“The fabric. It’s too tough. I can’t get the wire out.”
“Use your teeth.”
“Catherine. I…I’ve only ever been with my wife. Until the other…You’re obviously a lot more experienced. I’m really not accustomed to this kind of…”
Catherine smiled. She’d managed to get Geoffrey to admit to the one thing he wasn’t an expert in. She touched his shoulder. “I just want the wire. I’ve an idea. Why don’t you just take them out?”
He frowned. “Take what out?”
“Your teeth,” said Catherine.
And so he did. Geoffrey took out his dentures and clamped them onto Catherine’s bra. A couple of tugs and they were able to tear the cotton enough to get at the wire. Catherine fed it through. Realizing she’d emasculated Geoffrey, she offered him the chance to unlock the door with the wire, which he proudly did without much trouble.
“Impressive,” said Catherine.
“Let’s just say I still know a thing or two about crime.”
“Very good. Don’t forget to pop your teeth back in.”
The door opened outward, revealing the fading light from the gray London sky and leading them directly onto the roof. The surface below their feet was black asphalt, with small puddles dotted around, still there from a morning shower. A brick wall, no more than a couple of feet high, bordered the whole roof. At the rear, to their left, was a large greenhouse, about twenty feet in length. Catherine headed right and leaned over the wall. Below her she could see the four brand-new paving stones, still clean.
“This is where Desmond fell,” she said.
“Where he was pushed,” Geoffrey corrected her. “He’d have to have been playing silly buggers to fall off here.”
For a moment they were quiet, contemplating the death of their friend. Catherine inspected the ground, the wall, the surface of the roof. What was she expecting to find up there? A signed confession from the killer? It was just a roof.
She looked at the greenhouse. It was dense with green plants, nothing else. Marijuana presumably. But they knew that already, didn’t they? What did ittellthem?
Together, they paced toward it.
“That looks like rather a lot of marijuana, doesn’t it, Geoffrey?”
“I’ve never seen so much in one place. That must be worth…I’m just trying to think…”
“More than a hundred thousand?” asked Catherine.
“Easily.”
Something moved in the greenery.
“Wait,” Catherine whispered, stopping Geoffrey with her hand.
The back of a man’s head. Someone was watering the plants. The voice inside hummed an old standard.
“He’s wearing earphones,” said Catherine.
Geoffrey edged forward to get a closer look but stepped into a puddle. His slip-on loafer was no good and his foot was immediately drenched. Instinctively he shouted out, “Jesus bloody Jesus sodding bloody Christ!”
Catherine held his arm as the head in the greenhouse turned to face them.
Jim.
They stayed still, frozen, as Jim placed down the watering can and went for the greenhouse door. In what felt like a second, he was headed straight toward Geoffrey. No smile, no greeting. He was leaning forward, determined. This was not Jim the friendly old crooner Catherine knew from the karaoke nights. This was Jim the old villain she’d heard about. His footsteps grew louder and quicker.
Jim punched Geoffrey in the face. It was the jab of a man who’d hit people before.
“No!” screamed Catherine.
