Catherine nodded again.
“Then let’s do a little autopsy.”
“We could get into an awful lot of trouble,” said Catherine.
“We need to get in there. Turn away.”
“What?”
“Just look away for a second.” Carol stuffed her hand into her chest.
Catherine turned away. She spoke to the wall: “Carol, may I ask what you’re doing?”
“I’m getting the wire out of my bra.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think? Stupid bloody thing.” Carol yanked at it, then fed the wire through. “You can turn back now.” Carol held up the wire, pleased with herself. “That bra was fighting a losing battle anyway.” She put the wire into the lock.
“Carol, I’m not sure this is going to…Oh, you’ve done it.”
Carol opened the door, smugly turning to Catherine. “It’s a sauna, not a bank vault.”
The heat hit them like an oven. Catherine knelt down and put her fingers to his neck, checking his pulse. “He’s cooked.”
“That’s not a resident, is it?” said Carol. “Look at his bum. That is a young man’s bum.”
Catherine couldn’t help but smirk.
“Not that I’m particularly interested in young men’s bums,” said Carol.
“You’re sweating,” said Catherine.
“Shut up. Who is it? We should turn him over.”
Carol got down beside Catherine and they rolled the body over.
“Giles,” said Catherine.
Carol let out a little shriek.
“You’re not surprised, are you?” said Catherine. “I’d assumed it was Giles.”
“No, it’s his pubic hair. He’s hardly got any.”
“Yes, I’m told they do that now,” said Catherine. “All the young men, they trim it. Very strange.”
“Sick, if you ask me,” said Carol.
The two women stared at Giles’s privates, as if they were a particularly rude piece of graffiti.
“I quite agree,” said Catherine.
Thirty-Nine
The room wasairy, the wooden floor shiny and new. It felt unused. They were underground, there were no windows, and the bright overhead lights buzzed in the quiet. On the wall, there was a picture of Bruce Lee and some banal motivational quotes, probably come straight from Google:
The body achieves what the mind believes.
