“Oooh, yes.” Margaret shuffled next to her.
“Are you sure you’re okay sitting next to me, Margaret? It’s very quiet in here. I could stab you in the gut and make an easy escape.”
“Oh, don’t be silly! There’s plenty of fat before you’ll get to any of my organs.”
They both giggled and Carol took out her phone. This gave Margaret pause. “Are we sure we want to…I mean, you obtained that file…Isn’t this illegal?”
Teasing, Carol let her finger hover over the photo on her phone. “No, you’re right, actually. Let’s not look. I’ll just delete it.”
“No, Carol, don’t!”
Carol smiled and Margaret slapped her leg. It was clear that neither of them could resist digging in.
They soon discovered that it was difficult for the pair of them to see the photos of the files on Carol’s phone at the same time, so she worked out how to send them to Margaret’s tablet and they were able to look on there. They were rather proud of themselves for successfully completing that operation.
Much of the information they already knew. Margaret filled Carol in on everything they’d learned from the autopsy. She said that, if Carol hadn’t done it, it would be helpful for them both to have the full picture, and that if she had done it, then, well, she knew it all already.
From the files, they picked up some interesting evidence about a thread of fiber found on Desmond’s shirt. “Wool. Not from the victim’s own clothes” was scrawled next to a magnified picture. The thread was a fluorescent yellow.
One thing that struck them both as strange was that there were no photos of the roof. It was, after all, where the murder had taken place. Why were there no pictures?
They had to find a way of getting onto that roof. The answer to who had killed Desmond was surely there.
“If we do manage to get up there, do you promise not to push me off?” Margaret had a cheeky glint in her eye, but Carol could sense some honesty in her request. She really was afraid of her. And fair enough. Less than twenty-four hours beforehand, Carol had decided to take up killing again. But now she knew why. She’d felt alone. Sitting here next to a woman of her own age, a woman she liked, Carol knew that all she needed to stop her from giving in to her most shameful vice was good friends.
“Margaret?” Carol fixed her eyes on her. She wanted to underline the importance of what she had to say.
“Yes?”
“I won’t insult you by telling you I didn’t kill Desmond again. That’s something I have to prove to you. But, Margaret, I need your help in proving it. I can’t do this on my own. You’re all investigators—the whole home is filled with them. It’s not a fair fight. I cannot go back to prison. This life…” Carol gestured at their surroundings, their morning drinking, in one of London’s nicest neighborhoods. “I’m not sure you realize how lucky we are.”
“So, you want to take a look on the roof?” said Margaret.
Twenty-Five
Geoffrey opened thedoor to Desmond’s flat. No furniture, no pictures on the walls: The place was bare.
“We’re too late.” Geoffrey’s voice echoed in the space.
“I guess his daughter took all his things.” Catherine walked through the flat, stepping from one room to another. She entered a bedroom. “There’s a few boxes left in here. Do you think it would be bad of us to take a look?”
“Anything is justified if it gets you closer to the killer, Catherine.” Geoffrey found his old self returning. He was a detective again and it felt good. He noticed a red spot on the hardwood floor. Savoring the moment, he squatted, dabbed it with a finger. It was 1986 again and he was at the top of his game. He was a respected copper on the Met, had an active sex life, and went to the toilet no more than three or four times a day.
The spot was dry but Geoffrey remembered the color well. It was dried blood.
“It’s cakes,” said Catherine, from the other room. “Boxes and boxes of cakes. I didn’t know Desmond did so much baking!”
“Catherine, I may have found something of interest.”
With a jolt, Geoffrey was reminded that it wasn’t 1986. Squatting had been a bad idea. The pain shot through him. “Ow! Ow! Bloody ow! Jesus Christ! Bloody ow! My bloody knees! I think I’m stuck! My bloody knees!”
“I think I have something that might help with the pain,” said Catherine. “These are cannabis cakes.”
—
Catherine sat onthe floor next to Geoffrey and they agreed to share one small piece of cake. One small piece between the two of them shouldn’t do much harm. Geoffrey suggested it might even help them to look at the case from a new perspective.
“Aren’t you concerned? I mean, you were a police officer. It’s illegal.”
