There were practical diagrams offering advice on the most effective parts of the body to stab. There were lists of poisons, with the required dosages noted beside them. Catherine had to admire the work. Carol had done her research.
There was a long list of murder methods, each with a paragraph on the pros and cons—drowning, shooting, stabbing, strangling, poisoning, pushing, bludgeoning, impaling, drilling.
The work was thorough. Hand drills were harder to clean than axes; axes created more splatter and required a good aim. Poisoning was like baking, a science, not an art form. Drowning and pushing, when done right, left no murder weapon but “may require muscle.” Strangling offered one the opportunity to look into the victim’s eyes, the chance to watch them die up close. This could be a pro or a con, depending on the circumstances.
Catherine felt like insects were crawling around her body. She was in the bedroom of a serial killer, sifting through their thoughts. She wanted to wake Geoffrey but she couldn’t move.
One page described a man in a warehouse, tied up, lying on a concrete floor. Carol placed a hot iron on his chest, his screams fading into the distance as she went to run some errands. She returned just before the iron touched the concrete, proud with herself for timing it just right.
Catherine was cold, chilled to think that she shared a world with a mind like this.
And then a key turned in the door.
Twenty-Eight
Carol and Margaret’sstroll back to Sheldon Oaks was leisurely, their drinks providing them each with a pleasant buzz. Once they entered the grounds, rather than taking the most direct route to the building’s entrance, they took a detour around the gardens, agreeing that they didn’t appreciate their beautiful surroundings enough.
Dozens of bees were working away. It gave Carol pleasure to see nature in action, oblivious to the city beyond the gates. She caught a whiff of a familiar scent.
“What’s that smell?” said Margaret.
Carol pointed to its source.
“Ah. I see,” said Margaret, spotting Tyler, who was hiding under a tree, smoking a spliff. “Back when I was in charge that could get you a custodial sentence. Silly, really.”
The lawns were yellowing in the patches that the sprinklers couldn’t reach. When was the last time it had rained? Carol ran her hand along some pampas grass. She picked a small piece andcrumbled it in her fingers. She remembered the feeling from when she’d first done it, seventy years ago.
Margaret talked Carol through the species on display: pink dahlias, foxgloves, deadly nightshade hiding among the salvias and the lupines, the monkshood and the asters.
“How do you know all this?” asked Carol.
“Boarding school. Never had too many companions, I’m afraid,” said Margaret. “Gardens were lovely, though. Made friends with the flowers.”
Carol looked at her and wondered if they would have got on as children. They’d grown up in very different worlds but were both eccentrics who didn’t quite fit in. Yes, she thought. They probably would have done.
Both women jumped with fright. A faceless figure slowly emerged from a row of hedges, a white silhouette, gaining in size as it walked in their direction.
“Hello, ladies.”
Only then did they identify the figure as a beekeeper. They laughed and headed for the main entrance.
“I’m pretty sure they have a skeleton key here that has access to all our apartments,” said Carol.
“It would make sense, I suppose,” said Margaret.
“Could well work for the lock on the door to the roof too.”
“Could do, yes,” said Margaret. “But how do we get hold of one without arousing suspicion?”
“Here’s a plan. We go back to my apartment. I can keep my front door open if that puts you at ease,” said Carol. Margaret playfully slapped her arm. “Then I call down to Reception. Better yet, I press my alarm. That should send Elisa, and whoever else isabout, upstairs. Meanwhile, you make your way to what should be an empty front desk for a snoop around. I’m sure there’s a key in a drawer down there. I doubt it’ll be hard to find.”
“I don’t know,” said Margaret, playing nervously with the zip on her handbag.
“If you don’t find it, you don’t find it. I’ll just say I felt faint, they’ll give me a glass of water, and we’ll come up with another plan.”
“I don’t know about snooping around. I’m not…Carol, that’s not really my scene.”
“You were a politician, yes?”
