The Thursday Murder Club

by Richard Osman

  ‘It was just that, John.’

  Elizabeth pulls her chair nearer to Penny, takes her hand and speaks to her quietly and directly. ‘Nearly fifty years ago Peter Mercer murdered his girlfriend, then vanished into thin air. And everyone thought he’d got away with it. But it’s really not all that easy to get away with murder, is it, Penny? Sometimes justice is waiting just around the corner, as it was for Peter Mercer one dark night when you paid him a visit. And sometimes justice waits fifty years and sits beside a hospital bed holding the hand of a friend. Had you just seen one too many of these cases, Penny? Tired of it? And tired of no one listening?’

  ‘When did she tell you, John?’ asks Joyce.

  John starts to cry.

  ‘When she was first ill?’

  John nods slowly. ‘She didn’t mean to tell me. You remember how she was, Elizabeth? The mini-strokes?’

  ‘Yes,’ remembers Elizabeth. They were very gentle at first. Nothing too alarming, unless you knew what they were. But poor John had known exactly what they were.

  ‘She would say all sorts of things. See all sorts of things. Plenty of make-believe, and then the present sort of disappeared and her mind would go further and further back. Kept spooling back until it found something familiar I suppose. Just looking for something that made sense, because the world around her had stopped making sense. So she’d tell me stories, sometimes from her childhood, sometimes from when we first met.’

  ‘And sometimes from her early days in the police?’ prompts Elizabeth.

  ‘All things I’d heard before at first. Things I remember from the time, old bosses, little scams they’d pull, fiddling expenses, pub instead of court, the sorts of things we’d always laughed about. I knew she was adrift and I wanted to hold on to her as long as I could. Do you understand?’

  ‘We all do, John,’ says Ron. And they do.

  ‘So I would keep her talking. The same stories over and over again sometimes. One reminding her of another, reminding her of another, reminding her of the first one again, and round we’d go. But then …’

  John pauses and looks at his wife.

  ‘You say you don’t really think Penny can hear you, John?’ says Elizabeth.

  John shakes his head, slowly. ‘No.’

  ‘And yet every day, you come here. You sit with her. You talk to her.’

  ‘What else is there for me to do, Elizabeth?’

  Elizabeth understands. ‘So, she was telling you stories. Stories you knew. And then one day …?’

  ‘Yes, and then one day it was stories I didn’t know.’

  ‘Secrets,’ says Ron.

  ‘Secrets. Nothing awful, only little things. She’d taken money once. A bribe. Everyone else had taken it and she felt she’d had to. She told me that as if she had told me many times before, but she hadn’t. We all have secrets, don’t we?’

  ‘We do, John,’ agrees Elizabeth.

  ‘She’d forgotten what was a funny story and what was a secret. But there must have been something still working, a final lock on a final gate. The last thing to give.’

  ‘The worst secret of all?’

  John nods. ‘By God she held on to it. She was already in here. You remember when they moved her in?’

  Elizabeth remembers. Penny had gone by this time. Conversations were snippets, incoherent, sometimes angry. When would Stephen come in here? She needed to get back to him. Just get this done and go home and kiss her beautiful husband.

  ‘She didn’t even recognize me by then. Well, she recognized me, but she couldn’t place me. I came in one morning. About two months ago, you know, and she was sitting up. It was the last time I remember her sitting up. And she saw me, and she knew me. She asked me what we were going to do and I didn’t understand the question, so I asked her, “Do about what?”’

  Elizabeth nods.

  ‘And she started to tell me, and she was very matter of fact. As if there was something in the loft and she needed me to get it down. Nothing more than that. Nothing more than that. You know I couldn’t let people find out what she’d done, Elizabeth? You know that? I had to try something.’

  Elizabeth nods.

  ‘We’d picnicked up on the hill a few times,’ John continues. ‘It really was very beautiful. I’d always wondered why we stopped.’

  They sit in silence. Broken only by the quiet electronic beeps by Penny’s bedside. All that remained of her, like a lighthouse blinking far out to sea.

  Elizabeth gently breaks the silence. ‘Here’s what I think we should do, John. I’m going to get the others to take you home. It’s late, have a sleep in your own bed. If you have letters to write, then write them. I’ll come with the police in the morning. I know you’ll be there. We’ll step outside for a moment so you can say goodbye to Penny.’

  The four friends step outside and Elizabeth watches through the clear border of the frosted window in Penny’s door as John holds his wife in his arms. She looks away.

  ‘You’ll see John back safely, won’t you? If I stay with Penny for a moment?’ she asks the others, and gets nods in return. She opens the door again. John is putting on his coat.

  ‘Time to go, John.’

  111

  The lights in Donna’s flat are low and Stevie Wonder is working his magic from the speakers. Chris is happy and relaxed, shoes off, feet up. Donna pours him a glass of wine.

  ‘Thanks, Donna.’

  ‘Pleasure. Nice shirt by the way.’

  ‘Why thank you. It’s just something I threw on.’

  Chris smiles at Donna and Donna smiles back. Donna can sense what is about to happen and it makes her very happy.

  ‘Mum?’ inquires Donna, holding the bottle towards her mother.

  ‘Thank you, darling, I will.’

  Donna then pours a glass of wine for her mother, currently sitting beside Chris on the sofa.

  ‘Honestly, you could be her sister, Patrice,’ says Chris. ‘And I’m not just saying that because Donna is ageing so badly.’

  Donna mimes throwing up while Patrice laughs.

  ‘Madonna told me you were charming.’

  Chris puts down his wine, a look of delight creeping onto his face. ‘Sorry? Who told you I was charming?’

  ‘Madonna,’ she tilts her head towards her daughter.

  Chris looks at Donna. ‘Your full name is Madonna?’

  ‘If you ever call me that I will taser you,’ says Donna.

  ‘It would be worth it,’ says Chris. ‘Patrice, I think I love you.’

  Donna rolls her eyes and picks up the remote. ‘Shall we watch Jason Ritchie?’

  ‘Sure, sure,’ says Chris, distracted. ‘So what do you do for a living, Patrice?’

  ‘I teach. Primary,’ says Patrice.

  ‘Do you?’ says Chris. Teacher, sings in a choir, loves dogs, that’s his fantasy checklist.

  Donna looks Chris straight in the eye. ‘And she sings in the choir on a Sunday.’

  Chris refuses to hold Donna’s gaze and turns back to Patrice.

  ‘This is going to sound like a ridiculous question, Patrice, but do you like dogs?’

  Patrice takes a sip of her wine. ‘Allergic, I’m afraid.’

  Chris nods, and sips, then gives his glass an almost imperceptible raise towards Donna. Two out of three ain’t bad. He is glad he is wearing his blue shirt with the buttons.

  ‘What happened to your date?’ Chris asks Donna.

  ‘I just said I had a date. I didn’t say it was my date,’ replies Donna.

  Donna’s phone buzzes. She looks at the screen.

  ‘It’s Elizabeth. She wonders if we’re free tomorrow morning? Nothing urgent.’

  ‘Solved the case no doubt.’

  Donna laughs. She hopes everything is OK with her friend.

  112

  Penny’s bedside lamp is turned as low as it can go, just enough light for two old friends with familiar faces. Elizabeth has Penny’s hand in hers.

  ‘So, did anyone get away with anyt
hing, darling? Tony Curran didn’t, did he? Someone did for him. Gianni, so everyone seems to think, though I have a theory about that I must discuss with Joyce. No loss there, anyway. And Ventham? Well, you know John has to pay for that. I’ll take the police there in the morning and they’ll find his body, we both know that. The moment he’s home, a little nightcap and that’s that. He knows enough to make it peaceful at least, doesn’t he?’

  Elizabeth strokes Penny’s hair.

  ‘And what about you, darling? You clever girl. Did you get away with it? I know why you did what you did, Penny; I see the choice you made, to deliver your own justice. I don’t agree with it, but I see it. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t facing what you were facing. But did you get away with it?’

  Elizabeth places Penny’s hand back on the bed and stands.

  ‘It all rather depends, doesn’t it? On whether you can hear me or not? If you can hear, Penny, you’ll know that the man you love has just walked off into the night to die. All because he wanted to protect you. And that all comes down to the choice you made all those years ago. And I think that’s punishment enough, Penny.’

  Elizabeth starts to put on her coat.

  ‘And if you can’t hear me, then you got away with it, dear. Bravo!’

  Elizabeth’s coat is now on and she places a hand on her friend’s cheek.

  ‘I know what John did while he was holding you, Penny, I saw the syringe. So I know you’re off too, and that this is goodbye. Darling, I haven’t really spoken about Stephen recently. He’s not at all well and I’m trying my best, but I’m losing him bit by bit. So I have my secrets too.’

  She kisses Penny’s cheek.

  ‘Dear God I will miss you, you fool. Sweet dreams, darling. What a chase!’

  Elizabeth leaves Willows and walks out into the darkness. A quiet, cloudless night. A night so dark you think you might never see morning again.

  113

  Chris takes a taxi home and walks the long walk up to his flat. Is it the booze, or is he a little lighter on his feet?

  He opens his front door and surveys the scene. A few things would need to be tidied away for sure, take the recycling out, maybe buy some cushions and a candle? The bathroom door still stuck whenever it was opened, but nothing that a bit of sandpaper and hard work wouldn’t fix. Go to Tesco’s, buy some fruit, put it in a bowl on the dining table. Of course, also buy a fruit bowl. Clean the bedding. Replace toothbrush. Buy towels?

  That should do it. Just enough to convince Patrice that he was a regular human being and not a man who had given up on life. It didn’t take much. Then he could send her a text, invite her round for dinner while she was in Fairhaven.

  Flowers? Why not? Go crazy.

  Chris switches on his computer and waits for his emails to load. A bad habit, checking in before bedtime. Delaying bedtime, usually. Three new emails, nothing that looked like it would detain him. One of his sergeants was doing a triathlon, a cry for help, for which he expected to be sponsored. An invitation to the Kent Police Community Awards night, bring a guest. Would that count as a date? Probably not; he would check with Donna. Then an email from an account Chris didn’t recognize. Didn’t happen often; Chris kept his personal account as private as one could these days. From ‘KypriosLegal’, subject, ‘Strictly Private and Confidential’.

  From Cyprus? Had they found Gianni? Were solicitors warning the police off? But why would it come to his personal account? No one in Cyprus had this email address.

  Chris clicks on the email.

  Dear Sir,

  Our client, Mr Costas Gunduz, has asked us to forward this correspondence to you. Please be advised that all and any information included in this correspondence is to be treated as confidential. Please direct any reply to our offices.

  Your faithful servant,

  Gregory Ioannidis

  Kyprios Associates

  Costas Gunduz? Costas who had laughed when Chris had handed him his card? Well, wasn’t this turning into quite the evening? Chris clicks on the attachment.

  Mr Hudson,

  You say my son came back to Cyprus in 2000. You have proof of this. I need to tell you that I did not see him then and have not seen him since. Not once. I have not seen my son, I have had no letter or no call from my son.

  Mr Hudson, I am old, you have seen this with your own eyes. As you look for Gianni, you must know that I too look for him.

  I will never speak to a police officer, you understand, but I ask for help today. If you can find Gianni, if you have information of any type, there is great, great reward for you. I fear Gianni is dead.

  He is my son and I want to see him before I die, or to know this is impossible and be allowed to grieve. I hope you accept this with compassion. I am asking you please.

  Greetings,

  Costas Gunduz

  Chris reads it through a couple more times. Nice try, Costas. Is he expecting Chris to share this with the Cypriot police? With Joe Kyprianou? Surely he is. Does this mean the Cypriot police are getting close to Gianni? One last effort to throw them off the scent?

  Or is it what it says it is? A plea from an old man to find his missing son. In his younger days, Chris might have believed this. But he’s seen too much, heard too much from people saving their own skins. Any story. And he knows where Gianni Gunduz was on 17 June.

  Gianni is not dead. Gianni went home, with Tony Curran’s money. He changed his name, got a nose job and whatever else his dad’s money would pay for and has been living it up ever since. Gianni is sunning himself somewhere in Cyprus, happy with his lot. Without an enemy in the world, now that Tony Curran has been dealt with.

  Costas Gunduz will not be getting a reply.

  Chris shuts down his computer. He really wishes people would stop doing triathlons.

  114

  Elizabeth is out late, but Bogdan and Stephen have not noticed.

  Bogdan has his lower lip jutting out to one side as he thinks. He taps on the table, thinking about the right move. He stares across at Stephen, then back down at the board. How does this man play like this? If Bogdan isn’t very, very careful he is going to lose. And Bogdan doesn’t remember the last time he lost.

  ‘Bogdan, can I ask you a question?’ says Stephen.

  ‘Always,’ says Bogdan. ‘We are friends.’

  ‘It won’t put you off? I have you in a bind here. I wonder if you need to concentrate?’

  ‘Stephen, we play, we talk. They are both special to me.’ Bogdan moves his bishop. He looks up at Stephen, who is surprised at the move, but not yet concerned.

  ‘Thank you, Bogdan, they are both special to me too.’

  ‘So, ask me a good question.’

  ‘It’s only this. Well, firstly, what was the name of the chap?’ Stephen attacks Bogdan’s bishop, but senses he is being lured into something.

  ‘Which chap, Stephen?’ asks Bogdan, looking down at the board, grateful for the chink of light which has just appeared.

  ‘The first one who was killed? The builder?’

  ‘Tony,’ says Bogdan. ‘Tony Curran.’

  ‘That’s the one,’ says Stephen. He rubs his chin as Bogdan protects his bishop and opens the board at the same time.

  ‘What’s the question?’ asks Bogdan.

  ‘Well, it’s just this, and forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, but from everything I hear about it, I think you killed him. Elizabeth talks to me, you know.’ Stephen moves a pawn, but can see there’s nothing much doing.

  Bogdan looks around the room for a moment, then back at Stephen.

  ‘Sure, I killed him. It’s a secret though, only one other person knows.’

  ‘Oh mum’s the word, old boy, no one will hear it from me. But I don’t really understand why. Not money, surely, that doesn’t seem your style at all?’

  ‘No, not money. You got to be careful with money. Don’t let it be in charge.’ Bogdan advances a knight and Stephen sees what he’s up to at last. Delightful, really.

  ‘What wa
s it then?’

  ‘It was simple, honestly. I had a friend, my best friend when I arrived in England and he drove a taxi. One day he saw Tony do something he shouldn’t.’

  ‘What did he see?’ Stephen surprises Bogdan by moving his rook. Bogdan smiles a little. He loves this crafty old man.

  ‘He saw Tony shoot a boy, a young boy from London. About something, I don’t know, I never found out. A drug thing.’

  ‘So Tony killed your friend?’

  ‘Well, the taxi company is run by a man named Gianni. They called him Turkish Gianni, but he was Cypriot. Gianni and Tony were in business, but Tony was the boss.’ Bogdan stares down at the board, taking his time.

  ‘So Gianni killed your friend?’

  ‘Gianni killed my friend, but Tony told him to. I don’t care, is same thing.’

  ‘It is. We’re agreed there. And whatever happened to Gianni?’

  Bogdan feels the need to withdraw his knight. A waste of a move, but never mind, these things happen.

  ‘I kill him too. Straight away, pretty much.’

  Stephen nods. He stares at the board in silence for a while. Bogdan thinks he may have lost him, but he has learned you have to be patient with Stephen sometimes. And sure enough.

  ‘What was your friend’s name?’ Stephen keeps looking at the board, trying to conjure something from nothing.

  ‘Kaz. Kazimir,’ says Bogdan. ‘Gianni, he ask Kaz to drive him to the woods, he has to bury something and he needs help. They walk into the woods, they dig and dig, for whatever Gianni needs to bury. He was a hard worker, Kaz, and nice, you would like him very much. So then Gianni shoot Kaz, pop, one shot and buries him in the hole.’

  Stephen further advances his pawn. Bogdan glances up at him and gives him a little nod and a smile. He scrunches his nose for a moment as he looks back at the board.

  ‘I thought Kaz had run away, maybe home, keep his head down, OK? But Gianni is stupid, not like Tony, and he speaks with his friends and says he shot this guy in the woods and the guy did all the digging, and isn’t this funny? And I hear about this.’