Cut Short by Leigh Russell Page B

She looked down, vexed that she still found it difficult to talk about the break up.
      Carter knew her too well – or perhaps not well enough – to let it go at that. 'Difficult break up?' he asked gently and she nodded. Geraldine stared at her glass, unable to meet his gaze. For a panicky instant, she was afraid her self control might slip, but she gulped at her drink and the moment passed.
      'He walked out,' she confided and was surprised at how easily the words formed on her lips. She could have been talking about the weather. 'He met someone else,' she added and understood with a rush of emotion that it wasn't easy after all. 'He said—' She took a deep breath. 'He said I was married to my work.' She forced a laugh. 'How's your family?'
      Carter nodded to acknowledge the change of subject and supped his pint, smacking his lips in satisfaction. 'Jenny's finished university now,' he said. He took another pull at his pint and stared at the pitted surface of the wooden bar as though trying to decipher a message in the scratches. 'She's nearly twenty-two.' The spectre of Angela Waters hovered between them. The DCI's laughter interrupted Carter's reverie and he raised his head. 'Kathryn Gordon's a bloody good detective,' he said. Geraldine nodded but before she could reply, a shadow fell across them.
      'Cosy,' Merton commented, glancing from Carter to Geraldine.
      Carter gave him a nod. 'Mine's a pint, you miserable sod.'
      'Actually, I was just leaving,' Geraldine said.
      'You haven't finished your drink,' Merton said. He made it sound like an accusation.
      Geraldine shrugged and moved along to rejoin the group gathered around the DCI. Reaching her colleagues, she half turned and caught sight of Carter talking to Merton before her attention was caught by the discussion at the bar.
      'He's the most likely,' Peterson was saying in an undertone and she guessed they were still talking about John Drew. Several other officers nodded their agreement. John Drew was automatically a suspect. Geraldine wondered aloud if a man accustomed to hitting out in anger would approach a girl from behind and strangle her.
      'It's all violence, gov,' Peterson replied. Geraldine said she thought Drew would have been more likely to pummel Angela to death, or shove her down the stairs.
      'More his style,' she concluded.
      'There aren't any stairs in their flat,' Peterson pointed out. 'He's the most likely suspect. If you ask me,' he added quietly, glancing around the assembled officers, 'we ought to be pulling him in.'
      'We've got no proof,' the DCI pointed out.
      'How much proof do you need? He was violent. She never reported him, but you saw the previous injuries, ma'am. It must've been him. Why else would she have kept it to herself? That sort of abuse doesn't end with a picnic in the park.' Peterson made no attempt to conceal his impatience. 'I think we should bring him in.'
      'It doesn't matter what we think,' Kathryn Gordon replied, 'or even what we know. Without evidence, our hands are tied. Any case will be thrown out before we even get started.'
      'But the PM shows severe physical abuse over a period of time, ma'am. We can't ignore that. Surely that's our evidence, ma'am. It's staring us in the face.'
      'You may be right, but this is all speculation. Any defence counsel would ride a coach and horses through it. Whatever we think, we're not the jury. And even if we establish he was violent, that doesn't prove he killed her. We need more than that. We need incontrovertible proof.'
      A group of men came into the pub. The officers fell silent and drifted away to gather in small clusters round corner tables where they continued their discussion in low tones, leaning across their pints to hear each other speak.
      'One for the road, gov?' Peterson asked. Geraldine shook her head. The pub felt stuffy and she was tired. It was a relief to step outside into the cool of the evening. She took a