beautiful.’

Just as he began to relax, she spoke again. Her voice was soft but her words shocked him.

‘I thought you never wanted to get hitched. And now look at us. We’re engaged! Where did you get it, honest?’

‘I been saving up,’ he faltered. ‘I been working –’

‘Working? What you talking about? You been in the nick –’

It was worse than being interrogated by the police. At least she was distracted by the ring. He carried on, doing his best to convince her he had scrimped and starved just for her, even sacrificing the chance of a packet of fags so he could save a few extra quid.

‘Over eighteen months, it all adds up, you know.’

‘What does?’

‘They give you jobs in there, you know. I saved every scrap so I could get you something. I wanted to make it up to you.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘How much did it cost then?’

He glanced at her hand. It was quite a rock. He licked his lips and hesitated. He hadn’t realised what a nice bit of ice was in that box. If it was real, it would be worth a fortune.

‘How much?’

‘Enough.’

‘Where the hell did you get hold of something like this?’

‘Jesus, Gina, a bloke can’t get nothing past you. All right, for fuck’s sake, this is how I come by it. There was this stiff in an alley way –’

‘A stiff?’

‘Yeah. He’d been shot.’

‘Did you do it?’

‘Fuck off. I only just come out the nick. You wanna hear this or not?’

She nodded.

‘So I checked his pockets – it would’ve been stupid not to – and that’s what I found. So I waited all night to get a bloke I know to check it out. That’s why I never come home until now.’

He smiled, admiring his own deftness in getting out of trouble.

‘And? What did he say?’

‘He told me it’s worth a lot. A good few thousand, he reckoned. So I thought to myself, when am I ever gonna get anything like that for my girl? You know I always been good to you.’

‘But –’

‘It’s special,’ he pressed on. ‘Only the best is good enough for my girl, that’s what I thought. It’s a real rock. It’s what you deserve.’

‘It didn’t cost you a penny.’

‘I could’ve sold it and kept the dosh, but I wanted to give it to you. You’re worth more than any amount of dosh to me.’

She looked dubious, then she fluttered her hand in front of his face. The diamond sparkled. Different colours seemed to shine from it, mesmerising. It might be really valuable, worth far more than he could ever afford.

‘I thought you’d be pleased. Of course, if you don’t want it –’

‘Don’t be daft. Of course I want it. Anyway, it’s mine now, ain’t it?’

He considered, while she waved her hand in front of his face. The diamond glowed at him with a seductive inner fire. She was right. Bloody hell. It could be worth thousands. He had to get it back. Seeing the ring sit loosely on her finger, he had a brain wave.

‘It don’t look right. It’s too big. It might fit on your index finger.’

She fell for it at once. ‘No way. It goes on this finger. It’s an engagement ring, isn’t it?’

‘I’ll have to get it fixed then, so it fits proper, like it was made for you. You don’t want it falling off because it don’t fit.’

‘You want me to give it back to you?’

‘Just till I get it made so it fits proper.’

‘But we’d still be engaged?’

‘If you want. Yes, yes, of course,’ he changed his answer quickly, seeing her expression darken. ‘That don’t make no difference. Come on, give it here so I can get it fixed proper. You wouldn’t know where to take it. You can’t trust a stranger with a rock like that. Rip you off as soon as look at you. Any old jeweller’s going to replace a real diamond with a shit bit of glass, and you won’t even know.’

‘This is a real diamond, ain’t it, Lenny?’

‘Only the best for my girl, that’s what I said. Look, I’ll take it to a geezer I know and he’ll sort it just like that, no questions asked. You’ll have it back in no time.’

‘How do I know I can trust you not to nick it off me?’

‘What you talking about, you daft cow? I gave it you in the first place. It’s worth a fucking fortune and that’s what you’re worth to me.’

She couldn’t argue with that. Reverently she slipped it off her finger and replaced it in the box. Pocketing it, he suppressed a grin. He had plans of his own for her new trinket. He was going to clean up, and she would never know.

4

Entering her office, Geraldine was surprised to see someone occupying the desk that had belonged to her former colleague, Nick. No one living knew that she had been involved in a brief affair with him before he had been murdered. She braced herself to be civil to the man now sitting in Nick’s place, on his chair, at his desk, fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard that had felt Nick’s touch.

‘Good morning.’

Her new colleague spun round then sprang to his feet, one hand extended in greeting. Fighting to control her distress, she was aware of laughter creases around blue eyes that smiled a welcome. He was young and fair haired. With candid eyes, straight nose, slightly sunken cheeks and a neat pointed chin, he was charismatic rather than good looking. He gave an impression of energy, a physical dynamism that she couldn’t help finding attractive.

‘Neil Roberts,’ he said as he shook her hand firmly. ‘You must be Geraldine.’

They sat down and chatted briefly. Neil was also a detective inspector, and recently promoted to the Met from Surrey.

‘I’m really excited to be in London,’ he added with boyish enthusiasm.

Geraldine couldn’t help smiling.

‘You’re on this new case, aren’t you? The mugging.’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m on standby right now, so if there’s anything I can do –’

Geraldine turned away, momentarily overcome. Nick had made the same offer once.

‘Thank you,’ she mumbled. ‘And now, I need to crack on. I’ve got to go and tell the wife.’

David Lester had lived with his wife near West Acton station, straight through on the underground from Central London. Laura was considerably younger than him, and they had only been married for two years. They had no children. Aware that the traffic could be slow moving, Geraldine decided to take the underground. If there were delays, at least she would be able to work on the train. Arriving in West Acton, she walked along a street of small black and white houses. With a wide, leafy central reservation running along the centre of the road, it was an attractive estate. She turned off into a side street and found the house she was looking for, a small end of terrace cottage. A plump blonde woman came to the door. She looked about thirty. For a moment Geraldine wondered if she was David Lester’s daughter.

‘Are you related to David Lester?’

‘He’s my husband.’

‘May I come in?’

On learning who Geraldine was, the young woman fired a series of questions at her.

‘What do you want? What’s this about? Has something happened to David? He didn’t come home last night. Where is he? What’s happened? Is he in trouble? He’s in trouble, isn’t he? Where is he?’

Geraldine urged Laura to invite her in. ‘It would be better if you sat down.’

The other woman’s face grew pale, as though she understood what was coming, but she persisted with her aggressive questions. ‘Why? What’s happened?’

At last they went inside. Laura sat down on a pink leather sofa. Geraldine perched on a matching armchair and glanced around the room. On a mantelpiece above a boxed-in fireplace she saw what she was looking for: a photograph of the dead man with one arm around the woman who sat facing her.

‘Mrs Lester,’ she began softly. ‘I’m really sorry to bring you some bad news.’

She remembered hearing about the death of her own adoptive mother, and the initial feeling of disbelief that had protected her. In those first moments, being the bearer of terrible news was worse than receiving it. Only later would reality hit, once the shock had subsided.

‘I’m afraid we have reason to believe your husband, David, has been the victim of a fatal mugging.’

‘What? I don’t understand. He didn’t come home last night – or at least, he wasn’t home when I went to bed, but they were going out for a meal because someone was leaving, so I knew he’d be late. That’s all. He must have come home in the early hours of the morning, and gone out again before I woke up. It’s nothing more than that. I’m sorry for your trouble but you’ve got this all wrong. You’ve made a big mistake. I never even reported him missing.’ She gave a high-pitched laugh. ‘You ask David, he’ll tell you, I’m the worrier. If there’s anything wrong, I’m always the first to suspect it, but he’s fine, I know he is. He knows how to take care of himself. He always takes care of me. I’m the one –’

She stopped talking abruptly and burst into tears. Geraldine gave her a moment before asking if there was anyone who could come round.

Laura shook her head. ‘I want David, I want David.’

As gently as she could, Geraldine told the distraught woman what had happened. Laura cried and shook her head. All at once she raised a tear-stained face.

‘Mugged?’ she repeated. ‘You said he was mugged?’

‘It appears that way. We need you to identify the body to be sure it is your husband.’

The newly bereaved widow nodded her head.

‘Laura, I know this is difficult, but there are certain questions I need to ask you. Can you think of anyone who might have wanted your husband dead?’

‘You said he was mugged.’

‘That’s what we think, but we have to consider every possibility.’

Ignoring Geraldine’s question, Laura wanted to know what had been stolen.

‘We don’t know. We assume his wallet was stolen as he had no money or phone on his person, only a set of keys and an Oyster card.’

‘What about my ring? Did he have my ring? You need to check his pockets. It’ll be in a box.’

Geraldine sat forward. ‘What ring?’

‘He was taking my engagement ring to London to get it resized. I told him not to take it all the way up there. He could have lost it, or… he said he was going to try and get to the jewellers yesterday to take it in, but he rang when he finished work and said he hadn’t had time to get there but he said he’d take it in today. That’s why he was mugged, wasn’t it? My ring, my ring. It was my engagement ring.’

Laura broke down in tears, ostensibly more distraught at the loss of her engagement ring than the death of her husband. Geraldine waited a moment for her to regain control of herself. The theft of the ring could be significant.

‘Laura, listen to me. I need you to tell me about your ring.’

‘It was my engagement ring.’

‘Do you know how much it was worth?’

Laura looked up, nodding. ‘It was one point seven carat, a nearly perfect brilliant cut white solitaire set in white gold.’

Geraldine shook her head. ‘What would that be worth? Do you know?’

‘I can get the insurance certificate.’

The ring had been insured for fourteen thousand pounds. Even if it could be sold for half its replacement value, it came to a tidy sum.

‘Did the ring have any distinguishing features?’

‘What do you mean? It was a ring, an engagement ring.’

‘It wasn’t engraved or scratched?’

‘Oh, I see what you mean. No, nothing like that.’

‘Did anyone else know your husband had your ring on him?’

‘He said he wasn’t going to tell anyone at work. He wasn’t an idiot. Not that he didn’t trust his colleagues. He’d been there for years. But still, you can’t be too careful.’

Laura covered her face in her hands and began to sob again. Watching her heaving shoulders, Geraldine was shaken with helpless fury. Death was always dreadful, an unnatural death harder to accept than the result of illness or even accident; casual murder in the course of a mugging must be almost unbearable.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she muttered, embarrassed by the inadequacy of her words.

‘I don’t suppose I’ll ever get it back,’ Laura sobbed.

Geraldine attributed Laura’s preoccupation with her stolen jewellery to displacement. It was disturbing to believe she could be more upset about the loss of her ring than her husband. Yet Geraldine knew she couldn’t rule out the possibility that the weeping widow in front of her might be responsible for her husband’s death.

5

Leaving the victim’s family home, Geraldine drove to the mortuary. When Sam offered to meet her there, Geraldine said the sergeant would be more usefully employed supervising the team checking CCTV near the crime scene. It was an unspoken secret between them that Sam was queasy around cadavers. The pathologist, Miles Fellowes, was waiting for her when she walked in. Hazel eyes crinkled in a smile, he held up his bloody gloved hands in a welcoming gesture. After they exchanged greetings, she turned her attention to the body. Nearly bald and developing a paunch, David must once have been a good-looking man. Clean shaven, with a large straight nose and thin lips, Geraldine had seen in photographs that his closed eyes were dark and attractive. The original chiselled outline of his lower jaw was easy to see above his double chin. Below rounded shoulders his arms looked muscular, and his legs were toned. He had the appearance of a middle-aged man who ate well and worked out regularly or played a lot of recreational sport.

‘He looked after himself,’ Miles said, confirming Geraldine’s initial impression of the dead man. ‘He looks flabby, but he has impressive muscle tone, and he was in good condition, physically. There’s not a lot wrong with him, in fact – apart from being dead,’ he added with a grin.

‘I wonder if he knew what was happening?’

‘There are no defence wounds. It looks as though he collapsed at once. He was pretty drunk.’

In some ways it wasn’t a bad way to go. A quick death, in his prime.

‘You said he was drunk?’

‘Yes. He’d eaten a good meal about an hour before he died. Steak, chips, some sort of gooey trifle, all washed down with at least one bottle of red wine, and a generous shot of brandy.’

The bullet had been removed. A bloodless hole showed clearly in the centre of the dead man’s chest. Miles laughed when Geraldine said the entry wound looked too small to have been the cause of so much trauma.

‘The bullet slipped neatly between his ribs just at the right spot and pierced his heart, and pouf!’

‘Was it just the one shot?’

‘He was hit once, right in the chest, with a Smith and Wesson. I’m no ballistics expert. You probably know more about the gun than I do. But I can show you exactly where one of the bullets ended up.’

Geraldine nodded. ‘Other bullets were found at the scene, fired from the same gun. Do you think this could have been a lucky hit in a random round of shots?’

‘Not very lucky for him,’ Miles replied, with a lopsided grin. ‘We’ve stripped him of a lambswool jumper and a shirt which have gone off to the forensic lab.’

‘And I seem to remember he was wearing dark trousers?’

‘You’ve got a good memory for details.’

‘That’s my job, to notice things.’

Miles nodded. ‘Smart navy trousers. Anyway, as I was saying, the bullet reached his heart and he was dead, almost instantaneously.’

‘I thought it took four minutes for a person to die.’

‘Technically, yes. But this wound was going to be fatal, four minutes or no four minutes. My guess is our fellow here lost consciousness almost immediately, from the shock, and then, you’re right, it took four minutes for all vital signs to cease.’

‘Could he have been resuscitated? I mean, if he’d been given medical attention straight away? What if his attacker had tried to stop the bleeding and called for an ambulance?’

‘Even if a paramedic team had reached him straight away, I don’t think he could have been saved. His heart was too badly damaged. The bullet went through the left ventricle and severed the root of the aorta.’

‘Was there anything to suggest his attacker tried to stop the bleeding?’

‘Any bruising around the wound, you mean? No. Nothing at all. But like I said, he was as good as dead once the bullet entered his heart. Even if he had received medical attention straight away, there was too much damage to his heart for him to recover.’

‘But his attacker wouldn’t have known that. Whoever attacked him ran off leaving him to bleed to death, without even trying to save his life.’ She paused, staring at the dead man. ‘It’s possible this was a premeditated murder, planned to look like a mugging that went wrong.’

Miles shrugged. ‘It’s beyond my remit to indulge in that kind of speculation.’

‘But it’s possible?’

‘Not my job, Geraldine. All I can tell you is that he was shot in the chest and the bullet reached his heart –’

‘What’re the chances of that?’

Miles gazed at her, his hazel eyes momentarily troubled. ‘I wish I could answer that. I wish I could answer all your questions – but then of course you’d be out of a job.’

He grinned again and she smiled back, although he couldn’t see her mouth behind her mask.

By the time Geraldine finished writing up her report and left her office it was quite late, so she stopped for a takeaway on her way home. Sitting at her kitchen table, she paused, remembering how she had sat in the same place the previous night. In the urgency of the opening stages of a new investigation she had forgotten about her personal loss. A warm comforting aroma of chips and vinegar rose from the greasy paper on her plate, but she no longer felt hungry. Grief for her dead colleague overcame her and she wept for him, and for all the victims whose killers she had pursued. She had investigated so many murders. She remembered them all.

6

At half past nine the following morning, Laura came to the mortuary to formally identify the body. It wasn’t necessary for Geraldine to be there in person, but she wanted to observe the young widow’s reaction to the sight of her dead husband. Geraldine met Laura in the visitors’ room. Her fluffy black coat looked brand new, as did her patent leather shoes. Geraldine wondered if she had bought them after learning about her husband’s death. There hadn’t been much time.

‘Are you ready?’ Geraldine asked.

The widow dabbed at her heavily made-up eyes with a tissue, and nodded without speaking.

‘Would you like another minute?’

‘No.’ Laura’s voice was barely louder than a whisper.

She stood up, her face pale, her lips trembling. With a pang, Geraldine remembered she was not yet thirty, very young to be facing this personal tragedy.

‘Is there someone who could pick you up afterwards? You might not want to be on your own…?’

Everything Geraldine said to this young woman felt crass. Since Nick’s death, she was realising for the first time how inadequate all her words of intended comfort were. Whoever took Laura home, the house would still be empty. Nothing could bring her husband back.

‘No, I’ll be fine,’ Laura whispered.

‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes.’

Geraldine led her into the small chapel where David was laid out. His face was unmarked. Apart from his extreme pallor, he looked much the same as he must have looked in life.

‘Poor lamb,’ Laura whispered tearfully.

Geraldine was surprised to hear the young woman use a maternal term of endearment about a man legally old enough to be her father. It questioned the assumptions Geraldine had made about the marital relationship. Geraldine had imagined David had been a father figure to Laura. Perhaps the opposite had been the case, and Laura had been the adult in the relationship. Geraldine knew Laura was his personal assistant. She would have taken care of his arrangements, and looked after his interests at work. One word had challenged Geraldine’s impression of their relationship.

She observed Laura approach the body, waiting for her to break down, but the widow remained silent. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she turned to Geraldine and nodded.

‘You can confirm this is your husband?’

‘Oh yes. It’s David.’ Her voice broke but she didn’t sob.

Geraldine took her back to the visitors’ room and offered her a cup of tea. She shook her head and asked for a glass of water. Although she was shaking, she still didn’t break down.

‘No sign of my ring then?’

‘No, I’m sorry.’

‘You must think I’m a gold digger, and that I care more about my jewellery than my husband, but it’s the sentimental value. It was my engagement ring. He’d just had the stone reset.’ She sighed and turned in her seat to look directly at Geraldine. ‘I know David was older than me, a lot older, but we were happy. We loved each other.’

‘We checked his trouser pockets.’

‘What about his jacket?’

‘He wasn’t wearing one.’

‘Really?’ Laura looked irritated. ‘He must have left it at the office. It wasn’t a nice night. It was raining and the damp gets to his chest. He should have been wearing his jacket. I don’t understand why he didn’t have it on. We only bought it last week. I wonder if my ring’s in his jacket pocket?’

‘Once the forensic team have finished with his clothes, they’ll be returned to you,’ Geraldine said gently. ‘I’ll make sure we return everything to you. But not his shirt or jumper, I’m afraid.’

Laura nodded. ‘I understand. They must be…’

‘Would you like some more water?’

‘I’m OK, really. I’d like to go home now, if we’re done here.’

‘We’re finished. I’m sorry again for your loss.’

Having completed the necessary documents concerning the identification of the body, Geraldine went to David’s office to collect his jacket. A harassed-looking woman greeted her and introduced herself as the office manager.

‘We’re all devastated about it,’ she said when Geraldine introduced herself. ‘What a thing to happen. He was such a nice man. A real gentleman. Oh, I know he left his wife and married Laura. It caused a lot of gossip at the time, the way she behaved.’

‘The way she behaved?’

‘Throwing herself at him like that. But he went through with it. He married her. So she must have had something. I mean, we all thought she was nice enough when she was working here, but look what happened.’

Geraldine listened to her gossip for a while before asking if the office manager knew of anyone who might have wished to harm David.

‘Harm him?’

‘Did he have any enemies?’

‘Apart from his ex you mean? I don’t suppose she was too pleased with him.’

‘Anyone else?’

The woman’s eyes widened in surprise as she understood the reason for the question. ‘We were told he was mugged. The young constable who came here to ask about David told us it was a mugging that went wrong. We all thought David must have fought back. We’d been out together for a meal on Monday night because one of the staff’s leaving. We’re a small team here so we like to do that. David had drunk rather a lot, I think. Do you think it was something else then, not a mugging that went too far? Is that what you came here to tell us?’

Geraldine reassured her that she was just asking routine questions while she was there. She had come to collect David’s leather jacket.

‘His jacket? I haven’t seen it.’

They looked on his chair and under his desk in case his jacket had fallen down. There was no sign of it. The office manager was sure he had been wearing it when they went out on Monday evening.

‘I can’t think why he wouldn’t have been wearing it. It was a miserable night, quite chilly as I remember, and he had this lovely jacket, really soft leather, you know. It must have been expensive. You can tell.’

Geraldine couldn’t overlook the possibility that someone in the office had stolen the jacket, possibly with a view to pocketing the expensive ring David was carrying. There was only one way to be sure David had removed his jacket from the office himself.

The manager of the restaurant where the staff had gone for dinner on Monday recalled the party of six but couldn’t remember whether David had been wearing a leather jacket or not. He offered to show Geraldine footage from the security camera at the entrance. After some fiddling around, he found the right section of the film. Geraldine stood behind him, watching over his shoulder, as he ran it on his computer screen. At seven thirty, David’s office party arrived. He was wearing his jacket. The manager grew defensive, insisting no one had left a jacket in the restaurant that evening. Geraldine wondered whether he was protesting too forcefully. There was no reason for him to grow so agitated, unless he had found the jacket and pocketed the ring himself.