Chapter Thirty-One
Thirty-One
Carol recognized Elisa from behind. She was bent over, vacuuming in a tight black skirt and flats with a black suit jacket. Some people vacuumed in neat lines, like they were mowing a lawn. Elisa attacked the floor in short jabs that went in all directions.
“Hello, Elisa,” said Carol. Elisa didn’t hear her at first. Carol turned off the Hoover with her foot. Elisa jumped.
“Surprised to see me?”
“Carol! I thought you were…”
“In police custody? Just as you planned it?” Carol wasn’t messing about. The Henry Hoover’s face remained in a fixed smile, oblivious to the tension in the air.
“Carol, I didn’t—”
“No, you didn’t call the police—Geoffrey Standing did that—but you did tell Belinda I’d called her a slut.
Didn’t you? When you knew I hadn’t? You knew that the police were on their way, I’m sure they called ahead, so you engineered an altercation between me and Belinda.
Bet you were delighted when the police arrived just as it kicked off. ”
“Carol, I—”
“You and I are going to talk, Elisa, and we’re going to talk now. In private.”
Elisa nodded.
“In my flat?” suggested Carol.
“Giles’s office would be better, if you don’t mind. He’s gone out for a while. It’s just along here.”
Carol followed.
Elisa pushed open the door to the office, and a stack of papers toppled over.
The room set Carol on edge. She’d always kept a tidy cell; this place was chaos.
At the back of the office, there was a desk with an old Mac desktop computer and piles of detritus.
An apple core, protein bar wrappers, unopened letters with red ink.
Behind the desk there was a door, presumably to a cupboard.
On the floor a golf bag lay on its side beside a putting mat.
Elisa moved a box off a chair. “Sorry, sit down.”
“Thank you.”
Tyler popped his head around the door. “Mum.”
“I’m sorry, Carol. Give me a moment.”
Elisa left the room and had a conversation with Tyler in the corridor. Carol nosily picked up a stack of papers and skimmed through it. When Elisa returned she put the papers down.
“That boy. He never stops thinking about karaoke night. Wants to be a DJ,” said Elisa, rolling her eyes. She sat at the other side of the desk and noted Carol taking in the state of the room. “You see what I have to deal with?”
“Why were you vacuuming? I thought you had a cleaner.”
Elisa picked up a stack of bills and waved them. “We can’t afford her.”
“But I thought…”
“That this was a luxury retirement home? It’s a disaster.”
“Why are you showing me this?” asked Carol.
“By way of an explanation. Carol, I’m sorry for what happened last night.
I’m trying to show you the kind of pressure we’re under here.
” Elisa slowed down, emphasizing her point.
“You are a problem, Carol. A very big problem. We were already struggling to find new residents. Why do you think we allowed a serial killer to buy an apartment? We were desperate. But then there’s a murder. Did you do it, by the way?”
“No.”
“Carol. Did you do it?”
“Why does everybody keep asking me that? No.”
“It almost doesn’t matter. The murder is already in the papers.
When they find out we have you here, we’ll never sell another apartment.
I had to do something! I had to get you out of here.
If you happened to be the murderer, great.
That would be two problems solved.” Elisa spoke softly, conspiratorially.
“When I knew the police were on their way, I thought I’d give them a little bit more to work with.
So, yes, I did tell Belinda you called her a slut.
I’m sorry. Maybe it was wrong but…” She opened her arms to the state of the room. “We’re dealing with a lot.”
“You can’t get rid of me. I have rights.”
There was a pause. The ladies looked at each other.
There was an unsaid respect. Elisa was too impressive a woman to be in her current situation, thought Carol.
Too elegant to have a boss who kept his office like this.
But she’d seen a lot of women in prison who were too good for where they were, usually dragged down by the men in their lives.
“You just work here, yes?” asked Carol. “I mean, you don’t have a stake in Sheldon Oaks, do you?”
“No. I just work here, you’re right.”
“Then why are you so concerned? You’re a smart lady. You can get a job anywhere else, surely.”
“I love this place. It’s beautiful, don’t you think? I wish I could retire here.”
“Maybe you can.”
Elisa laughed. “You think I can afford to retire here?”
“How long have you lived here? In London, I mean.”
“Twenty years. Or so.”
“Where did you come from? If you don’t mind me asking. Is that question all right? I’m never sure.”
“Portugal.”
“Beautiful country. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”
“You have to see it to believe it.”
Carol felt a pang of regret: Her last passport had expired in the eighties.
Sure, she could travel now. Maybe a cruise.
That’s what ladies of her age were supposed to do, but when she tried to picture it, it struck her as a prison on water.
Would the entertainment be any better than the slam poets and ramshackle theater companies who used to give their ever-so-earnest performances at Bronzefield?
Elisa held up her phone and showed Carol a picture. “Ferragudo. My hometown.” Her eyes shone with pride.
Carol took the phone for a closer look. An idyllic fishing village, boats, pretty houses with terra-cotta roofs, the green water twinkling in the bright sunlight.
She felt suddenly aware that her time on Earth was finite.
There was so much she’d never do now, so much she’d never see.
“Lovely,” she said. “Why did you come here?”
“I don’t know.” Elisa took back her phone and gazed at Ferragudo. “I was young, looking for something, I guess.”
“Did you find it?”
“I got pregnant. It was very difficult for me. I had to work. Sometimes life just doesn’t go the way you expect it to.”
It was a neat summary. Carol had learned to do this over the years, to draw people’s pasts out of them. Give them the opportunity, and all people really wanted to talk about was themselves.
“I’ll be fifty next year,” Elisa said mournfully.
Carol tried not to get annoyed at someone so much younger than her talking as if her life was drawing to a conclusion. She had to remind herself that this wasn’t a podcast but an interrogation. “Were you vacuuming last week, Elisa?”
“What? I don’t know.”
“Just before Desmond was pushed off the roof, someone was vacuuming in the corridor. Was it you?”
Elisa blinked, running it through in her head. “No. We let the cleaner go this week. That wouldn’t have been me.”
“Where were you when the murder took place?”
“I would have been downstairs on the front desk, I’m sure.”
“And is there anyone who can verify that?”
“I’m sure there is. People saw me. You can ask around. So, you’re investigating the murder now, are you, Carol?”
“Only way to clear my name is to find the killer.”
“Who are your suspects?”
Carol took a moment. Who were her suspects? She had a few, but perhaps now was the time to solidify them into some kind of list. “I’d rather not say, if you don’t mind.”
“Am I one?”
Carol smiled. “Of course.”
“Why would I kill Desmond?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
Elisa rolled a pen back and forth on the desk. “Have you thought about Polly?”
“Polly?”
“There’s a lot more than meets the eye with that lady.”
“Oh? She writes novels, yes?”
“That’s right. Crime novels. Knows a lot about murder.”
“Doesn’t make her a murderer.”
“Write what you know. Isn’t that what they say?”
Had that occurred to the police? wondered Carol.
Should they be raiding book festivals? Taking DNA samples from the top crime writers and checking them against their unsolved murders?
Carol had heard Richard Madeley was writing crime novels now.
There was definitely something not quite right about that man.
“More than meets the eye, eh? I’ve met a few murderers, more than you, I’d say, and she doesn’t seem the type.”
“Neither do you,” said Elisa.
“Thank you.” Carol liked Elisa. She had a twinkle in her eye. Carol returned it with a twinkle of her own. “Come on, then, why should I be looking at Polly? Other than the fact she writes about murder. It doesn’t feel like a lot to go on.”
“Because of her past, I suppose. I shouldn’t say…I’m not sure anybody else knows. It was a long time ago.”
Carol left a pause. An amateur might rush in with “What past?” but that would give Elisa a question she could choose not to answer. Leaving silence was better. People don’t like dead air. A good piece of gossip burned a hole in the pocket. Carol stayed still until Elisa looked up and met her eyes.
“Polly used to be married to Desmond.”