The Last Devil to Die (Thursday Murder Club, #4)

by Richard Osman

“Good ones?” asks Stephen. “Good in a crisis?” “I would say so.” “Is this a crisis? Would you say?” “Hmm,” says Elizabeth. “Life is a crisis, isn’t it?” “Quite so,” says Stephen. “Why should death be any different?

“Imagine if we hadn’t met,” says Stephen. “Imagine that.” “But we did,” says Elizabeth, picking some fluff from the shoulder of his suit. “Just imagine what I would have missed,”

You understand that these people are still alive? Everyone who dies is alive. We call people ‘dead’ because we need a word for it, but ‘dead’ just means that time has stopped moving forward for that person? You understand? No one dies, not really.”

“Tell me the story of when we first met,” says Stephen. “That’s my favorite story.” It is Elizabeth’s favorite story too. “I once saw a handsome man,” says Elizabeth. “And I knew I was in love. So I dropped my glove outside a bookshop, and he picked it up and presented it to me, and my life changed forever.” “Handsome was he?” “So handsome,” says Elizabeth, tears now streaming. “Like you wouldn’t believe. And, you know, my life didn’t change that day, Stephen. My life began.”

Dementia doesn’t rob everyone of joy and love, even though it does its damnedest. There are smiles and laughs, but, yes, there are cries of pain.

And, most importantly, that’s how Stephen must have felt. He must have missed himself every day.

will cling, kicking and screaming, to every second life has in store for me. I want the full picture, for good or for ill.

I do not

I will think back to Stephen saying goodbye to us the other day. The proud husband, looking so handsome, his smile working its usual magic. That’s how Stephen wanted to be remembered, and surely he is allowed that? And it is how I’ll remember him. Stephen’s

final message to the world, “Hello, chief,” “Hello, old boy.” In the winter sunshine, birds up above, and love all around.

Elizabeth? Well, she is no longer present in a time and a space for now. She isn’t anywhere or anything.

They still have each other, but not today. There will be laughing and teasing and arguing and loving again, but not today. Not this Thursday. As the waves of the world crash around them, this Thursday is for Stephen.

Bogdan had set up a chessboard. The pieces were in the position of the last game Stephen ever won.

Patrice bought it, even after Dominic Holt had been murdered, “because it was thirty percent off if you’d been on the tour.” She is a woman after my own heart.

I love them all

It was important that we showed Elizabeth that we were all there for her. That she had a gang. Not just the Thursday Murder Club anymore, but also the band of waifs and strays we seem to have picked up along the way.

Life continues, whatever you do. It’s a bulldozer like that.

Alan knows I am sad. He is lying by my

chair, his paws on my feet, making sure I come to no further harm.

Ron pretends he needs nothing and no one.

Days of death are days when we weigh our relationship with love in our bare hands. Days when we remember what has gone, and fear what is to come. The joy love brings, and the price we pay. When we give thanks but also pray for mercy.

There is another light on, of course. Elizabeth’s. That light will be on for many nights now. She has all the darkness she needs.

Stephen always knew that he was safe with Bogdan, even when he was unsure of exactly who he was. And Bogdan always felt safe with Stephen.

Heard the certainty. Stephen had no interest in fading out, in spinning away into space. He wanted to be in control,

I get this immensely

“Sing me a lullaby.” Donna buries her head in his neck, and whispers, “Samantha Barnes was struck with a blunt object. But died from the fall down the stairs.” “Thank you,” says Bogdan, lids closing.

and now I'm laughing; I love them

Elizabeth is done for now. So wouldn’t it be nice to wrap this up by ourselves? Our little gift to her?” “Is an unusual gift,” says Bogdan. “She’s an unusual woman,” says Donna.

Will she ever sleep again? Elizabeth lies on the bed and wonders how a broken heart can beat so fast.

It had been right, it had been painless, Stephen had been in charge and in control, and that gave a final dignity to a man who had prized it and deserved it.

So Stephen’s pain is over. He is no longer trapped in the static of his mind. Tormented by stabs of clarity, like a drowning man surfacing above the waves before being engulfed again. There will be no further decline.

Why on earth is anybody driving? Where is there to go now? Why is the clock in the hall still ticking? Doesn’t it know it stopped days ago?

Elizabeth almost burst into laughter, that life was daring to continue. Didn’t they know? Hadn’t they heard? Everything has changed, everything. And yet nothing has changed. Nothing. The day carries on as

it would. An old man at a traffic light takes off his hat as the hearse passes, but, other than that, the high street is the same. How can these two realities possibly coexist?

Stephen speaking so much about Kuldesh in his final days. “Saw him recently.” Stephen talking about the allotment, and the radishes. “Promise you’ll take care of the allotment.” Oh, you clever man, thinks Elizabeth. Even in the fog you were shining a light for me.

She is a fool. The second call Kuldesh had made that afternoon was to her own home phone. To her beautiful Stephen.

holy shit

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” says Elizabeth. “You know you didn’t,” says Joyce. “I was watching Antiques Road Trip and crying.

“Nice morning for it,” says Ron, and gives Elizabeth a hug. Elizabeth accepts it reluctantly. “Let’s not make a habit of that,” says Elizabeth, detaching herself.

The box is packed with white powder.

I feel like the box wasn't obviously packed before?

One of the NCA team was trying to show off to me.” “You give me his name,” says Bogdan. “It was a she,” says Donna. “Stop being so binary.”

The table that, for so many years, sat unloved, covered in takeaway menus, old newspapers and, occasionally, crime-scene photographs. And now look at it. People sitting around with knives and forks, ladling rice onto their plates. What a long way he has

” “In Poland, Love Island is called Love Mountain,” says Bogdan. “And one time someone froze to death.”

“Chris, did you know that the aubergine is actually a fruit, and the Americans call it eggplant, because early varieties were white in color and oval in shape?”

They have been talking about pain. The shapes we twist into when we try to avoid it.

But I don’t believe Joyce and Elizabeth have a great deal of trust in SIO Regan, and they believe that we might be better placed to find that out.”

wait is she visiting connie?

“Then why are you sorry? Now I hear the heroin is at the old people’s village. You hear that too?” “Yup,” says Luca. Mitch nods. He heard it from one of Connie Johnson’s people last night. “So how do we get it without killing them?” asks Garth. “We could ask politely?” suggests Luca.

“He killed her, and I loved her,” says Garth. “I know I don’t look like the sensitive type. But I am.”

I love Garth tbh

He was so strong and so vulnerable, and I became myself, which I hadn’t thought possible. And I talk a lot of nonsense about love sometimes, Bob, but we were in love. I don’t think I’ve ever said that out loud before.”

“And I didn’t have their details, they never spoke to Marius, but I said that I would contact them, and you could see the police officer was glad to have the burden taken from him. And so I was able to make the arrangements, under the cover of acting for them, and we had a cremation in St. Pancras, and I offered to take the ashes.” “Where are they?” asks Bob. “There is a safe,” says Ibrahim. “Behind the picture of a boat.”

“Old habits die hard, I suppose,” says Ibrahim. “I keep my love locked away. And no one has ever reached for my hand under the table since.”

‘Hands up if you’ve got a gun in your bag.’ ” The man puts up his hand, and then sees Elizabeth do the same. Ron looks pleasantly surprised. “Wasn’t certain you’d have one today, Lizzie.” “I’m grieving, Ron,” says Elizabeth. “I’m not dead.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you both,” says Jill. “I need some help, and everyone I work with hates me.”

don’t have time, Chris,” says Jill. “Luca Buttaci is dead.” “That’s a shame,” says Chris. “It is a shame,” says Jill. “Because he was working for us.”

“All there,” confirms Bob, shutting his laptop. Meaning that Jeremmy has just transferred five thousand pounds, every penny he has stolen from Mervyn, straight back into Mervyn’s bank account.