He shivered again, raising his eyes to Geraldine in mute appeal not to talk about it any more.
She took down Gideon’s details before thanking him for his help.
‘We may ask you to attend your local police station to sign a statement,’ she concluded. ‘But that’s all for now. Thank you again for your co-operation, Mr Grey, you’re free to go on your way whenever you’re ready.’
‘Will you let me know?’ he asked as he stood up, no longer quite so eager to leave now that he was free to go. ‘I mean, who the guy was and what happened to him?’
‘We already know the victim’s identity, and you can rest assured we’ll find out soon enough who was responsible for his death.’
Gideon nodded, clearly impressed.
‘So who is he then – I suppose I should say who
was
he?’
Geraldine politely refused to tell him anything else.
‘I suppose I’ll see it on the news, or in the papers.’
‘Yes, Mr Grey,’ she agreed, hiding her disquiet, ‘I suppose you will.’
Having delivered his statement, the witness was already recovering from his initial shock and was bound to relate his experience to everyone with whom he came into contact. Word would soon spread. Apart from Gideon Grey who had stumbled on the body, the station guards all knew about it, which meant that the network of staff across the whole underground were probably aware of it by now. It didn’t take huge powers of deduction to link the murders of two men who had been business partners, and once the press sniffed out a connection between Henshaw and Corless there would be a frenzy of media interest and a torrent of reports, many of them embellished. She could imagine the headlines:
Serial Killer Targets Restaurant Owners
. Geraldine hoped they would come up with a result before the press went to town on it.
G
eraldine treated herself to a leisurely breakfast on Sunday mornings whenever she could. This Sunday she struggled to eat anything, her thoughts dominated by the prospect of telling George Corless’s family what had happened to him. She had to ring the bell several times at his flat before Desiree came to the door. It was past midday but she looked as though she had just woken up. Her skin was surprisingly perfect, and without thick make up and false lashes her eyes were softly beautiful.
‘Where the hell have you – oh,’ she broke off and raised her eyebrows, pulling her silk dressing gown more tightly around her substantial frame. ‘What do you want? George isn’t here. And before you ask, I don’t know where he is. He had nothing to do with that murder you’re investigating so why don’t you leave him alone? He was with me, all the time –’
‘Desiree, I’m afraid I have to tell you there’s been another murder.’
‘Another murder? Well, it’s got nothing to do with George so you can just –’
Desiree stopped abruptly, her eyes anxiously searching Geraldine’s face.
‘Why are you here? Where’s George?’
Desiree’s emotional outburst degenerated so rapidly into hysteria that Geraldine feared for the girl’s mental stability as she howled without restraint, bending over forwards to clutch her stomach. She allowed Geraldine to close the front door and steer her back into the apartment.
‘Let’s sit down,’ Geraldine urged, manoeuvring the weeping girl into the living room.
When Desiree finally calmed down enough to listen, Geraldine explained something of the circumstances of George’s death but she was circumspect, wary of setting the girl off again. Desiree was clearly shaken to hear that he had been murdered.
‘What? Like Patrick, you mean?’ she asked, her voice punctuated by hiccups.
‘Did you know Patrick Henshaw?’
‘No. That is, I’d met him a few times, when I was with – with George, but I never really spoke to Patrick much myself. I just sat there while they talked, you know.’
‘What did they talk about?’
Desiree shook her head.
‘I don’t know. They were always talking about the restaurant. I wasn’t even listening most of the time. Menus, complaining about the chef, and the staff, problems with the plumbing, that sort of thing. And they talked a lot about money, but I didn’t understand any of it.’
Geraldine thought about the balding paunchy man she had met and wondered what had inspired such devotion from the attractive young woman in front of her.
‘Tell me about George,’ she said gently.
Desiree sniffed.
‘We never meant it to happen, him and me, but sometimes you can’t help these things, can you? He said it was love at first sight for him.’
‘And for you?’
Desiree shrugged.
‘I was in a bad place, I’d just come out of a bad relationship.’
She sighed.
‘You know how it is. I’d been a complete idiot. Oh, he was drop-dead gorgeous and I fell for him, didn’t I, only turns out he was a rat, stringing me along, me and I don’t know how many others. Even when I knew he was messing me around I didn’t finish it straight away because you keep hoping, don’t you? I didn’t want anything more to do with men after that, only then George turned up and he was different, a real gentleman, treated me nice and – he was kind to me.’
‘How did you meet?’
‘He just bought me a drink when I’d finished my act, and we started talking –’
‘Finished your act? Are you a dancer then?’
‘Like a pole dancer, you mean? God no, nothing like that. Look at me! I haven’t got the figure for it. No, I’m a singer. Desiree. I used to do gigs all over the place, where I could, and that’s how I met George, when I was singing at the restaurant one night. It was pouring and I’d forgotten to take a coat so he offered to give me a lift home. He was kind like that –’
Without warning Desiree burst into tears again. Geraldine felt sorry for the girl who was barely more than a child, but needed to press on with her questions.
‘Is there a friend, or a family member, who can come here to be with you tonight?’
Desiree shook her head and blew her nose noisily.
‘No, I’ll be alright. I’ll phone my sister.’
Geraldine waited while Desiree made a tearful call.
‘She’s coming straight over. You don’t need to wait, I’ll be OK. She’ll be here soon.’
Amanda Corless lived in Bexley, on the outskirts of South East London near the Kent border. The journey was likely to take an hour, even on a Sunday, so Geraldine set off as soon as she could. Although George and his wife hadn’t been living together for three years, they were still married; nominally George, his wife and their two children had remained a family. His son and daughter had both left home and were no longer financially dependent on him. Nevertheless, he had continued to treat them generously, perhaps because he had left their mother when they were both in their late teens.
It was easy to see that George had a ‘type’ as soon as Geraldine set eyes on Amanda Corless. The woman who opened the door had voluptuous curves now run to fat, and shoulder length, unnaturally blonde hair. It was almost like looking at an older version of Desiree, but where the young woman’s blue eyes were trusting, Amanda’s were shrewd and wary.
‘What do you want?’
She glared at Geraldine who introduced herself.
‘May I come in, Mrs Corless?’
Amanda made no move to admit her.
‘Why? What’s this about?’
‘It’s about your husband.’
‘George? Listen, I’ve no idea what he’s done and I don’t want to know either. Whatever it is, it’s nothing to do with me. He doesn’t live here any more. You’ll have to speak to him. Leave me out of it. I can give you his address if you want.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Corless. We have his details.’
Geraldine took a deep breath.
‘Mrs Corless, I’m here to tell you that your husband is dead.’
‘Dead?’
Geraldine nodded.
‘Now may I come in?’
‘No, I don’t want to hear about it. He’s caused me enough grief.’
She frowned and took a step back, raising a hand to close the door.
‘We’re not together any more, so what makes you think I’d give a toss? Go and tell his whore. See if she cares. I don’t. Why should I? He walked out on me for some tart and now –’
She broke off, her lips trembling.
‘Leave me alone.’
Geraldine insisted she needed to ask a few questions. Amanda seemed shocked to hear that her husband had been murdered, but she insisted she was unable to help the enquiry into his death.
‘You can’t think of anyone who might have wanted to harm your husband?’
‘What? George? No. I mean, I was mad at him, of course, when he walked out on me for some young floozy.’
She laughed, her expression bitter.
‘I could have killed him then, alright, and the kids were mad at him too for what he did. But that’s all over and done with. I don’t have anything to do with him any more but he still sees the children. At the end of the day he is their father.’
Geraldine waited and Amanda drew a sharp breath.
‘He was a selfish bastard and he walked out on me. So what? Am I supposed to fall apart now he’s dead?’
She shrugged.
‘I finished crying over that bastard years ago.’
She made to close the door, her eyes glittering with repressed fury, or tears, it was impossible to discern which.
‘All of this has nothing to do with me and, if you must know, he had it coming. Whatever happened was no worse than he deserved.’
‘Mrs Corless –’
‘Like I said, I stopped crying over him a long time ago. I’ve got nothing more to say to you.’
She slammed the door.
G
eraldine had arranged to visit an old school friend, Hannah, that Sunday evening, as she was already half way to Kent. In her twenties Geraldine had allowed herself to become obsessed with work to the exclusion of everything else. With growing maturity – or perhaps just declining energy – she was trying to pace herself by making time in the week for some distraction from her job. She was conscious that her former detective chief inspector had suffered a coronary brought on by the stress of the job. So far the alteration in Geraldine’s work-life balance hadn’t proved detrimental to her work. On the contrary, what would once have felt like a dereliction of duty now seemed increasingly essential to her performance. Viewing another body had dampened her mood that morning, but her spirits rose as she left London and the pressures of the investigation behind her. It was a sunny afternoon and she sang along to an old Madonna CD as she drove, the window wound down so she could feel the breeze on her face. She felt invigorated, and excited about returning to Kent.
After the usual greetings: ‘I love what you’re doing to your hair these days,’ and ‘You’re looking tired, not overdoing it in the big city, are you?’ they sat round the table for dinner. To begin with Hannah’s husband was quiet but he became quite expansive after an excellent dinner, talking at length about cricket, a passion he shared with his cherubic round-faced ten-year-old son. As soon as she set eyes on the girl, Geraldine understood why Hannah had been so concerned about her thirteen-year-old daughter lately. It was nearly a year since Geraldine had last seen her, and Eleanor had grown up almost beyond recognition. Her features had sharpened and her blue eyes had a shrewd look that was slightly disturbing in a thirteen-year-old. The girl moved her body with precocious consciousness of her own sexuality. Tight clothes exaggerated her well-developed figure, displaying a cleavage that was bound to attract attention from teenage boys, if not older men. She could easily have been mistaken for eighteen, her knowing expression accentuated by dark eye shadow and thick mascara framing the sullen eyes of a disaffected teenager.
‘Look at you,’ Geraldine greeted her, ‘you look really grown up.’
Eleanor glared and Geraldine felt embarrassed at having addressed her in such patronising terms. Clearly it was no longer appropriate to address Eleanor like a child. She decided against asking about school, choosing instead to converse in more general terms.
‘So how’s things, Eleanor?’
The girl muttered incoherently.
‘You’re not supposed to call her that any more,’ her brother interjected. ‘She doesn’t want to be called Eleanor.’
‘What’s wrong with that? God, the fuss. I’ve changed my name. I’m entitled to change my name if I want to. I don’t know why you have to be so immature about it. Just because you’re a stupid –’
‘Now, now,’ their father interrupted. ‘We’ve got a visitor. Let’s have some manners.’
‘Well he doesn’t have to diss me. I’m allowed to change my name. There’s no law against it.’
Geraldine learned that Hannah’s daughter wanted to be addressed by her middle name, Jessica. Eleanor explained that she hated her first name, had always hated it, hated her parents for saddling her with such a pathetic name, and hated her brother for refusing to call her by her preferred name. Throughout lunch the adults all addressed her as Jessica. Her brother persisted in calling her Eleanor at every possible opportunity, and she deliberately ignored everything he said to her.
‘Pass the salt, Eleanor.’
‘Hurry up, Eleanor.’
‘Aren’t you going to eat that, Eleanor?’
Neither of their parents paid any attention to the sibling squabble which Geraldine found both irritating and amusing.
It was a relief when the two youngsters scurried off to their rooms after dinner. Jeremy offered to clear up.
‘Which means he’ll dump the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink and leave them for me to sort out later,’ Hannah laughed.
‘This isn’t London,’ Jeremy replied, smiling at Geraldine. ‘None of your metrosexual men here out in the sticks. Not yet, at any rate.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Hannah laughed. ‘He’s joking.’
‘I suppose I’ll have to stack the dishwasher now, won’t I?’ he grinned.
Hannah and Geraldine settled down for a chat over another glass of wine while Jeremy clattered about in the kitchen.
‘I don’t want to hear any details of your latest gruesome case,’ Hannah said and they both smiled.
‘So tell me how it’s all going here,’ Geraldine replied. ‘Because I haven’t really got anything to talk about except work and to be honest I’m more than happy to get away from all that for an evening.’