Chapter Thirty-Nine
Thirty-Nine
The room was airy, the wooden floor shiny and new. It felt unused. They were underground, there were no windows, and the bright overhead lights buzzed in the quiet. On the wall, there was a picture of Bruce Lee and some banal motivational quotes, probably come straight from Google:
The body achieves what the mind believes.
Don’t dream of winning. Train for it.
And worst of all:
Nothing is impossible. The word itself says I’m possible.
Carol had to remind herself that she was in an old people’s home, the martial arts studio of an old people’s home but an old people’s home nonetheless.
Some things were impossible: Each resident was reminded of it every day.
Touching your toes, for example. Getting out of bed without groaning, or watching a whole film without needing the toilet.
In the corner she noticed a sunken trampoline.
A trampoline. Was Giles Temple the worst businessman of all time?
Shep was surely his only competition. For the first time, it occurred to her that they were near enough the same person—two men of low IQ and high advantage, both frittering away their fortuitous starts in life.
They heard a gentle knock and saw Margaret’s face pressed against the door’s window, with Geoffrey hovering behind.
Carol let them in, suddenly very aware that she was still in bra, knickers, and an anorak.
Luckily there were bigger distractions at play.
Margaret immediately spotted the body on the floor.
“That’s Giles Temple,” she said.
“Correct,” said Carol.
“And he’s dead,” said Geoffrey.
“Correct,” said Catherine. “I’m about to carry out an autopsy. We thought you two might like to join us.”
Catherine and Carol were standing next to the corpse, almost proud, like two sisters who’d just completed a Lego set. Margaret took a bite from a croissant, then slowly lowered it back into her handbag.
“We found him in the sauna,” said Carol. “He was locked in there. It had to have been locked from the outside. Somebody has murdered him.”
“But…how did you, why, I don’t understand…How is he in here?”
“We dragged him,” said Carol. “Catherine’s very fit, as you know, and I’m very strong.”
“But…now, hang on. Has it occurred to anyone that this means Polly is not the murderer?”
“Yes, Geoffrey,” said Carol and Catherine, groaning in unison. “We’re well ahead of you there.”
“And if Polly is not the murderer, then”—Geoffrey’s arm extended and slowly rose, his finger directing itself at Carol—“Carol…”
“Oh, shut up, Geoffrey,” said Carol. “If you don’t stop accusing me of murder, I’m going to kill you, I really am.”
“She didn’t do it, Geoffrey,” said Catherine. “I’m sure of it.”
“You’re asking me to trust your hunch.”
“An hour or two ago I was determined to kill my ex-husband. Long story. He’s a wally.
I went to Carol and asked her how to do it.
She talked me out of it. She told me how killing isn’t worth it, how it doesn’t fill the hole.
I’m telling you now, Carol may have been a murderer, but she isn’t one anymore. ”
Carol should have taken it as a compliment, really, but she couldn’t help feeling a pang of sadness at the loss of her identity. If she wasn’t a murderer, what was she? Still, nice of her friend to stand up for her, and Catherine’s little speech appeared to have won over Geoffrey and Margaret.
Catherine addressed Geoffrey. “Now, we’re going to examine the body. Would you care to assist us?” she said, then hit him with the sentence he’d waited his entire life to hear: “We would all very much value your expertise.”
Geoffrey puffed out his chest and happily plodded over to Catherine, Carol, and the corpse.
“Is nobody a little worried that we might be found?” said Margaret. “It’s been a while since I practiced law but I can assure you this is all very illegal.”
“Do you hear anyone? No one’s been in this room for months.
Margaret, please don’t spoil our fun,” pleaded Carol, immediately taking Margaret back to when she, as a teenage Goody Two-Shoes, discovered her schoolmates smoking out of the dormitory window after bedtime.
That time she’d told the matron, and been an outcast for the rest of her school life.
She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
“No, no, you go ahead. Carry on with the—uh—impromptu autopsy.”
Carol watched Catherine adjust herself and transition into a professional mode.
She immediately looked twenty years younger.
Her friend held up Giles’s arm. “I think we’re looking at somewhere between twelve and twenty-four hours since death.
Decomposition hasn’t started just yet, but we’re in the final stages of rigor mortis. ”
“Yes, yes, I concur, I concur,” said Geoffrey, enthusiastically nodding along.
“Sorry, would anyone mind if I covered his willy?” said Margaret. “I’m just finding it difficult to concentrate.”
“Go ahead,” said Catherine.
Margaret took a hankie from her bag and delicately placed it over the offending genitalia, holding back her head as if she was dealing with a dog turd. “When did you cut off his pubic hair?” she asked. “Just before we got here? I presume it’s part of the process?”
“Oh, no,” said Carol. “He, uh, came like that.”
“Ah,” said Margaret, nodding. “So the murderer is some kind of sex maniac.”
“No, no,” said Catherine. “It’s a modern trend. He likely did it to himself. Called manscaping, I believe.”
“You a manscaper, Geoffrey?” asked Carol, and the three ladies giggled, Catherine hiding her face from the blushing Geoffrey.
“If it is, as you say, Catherine, a modern trend, then for now I’m going to class the pubic hair length as not, in and of itself, suspicious.”
“Thank you, Geoffrey,” said Catherine, moving things along. She inspected Giles Temple’s face. “Sunken eyes, dark circling around here,” she said, as if dictating notes to an assistant. “The skin is very dry. This is all consistent with terminal dehydration.”
“Poor man,” said Margaret.
Carol looked at the corpse properly for the first time and couldn’t help but empathize.
What a horrible way to die. Locked in an oven of your own making, gasping for air.
To die in a sauna was a shame; to die in a sauna that you had personally designed and paid for was a bitch.
Did he see his executioner or did he suffer in ignorance?
She had to admire the killer and their imagination.
Locking someone in their own sauna was a method that had never occurred to her.
This was a murderer with a sadistic streak that matched her own.
Maybe there was no rhyme or reason and looking for motives was a nonsense.
This could be a new serial killer, taking up Carol’s old hobby. If so, they were all at risk.
“The body loses water, the blood becomes thicker, circulation decreases. I think he most likely suffered multiple organ failure,” said Catherine. “If we were somewhere else and I had all my tools, I might cut him open.”
“We wouldn’t want to make a mess on the floor,” said Carol. “It’s very hard to get blood out of wood tiling. It gets stuck in the grooves.” She felt the other three looking at her. “I’m sorry. It just is.”
“Catherine, I don’t think I can bend down to get a proper look,” said Geoffrey. “Is that a tattoo on his arm?”
“Oh, yes.”
Carol moved around the body for a better look. On Giles’s bicep she saw a coat of arms with some Latin. Below the Latin was another word in a different font. “What does that say?” she asked.
“Waynflete,” said Catherine.
“What’s that?” asked Carol.
“Is it a service station?” said Geoffrey. “No, I’m thinking of Fleet. Great services, it has to be said, but I don’t think I’d be getting a tattoo. Could be a rock band or something. Maybe a cult he was in. Any mileage in that?”
“You’re not far off,” said Margaret. “It’s a house.”
“A house?” said Catherine.
“At Eton. The boarders are divided into houses. Waynflete is one of them.”
Carol clenched at the mention of the place.
She’d never considered herself a class warrior, live and let live, but something about that particular school rubbed her up the wrong way.
She’d seen a TV documentary once, and the juxtaposition of some of the most bully-able children she’d ever seen and their impenetrable confidence had made her a little sick in her mouth.
“How do you know that?” asked Catherine. “I thought they only accepted boys at Eton.”
“I was in cabinet. You’d think they were all still at Eton from the way half of them banged on about it,” said Margaret.
“Desmond’s son-in-law went to Eton. Calls himself Shep. They look about the same age. Could have been schoolmates,” said Carol.
“Or enemies,” said Catherine.
“Let’s assume Giles went there,” said Geoffrey. “Very well connected, you’d expect. Would be interesting to know who he’s been in touch with. Could give us some clues. How this connects to Desmond, I don’t know.”
“I have Giles’s phone,” said Carol, holding it up. “It was in his dressing gown pocket.” She clicked a button on the side and looked at it. “It seems to be working again. It had overheated when we found him.”
“You won’t get in there without a pin,” said Geoffrey.
“Isn’t it one two three four?” said Margaret. “I thought everyone’s was.” Carol could see Margaret feel the others looking at her. “Not that mine is. Mine’s much more complicated than that.”
Carol leaned over Giles’s body and held the phone toward his face.
“What are you doing?” asked Margaret.
“Face ID. Catherine, would you mind holding open his eyes?”
Clocking on, Catherine peeled open Giles’s eyes. Margaret’s face scrunched up in distaste.
Carol looked at the phone. “I’m in.”
They all watched in anticipation as Carol fiddled around with Giles’s phone.
“I can help you with that, if you like, Carol,” said Geoffrey. “I got my first cellular phone in the early nineties, so I’m pretty au fait with the way they work.”
Carol made a noise. “Huh.”
“What?” said Margaret.
“The last person he called was Shep. Yesterday morning.”
“Then we need to speak to Shep,” said Catherine.
Carol, Geoffrey, and Margaret headed for the door with purpose.
“Hang on!” said Catherine. “What do we do with the body?”
Catherine was so engaged, so full of life. Carol felt proud: Her mind was no longer on her ex-husband. All it had taken was for a murder to happen, and they hadn’t even had to do the killing. Death could be such a wonderful palate cleanser.
“Right,” said Carol. “I suppose we put him back in the sauna so someone else can find him?”
It was agreed that they should all do their bit. This was a joint operation. Carol and Catherine took the arms, Geoffrey and Margaret the legs. The four retirees shuffled along the corridor with their corpse like it was a sofa.
Geoffrey led the way with unhelpful but constant instructions. “Pivot! No, this way, that’s it, pivot, okay, now rotate fifteen degrees. Ow, ow, my bloody calf, ow!”
“Geoffrey, shhh!” said Carol.
“What?” said Catherine.
Carol whispered, “Did I just hear someone?”
The answer came immediately. Elisa came around the corridor and dropped her bags of shopping in shock. Something smashed. Carol tried to identify an old and familiar smell. Worcestershire sauce? They froze, caught red-handed with the dead body of Giles Temple. Elisa looked at them, they at her.
“Does this mean karaoke night is canceled this week?” said Margaret.