‘I think he was waiting for us.’
‘Come on then,’ Geraldine nodded at Sam. ‘Let’s see if he’s got anything to tell us.’
Secretly she was hoping it would be relatively easy to draw the truth out of a self-conscious twenty-three year old, but she didn’t say so out loud. She didn’t want to jinx the interview. In any case, Sam wasn’t very much older than twenty-three.
Guy watched in silence, apparently calm, as Geraldine set the interview in motion. He sat very still, his head held upright, as he waited. Quite remarkably good looking with a disarmingly ingenuous gaze and a square jaw line, he looked younger even than twenty-three. With the preliminaries out of the way, Geraldine began her questions.
‘You know Amy Henshaw?’
‘You know I do.’
‘Tell me about your relationship with her.’
‘I’m shagging her. Is that what you want me to say?’
Suddenly he flung his brawny forearms on the table, palms facing upwards in a gesture of submission.
‘Look, I know what this is all about. Someone knocked off Amy’s old man and you think it was me. Well, you can save us all a lot of hassle because I can tell you right now I never went anywhere near the guy, not since we did a job at his house a couple of years back. I had nothing to do with him.’
He scowled and leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands.
‘But I’m not going to give you a load of bullshit about how sorry I am he’s dead, because what happened to him was no worse than he deserved. Do you have any idea what he was like, how he treated Amy? I don’t suppose she told you he used to beat her up? Fucking bastard. If you want to know, I’m glad he’s dead. He didn’t deserve any better and that’s a fact.’
He leaned back in his seat with an air of finality.
Geraldine didn’t reply. Instead she put a photograph of Henshaw’s mutilated corpse in front of Guy and watched his reaction closely. He gaped, looking so startled that Geraldine was convinced he hadn’t known the details of the assault beforehand. She watched his eyes remain fixed to the image on the table.
‘Jesus!’ he muttered under his breath. ‘That’s sick.’
Geraldine sat forward.
‘You just told me you thought he deserved this.’
‘What the hell happened to him?’
Guy had turned very pale. He shook his head in disbelief and she saw his fingers trembling as he passed his hand over his lips. It seemed an extreme reaction from someone who hadn’t known the victim. It crossed Geraldine’s mind that he might be shocked not so much by the injuries Henshaw had suffered, as by the discovery of the extent of the killer’s brutality.
Guy raised his eyes and shook his head, defiant once more.
‘Of course he didn’t deserve to be beaten like that, no one does, but he was a bastard and I still say she’s better off without him.’
‘I wouldn’t say she’s better off exactly,’ Geraldine said carefully, with a sideways glance at Sam who was sitting beside her.
‘No,’ the sergeant agreed at once. ‘You can hardly call her better off now.’
‘What the hell are you talking about? Amy’s not on her own if that’s what you’re getting at. Far from it. Because I’m going to take care of her properly from now on.’
‘You’ll have your work cut out then.’
Sam smiled as though she was amused by his claim.
‘She strikes me as an expensive woman to maintain,’ Geraldine agreed. ‘With all those designer outfits and fabulous hair treatments – you didn’t think it was natural, did you? And I expect she’s used to having a personal trainer and a tennis coach and goodness knows what else besides. So how are you intending to take care of all that, exactly?’
A dark flush spread across Guy’s face and he looked down at his hands.
‘We’re going to share everything,’ he muttered. ‘We’ve talked about it. She says I won’t need to work any more but I’m not going to stop, if that’s what you think. I’m not that sort of a man. I pay my way. I won’t be living off her money.’
‘Living off her money?’ Geraldine raised her eyebrows. ‘I thought we were talking about Amy Henshaw?’
‘Of course I’m talking about Amy. Who else?’
‘But Amy Henshaw doesn’t have any money, does she?’
Geraldine turned to Sam.
‘Shall I tell him or will you? Only it strikes me that Amy Henshaw has been leading this poor boy on, making out she’s a wealthy woman in her own right.’
‘We share everything,’ he repeated, raising his voice fretfully. ‘You don’t understand, we don’t have any secrets. You’re just trying to wind me up.’
‘How’s this for a secret?’ Geraldine retorted sharply. ‘Not only does Amy Henshaw have no money, she also has a crippling mortgage on a very expensive property that’s now registered in her name. In fact, she’s mortgaged up to the hilt with no funds to pay up. Financially her husband’s death has left her in serious trouble. What’s the matter, Guy? Did she forget to discuss her financial difficulties with you?’
Guy sat without moving, staring at his lap. When he finally looked up, his brows were drawn low over eyes no longer candid.
‘I don’t believe a word of it.’
His lips twisted in a snarl as he spoke, and he seemed to be short of breath.
‘She would have told me. We don’t have any secrets. You’re lying.’
The news that Amy Henshaw hadn’t inherited a fortune was clearly a surprise to her young lover.
Seizing on the opportunity to take advantage of Guy’s momentary dismay, Geraldine sat forward. Her light-hearted tone had disappeared. Her eyes glued to his face, she spoke slowly and clearly.
‘Where were you last Sunday evening between eleven and one o’clock?’
There was a pause.
‘Think carefully before you answer, Mr Barrett.’
Guy nodded as though he had been expecting this question and understood its importance.
‘I was with Amy all night,’ he replied, pursing his lips primly, ‘and she’ll tell you the same, so don’t go thinking you can pin this murder on either of us.’
Although his voice was steady his eyes flicked round the room and he shifted awkwardly on his chair, his shoulders tensed.
Sensing his discomfort, Geraldine pressed him with a series of questions.
‘How can you be sure what she’s going to say? Did you discuss this together? Get your story straight?’
‘I know she’ll tell you we were there because it’s the truth.’
‘Where were you?’
‘She came round. We always met at my place because – well, I couldn’t go to hers in case her husband turned up unexpectedly. So we were at my flat from –’
He broke off, momentarily nonplussed.
‘Well, I can’t remember exactly when she turned up,’ he resumed lamely, ‘but it was early when she came over and she stayed all night.’
He paused, staring at the photograph of Henshaw which Geraldine had left on the table, as though he was unable to drag his eyes from it.
‘Look, I get it. Because I’m having an affair with Amy you think it must be me that killed her husband. That’ll be good for your targets, won’t it, a nice quick arrest and you’re done. Very clever. Only, I didn’t kill Patrick Henshaw. I never saw him again after we did his conservatory, and I never did – that – to him. So can I go now? None of this has got anything to do with me. You can’t just keep me here and I’ve got nothing more to say to you.’
Sitting back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, he pressed his lips firmly together as though to illustrate his decision to remain silent.
CHAPTER 32
Although she wasn’t convinced Guy had murdered Henshaw, Geraldine still shared Sam’s disappointment that he hadn’t caved in and confessed his guilt. She returned to her desk to tidy up. A wave of exhaustion swept through her as she sat down and slumped back in her chair, too tired to conti
nue. She must have dozed off because she came to with a start, her head lolling uncomfortably to one side, her mind spinning with all the possibilities. She wondered if they had been right to dismiss Corless so readily. He might have killed Henshaw and then been bumped off in his turn, as an act of revenge. That depended on the second killer having known exactly how the first murder had been carried out, and copied it, which was unlikely. In any case, she had believed Corless’ claim that he couldn’t make a success of the restaurant without Henshaw. That gave him a vested interest in Henshaw remaining alive and healthy.
She stood up and stretched, stiff from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. They were eight days into the investigation and not only were they no closer to finding out who had killed Henshaw, they now had a second victim on their hands. She knew she should be rereading early statements in the light of this new development, going over and over the same ground, but she felt an uncharacteristic sense of lethargy. Finally she went out to grab some lunch in a local cafe.
Stuffed with pasta, Geraldine drained her one small glass of wine and decided against drinking any more. Instead, she ordered coffee and took a few deep breaths, determined to clear her mind of the investigation so she could return to work with a fresh eye. Life wasn’t so bad. She was happy with her neat little flat, her own private territory where she was free to do whatever she wanted, and she was fortunate to be pursuing a challenging career. Despite its frustrations she enjoyed her work, and didn’t understand why she was feeling so dejected. She wondered if it was the investigation that was dampening her spirits, but she was accustomed to the problems of working on a murder investigation, and anyway it wasn’t going too badly. They had several leads and if forensics could come up with a match for the DNA found on Henshaw’s body, it was even possible they might get a confession for both murders and wrap up the case within a day.
Gazing around as she waited for her bill, she couldn’t help noticing that she was by no means the only person eating alone. On a nearby table a young woman was intent on a kindle while she waited for her food to arrive; a little further off a middle-aged man sat contentedly tucking in to a large plate of noodles. It struck her that life in London was very different to Kent, where she would probably have been the only person sitting by herself. Even so, everyone she knew seemed to be settled in a relationship. Reg Milton and Nick Williams were both happily married, Sam had been rushing off on Saturday to see her new girlfriend while Geraldine had spent the evening sitting at home on her own watching rubbish on the television to take her mind off the case.
The morning had been a waste of time and she was feeling increasingly despondent. She was sitting at her desk when her phone rang. It was the pathologist.
‘OK,’ he said, ‘there’s good news and bad news. First of all we’ve got the results back from the lab concerning the female DNA we found on Henshaw’s body.’
Geraldine’s breath caught in her throat and she was suddenly aware of her heart pumping rapidly. There was a pause. She waited, picturing the pathologist’s boyish features twisted in thought as he searched for the words he wanted.
‘Yes?’ she prompted him impatiently.
‘The tests confirm DNA found on Patrick Henshaw’s body came from a woman, but the bad news is that it doesn’t appear to be a match with either Amy Henshaw or Stella Hallett. In other words, he had intercourse with another woman some time shortly before he was killed, but the sample of DNA found at the scene isn’t a match with either of your suspects.’
‘Damn. Are you sure?’
‘There’s little room for error these days, but –’
Geraldine’s spirits lifted for an instant.
‘But in my opinion, this couldn’t possibly be a match. It’s too improbable. And you certainly couldn’t use this to make a case against either of your suspects. You’d be laughed out of court.’
‘There’s more. This might help. The hair on the back seat of the car is a match with the DNA on the body –’
‘So the woman he was with on the day he died had dark brown hair,’ Geraldine finished the sentence.
‘Exactly.’
‘So who was she?’
Geraldine couldn’t contain her impatience any longer. This was it. All they had to do was find the woman who had been in the car with Henshaw on the day he died, and they would be able to start tracking his last movements. They would discover what he had been doing near the Caledonian Road, what his movements had been before he arrived there. She might even turn out to have witnessed his murder, if she hadn’t actually carried it out herself.
‘I’m afraid I’ve told you all I can.’
‘Whose was the DNA?’ she insisted, but it was a desperate question to which she already knew the answer.
‘We don’t have a match.’
Although she knew what he was going to say, disappointment hit her like a slap in the face.
‘That’s it, I’m afraid. We don’t have a DNA match. All I can tell you is that she has dark hair, probably shoulder length, and split ends, but that’s about all we can say with any certainty because – well, there’s nothing else as yet, nothing that can help your enquiries.’
His voice petered out as though he too was overwhelmed with disappointment. Listening to him, Geraldine felt a wave of lethargy flow through her. After the rush of excitement that his call had provoked, they were no closer to finding the truth about Henshaw’s death.
‘Thank you for letting me know,’ she said automatically before she hung up. Letting me know nothing, she added under her breath. They were no closer to tracing the woman Henshaw had spent time with on the day he died, for all their forensic expertise. The thought of spending hours trawling through CCTV to find images of dark-haired women entering or leaving the street where Henshaw’s body had been found made her groan out loud.
‘Why the hell couldn’t the woman at least have had ginger hair?’ she asked.
Nick gave her a sympathetic smile.
‘We’ve found the haystack,’ she explained. ‘Now all we have to do is find the needle – a woman with shoulder-length dark hair who was near the Caledonian Road on Sunday evening. That narrows it down a bit, doesn’t it? And to cap it all, our chief suspect is blonde. It just gets better and better.’
CHAPTER 33
The identity of the dark-haired woman who had travelled in Henshaw’s car and had sex with him shortly before he died remained obscure. In the meantime Reg was keen to put pressure on Amy and Guy. Expecting to gain most from Henshaw’s death, they remained the obvious suspects. As it turned out they became worse off after he was killed, but neither of them had been aware of the financial disaster his death would bring them. Ironically, they had both anticipated the exact opposite.
Amy was escorted in from a different interview room where she had been kept for a brief period with a uniformed female constable standing at the door. She had been left there for long enough to unsettle her, but Geraldine’s hopes that the widow might be cowed by her incarceration were dashed as soon as Amy entered the room. Her hair was immaculate and her make-up apparently so freshly applied that it looked as though she had touched it up while waiting. She sashayed into the room heralded by a scent of expensive perfume, a fake smile fixed on her painted lips, looking like a hostess at a corporate lunch.
She sat down gingerly on the hard chair, and smiled at Geraldine and Sam in turn before addressing herself to the former.
‘Good afternoon, Inspector. I take it this is about my poor husband? I hope you’ve found out who’s responsible.’
‘I’m afraid we can’t divulge any details to you just yet –’
‘Not even to me? His widow? I find that preposterous. I have a right to know who did this to my husband.’
‘I understand you may be feeling impatient, Mrs Henshaw, but rest assured we are doing our job very thoroughly and whoever killed your husband will be brought to justice. Make no mistake about that. The person or persons responsible are not going to get away
with it.’
‘Are you telling me you have no idea who did this terrible thing?’
‘That’s not what I said. Now, Mrs Henshaw, if you don’t mind, we’ll get through this a lot faster if you let us ask the questions.’
Amy Henshaw sat very upright in her chair, a bored expression on her face. But her eyes revealed her anxiety.
‘Did you have a close relationship with your husband?’
Pencilled eyebrows rose. She was clearly startled at the direction the interview was taking.
‘Close? Yes, of course we were close. We’d been married for twenty years.’
Her eyes flicked to Geraldine’s left hand.
‘Are you married, Inspector?’
Ignoring the question, Geraldine continued.
‘It seems a reasonable question under the circumstances. Your husband left you nothing in his will after your twenty years of marriage, during which you were conducting a long-standing affair. So I’ll ask you again, was your relationship close?’
‘My relationships in and outside of my marriage are none of your business.’
Amy was unnerved, her composure beginning to slip. With luck it wouldn’t be long before she lost control of herself. Geraldine leaned back in her chair and scrutinised the widow’s face, focusing solely on her left eye, until Amy began to fidget.
‘Not only did he leave you destitute, he didn’t even warn you about the position he was leaving you in, did he? And it’s not as if he was a very young man, not like Guy. He was an experienced business man who understood very well what he was doing with his money. I’d say that leaving you saddled with a mortgage you couldn’t possibly repay was pretty harsh, after twenty years. It’s not as if you walked out on him. You were still his wife.’
Amy didn’t answer but she looked tense.
‘Why would he do that?’ Geraldine pressed her, ‘leave you so badly off without preparing you for what might happen?’
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