Don’t dream of winning. Train for it.
And worst of all:
Nothing is impossible. The word itself says I’m possible.
Carol had to remind herself that she was in an old people’s home, the martial arts studio of an old people’s home but an oldpeople’s home nonetheless. Some thingswereimpossible: Each resident was reminded of it every day. Touching your toes, for example. Getting out of bed without groaning, or watching a whole film without needing the toilet. In the corner she noticed a sunken trampoline.A trampoline.Was Giles Temple the worst businessman of all time? Shep was surely his only competition. For the first time, it occurred to her that they were near enough the same person—two men of low IQ and high advantage, both frittering away their fortuitous starts in life.
They heard a gentle knock and saw Margaret’s face pressed against the door’s window, with Geoffrey hovering behind. Carol let them in, suddenly very aware that she was still in bra, knickers, and an anorak. Luckily there were bigger distractions at play. Margaret immediately spotted the body on the floor.
“That’s Giles Temple,” she said.
“Correct,” said Carol.
“And he’s dead,” said Geoffrey.
“Correct,” said Catherine. “I’m about to carry out an autopsy. We thought you two might like to join us.”
Catherine and Carol were standing next to the corpse, almost proud, like two sisters who’d just completed a Lego set. Margaret took a bite from a croissant, then slowly lowered it back into her handbag.
“We found him in the sauna,” said Carol. “He was locked in there. It had to have been locked from the outside. Somebody has murdered him.”
“But…how did you, why, I don’t understand…How is he in here?”
“We dragged him,” said Carol. “Catherine’s very fit, as you know, and I’m very strong.”
“But…now, hang on. Has it occurred to anyone that this means Polly is not the murderer?”
“Yes, Geoffrey,” said Carol and Catherine, groaning in unison. “We’re well ahead of you there.”
“And if Polly is not the murderer, then”—Geoffrey’s arm extended and slowly rose, his finger directing itself at Carol—“Carol…”
“Oh, shut up, Geoffrey,” said Carol. “If you don’t stop accusing me of murder, I’m going to kill you, I really am.”
“She didn’t do it, Geoffrey,” said Catherine. “I’m sure of it.”
“You’re asking me to trust your hunch.”
“An hour or two ago I was determined to kill my ex-husband. Long story. He’s a wally. I went to Carol and asked her how to do it. She talked me out of it. She told me how killing isn’t worth it, how it doesn’t fill the hole. I’m telling you now, Carol may have been a murderer, but she isn’t one anymore.”
Carol should have taken it as a compliment, really, but she couldn’t help feeling a pang of sadness at the loss of her identity. If she wasn’t a murderer, what was she? Still, nice of her friend to stand up for her, and Catherine’s little speech appeared to have won over Geoffrey and Margaret.
Catherine addressed Geoffrey. “Now, we’re going to examine the body. Would you care to assist us?” she said, then hit him with the sentence he’d waited his entire life to hear: “We would all very much value your expertise.”
Geoffrey puffed out his chest and happily plodded over to Catherine, Carol, and the corpse.
“Is nobody a little worried that we might be found?” said Margaret. “It’s been a while since I practiced law but I can assure you this is all very illegal.”
“Do you hear anyone? No one’s been in this room for months. Margaret, please don’t spoil our fun,” pleaded Carol, immediately taking Margaret back to when she, as a teenage Goody Two-Shoes, discovered her schoolmates smoking out of the dormitory window after bedtime. That time she’d told the matron, and been an outcast for the rest of her school life. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
“No, no, you go ahead. Carry on with the—uh—impromptu autopsy.”
Carol watched Catherine adjust herself and transition into a professional mode. She immediately looked twenty years younger. Her friend held up Giles’s arm. “I think we’re looking at somewhere between twelve and twenty-four hours since death. Decomposition hasn’t started just yet, but we’re in the final stages of rigor mortis.”
“Yes, yes, I concur, I concur,” said Geoffrey, enthusiastically nodding along.
“Sorry, would anyone mind if I covered his willy?” said Margaret. “I’m just finding it difficult to concentrate.”
“Go ahead,” said Catherine.
