Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
After the drama of downstairs, Catherine and Geoffrey decided to proceed with plan A and made their way to Carol’s empty flat.
As Catherine turned the key in the door, something told her they were being incredibly stupid.
Carol could have been released by the police for all they knew.
Catherine’s brain was foggy. She’d forgotten how much stronger a hash cake could be than a couple of puffs on a joint. They’d shared a whole slice!
They made their way inside. No noise but the tick of a clock on the wall.
Catherine told Geoffrey her thoughts on the shepherd’s pie: Carol might not be the murderer after all. She could see in Geoffrey’s face that he was suffering the effects, too, and not really capable of taking in what she had to say.
Catherine clapped her hands together. “Okay, where shall we start?”
“Hard to say,” said Geoffrey, trying to activate his brain.
“Hard to say. I’m going to sit down for a second.
” He fell back onto Carol’s sofa. Catherine was not in the mood to sit down.
When she’d smoked dope regularly, back in the seventies, she’d often got a lot done while stoned.
She was just one of those people. There were those who passed out and there were those who moved about. She was the latter.
Geoffrey closed his eyes and Catherine started to potter around Carol’s flat.
There wasn’t much to look at. Carol didn’t appear to be one for clutter.
Everybody else’s place here had piles and piles of stuff they couldn’t get rid of.
Carol, Catherine supposed, hadn’t really had the chance to accumulate junk.
When you bought a place at Sheldon Oaks, you had the option to buy it furnished, which Carol had apparently done.
Catherine felt sorry for her. The flat was sanitary; it lacked character.
Generic framed prints of middle-of-the-road paintings on the walls, uniform crockery, six mugs, all the same. It told the story of a life not led.
Catherine pushed open the door to Carol’s bedroom, reminding herself of the noble reason why she was there: She wasn’t being intrusive, she was getting to the bottom of a murder.
If Carol hadn’t done it, then Catherine might be about to clear her name.
On Carol’s bedside table there were some books.
Catherine sat on the edge of the bed and picked them up.
Some puzzle books and a pen. A couple of well-thumbed crime thrillers set in Exeter.
Catherine felt something against her heel, under the bed. She bent over, scared by what she might find. A body? It was a cardboard box. Full of limbs? She could hear Geoffrey snoring from the other room. Catherine slid the box out between her legs and opened it.
The box was full of black hardback A4 journals. Catherine took one from the top and turned to the first page. It was hard to catch her breath.
“Geoffrey! Geoffrey, come in here! You need to see this!”
Her mouth moved but no voice would come out.