Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

the Major Incident Room, waiting for silence. Stuck behind a desk most of the time his athletic frame was beginning to run to fat, but he held himself with the confidence of a physically powerful man. Despite the grey streaks in his hair, he looked like a man in his prime.
    ‘You all know me,’ he began.
    When Geraldine had first met him his clipped upper class accent had come as a surprise.
    ‘A man’s body has been found in a car somewhere just off the Caledonian Road.’
    He read the address aloud and paused briefly, glancing round the room to check that he had everyone’s attention.
    ‘The body was discovered in a vehicle parked outside a row of lock up garages at the back of the houses. It was found by one of the householders, Keith Apsley. We’ll need to question him, and talk to the neighbours, find out if anyone noticed anything unusual. The Assessment Team have confirmed that we’re looking at murder. Scene of crime officers are at work checking the car and we’re conducting a thorough search of the area for a weapon. Credit cards in the wallet in the victim’s pocket give us the name Patrick Henshaw, although he hasn’t yet been formally identified. The car was registered in the same name. Any questions?’
    No one spoke.
    ‘Right then, let’s see what we can find out.’

     
    Geraldine was pleased that Detective Sergeant Sam Haley was working with her again. After a rocky start, their professional relationship was developing into a firm friendship. Sam was usually optimistic, but this morning her features were twisted into a scowl.
    ‘Well, this is going to be a complete waste of time,’ she grumbled as she drove Geraldine across London towards Caledonian Road. ‘The body’s gone to the morgue so what exactly are we expecting to see, apart from an empty car parked outside a locked garage in a street packed with nosey bystanders hoping to see a murder victim?’
    Geraldine didn’t answer. They drove in silence to a quiet side road not far from their destination, where a sign on a lamp post displayed a list of complicated parking restrictions.
    ‘How the hell is anyone supposed to make head or tail of that?’ Geraldine asked.
    ‘Perk of the job,’ Sam replied, pulling up right beside one of the notices.

     
    The day was overcast and it was threatening rain as they stared along the street of well-maintained terraced brick houses. There were no front gardens but many of the houses displayed brightly painted window boxes and plants in large pots in the narrow paved strips that served as front yards. The scene had a comfortable air of normality – apart from the forensic tent and a team of uniformed police officers making their way painstakingly along the street. Geraldine and Sam donned protective gear and entered the forensic tent, where a dark green Mercedes was being closely examined by scene of crime officers. It looked like a gigantic green slug with white larvae crawling over it. Geraldine walked slowly around the car. The side windows were heavily tinted, obscuring the interior of the vehicle. Through the windscreen a scene of crime officer could be seen inside the car, carefully collecting evidence samples. Reaching the driver’s door she peered at the seat, which was soaked in blood. The inside of the door was also drenched in blood, which must have sprayed there as the victim lay dying. Behind the front tyre a thin stream of blood had trickled under the door and onto the road.

     
    ‘There’s a hell of a lot of blood,’ she muttered.
    ‘Yes, it looks as though the victim bled to death,’ a scene of crime officer agreed cheerfully, pausing in his work and twisting his head round to talk to her.
    ‘Is there any sign of a murder weapon?’
    ‘Not yet. We’ve been conducting a search of the area but nothing’s been found so far. We might still come across something but my guess is the killer took the weapon away with him.’
    ‘We know the car was registered in the victim’s name. So if Patrick Henshaw was attacked in his own car, how did his assailant get to him? The window wasn’t broken. He must have opened the door.’
    She frowned, trying to work out what had happened.

     
    ‘Perhaps he was abducted,’ Sam broke in with sudden enthusiasm. ‘It’s an expensive car. He must’ve been a seriously wealthy bloke. It could’ve been a kidnap attempt gone wrong. Henshaw opened the car door, a couple of men jumped him, one of them drove while the other was