Murder Ring (A DI Geraldine Steel Mystery) (5 page)

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

L
EAVING 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

A
T 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.