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February 8 - February 8, 2025
Gerry, I know you’ll never really read this, but then perhaps you will? Perhaps you’re reading over my shoulder right now. If you are, then that silver gravy boat you bought at the car-boot sale is very fashionable now. So you were right and I was wrong. Also, if you are reading this, I love you.
By the way, when I went to see Edwin, he asked me if I was a member of any of the clubs at Coopers Chase. Am I a member of any clubs at Coopers Chase? I think that’s probably a conversation for another day, don’t you? Time for me to turn in now. I know it sounds silly, but I feel less alone when I write. So thank you for keeping me company, whoever you might be.
This was the fourth Thursday Murder Club book, and I promise it won’t be the last.
thank God!!! except I want it now
Finally, the character of Computer Bob is entirely fictional, but I would like to extend a huge vote of admiration to John, who lives in my mum’s retirement village, and who really did set up his computers and treat everyone to a New Year’s Eve three hours in advance. John, it won’t surprise you to learn, is too modest to have his whole name mentioned.
And thank you for everything you have brought into my life, not least the incomparable Liesl the cat. I love you both.
But most communication is by message or email. High-end criminals are a lot like millennials in that way.
Amy hates relaxing. Too much time to think. She prefers to do.
“No one’s allowed to kill me,” says Rosie. She has paddled over to the side of the pool and is now rolling a joint. “Except me.”
“And once in Morocco I got attacked with a sword, and he cried.” “Did you cry?” “I haven’t cried since I was twelve,” says Amy. “I learned not to.”
She should probably ring her husband too, but she worries less about Adam. And, besides, what would they talk about?
“We’re going nowhere for the moment,” says Amy. “You might get murdered.” Rosie rolls her eyes and takes another pull on the joint. “Oh, Amy, I’d rather be murdered than bored.”
If ever there’s someone in the room with a gun, for example, I always think, “Well, this one’s for Joyce.”
They will be back—and soon—but I wanted The Last Devil to Die to feel like the end of their first era as a club.
It would please me enormously for Joyce to find
love, but I think she’s her own worst enemy. Her taste in men needs to change, and I genuinely don’t feel in control of that. Joyce is very much her own woman, and she won’t listen to me. She loves an emotionally unavailable man, and at some point that has to change. She loves love, she loves romance, and she loves the chase. Someday I hope someone might chase her. It will take quite a man, though.
