Chapter Forty
Forty
They’d been quiet for a while now, each thinking about the series of events that had led them from their luxury retirement home to a police cell.
It was turning into some kind of community outreach scheme, with every resident getting their chance to spend a day in the slammer.
Geoffrey lay on the floor for the good of his back.
When he’d complained about the discomfort of the seating, Margaret had pointed out that higher taxes in exchange for more-pleasant cells had never been a vote winner.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Geoffrey, but wouldn’t they usually separate us?” asked Margaret. “So that we don’t collude, concoct our story or what have you?”
“They may be low on cells,” said Geoffrey.
Carol stewed. All this had done was stall her and her investigation. Perhaps she shouldn’t have involved the others, just done it herself, like the lone wolf she’d always been. But now that she’d found herself a pack, she didn’t want to lose it.
She could see the others were fixated on Shep.
It made sense. He’d stood to gain from Desmond’s death, which meant he had a motive.
And now there was reason to believe he’d had a long-standing association with Giles.
She couldn’t confirm it while they were in this wretched cell, but it appeared likely that they’d gone to school together.
Twenty-five years or so was more than enough time for him to build a grudge.
Perhaps a business arrangement had gone wrong.
Here were two men who dealt, exclusively it seemed, in failed business arrangements.
What might this particular arrangement have been?
The marijuana cakes in Desmond’s room—could that have been an enterprise the three of them—Giles, Shep, and Desmond—were running together?
And now Shep was taking control? But were marijuana cakes really that profitable? Enough to kill for?
Carol had other ideas. Something Polly had said had been on her mind.
There were avenues that needed pursuing, people who needed to be questioned, histories that needed to be explored.
Margaret could help with that, if Carol could persuade her to take a little day trip.
They’d be going nowhere as long as they were in the hands of the police…
Carol’s heart sank at a familiar sound: the opening of a cell door.
“All right, Golden Girls,” said DS Welsh. “Come with me.”
—
Laura Welsh looked at the four of them and tried not to laugh.
The four retirees were squashed together on one side of the table in Interview Room Two.
The light was harsh. Behind them, paint was starting to peel off the wall.
Margaret, Catherine, and Geoffrey looked embarrassed, their eyes darting nervously around the room.
The dead-eyed Carol stared straight ahead.
What a funny sight they had been. Especially Catherine in her swimming cossie and Carol, apparently dressed as a cartoon stripper. She’d allowed them ten minutes to change into something more dignified before she took them to the station.
That must have caused a stir at Sheldon Oaks. Four respectable-looking pensioners being bundled into a cop car and shipped to the nick—that would have got curtains twitching.
“This is serious stuff, you know. You moved a dead body.”
Geoffrey held up a finger. “Ah. But can you prove that in a court of law?”
“I think you’re forgetting that Margaret relived the whole story in the car on the way over here,” deadpanned Laura. “I recorded it on my phone. You were all laughing.”
“We didn’t do it! We didn’t kill him!” said Catherine.
Laura spoke softly. “I know you didn’t.”
“How?” asked Carol.
“Call it a hunch. You’re busybodies, not killers.”
“I’m a killer,” said Carol, offended. “And what makes you think these three don’t have it in them?
Don’t underestimate us, Laura. Geoffrey’s got a temper—I’ve seen it.
Catherine asked me to help her kill her ex-husband earlier on today, and Margaret, well, she’s an ex-politician—she’s capable of anything. ”
Catherine butted in: “Carol, I’m not sure you’re—”
“I just think it stinks,” said Carol. “People look at us and think we’re just sitting around in nappies doing jigsaws. We’re not a hundred, you know! We’ve got get-up-and-go! Geoffrey and Catherine shagged yesterday!”
Margaret spat out her tea.
“You should have heard some of the things they were doing. Really athletic stuff, the way Catherine describes it. Geoffrey sprained his calf! You think they don’t have it in them to lock a wimp like Giles Temple in a sauna?”
Laura stopped drawing a cobweb in the corner of her notepad and put down her pen.
“I apologize if I’ve offended you. You are all very capable killers, I don’t doubt it.
But you’re also all very bright. I just don’t think you’re stupid enough to walk around with the man you just killed in the middle of the day. ”
Carol paused, relenting. “All right, well, I see what you’re getting at there, yes. I just don’t want you looking at us and thinking, Oh, they’re old, they could never be murderers.”
Margaret gently placed her hand on Carol’s arm. “Carol, as the only qualified lawyer in the room, may I suggest that you stop talking for a moment?”
Carol folded her arms.
“You’ve all been investigating Desmond’s death, am I right?” said Laura.
They all nodded.
“Which I assume means you’ve accumulated some evidence.”
“A little,” said Catherine.
“You’ve most likely noticed we brought Polly in yesterday, and I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your attention that as there’s been another murder while Polly was in custody, things are now kind of tricky for us.”
“You’ve got the wrong woman,” said Geoffrey.
“So it would seem.”
“Then what now?” said Catherine.
“Tell me everything you know and I’ll let you go.”
Margaret opened her mouth but Carol spoke first. “Hang on. Where’s DCI Beattie?”
“Otherwise engaged.”
“Otherwise engaged?” said Carol. “You’ve not told him, have you?
He’s off duty and you’ve thought to yourself how nice it would be to get this done on your own.
Leyton Orient are playing at home today, aren’t they?
That’s right. He’s watching the football, so you thought you’d take advantage.
Big case, this. Make the arrest yourself and you’ll go up a few rungs, yes?
I would have thought so. Desmond was a legend round here, wasn’t he?
For the wrong reasons? Maybe Beattie’s been acting funny, too scared to delve into areas he shouldn’t, but you’re keen. You want to know everything.”
Laura was still, letting Carol do the talking.
“I think we’re your best hope, Laura. Me, her, her, and him.
Four—what did you call us?—busybodies? Four busybodies who happen to be very good at it, on the inside.
We’re no good to you in here. If we tell you what we know, it’ll get messy.
Bob’ll come back to work, you’ll have to keep him informed, there’ll be paperwork, rules, warrants probably.
” Carol spoke softly, her head tilted. “Why don’t you let us do our job? ”
“It’s not your job. It’s mine.”
“And how’s that going? You’ve arrested two people for the murder and neither of them did it. Now you’ve brought me back in and added another three. It’s like you’re trying to assemble the world’s worst prison football team.”
Laura pursed her lips.
“Let us out,” said Carol. “We’ll look where we need to look, find what we need to find, and once we’ve figured out who the murderer is, I’ll invite you to the dénouement and you can make the arrest.”
“Dénouement?”
“I’m sure Polly can tell you about it when you release her in a minute. It’s the bit at the end of the story when you find out who the killer is and everything gets wrapped up. Let us out and I promise it’ll be along very soon.”
—
“Oh, hello, Polly,” said Carol. “Fancy seeing you here.”
A dazed Polly had joined them in the police station reception area.
“Hello,” said Polly, sitting down next to Carol on an ugly black pleather couch.
Laura, whose face was starting to betray her irritation, told them a taxi would be along for them in a moment.
“Probably best to get an XL,” said Geoffrey. “There’s one, two, three, four, five of us.”
Laura stared at them, silently doing her own head count, then disappeared, muttering under her breath.
Carol thought for a moment, then asked Polly a question. “Your honeymoon, Polly? Where was it?”
“Portugal.”
“Do you remember where in Portugal?”
Polly looked to the ceiling in search of the name. “It was fifty years ago. Fedda…Ferra…?”
“Ferragudo?”
“You’ve been?”
“No,” said Carol. “Sadly not.”
Laura came out of a back room.
“Taxi’s here.” The tired detective opened the back door to the station, and the five started to make their way down the ramp and into the car park. “Carol.”
Carol turned. Laura was giving her the curly finger. “Yes?”
Laura spoke quietly and firmly: “I haven’t ruled you out yet. If this goes tits up, if you let me down in any way, I will make sure you’re back in prison before your feet touch the ground. I’ll have to go and check, but I’m pretty sure conducting an amateur autopsy counts as breaking your parole.”
Carol looked her in the eyes and gave her a nod. The message had been received. “I’d better go and catch the killer, then, hadn’t I?”
Carol caught up with the others and sidled next to Margaret. “Margaret, I wonder if you could do me a favor?”