They sat at Carol’s round glass kitchen table. It felt odd not tohave a drink of some kind, just to sit there beverage-free, like it was a job interview, but Catherine clearly wasn’t in the mood for distractions.
“You didn’t fancy theMamma Mia!matinee outing, then?” said Carol. “I saw them head off in the minibus.”
“Can’t stand musicals,” said Catherine.
They had a lot in common, thought Carol. “Have you heard about Polly?”
“Yes. Who would have thought? Carol, I’m sorry about all the—”
“It’s fine,” said Carol. “I can see why I was your suspect. I hope we can be—”
“Friends again? Of course.”
Carol took a breath and broached the subject at hand. “So you want to…”
“Kill somebody, yes.” Catherine stretched the tension from her arms, hearing herself say the words. “My ex-husband, Nigel. He’s getting remarried and—oh, God, I’m such a cliché—Carol, hehasto die. I just can’t go about my day knowing that he’s out there living and breathing and going about his. Carol, there’s no way I can explain it, he’s just…he’s just such a…he’s just such a wally.”
Carol looked at Catherine. She’d known there had to be more than met the eye. Nobody’s perfect. Everyone fantasizes about murder, everyone, but few go so far as to consult a specialist. “How do you want to do it?”
“I was hoping you might be able to help me with that. I mean, I’ll carry out the…” Catherine swallowed. “Murder, but I’d appreciate some guidance. I don’t want to get caught. I just want him eliminated. I don’t have a gun. Do you have a gun?”
“Never had one, Catherine, no. Too noisy, don’t you think? Tricky to get hold of, tricky to get rid of. Also, they’ve always seemed to me like they’re no fun. Too easy. One click and they’re dead. It’s like shopping online. I find it soulless. If you’re going to go to all that fuss, why not make a day of it?”
Carol felt flattered to have been consulted, and it was a pleasure to speak on a subject she knew so much about. She’d had admirers but rarely did anyone ask her about the nuts and bolts. No one ever asks musicians about the actual music, do they?
Catherine picked up a pen from Carol’s table and started fidgeting with it. “Okay, what would you suggest?”
People always wanted to know about the things that surrounded murder, but here was someone actually asking her what chords to play.
“Right. What would I suggest? Um…” Carol leaned back and pondered her favorite topic. “He doesn’t have a boat, does he?”
Catherine shook her head.
“That’s a shame. I always wanted to do something on a boat. There’s a glamour to that, don’t you think? Drown him, cut him up in the motor, leave him to the eels.”
“I was thinking something more…”
“You just want to get the job done, don’t you, Catherine? Something simple.”
Catherine nodded.
“Is he on any drugs? Prescription, I mean.”
“A few tablets. This and that.”
“That’s a pretty easy one. Fiddle with his pills. But you’d need access to his medicine cabinet. Is that…?”
“Not easy, no.”
“Mmm. But you’re a doctor. You could get hold of something.”
“I suppose so.”
“Traceable, though,” said Carol, thinking it through. She was in her element. “Did you ever watch the…What are they called?Looney Tunes? Wile E. Coyote. I wonder if anyone’s ever tried that. Dropping a weight on someone from a great height.”
“Didn’t it always land on him?”
“Good point. Good point. Sorry, here I am trying to be original and you just want your husband dead. We’re not trying to makeSgt. Pepper’shere, are we? Right, how did Desmond go? Poisoned, strangled, and pushed.”
