Geoffrey slapped his thighs and stood up. “I’m sure they’ll be back soon. We can tell them then.”
“Where are you going?” said Catherine.
“Don’t you think we ought to take a look on that bloody roof?”
Forty-Three
Carol and Margaretraced back to Sheldon Oaks in a black cab, decadence in Carol’s mind but necessary.
Carol knew who the killer was. She knew the whole truth. She knew who had done it, how they had done it, and why. She subtly put two fingers to her wrist and felt her pulse. Slow and steady. The tension was rising but Carol remained calm. Good. She’d need poise, considering what was to come.
“Tell me. Please,” Margaret pleaded.
“I may only get to do this once,” said Carol, watching her changed city roll by from the back of the taxi. “I have to do it right.”
“I really do think dénouements are just a fictional device,” said Margaret. “I’ve been involved, in one way or another, in a lot of murder cases, and I’m not sure I’ve ever come across a dénouement in real life. Gathering everyone together and telling the full story. It’s just an Agatha Christie thing, Carol. There’s really no need.”
Carol looked her friend in the eye. “Give. Me. My. Dénouement.” She looked to the skies. The clouds suggested rain was on its way.
“Karaoke night tonight,” said Margaret, breaking the brief silence.
Carol, deep in thought, could only respond with “Mmm.”
A ping on both their phones. Margaret got to hers first. “It’s Catherine. Oh, Christ.”
“What?” said Carol.
“Catherine and Geoffrey have decided to go on the roof.”
Carol leaned toward the driver. “I need you to go a lot faster.”
“I can only go as fast as I can, love.”
“I know. It’s just it’s very urgent.” Carol turned to Margaret. “My friend here. She’s, uh, in labor.”
The driver assessed them in the rearview mirror and frowned.
“She’s had a hard life,” said Carol.
The driver shrugged and set about overtaking a bus.
“I have a question,” said Margaret.
“I’m not telling you who the murderer is,” said Carol.
“No, not that. The roof. It’s locked. How are they getting up there?”
Forty-Four
Catherine stuck herhand up her blouse and fumbled around. The corridor was quiet.
“Geoffrey, can you give me a hand with my bra?”
“Catherine, I’ve…My penis. It’s really quite—”
“Not that!” she said. “Carol did something with hers. I need the wire.”
Catherine and Geoffrey were at the top of the small flight of stairs that led to the roof door. Catherine undid her two top buttons, and Geoffrey, gentleman that he was, did his best to tamper with the bra without engaging with her breasts. Despite their afternoon of carnality, there was still a degree of awkwardness around each other’s bodies.
