Catherine was impressed. “Wow.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it, Catherine,” said Carol. “They’ve got files on everyone. You should see the size of yours.”
Catherine turned to her in shock.
“Just a little joke,” said Carol.
Catherine hit Carol on the arm, then returned to the topic of the moment. “Okay, so Jim was undercover?”
“Yes,” said Carol. “But I’m guessing he was too good at it. Would that be fair to say, Jim?”
“You could say that, yeah.”
“Jim made a good fake criminal,” said Carol. “So good, in fact, that he made a very goodrealcriminal. Did a murder or two.”
“Or three!” said Geoffrey, spitting from his bloodied mouth, but still holding up the secateurs. His eyes never left Jim. Catherine, to her surprise, had never found him more attractive.
“Now, once you’re in so deep that you start killing people for a crime gang,” said Carol, “are you even a police officer anymore? How can they let you back in? But, Jim, I’m guessing you still thought you were a copper. You weren’t supposed to turn into an actual villain, you just did. I know how you feel.”
“We’re not the same!” shouted Jim. “I killed because I was ordered to.”
“Oh, don’t be so pedantic!” snapped Carol.
“Wait, wait, wait,” said Catherine. “Finish the story.”
“Pretty simple, I think,” said Carol. “Jim wanted his old life as a police officer back. I’m guessing you, Geoffrey, were one of the people who wouldn’t let him back in. So Jim stayed in the Mafia, got himself all the way to the top.”
Margaret finished the last of the Percy Pigs and put the packet into her handbag. “Was absolutelyeverybodyin Sheldon Oaks an investigator at some point?”
“I wasn’t,” said Carol. “But I am now.”
“Hang on,” said Catherine.
The men were still circling each other with their weapons up, neither taking his eyes off the other. Something had to break.
Catherine continued, “Why didn’t the police just arrest Jim? If he was a criminal now, that is. Why would they just leave him to be a gangster?”
“Because of Desmond!” shouted Geoffrey.
“Desmond,” said Carol.
“Because Desmond was bent,” said Margaret, clocking on.
“In Jim, Desmond had a man at the center of a crime gang,” said Carol. “And in Desmond, Jim had the man at the top of the Met. Together, they ran North London. Two cheeks of the same arse.”
Carol felt a drop of rain. It was spitting, the kind of rain you get just before a heavy shower. Then Geoffrey made the error that would change all their lives forever. He looked up at the sky. Jim took the opportunity to whack the secateurs out of his hand with the spade. Geoffrey was weaponless, but his body, under threat, remembered a move from fifty years ago, and did what must have been the slowest roundhouse kick in history.
“Ow! My hip! My bloody hip!” shouted Geoffrey.
But the kick had done its job and the spade went flying overthe wall. After a second, they heard a clang as it hit the ground below. Geoffrey powered forward, applying his weight advantage, pushing Jim against the wall. But Jim was tough. Muscle memory took over. He’d been there before, fighting for his life. He was, quite simply, the stronger man. The men grappled, Jim’s head hanging backward over the wall.
Jim turned his head, glancing at the ground many feet below. The view served as a defibrillator, and he found another gear, forcing Geoffrey back and spinning him around. Now Jim was on top with Geoffrey hanging over the wall. Just one final push and Geoffrey would fall to his death. Jim’s body had no doubt, no hesitation. He wanted Geoffrey dead and Carol could see it.
Carol was in the moment.
Carol was present.
Carol could not let her friend die.
