Stop Dead (8 page)

‘Can you give us an estimated time of death?’

‘Sunday night between ten thirty and eleven thirty.’

Sam had been staring in horror at the victim’s injuries.

‘Why on earth would anyone do that? The killer must’ve really hated the victim, so he must’ve known him.’

‘Some hatred,’ Geraldine muttered.

‘At any rate, the killer must have known him,’ Sam insisted. ‘If you ask me it was a jealous rival who did this. Either Henshaw was sleeping with the killer’s wife, or the killer was sleeping with Henshaw’s wife. Nothing else explains this.’

She pointed at the victim’s mutilated genitals.

‘It’s an act of revenge. And if it’s Henshaw’s wife they were fighting over, there’s money at stake as well.’

‘That’s two possibilities certainly,’ Geraldine agreed cautiously, ‘but it’s just guesswork.’

A sulky expression crossed Sam’s face as Geraldine continued.

‘All we can say with any certainty so far is that his name was Patrick Henshaw, he was sixty-five, married, with no children that we know of.’

‘He was a heavy drinker,’ the pathologist told them. ‘He’d been drinking shortly before he was killed. I’ve not got the toxicology report yet but I could smell it on his breath and his stomach contents. He’d eaten a couple of hours before he died – steak and salad – and he’d been drinking too. I’m pretty sure I smelt beer and I’d hazard a guess at whisky too.’

‘OK, we’ll check his credit card payments, see if we can find out if he was on his own that evening.’

‘What was the actual cause of death?’

‘That was a nasty wound on his head. Resultant internal bleeding would probably have caused permanent damage, if it hadn’t in itself proved fatal, but as for the actual cause of death, that was blood loss, compounded by shock.’

He nodded his head in the direction of the injuries to the victim’s body.

‘What if he’d been found earlier? Could he have been bleeding to death for a while?’ Geraldine asked.

‘Placing the time of the attack earlier than the time of death, you mean? No, there’s no way he was going to survive those injuries for very long. He would have bled profusely over a short period of time, ten or maybe twenty minutes at the most.’

‘It had to be a jealous rival,’ Sam insisted. ‘Why else would anyone do something like that? Nothing else makes sense.’

‘It’s a vulnerable area,’ Geraldine said. ‘Is it possible the murderer wanted to be certain the victim was dead? I mean, I’d have thought that was a pretty good way of making sure.’

She addressed her question to the pathologist who shook his head.

‘It was certainly a frenzied attack,’ he agreed. ‘But as for the motive, that’s for you to discuss. Now, is there anything else I can tell you?’

‘We’re looking at a vicious murder all right,’ Geraldine said as the two detectives arrived back at her office.

‘Horrible,’ Sam agreed.

‘Murder most foul, is it?’ Nick asked with a smile.

Geraldine was surprised to hear him quote Shakespeare and picked him up on it.

‘You a Shakespeare boffin then?’

‘Huh?’

‘You quoted
Hamlet
just now.’

‘And you recognised it. Does that mean we’re both boffins?’ he replied and they both laughed.

Sam turned away and it occurred to Geraldine that Sam might resent her rapport with Nick. Geraldine turned to her.

‘Let’s go and get a coffee and mull over what we know.’

Sam’s face immediately brightened. Geraldine would need to handle her efficient young sergeant sensitively.

Sam was still convinced they were dealing with a crime of passion.

‘It makes sense, Geraldine. Henshaw is playing around with another woman, her husband finds out and – there you are. It explains the injury. Revenge by a jealous husband. I’ll bet he was having it off with Keith Apsley’s wife!’

‘Unless Henshaw’s wife was the one playing around,’ Geraldine said. ‘And had a jealous lover who wanted her husband out of the way.’

‘And Henshaw’s death leaves her a wealthy woman,’ Sam added, her eyes alight with enthusiasm. ‘Maybe she put him up to it.’

‘They could have been in it together.’

Despite herself, Geraldine was catching the sergeant’s fervour.

Geraldine made a quick phone call and discovered Amy Henshaw had already been to the morgue to identify her husband’s body.

‘Damn,’ she said as she rang off. ‘I thought I might catch her there. Sometimes people let their guard down when they’ve seen the victim. She might’ve been more likely to talk. We’ll speak to her again soon. In the meantime, let’s see what else we can find out about the Henshaws, and if you discover one of them was having an affair, so much the better.’

P
etrie and Waterman’s door was sandwiched between a kitchen showroom and a beauty salon in Temple Fortune. Geraldine rang the bell and was buzzed in. A carpeted staircase led to the solicitors’ premises. She introduced herself to a receptionist who ushered her into a small, neatly furnished office where a distinguished-looking older man was seated behind a wooden desk.

‘A police inspector is here to see you.’

‘Oh?’

The solicitor raised his eyebrows and half rose to his feet.

‘Please take a seat. I’m Jonathon Waterman. How can I help you?’

He glanced at her warrant card as Geraldine sat down on a hard leather chair and introduced herself.

‘I’m enquiring about Patrick Henshaw’s will.’

The solicitor looked suitably solemn.

‘Patrick Henshaw? He was my client. So you’re investigating his death?’

Geraldine glanced around the office without responding. The room was at the back of the building, and strangely hushed after the London traffic to which she had grown accustomed. Horizontal white shutters at the window were open a crack to let in the daylight between the slats, but it wasn’t possible to see out.

‘I take it the circumstances of his death were suspicious?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Why else would you be here?’

Geraldine smiled in acknowledgement before asking to hear the terms of the dead man’s will.

‘It was fairly straightforward as I recall,’ Jonathon Waterman said, ‘but I’m afraid I can’t divulge any details. We’re not reading the will until tomorrow so the beneficiaries don’t know the details yet.’

Geraldine sighed and leaned forward in her chair.

‘Mr Waterman, I’m conducting a murder investigation. If you have any information that can assist us in our enquiries, it will of course be treated in confidence. Did he leave much?’

She paused.

‘Mr Waterman, the sooner I can access this information, the more helpful it might prove.’

A frown crossed Jonathon Waterman’s face.

‘I appreciate the position, and there are certain details I can let you know in advance of the reading of the will tomorrow. George Corless is already aware that he became sole owner of the jointly owned restaurant on Patrick Henshaw’s death under a contractual agreement between them, but the other details of the will are as yet confidential. However – ’ he hesitated. ‘Under the circumstances, given this is a murder enquiry –’

Geraldine watched him cross the room, select a file from a metal cabinet and extract a document. Still standing, he scanned down the page before returning to his seat and reading aloud. Geraldine noted down the relevant details.

‘To summarise,’ he concluded, forthcoming now that he had begun, ‘Patrick named three people in his will. His share in the restaurant went to his business partner, George Corless, Miss Stella Hallett of Ladbroke Grove inherits his liquid assets, and he left his property to his wife, Amy.’

‘What can you tell me about the restaurant?’

‘Patrick part-owned Mireille – you may have heard of it. It’s a very prestigious restaurant in Soho. Very profitable.’

Geraldine said she thought the name sounded familiar.

‘There was a television documentary about it recently. It focused mainly on the clientele. Mireille is patronised by celebrities and stars of the media, people of that sort, and the chef is himself well-known, of course, Henri Gilbert. I gather he’s something of a television personality in his own right.’

He proceeded to name a string of pop stars, several of them well-known for their on-off relationships with high profile footballers.

‘My understanding was that the previous owner was struggling for some years and the place was rapidly going downhill when Patrick and his partner bought it. They turned it around and it became fashionable with the in crowd. It’s a real success story. Patrick had a talent for making money.’

‘So he didn’t leave his share in the restaurant to his widow?’

‘No, his share in Mireille went to his partner, George Corless, who now owns the place outright. That’s quite a goldmine he’s got his hands on.’

He rubbed his manicured hands together and Geraldine wondered if Waterman acted for George Corless as well.

‘A real success for him as well then,’ Geraldine said.

The solicitor looked thoughtful.

‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’ Geraldine asked, seeing the look on his face. ‘Something you’re not telling me?’

‘The two men have been in business together for years. But George introduced other issues –’

‘Other issues?’

‘Patrick wasn’t a gambler until he went into business with George. Of course he was always a gambler in some sense, all successful businessmen take risks, but George spent a fortune making the bookies rich.’

‘And Patrick Henshaw followed his example? Is that what you mean?’

‘I’m afraid so. I believe he invested in Mireille as a business venture because he was bored in his retirement. But there’s no doubt George was interested in Mireille to fund his habit, addiction you might call it, and Patrick was drawn into it.’

‘Did his behaviour change at all as a result?’

‘His behaviour? No.’

Noting a slight hesitation, Geraldine pressed him and the solicitor shrugged.

‘His behaviour as such didn’t change, but he was clearly stressed. He looked terrible.’

‘Did you have much to do with Henshaw?’

‘No, not really. I drew up his will for him, dealt with contracts, that sort of thing. And I saw him socially from time to time.’

‘Socially?’

He smiled at her evident surprise.

‘Amy and my wife were friends for a time, then we drifted apart, after he bought Mireille. Socialising became difficult after that with him keeping such unsocial hours, at the restaurant every evening. There was no falling out; we just moved on.’

Geraldine nodded.

‘This,’ he tapped the will on the desk in front of him, ‘makes George Corless a seriously wealthy man.’

‘And what can you tell me about the other beneficiary, Stella Hallett?’

She waited but the solicitor didn’t respond.

‘What can you tell me about Stella Hallet, Mr Waterman?’

He shook his head.

‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything about Stella Hallett. I’ve no idea who she is. I encountered her name for the first time in Patrick’s will. Other than that she’s just inherited almost a million pounds, I’m afraid I don’t know anything about her. I’ll be meeting her for the first time tomorrow, if she turns up to hear the will read.’

Jonathon Waterman inclined his head before rising to his feet and crossing the room to replace the will in its drawer.

‘So the restaurant was left to George Corless, almost a million to Stella Hallett, whoever she is, and the wife inherits the rest of the estate which must be worth how many million?’ Geraldine asked.

The solicitor shrugged. He sat down again and rested his elbows on the desk, his chin on his clasped hands.

‘The will is being read tomorrow so I don’t suppose it can do any harm if I tell you that things aren’t quite how they might appear. But you must keep this under wraps for now.’

Geraldine nodded vigorously.

‘Of course. But what did you mean, things aren’t how they appear?’

‘Patrick was experiencing some difficulties.’

‘What sort of difficulties?’

‘Having amassed several millions, he retired in his mid-fifties but complained he grew bored with his newfound leisure and – well, there’s no reason I shouldn’t tell you now – he took to gambling in a serious way.’

‘I see. How much did he lose?’

‘Almost everything, apart from what he’d put into the restaurant.’

‘So his wife gets the large house in Hampstead, and that’s all he left her?’ Geraldine asked.

The solicitor nodded uncertainly.

‘I see. Did she know about his financial position?’

‘I’m not privy to what her husband told her, but he was anxious to keep his gambling debts concealed from her, so she might be under the impression that her husband was a very wealthy man, and my guess is that she’ll be anticipating hearing that she’s extremely well off after his death. A wealthy widow.’

‘And is she?’

‘Inspector, I’m afraid I’ve already told you far more than I should have.’

‘Is there much equity on the house?’

‘Very little, I’m afraid. It’s going to come as quite a shock to Amy if she really had no idea about Patrick’s financial position.’

I
t was quiet in the restaurant. The tables were laid with white table cloths and linen napkins, silver cutlery and crystal glasses. Gleaming ice buckets stood on tripods and there was an air of subdued bustle as waiters in crisp white shirts and black waistcoats glided smoothly between tables. Doubtless the prices reflected the upmarket ambience. A bald waiter approached Geraldine discreetly, his words conveyed rather than spoken.

‘Table for two, madam?’

When Geraldine held up her warrant card and asked for the manager, he turned and vanished through swing doors.

‘Just look at that!’ Sam muttered.

She stared enviously as several plates of food were delivered to a nearby table. A team of waiters materialised to serve the accompanying vegetables and wine.

‘God, I’m starving,’ Sam went on, wistfully. ‘It’ll be chips for us on the way back, I suppose.’

Geraldine smiled.

‘I don’t think expenses would run to dining here.’