“Oh, I suppose I knew him a little. Lovely man. Did you know him at all?”
They stopped at Carol’s door. Elisa sighed. “Desmond? Did I know Desmond? Um…no. Not really. I don’t think I ever did.”
Twelve
Bob Beattie inhaledon his cigarette as if he was trying to down it all in one go.
“I thought you were giving up,” said Laura.
“That was vaping. I said I was giving up vaping.”
“Oh, well, that’s okay, then.”
They were in the sparsely populated car park of Sheldon Oaks at the rear of the building. A Jaguar, an Audi, a new Mini, their own unmarked Vauxhall Corsa.
“Nice place this,” said Laura. “Sure it costs more than we’ll ever be able to afford.”
“It’s not bad. My mum stays here,” said Bob. “They keep her busy enough.”
Laura turned to him in surprise, the question “How do you afford it?” implied in her look.
“I got a good deal,” said Bob, returning to his cigarette.
An old oak tree at the back of the car park took up much of thesky, its trunk thick, huge branches all winding on their individual journeys, hundreds of years in the making.
Laura tried not to get bothered that she was packing her own sandwiches every morning yet Bob was somehow able to find enough spare cash to send his mother to a place like this. Laura thought of the old detective who’d tried to stick his beak in at the crime scene. Geoffrey? How had he ended up with enough cash to retire to a place like this when he’d been on a police salary? Probably bought his house for a fiver and a bag of potatoes in 1975 and sold it for ten mil last year. That’s the way it seemed to go in London. The idea of Laura ever getting on the housing ladder was fanciful.
Giles, the ruddy-cheeked owner, stepped out from behind the fire door. “That’s everybody, I think. Everyone who’s mobile, anyway.”
“Thank you,” said Laura.
“I was thinking,” said Giles. “Do we really need to say that the death was suspicious?”
“It was,” said Bob, deadpan.
“Yes, I appreciate that’s what your line of thinking is but…you’re not a hundred percentcertain, are you? Personally I think it was most likely just a fall and, well, thisisa group of elderly people. Do we really want to upset them unnecessarily?”
“In my experience it’s always best to be as honest with people as you can be,” said Bob. “I’m sure you agree with that, Giles?”
“Certainly. Yes. Certainly. Up to a point.”
“Good.”
They entered what Giles called “the ballroom,” where theresidents had gathered. At the edge there was a long, shiny modern bar with angular chrome bar stools and gold-framed paintings of Victorian hunting scenes. The blend of styles didn’t work. Sheldon Oaks didn’t quite know what century it belonged in. But neither did some of the residents so maybe that was fair enough, thought Laura.
Tyler was finishing off arranging rows of chairs for the old folks. There was a hum of excited murmurs, like when someone famous comes to speak at a school assembly. Some of the Sheldon Oaks staff, a couple of chefs, some waiters, a cleaner, were standing at the back of the room. Bob received a kiss on the cheek from an old lady, his mum presumably, then joined Laura by the wooden stage. He was red in the face, still not too old to be embarrassed by public affection from his mother.
“All good?” Giles asked the two police officers. They nodded.
Laura noticed Bob nervously digging dirt from underneath his fingernails. “Don’t make any jokes,” she mumbled under her breath.
—
Carol watched Gilesstep onto the stage and approach the microphone. He looked sweaty.
“Hello, everybody. Thank you for coming together at such short notice. I think I’ll get straight to it. A couple of police officers have very kindly asked to speak to you all today, so I’ll just hand things over to the detective chief inspector.”
Carol sat alone at the back of the hall. She smiled at Geoffrey, Catherine, and Margaret but kept a respectful distance. The smiles they gave in return were those thin non-smiles, the type youmight send in the general direction of a car when walking over a zebra crossing. Two of the older residents got close to sitting next to Carol, then spotted her and jumped, turning on their heels as fast as it was possible for octogenarians to do. This was becoming tiresome.
