Page 27 of The Impossible Fortune (Thursday Murder Club Mysteries #5)

Joyce sits on a dining-room chair, stared at, once again, by the many, many porcelain cats.

They are back in Purley. Joyce bets that not many people go to Purley twice in two days. I mean, some people live there or work there, so they’ll be back and forth all the time. But civilians like her? Twice? In two days? Joyce doubts it very much.

They’d walked past the British Heart Foundation shop on their way to Jasper’s. They really did have some nice mugs in there. Joyce thought perhaps she should buy a few for him, but decided it was too presumptuous. Give him time.

Elizabeth sits next to Jasper. He still wears his shirt and bow tie, but today has switched to corduroys, which is a step up. Elizabeth hands him the SIM card. ‘A little charred.’

‘I’ve seen worse,’ says Jasper, taking a phone from his pocket and inserting the SIM card. The phone is about twice the size of a regular phone, even Ibrahim’s new one, and is a sleek black with absolutely no markings.

‘That’s an unusual phone,’ says Joyce. ‘Joanna has a Samsung which she swears by.’

‘Can’t get one of these in a shop,’ says Jasper. ‘If you know what I mean?’

‘Jasper, of course she knows what you mean,’ says Elizabeth. ‘She knows you were a spy, stop showing off.’

‘You show off all you like, Jasper,’ says Joyce.

The screen of Jasper’s phone lights up. He starts to scroll.

‘Anything?’ Elizabeth asks.

‘It’s not ideal,’ says Jasper. ‘It’s not ideal. There’s bits and bobs.’

‘I like your trousers, Jasper,’ says Joyce. ‘They really suit you.’

‘I found them in the back of a magazine,’ says Jasper. ‘Elasticated. And fifteen pounds.’

‘We’re particularly interested in recent calls and texts,’ says Elizabeth. Joyce can see she is losing patience. Elizabeth has less interest in lonely men than Joyce does. ‘She died at around nine forty-five last night.’

‘Nine forty-five last night?’ Jasper asks.

‘Yes,’ says Joyce. ‘We’d been having dinner, I gave her some brownies, not my best.’

Brownies! Joyce should have baked some brownies for Jasper. But when would she have had the time? Everything has been such a rush since the wedding. But still, Joyce curses her thoughtlessness.

‘If she died at nine forty-five,’ says Jasper, ‘then I have a call you might be very interested in. Very interested indeed, I should say. On the interest scale, were it to be numbered one through ten, I might suggest a ten.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Jasper,’ says Elizabeth.

‘Your friend Holly Lewis,’ says Jasper, enjoying the theatre, ‘who died at nine forty-five p.m., made her final phone call last night at nine forty-four p.m.’

‘Just after she left us?’ says Joyce.

‘Just after she left you,’ confirms Jasper. ‘And just before she met the bomb. Hello, Mr Bomb. Or Mrs Bomb. Are bombs men or women, do we think?’

Joyce thinks that perhaps bombs are women. Once they’ve exploded, that’s an end to it. Men are more like guns: they’re constantly reloading.

Jasper scrawls down a number on a piece of paper and slides it across to Elizabeth.

‘How long was the call?’ Elizabeth asks, looking at the number.

‘Didn’t get connected, but she tried it,’ says Jasper. ‘Perhaps she was rudely interrupted, ha, ha, ha. No, I know she died, that’s very serious, I apologize.’ Elizabeth looks at Joyce. ‘So Holly Lewis was trying to call someone when the bomb went off.’

Elizabeth is already calling somebody.

‘I’ll work on the rest of it this week,’ says Jasper. ‘See if I can find anything else useful for you. You came to see me at a good time: it’s quite quiet.’

There is a cat calendar hanging on the dining-room wall. Jasper’s month is empty except for the word BINS written in painfully neat handwriting each Wednesday.

‘A number for you,’ says Elizabeth into her phone.

‘Could you run it straight away? … Well, because I’m asking …

I’m aware it’s a Saturday, Clive … I don’t even know what the Malaysian Grand Prix Qualifying is …

Monday morning? For goodness’ sake, Clive, you’re not the Post Office, you’re a spy …

there’s no such thing as an ex-spy … tell your wife to turn the potatoes down for a minute …

Clive Baxter, I need to know who that number belongs to, which will take you a matter of moments; a young woman was killed last night, and your assistance would be greatly appreciated, as I suspect my assistance was greatly appreciated when you were being throttled half to death in Odessa in 1974 … Thank you, Clive, yes, I’ll hold.’

Elizabeth starts pacing. Joyce looks around once again at all the cats. The cats that Jasper hates. The cats that were still here on the off-chance that their absence might offend someone who had bought him one.

‘Jasper,’ says Joyce, gently, ‘how many people who bought you these over the years are still alive?’

Jasper looks around the collection, assigning a name in his mind to each one. ‘Well, Cousin John is still knocking about, I suppose, but that would be it.’

‘And where is Cousin John?’

‘New Zealand,’ says Jasper.

Joyce nods. ‘Why don’t we pack some of them up?’

‘Some of the cats?’

‘Store them away somewhere,’ says Joyce. ‘Then you could really make the place your own, couldn’t you?’

Jasper looks around as if seeing it for the first time ever. ‘A few bookshelves perhaps?’

‘Make it a proper dining room,’ says Joyce. ‘Invite people over.’

‘Who would come?’ Jasper asks.

‘We’d come,’ says Joyce, indicating Elizabeth. At that moment Elizabeth begins nodding and writing something on a pad.

‘That’s wonderful work, Clive, wonderful,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Jill Usher. Wonderful, thank you. My love to Lady Helen.’

‘Got the name,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Jasper, you’ll have to forgive us, we have to rush off.’

‘Yes, of course,’ says Jasper. ‘Of course you must.’

‘Give me one moment,’ says Joyce. ‘Please.’

Joyce walks into Jasper’s kitchen and finds what she is looking for. Empty cardboard boxes. She hears Jasper saying, ‘Not too many of the old gang left, are there? You heard Charlie died?’

As she leaves the kitchen, Joyce sees that there are three garish-looking mugs sitting on the worktop.

One says I Black Heart FISHING ; another SOUTHERN ELECTRICITY BOARD CONFERENCE 1998 ; and the final one WORLD ’ S BEST GRANDSON.

Each has a British Heart Foundation price sticker on it.

Next to them, laid out in regimental order, are three tea bags. Joyce has to catch her breath.

Joyce walks back into the dining room with tears in her eyes and two empty cardboard boxes in her hands.

‘What on earth are you doing, Joyce?’ Elizabeth asks. ‘We have to head home.’

Joyce shakes her head. It’s not that she isn’t excited by what Elizabeth has found.

Holly left their dinner and was making a call when she died.

It could open up the whole investigation.

But it’s not the only important thing in the world.

She is not surprised that neither of them has noticed her tears.

‘Elizabeth, Jasper has been a very good friend to you, so, until this room is clear, you and I will be putting porcelain cats into cardboard boxes.’

‘Joyce,’ says Elizabeth. ‘We have a job to do.’

‘We certainly do,’ says Joyce, handing Elizabeth one of the boxes. ‘And the sooner you start doing it, the sooner we’ll get the train. Jasper, could you make us a cup of tea?’

‘Yes, I could,’ says Jasper, with an excitement that breaks Joyce’s heart. He bounds into the kitchen.

Joyce looks over at a scowling Elizabeth, then picks up a cat wearing a headband and holding a tennis racket. She places it carefully into the box. You have to start somewhere.