“No. I don’t think I am, not anymore. I don’t know what got into me. It won’t happen again.”
The door to the room opened, and a young officer popped his head in. He looked at Bob. “Excuse me, sorry. A quick word?”
Laura stood up quickly. “I’ll handle this.”
Laura exited, and Bob and Carol sat for a moment.
“I didn’t do it, Detective,” said Carol.
“We should wait until DS Welsh comes back.”
“If I did, I’d tell you.”
“Really, we should wait.”
“Sorry.”
They paused again but Carol couldn’t help herself. “Shep Newsom. Now, there’s a man with a motive, who happened to be in the building at the time of the murder. I’m sure you already knew that.”
“Honestly, you’re going to get me into trouble if you keep talking while she’s not here.”
Carol nodded, clocking the office politics at play. “Do you want me to stop?”
Bob narrowed his eyes, wrestling with the dilemma. “No. Go on.”
“I’m sure you’re also looking at Jim, you know, the former gangster? A man who knows how to kill, who was in the building,and who there’s every reason to suspect had a gripe against a former Metropolitan Police chief. He even had a big row with Desmond a couple of nights before the murder. Let me think…Why else do people kill? For love? That’s one, isn’t it? Well, Belinda claims to have been in love with Desmond, but just a few days later she’s sprawled all over her new boyfriend. You’re the experts, but I’d say that’s an avenue worth pursuing. The roof: That’s locked. I’m sure you’ve taken a look, but you must be wondering why there’s a lock to that door and who has the access.”
Bob shuffled uncomfortably.
“That points to Sheldon Oaks staff members, surely? I don’t want to tell you how to do your jobs,” said Carol, “but if I’m your number one suspect, I’d say you may not be looking hard enough at the others.”
Bob got twitchy and started rolling a cigarette. “This is weird. Being lectured on how to do my job by Carol Quinn. You’re right, obviously. We’ve got no evidence. I just thought it had to be you, what with your track record and you being nearby. Maybe this is revealing too much, but you’re smart so why not? I thought you’d have confessed by now.”
“Sorry, Bob, I only confess to things I did.”
“We do have one thing in our favor, though.”
“What’s that?” said Carol, genuinely curious.
“People don’t like serial killers. Politicians, traffic wardens, serial killers. They’re the big three, right? Do you think anyone’s gonna mind if we pin it on you? CPS don’t want to be the ones to leave a serial killer in an old people’s home. I don’t think we’re gonna have a problem getting a charge. Do you? So if I was you, Carol, I’d tone down the cockiness, I’d think twice before you slagoff people’s mums, and I’d start thinking about how embarrassing it’s gonna be in a few years when you’re the only lag walking around Bronzefield with a Zimmer frame.”
Laura opened the door and beckoned Bob with her finger. He left the room.
Carol hardened, contemplating her tricky situation. She had no control over her own destiny. None.
There was a small pile of files on the desk in front of her. Looking at the door, she took one and opened it. The autopsy results, pictures from the scene. It was Desmond’s murder file. Her pulse racing, Carol took her phone from her pocket and started taking pictures of each page.
She heard footsteps closing in on the door but managed to finish the job and stuff her phone back into her pocket just in time. She sat still and set her face into the most nonchalant expression she could muster.
Bob and Laura came back into the room with, to Carol’s surprise, a familiar face. Margaret.
Twenty-Four
Carol and Margaretwalked out of the police station and headed into Hampstead village. Carol’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the sun. Before they got to the high street, they made their way down a road with big, three-floor houses. Well-kept gardens, wide front doors, loft extensions. Each place must be worth millions, thought Carol. There was street after street after street of them. Where did all these people get their money? Carol told herself to be grateful for what she had.
“Thank you, Margaret. That was very kind of you.”
Margaret spoke fast. “I can’t believe I did it, really. I was sitting there this morning at breakfast. I don’t know where Geoffrey and Catherine are. They didn’t show up, probably sleeping in after last night. It all got a little much. Some of the men were drinking brandy and talking politics like it was the nineteenth century or something. But I was thinking to myself—I have to know what’s going on. I suppose you think I’m an awful busybody. But I thought, Now, hang on, I’m a bloody barrister. I was home secretary, forheaven’s sake—not that you’d think it, the way the men in the home go on and on about politics without thinking to ask me if they actually have a clue what they’re talking about—but I thought, this is this morning that I thought…perhaps Carol needs representation.”
