They look out over Coopers Chase. In the foreground is Larkin Court, curtained windows in Elizabeth’s flat. Beyond that is Ruskin Court, Willows, and the convent. Then those beautiful hills, rolling to the horizon.
“I could get used to this,” says Gordon. “There seems to be a lot of drinking involved.”
“Always,” agrees Ibrahim.
The phone rings and Ibrahim gets up to answer it. He talks to Gordon over his shoulder as he goes.
“I think I’ve made Pilates sound too boring. It is very good for the core muscles, and for flexibility. At any rate, it’s every Tuesday.”
Gordon watches some of the residents pass by below, and sips his beer. “You know, I’m not kidding, but I wouldn’t know if any of these women had been here back then. Who’s to say? All those nuns. You could have been one of them, Joyce.”
Joyce laughs. “It feels like I have been for the last couple of years. Not for the want of trying.”
Elizabeth has been thinking the same as Gordon Playfair. The nuns. Perhaps that was the route they would have to go down next. It’s Thursday Murder Club tomorrow. Maybe that’s where they should start. She feels the gin beginning to work its magic. Ibrahim returns from his call.
“That was Ron; he would like us to join him for a drink. It seems Jason has gifts for us all.”
102.
Me and Bobby had a little reunion drink in the Black Bridge, after we all left here. In Le Pont Noir, anyway.”
Jason Ritchie takes a swig from his bottle of beer. Ron has a beer too, as he always does if Jason is around. It is important to be a role model.
“You could tell we sort of trusted each other, you know? It felt like we’d both changed for the better over the years. Bobby wouldn’t let on what he’s up to these days, but he seemed happy, so fair play. I don’t suppose anyone wants to tell me what he does now?”
Jason looks expectantly at Elizabeth and Joyce, and they both shake their heads.
“Good,” says Jason. “No one likes a grass. But we still couldn’t be sure. Couldn’t be certain one of us hadn’t done it. Couldn’t be sure that it was Johnny, alive and kicking and back for revenge. So I made a call.”
“Ooh, who to?” asks Joyce.
Jason smiles. “What does no one like, Joyce?”
Joyce nods in defeat. “A grass.”
“So let’s just say I called a friend, someone we all trusted, but someone who Johnny would have trusted too, for different reasons. And he came down—no choice, really, if it’s the two of us ringing—and we asked him straight out. Has Johnny been over? You seen him? Just between us, and it never goes further?”
“And had he?” asks Elizabeth.
“He had,” says Jason. “Johnny came over three days before Tony was murdered, and left the day he died. He blamed Tony for grassing him up all those years ago, so he said. Who knows with Johnny?”
Joyce nods sagely, and Jason continues.
“Maybe he just felt the time was right. Put the record straight. Some people have long memories.”
“And you trust this source? And Peter trusts him?” asks Elizabeth.
“Peter?” asks Jason.
“Sorry, Bobby,” says Elizabeth. “That’s my age showing. You and Bobby both trust him?”
“With our lives,” Jason says. “He’s the straightest shooter you’ll find. And he had his reasons to help Johnny. If your friends in the police don’t work out who the guy is, then I promise I’ll tell them. But I reckon they’re bright enough to work it out.”
“Why did Johnny send you the photograph, Jason?” asks Ibrahim.
Jason shrugs. “I think he just wanted us to know it was him. Showing off. Johnny was always like that. He could find my address pretty easy too—everyone knows me round here. Whatever Johnny did, he always had to tell you.”
“And did Johnny look the same? What was his new name?” asks Elizabeth.
