Chapter Thirty
Thirty
“Geoffrey?” Carol said his name in a way that asked all the questions at once. What are you doing in my flat? Why are you asleep on my sofa? Who the fuck do you think you are?
Geoffrey opened his eyes, clearly not entirely sure where he was. The wide-awake Catherine walked out from the bedroom with a lamp in her hand. She waved it in the direction of Carol, like she was fending off a crocodile. “Geoffrey, we need to get out of here right now.”
“Oh, let’s not be silly, shall we?” said Margaret. “There’s safety in numbers. What are you both doing in Carol’s flat?”
“Margaret, you don’t understand,” said Catherine, her voice trembling. “This woman is a monster.”
“Catherine, that’s unkind,” said Margaret. “What happened to Christian forgiveness? I thought better of you.”
“What were you doing in my room, Catherine?” said Carol quietly.
“I’ve seen your box.”
“As the actress said to the—”
“Geoffrey, shut up,” snapped Catherine. “Carol, you—you need to be locked up.”
Carol felt exposed. How dare she? “Those are my private things.”
“I can see why you’d want to keep them private,” said Catherine.
Margaret had a question. “What’s in the box?”
“Brad Pitt. From that film, what was it? Seven. What’s in the booooox?”
“GEOFFREY! SHUT UP!” all three ladies shouted in unison.
“Sorry, I’m a little stoned, would you believe?”
“Margaret, you won’t like this, but I’ve been reading Carol’s diaries,” said Catherine.
“You’re right. I don’t. I’m not sure there’s anything more sacrosanct than the privacy of a woman’s diary.”
Carol was sure she’d seen Margaret’s diaries for sale in a Waterstones before.
Catherine threw a journal at Margaret. It landed at her feet.
“I’m not reading it.”
“Read it.”
Carol found herself admiring Catherine’s power. The yoga-and-granola lady had some spunk. She was planted, broad-shouldered, ready to fight.
Margaret picked up the journal and opened it, unable to disobey Catherine’s instruction.
The room awaited Margaret’s response. She retched. Well, that’s unflattering, thought Carol.
“What bit are you reading?” asked Carol.
“You’re biting off a man’s nose.”
“There’s a context to that.”
“Oh, yes? What’s the context?” asked Catherine.
“He was a total shit.”
“Carol, this is horrifying,” said Margaret, unable to stop reading.
“This is…” Carol found the injustice of it all upsetting.
“This is, well, it’s just unfair. This was a period of my life.
It was a hobby. We’re judging people for their hobbies now, are we?
That’s okay, is it? I’m sorry, I know we’re all of a certain age, but you lot need to do some reading.
This is—I believe it’s what the youngsters call kink-shaming.
Catherine, I don’t judge you for your yoga, do I?
Or your swimming? Besides, and I cannot stress this enough, this was all in the past. You all knew I’d been a killer.
What were you expecting to find in my old journals? ”
“I was thinking of you as more of a cozy-crime killer, if I’m honest,” said Catherine. “I thought you were like someone out of a Richard Osman novel. Those diaries, they’re more Stephen King.”
Margaret was still leafing through the diary. “Carol, you ate someone’s liver?”
“I. WAS. HUNGRY.”
“I can’t believe the police let you go. It’s not safe. You’re a beast,” said Catherine. The lamp was by her side now, but she still looked prepared to strike Carol with it, should she need to.
“Well, um, I might have had something to do with that,” said Margaret sheepishly. “I, well, I went down to the police station and told them to release her.”
“Margaret!” exclaimed Catherine.
“Well, I hadn’t read this, had I?”
“Yes, but you knew she was a killer.”
Geoffrey, who was still on the sofa, held up his hand. “I’m not being funny, Catherine, but you did say earlier on that you thought maybe she hadn’t done it after all.”
“Can you not refer to me as ‘she,’ please? I’m right here. This is…well, it’s just bigotry, isn’t it? You should be ashamed of yourselves. And you still haven’t explained why you’re in my flat. What gives you the right?”
“I wasn’t sure about it,” said Catherine. “You’d been arrested and I just wanted to know if you’d done it and, if you did do it, why. And now I have my answer: because you’re deranged. You belong in an institution.”
The words hurt. Carol was not a psychopath. She was a woman with feelings.
“Come on, Geoffrey. Let’s get out of here,” said Catherine.
Geoffrey, still apparently dazed, stood up. “Carol, I’m suddenly a little peckish. You don’t happen to have any biscuits, do you?”
“Geoffrey!” Catherine grabbed him by the wrist.
She and Geoffrey edged toward the front door, keeping their distance, their eyes on Carol. Margaret had already left the flat. Once they had a clear route to the exit, Catherine put down the lamp. Then she and Geoffrey ran as fast as two people of their age could.
The door shut behind her and Carol was alone again. The walls were closing in on her and they wouldn’t stop until they formed a cell.
—
Carol sat down at her kitchen table and stared into space.
Her palms rested on the table’s cold surface.
She felt vulnerable and exposed. It was embarrassing for people to see her innermost thoughts.
Did other people really not go through a phase like that?
Granted, maybe they didn’t carry any of it out, but surely everyone had fantasized about beheading the annoying man on the bus.
She had no time to dwell. That was what the last few decades had been about.
Carol Quinn had done enough staring into space for a hundred lifetimes.
Now was the time to fight for the life she had.
If people were afraid of her, good. She’d use that to her advantage.
She’d interview her suspects. She’d get them alone and she’d interrogate them.
Bad cop. If everyone thought she was liable to kill them at a moment’s notice, that meant they’d do what she said. “Sit down, let’s talk.”
She heard a vacuum cleaner outside. Carol looked at her watch. Around the same time that Desmond had come off the roof. No time like the present. There was a cleaner and they needed to be questioned.
Then something came back to her.
The vacuuming stopped. Good. A gentle breeze, a touch of sun on her face.
Why had the sound of the Hoover stopped just before Desmond was killed?