Killers of a Certain Age

“Helen touches Billie’s hand while she clips herself into the seat. ‘Keep it together,’ she whispers. Billie nods once, taking in a deep breath. It is all part of the job and she knows it. Nobody has pretended they won’t be harassed or groped or propositioned with ugly words and uglier intentions. In fact, they’ve been assured of it. ‘We knew what we were signing up for,” she answers shortly.’”

Helen does not offer Billie sympathy but reminds her of her need to maintain her professionalism. The women are expected to remain objective in a world where they are devalued. Sexual harassment is presented as an occupational hazard, something from which the women cannot be protected and must accept. The Bulgarian and Billie’s colleagues exist on the same spectrum—though Billie does not realize this, Raybourn puts the two conversations in the same scene so that this is clear to the reader.

“I shook my head. Forty years on one of the most elite assassin squads on earth and it finished like this, with a free cruise and a bouncy letter from a girl who signed her letters with hashtags. If you expect me to tell you the name of the organization I work for, stop reading right now. It’s a secret—so secret, in fact, that those of us who work there never use the official title. We always refer to it as ‘the Museum’ and we use museum nomenclature to make it a little less obvious to anybody listening in that our job is to eliminate people who need killing.”

In this introduction to an older Billie, we see that she has become even more cynical and dismayed at her place in the world. If younger women are sexualized, older women are consigned to obscurity. Raybourn plays up the contrast between an “elite assassin” and a “bouncy letter”—Billie’s serious work has been replaced by frivolities. Billie remains a professional, however, refusing to betray her secrets. The use of museum terms reinforces the work’s motif of art and artworks, and the importance of artistic interpretation to Billie’s growth as a character.

“She shoved one at Mary Alice. ‘Here, Mary Alice. Drink this and I’ll see if I can find you a flashlight.’ Mary Alice furrowed her brow. ‘Flashlight?’ ‘To find the stick up your ass. Let me know if you need a hand getting it out,’ Natalie said sweetly. I grabbed another two glasses and thrust one at Helen, raising mine quickly. “A toast,” I said, narrowing my eyes at Mary Alice and Natalie. ‘To us. Forty years on, and still kicking.’ They joined in, even Helen, although she hardly seemed to have enough energy to clink glasses.”

The banter here emphasizes the contrast between the proper and formal Mary Alice and the frank and brash Natalie. The four may be old friends, but their relationships are complex and can involve exasperation with one another. Billie, as de facto leader, defuses the tension, reminding them of their long association. Mary Alice and Natalie’s energy and bickering contrast with Helen’s grief and enervation. At this point in the narrative, the four are united but not yet unified by a shared purpose.

“He reaches for the form, smoothing it neatly before retrieving his pen. He screws the cap on slowly and gives her a knowing smile. ‘My dear Miss Webster, that is rather the point. We don’t make killers. We simply find them and point them in the right direction. We know what you are.’”

Richard’s attention to bureaucratic detail contrasts with his serious, even stinging words. He sees Billie as naive and lacking self-awareness, compared to himself, who commands wisdom and experience. He does not tell Billie he knows “who” she is, but “what” she is, presenting her as an object, a living weapon that can be positioned to “point in the right direction.” He implies, then, that Billie is not like other people and must be reined in from above so that her powers are used responsibly.

“I headed off, passing the bar where Hector stood polishing glasses and staring out to sea. I would have waved, but he didn’t even notice me. That’s the thing about being a sixty-year-old woman—no one notices you unless you want them to. That fact doesn’t do your ego any favors, but in cases like this, it was damned handy.”

Like her younger self, present-day Billie is well aware of how the wider culture sees her: She has a kind of unwanted superpower in her invisibility to younger men. Billie approaches this reality pragmatically, rather than resentfully, admitting it is “damned handy” that she can make her escape as needed.

“If I blew hard enough, I could send her tumbling away like a dandelion seed. God only knew where she would land. She took a deep breath. ‘Well, I suppose if we die tonight, I’m okay with it. I’ve had a good life, you know. I was married to Kenneth for over thirty years. Eighteen of them were really happy. That’s not so bad.’ ‘What happened to the other twelve?’ ‘Erectile dysfunction and his abortive attempt to breed Weimaraners.’ I burst out laughing and for an instant she bristled like she was getting ready to take offense. But then she laughed too.”

Billie’s relationship with Helen reveals her compassionate side and her anxiety about age and grief. In this moment, Helen seems resigned to death, lost in thoughts of her beloved husband, but she does manage to make a humorous remark about her husband’s flaws and the hazards of aging. As bleak as Helen finds the moment, she still sees the humor in it. The friends’ ability to joke amid difficult situations is a hallmark of their group dynamic.

“I went to the door and took one last look. ‘See you on the other side.’ ‘The other side,’ they said. Three old women, nodding their heads like the witches in Macbeth. I’d known them for two-thirds of my life, those impossible old bitches. And I would save them or die trying.”

Raybourn’s allusion to Macbeth introduces a literary example of old women having the power to see the future. She calls them “impossible old bitches,” combining exasperation and affection. Billie is caught up in history and nostalgia, seeing her friends as integral to her sense of self, and making herself responsible for their safety and future.

“But the door opens and none of that matters. She is standing in the doorway, looking them over with the air of a general inspecting her troops. Constance Halliday. Code name Shepherdess. They do not know yet the full extent of her legend. They will learn her story in pieces, and what they will hear is as much myth as truth. She wears her thin white hair closely cropped to her scalp and she walks with a stick, not for balance, but for hitting recruits who don’t move fast enough.”

Raybourn establishes Constance as a force of nature. She is a general and a legend, full of power and secrets the women will never learn in their entirety. Her walking stick is not a mobility aid but an inducement and disciplinary tool: Nothing about her is meant to signify weakness despite her increasing age.

“‘Safe for now,’ Nat murmured. That had been another of the Shepherdess’ dicta. Whenever you were safe, even if it was for a short time, it was important to give yourself a chance to exhale, to take nourishment and rest and live to fight again. I kicked off my espadrilles and stretched onto the bed, lacing my hands behind my head.”

As they make their escape, Billie and her friends fall back on their training as a source of wisdom and strength: Rest is not a luxury, but an important tool for survival and ongoing work. Billie visibly relaxes, removing her shoes and assuming a reclined posture. The description of her body language here is in striking contrast to the many descriptions of her in motion or in combat, underlining her commitment to self-care.

“Constance Halliday gestures again, pointing to the goddess’s feet. A narrow line of silver lies in the grass, almost obscured by the greenery, but just visible. Forgotten but not gone. ‘Look closely. Astraea took her scales with her, but she left her sword behind—the sword that was given by the gods to administer justice. The question is, Miss Webster, will you pick it up?’ She doesn’t expect an answer. Instead, she dismisses Billie and the girl goes to her room, where she stretches out on her bed, smoking contraband cigarettes and thinking until the sun sets and the room falls into shadow.”

In this moment, Constance is teaching Billie close reading of cultural texts as much as assassination and espionage techniques. She shows Billie the hidden sword and imbues it with symbolic relevance: Will Billie take on a mission larger than herself, or be content with mediocrity? The scene underlines the symbolic importance of art and culture in the narrative as a means of revealing character growth. Billie’s ability to interpret art becomes an important part of the present-day narrative, and here the reader sees that she began this in the early part of her training.

“I looked at Helen. She opened her mouth and closed it again, nodding. She might be less than what she had once been, but she was still worth a hell of a lot. I closed my eyes and inhaled, holding it for a count of six. I exhaled slowly and opened my eyes. ‘Then it’s unanimous. The Board of Directors is going to die.’”

As the group decides on a course of action, Billie acts as a leader with democratic instincts, waiting for a response from every member. Helen’s hesitation remains unspoken, and Billie refuses to give up on her friend or see grief as a fatal weakness. There is no hesitation, and no conditional statements: Billie’s words show she has no doubt the women will succeed.

“Or you might be out for a hike and fantasize about hurling yourself off a cliff. It is not a suicidal impulse. In fact, it is the opposite. Psychologists say it’s actually about how much a person wants to live. They perceive a nearby threat to themselves and they think about that threat because they want so much to survive. Billie throws back the covers and goes outside before she can change her mind about hurling herself into the abyss. She raises her hand but he opens the door before she can knock.”

Billie, torn about whether to pursue Taverner, is lost in thoughts about the nature of impulse and risk. She identifies him with l’appel du vide, the impulse to dwell on survival to the exclusion of all else, perhaps even beyond rationality. Taverner is likened to the “abyss,” a great unknown, and Billie essentially dares herself to pursue him. Taverner anticipates her, underlining that the pull between them is mutual and powerful.

“‘I’m a woman. Guilt is our birthright. Guilt if we want to be mothers, guilt if we take the Pill instead or choose to abort. Guilt if we stay home with our kids or guilt if we work. Guilt if we sleep with a man, guilt if we say no. Guilt if we’re lucky enough to survive for no good reason. I’m so damned sick of it. I’ve never been so tired of anything in my life. I just…I just want to go to sleep forever.’ ‘That won’t get you out of the guilt,’ I said. ‘I’m pretty sure somewhere in the afterlife, some woman is feeling ashamed of herself because her cloud isn’t as silver as the angel next door’s.’”

Natalie’s monologue underlines the extent to which patriarchy traps women and makes all their choices suspect. She specifically focuses on choices around sexuality and parenthood: Women are punished for any choice around sexuality or having children because the patriarchy is more invested in judgment than support. Natalie is exhausted, her usual humor and banter have given way to a catalog of fatigue. Billie responds with trademark humor, suggesting that as long as gender binaries exist, women will be saddled with guilt, even in paradise.

“She pointed to the dark windows, the trim paint peeling off in long fingers. Through the grimy glass I could just make out the shapes of furniture shrouded under white dust sheets. ‘Doesn’t it look haunted to you?’ she demanded. I took a deep breath and smelled the odor of damp decay and long neglect from inside the house. And something else, much fainter, but still there—the familiar note of beeswax and lavender. I shrugged. ‘Well, if it is, at least we know the ghost.’”

Mary Alice takes in Benscombe and focuses on its dilapidation. Raybourn’s wording here underlines its potentially supernatural nature, as the paint is peeling off in “fingers” rather than merely long strips. In the mustiness, Billie smells the passage of time, the “long neglect” from within. Her resigned tone to being familiar with the ghost underlines that Benscombe’s familiarity is an important source of comfort for the next stage of the mission.

“‘It looks like a My Little Pony murder plot,’ Mary Alice said. ‘Jesus, is that glitter?’ ‘I like it,’ Natalie said loyally. ‘I find it hard to take us seriously as agents of vengeance when our plan looks like a kindergarten craft project.’ Helen capped the marker and held it out. ‘If you would like to take over, Mary Alice, be my guest,’ she said. ‘We’re tired and jet-lagged,’ I said, taking the marker from Helen. ‘We’re going to sit and eat ice cream and drink wine and see if we can find any holes in this,’ I said, pointing to the notes under Günther Paar’s name.”

This scene reveals that no matter how much pressure they are under, the Sphinxes can still find time to criticize one another in a humorous way. Despite Mary Alice disparaging color schemes associated with women, Billie does not suggest that they act contrary to their natures or reject femininity. Instead, she suggests they rest, plan, and eat ice cream. Billie’s leadership style is conciliatory and acknowledges emotion.

“We’d scoured the local thrift shops to find tweedy English clothes, and a set of wigs from a firm that supplied Beyoncé took care of our hair. Natalie found an oversized bra she padded out with water balloons nestled into a pair of socks while I tucked prosthetic ass pads around my hips to suggest flesh that had settled with age. We looked like a girl gang that would have the Queen as our leader, all low heels and no-nonsense curls. Mary Alice had even tucked butterscotch candies in her purse, which she handed out to porters in lieu of tips.”

For their Swiss mission, the women intentionally exaggerate their appearance, choosing to add the appearance of advanced age and respectability. Billie notes that they “Looked like a girl gang that would have the Queen as our leader,” evoking the ultimate figure in English respectability. Mary Alice even makes herself into the stereotype of a grandmother handing out candy. This underscores that the Sphinxes rely on traditional assumptions about gender presentation to blend in and avoid suspicion.

“She sees the indignity of old age, how life becomes very small until there is nothing left of independence and power and beauty and freedom except a shell of a body that relies upon others for everything. It is terrible to witness, but it is hers, Billie reflects. Whatever it looks like, this life has been lived. And that is something the baroness took from others when she had a chance.”

Billie’s meditation on aging, though it takes place in her past, indirectly weaves together the two halves of the narrative: Aging is accompanied by a loss of everything Billie values. While the younger Billie finds the scale of loss “terrible to witness,” she also acknowledges it is a kind of ownership, proof of choices. The baroness is a thief of time as much as she is of art. The older Billie sees aging as more of a gift but is equally dedicated to justice and punishing the guilty.

“‘The last time I was in Paris I went on a date with a cataphile.’ ‘A what now?’ Mary Alice asked. ‘I thought that was a mountain lion.’ Natalie rolled her eyes. ‘A cataphile is a Parisian urban explorer.’ Mary Alice blinked. ‘Then what am I thinking of?’ ‘You’re thinking of a catamount,’ Helen said helpfully.”

The exchange here relies on Natalie’s self-image as the most sophisticated of her friends, as she uses the term “cataphile” and assumes the others will understand it. Raybourn’s use of playful dialogue sets her work apart from other thrillers, which rely less on humor to build character.

“She gave a low whistle. ‘Damn. But we accused you of poaching him. Why didn’t you say anything?’ I shrugged. ‘Calling Helen out isn’t exactly going to do her any favors. You have to be careful with the yips. The yips are delicate.’”

This exchange underlines Billie’s role as the group’s leader and protector. Mary Alice is surprised by her choice to protect Helen rather than defend herself, but this is consistent with Billie’s determination to support Helen in her emotional struggles. It underlines that for Billie, successful assassination is about team dynamics rather than individual ego. Further, her use of a sports analogy underlines that the women are professionals, prone to the same setbacks and psychological struggles as skilled athletes.

“‘Little girl, if I wanted to punish you for this, you’d be dead before you ever saw me coming. You are not my equal, and don’t you ever make the mistake of thinking you are. I’ve forgotten more about how to kill people than you will ever learn, so finish the job and stay out of my way,’ he orders.”

Vance’s dialogue here reveals the extent of his misogyny. He denies Billie’s adulthood and agency and rejects the feminist premise that underlined her recruitment by the Museum. His stance and words are in direct contrast to the collaborative approach Billie takes as leader, revealing that in taking him down, she is, in essence, defeating her ideological adversary.

“‘I half expected you to chase after me and drag me to the altar against my will, but you never did.’ ‘Oh, I thought about it,’ he admitted with a smile. ‘But I knew if I pushed, you would wind up hating me for it, and I wasn’t about to take that chance. Besides, I always figured we’d find our way back to each other in the end.’”

Billie’s exchange with Taverner reveals his respect for her. While she imagines him forcing her into marriage, he admits that while he was tempted, he could not risk the loss of her love or respect. More than that, he is an optimist and a romantic, insisting he never lost hope they could be together again someday. His clear respect for her is a sharp contrast to the misogyny Billie experiences from other colleagues, especially Vance.

“He paused in the doorway. ‘What? You got any last words?’ ‘Yeah.’ I looked at the other three. Mary Alice. Helen. Natalie. Then I turned to Vance. I took a deep breath and smiled. ‘Assuming that because a person is sixty she doesn’t understand location services is ageist bullshit.’”

As in the flashback, Vance remains egotistical and certain of his own success. He assumes whatever Billie has to tell him is a kind of epitaph, and not proof of her success. Billie looks at the others, taking them in—saying their names here is a kind of affirmation of their value to her. Then, she delivers the final blow to his ego—he was so obsessed with seeing her as incompetent he could not conceive of Billie leading him into a trap.

“The board thought four old broads—their words, not mine—wouldn’t be a match for Brad Fogerty, so they only sent one assassin on the cruise. They assumed you’d never see him coming. But I thought they were wrong. You have experience and instinct. You knew to keep your eyes open and you saved yourselves. I was betting you would.”

Naomi’s narrative here asserts several central themes. The board underestimates Billie and her friends because of their gender and their age, sending only one assassin. Naomi, in contrast, catalogs their strengths: intuition, vigilance, and shared history. Unlike Vance and the others, she knows that what society undervalues can be a source of strength and power. She “bets” on them, underlining that her leadership style will be different than that of her predecessors.