Back then there’d been an ashtray in the middle of the table, packed with stubs. No, lots had changed since then. No point pretending otherwise.
This time she was being interrogated by a woman, which made a nice change. The male detective, Bob Beattie, he didn’t look healthy. Bags under his eyes, stubble on each of his chins. His hands were dry. Carol could see blood on his knuckles from where the skin had cracked. What was it that men of his age and type had against hand cream? He looked like he belonged in the days of her first police interview.
“What about Desmond? Was killing him logical?” asked Laura.
“For whoever did it, perhaps. But it wasn’t me. If I were you, I’d think about the person for whom killing Desmond might have been logical.”
“Whom. You’re smart, aren’t you, Carol?” said Bob.
Carol didn’t respond. What was she to say to that? A lady says “whom” and now she’s an evil genius?
“You take a baking class, is that right?” Laura asked.
Carol smiled. “It’s more of a club, really, but yes.”
“And does Desmond go to that same club?”
“Before he was pushed from a four-story building, yes. He tended to leave early.”
“He left early?” said Laura.
“Yes. He usually did.”
“And why was that?” said Laura.
“You’d have to ask Desmond.”
“Desmond’s dead,” said Laura.
“He said he was tired and left.”
“Did he try any of the cakes? The day before,” asked Laura.
“They weren’t ready yet.” Carol looked down at Laura’s notes. “Is that it? The only evidence you have? That I’m a former killer who likes to bake? You must have some other unsolved murders. Why don’t you chalk me down for them too?”
“You weren’t seen with any of those victims the day before,” said Laura. “You weren’t the first to report their death.”
“This really is it,” said Carol. “These are your only grounds. That I was seen with the murdered man the day before he died and lived in the same building, along with dozens of other people? I suppose the hope is that I’ll break down and confess? That would make for good drama. If this were a Sunday-night detective show, we’d be just before an ad break now, wouldn’t we?”
Laura exhaled through her nose, tiring of the jocular tone. “I’ve been looking at your work history, Carol. You worked in a lab once, is that right?”
For the first time Carol felt a little unrooted. Where was this going? “For a bit. On reception. About forty years ago. What of it?”
“You’re familiar with poison, aren’t you, Carol? One of your methods.”
“This is all a very long time ago.”
“Not everything is.”
Carol felt the mood shift. Did Laura think she was gaining the upper hand? Carol did her best to keep a poker face.
Laura rested her elbows on the table. “You’re not an entirely reformed woman, are you, Carol? When we arrested you last night, you had a bottle at the throat of a woman.”
“You’re right. That was terrible of me. I must apologize toBelinda when I next see her. Here’s something that might be of use. Somebody told Belinda that I called her a slut. I did nothing of the sort. Somebody was trying to trigger me into violence.”
“Are you easily triggered into violence, Carol?”
Carol directed her eyes at the paint peeling off the ceiling and pondered the question seriously.
