Chapter Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Seven
Carol was on her fourth episode of Women Who Kill.
Or perhaps her fifth? You used to have to wait a week for a new edition of your favorite TV program.
Now, if you didn’t move, they just kept coming.
She couldn’t sit there all day. Maybe she’d get up and try out one of the many Sheldon Oaks facilities she’d never bothered with. Just one more episode.
A knock at the door startled her. Something about the sound suggested the person on the other side was in a rush. This was no jaunty playful knock, rather the knock of a person who wanted something. Now. Carol opened the door, slowly.
“I need you to tell me how to kill someone.”
Carol grabbed Catherine’s arm and pulled her into the flat, checking the corridor was empty before closing the door.
“Tea?”
“No, thank you.”
“Take a seat.”
They sat at Carol’s round glass kitchen table. It felt odd not to have a drink of some kind, just to sit there beverage-free, like it was a job interview, but Catherine clearly wasn’t in the mood for distractions.
“You didn’t fancy the Mamma Mia! matinee outing, then?” said Carol. “I saw them head off in the minibus.”
“Can’t stand musicals,” said Catherine.
They had a lot in common, thought Carol. “Have you heard about Polly?”
“Yes. Who would have thought? Carol, I’m sorry about all the—”
“It’s fine,” said Carol. “I can see why I was your suspect. I hope we can be—”
“Friends again? Of course.”
Carol took a breath and broached the subject at hand. “So you want to…”
“Kill somebody, yes.” Catherine stretched the tension from her arms, hearing herself say the words.
“My ex-husband, Nigel. He’s getting remarried and—oh, God, I’m such a cliché—Carol, he has to die.
I just can’t go about my day knowing that he’s out there living and breathing and going about his.
Carol, there’s no way I can explain it, he’s just…
he’s just such a…he’s just such a wally. ”
Carol looked at Catherine. She’d known there had to be more than met the eye. Nobody’s perfect. Everyone fantasizes about murder, everyone, but few go so far as to consult a specialist. “How do you want to do it?”
“I was hoping you might be able to help me with that. I mean, I’ll carry out the…” Catherine swallowed. “Murder, but I’d appreciate some guidance. I don’t want to get caught. I just want him eliminated. I don’t have a gun. Do you have a gun?”
“Never had one, Catherine, no. Too noisy, don’t you think?
Tricky to get hold of, tricky to get rid of.
Also, they’ve always seemed to me like they’re no fun.
Too easy. One click and they’re dead. It’s like shopping online.
I find it soulless. If you’re going to go to all that fuss, why not make a day of it? ”
Carol felt flattered to have been consulted, and it was a pleasure to speak on a subject she knew so much about. She’d had admirers but rarely did anyone ask her about the nuts and bolts. No one ever asks musicians about the actual music, do they?
Catherine picked up a pen from Carol’s table and started fidgeting with it. “Okay, what would you suggest?”
People always wanted to know about the things that surrounded murder, but here was someone actually asking her what chords to play.
“Right. What would I suggest? Um…” Carol leaned back and pondered her favorite topic. “He doesn’t have a boat, does he?”
Catherine shook her head.
“That’s a shame. I always wanted to do something on a boat. There’s a glamour to that, don’t you think? Drown him, cut him up in the motor, leave him to the eels.”
“I was thinking something more…”
“You just want to get the job done, don’t you, Catherine? Something simple.”
Catherine nodded.
“Is he on any drugs? Prescription, I mean.”
“A few tablets. This and that.”
“That’s a pretty easy one. Fiddle with his pills. But you’d need access to his medicine cabinet. Is that…?”
“Not easy, no.”
“Mmm. But you’re a doctor. You could get hold of something.”
“I suppose so.”
“Traceable, though,” said Carol, thinking it through. She was in her element. “Did you ever watch the…What are they called? Looney Tunes? Wile E. Coyote. I wonder if anyone’s ever tried that. Dropping a weight on someone from a great height.”
“Didn’t it always land on him?”
“Good point. Good point. Sorry, here I am trying to be original and you just want your husband dead. We’re not trying to make Sgt. Pepper’s here, are we? Right, how did Desmond go? Poisoned, strangled, and pushed.”
“And bludgeoned,” chipped in Catherine.
“Oh, yes, bludgeoned. That’s not a bad list. All pretty tried and tested. How easy is it for you to see him? Are you on friendly terms?”
Catherine deadpanned Carol. “He thinks we are.”
“Good.”
“Will you be seeing him soon, for any reason?”
“Our grandson’s eighteenth. We’re all going for a big restaurant dinner, somewhere in London. It’s in a couple of weeks.”
“Perfect. Well, I mean, Catherine, I do keep finding myself going back to poison. That gives us enough time to get some without it tracing back to you. How many people will be there?”
“At least thirty.”
“Nice. Lots of suspects. No one will ever imagine it could have been Grandma. And what this gives you is the opportunity to watch him die. Catherine, trust me on this, if you’re only going to do one murder, make sure you see them die.
Too many of mine died out of sight. There’s nothing quite like watching the results of your own hard work. ”
Catherine’s eyes became glassy. Her breath juddered as she inhaled and went back to fiddling with the pen.
Carol spoke softly. “Or you could always not murder him.”
“You probably think I’m a terrible wimp.”
“Not at all.”
“It’s just…in front of all our children.”
“Do you know the problem with murder?” said Carol.
Catherine looked up from the pen.
“I had a friend in prison. We used to say it’s like Chinese food.
It fills you up but only for an hour or so.
Then you want more. Whatever it is, whatever the feelings are that make you want to kill someone, when you’ve killed them, those feelings don’t go away.
” Carol spoke tenderly. “What’s your grandson’s name? ”
Catherine grew a small smile. “Finn.”
“They give them such funny names, don’t they, the parents now?”
Catherine nodded, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.
“Don’t get me started. His sister’s called Oslo.
They’re very smart, though. You should see Finn.
He’s got all this energy. Brilliant at sport.
Plays cricket with his right hand, plays tennis with his left, it’s incredible.
Off to university in September to do something ridiculous like American studies.
We’re both…” Catherine’s voice trembled. “We’re both so proud.”
Carol stared into the middle distance for a moment. “You still love him, don’t you?”
Catherine nodded.
Had Carol ever been in love? She wasn’t sure that she had. Not like this.
“Why don’t you just knock off the new woman?”
Catherine laughed. “Oh, not much point. I’m sure she won’t be around for long. She’s nothing more than Anne Boleyn in a Toyota Yaris. It’s him I’m angry with.”
“How do you know what car she drives?” asked Carol.
“Oh, some people put everything on Facebook, don’t they? Don’t you snoop on your exes?”
Carol contemplated the question. “I haven’t had a lover in nearly forty years.”
“Sorry.”
Carol stood up. “Let’s sweat it out.”
Catherine looked at her, puzzled.
“The sauna. Do you use it?”
“Now and again,” said Catherine.
“I’ve not been there yet. Never been in a sauna. Can’t really see the point, if I’m honest. I mean, I’ve been in a hot room. I’ve been on the tube in summer. Is it the same as that?”
Catherine pondered the question. “Well, you wear a swimming costume so not exactly the same. And the air is a lot purer.”
“You should try everything once, right?” said Carol.
“Except murder.”
“Yeah, except that.”