Friends to Die For

Six

It hadn’t gone as I had planned. I hadn’t intended for anyone to be so badly injured. Not at this stage. Not yet. I would have to think again now, slow things down. Otherwise I risked revealing myself.

It was perhaps a lesson that even I could not control everything. I hadn’t bargained on a bus travelling so fast — surely far too fast. But then, I hadn’t given much thought to what might be behind me in the bus lane. I had made a mistake.

I would need to be more careful from here on. I had been so hell-bent on staging another incident that would give cause for concern among the members of Sunday Club that I had failed to think it through. The intention had been to keep them on edge, keep them second-guessing, nothing more. But in my eagerness I went too far.

As a result, this had turned into a matter for the police. The other incidents had been silly pranks. Even the slashed tyres would not have merited much police intervention. There was no way anyone could prove that the incidents were connected. And with each of these ‘random’ pranks I had been growing more confident, testing my camouflage, making sure that I would be beyond suspicion when it came time to inflict vengeance on my real target, the one who had so wronged me.

However, I had allowed myself to become overconfident, and as a result my entire plan was in jeopardy.

Somehow I needed to divert attention away from the spectacle of an old woman thrown into the path of a bus by a hooded cyclist.

I needed to come up with something that would shock and stupefy the whole group. I sought an abomination. And I believed that I had found one.

The gates of the rivers shall be opened.

Late that evening Michelle telephoned University College Hospital and somehow persuaded the staff to allow her to speak to Marlena.

She said she was away in Belfast on a training course and had just picked up a worrying voicemail from Alfonso, telling her about the accident.

‘If that’s what it was,’ Michelle continued. ‘Fonz said he saw it happen, more or less, and he reckons the cyclist rode at you deliberately. Is that what you think?’

‘Oh, darling, I don’t know what to think,’ Marlena replied. ‘To be perfectly honest, I’m just grateful to be able to still think at all. In any case, that’s not what Alfonso told me. He said he heard me scream and saw the cyclist riding off, that’s all.’

‘Well, he probably didn’t want to upset you. Particularly after all the other stuff that’s been going on. I shouldn’t have said anything. Just forget I opened my big mouth.’

‘Do you think it hadn’t occurred to me that what happened today mightn’t have been an accident?’ enquired Marlena. ‘It is a big step, though, from a couple of silly pranks and some slashed tyres.’

‘True,’ said Michelle. ‘And working in Traffic I see all too many cyclists speeding through red lights or riding on the pavement without a thought for any poor pedestrian who might step into their path.’

‘It’s as if some extraordinary lunacy descends upon everyone who climbs aboard a bicycle in this city,’ agreed Marlena.

Relieved to hear her friend starting to sound more like her old self, Michelle asked about the extent of her injuries, how she was feeling, what the prognosis was and so on, before ending the call with a promise to visit the moment she returned to London.

After hanging up, Marlena lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes, trying to blot out the world. Michelle’s call, although she was sure it was well meant, had done nothing to ease her state of mind. But thanks to a shot of painkilling morphine, administered into her bottom by a brisk but efficient young nurse, she slept through most of the night.

Early the following morning two uniformed police officers, who introduced themselves as Constables Perkins and Brandt, arrived at her bedside to interview her. It seemed, from the way they talked, that they were the same officers Alfonso had spoken of, the ones who’d attended the scene of the incident the previous day.

She did not confide her inner thoughts and suspicions. It was Marlena’s policy never to tell the police anything more than she had to. Not even when the police officer in question considered herself a friend, as in Michelle’s case. In spite of her pain and distress, Marlena had been guarded in what she’d said to Michelle the previous evening. It was ingrained in her, the result of a lifetime spent measuring her words, taking care never to unwittingly let slip some detail she would rather others did not know. She was so accomplished in this that none of her small circle of friends, and much larger circle of acquaintances, were ever aware of Marlena holding back. Indeed, with her flamboyant manner and quick wit, she contrived to give the opposite impression. The truth was that the outer Marlena, so vivacious and engagingly bold, was a totally different creature to the inner one, tightened into a knot of eternal angst.

And so it was to her dismay that she now had to deal with two officers intent on taking her laboriously through the details of exactly what had happened when she’d been hit by that bus.

Marlena kept her responses as vague as possible. In this she was helped by the fact that, as a result of the shock and concussion she had suffered, she was genuinely unclear about so much.

Perkins and Brandt asked her to describe the errant cyclist, whom they assured her they would do their best to find. Marlena thought it unlikely they would succeed. Certainly her description of a hooded creature of indeterminate sex and age was not going to be of much assistance.

Finally they asked her about Alfonso.

‘Mr Bertorelli, the principal witness to the incident, tells us that you and he are friends, is that so?’ enquired PC Ronald Perkins, the younger of the two policemen, a baby-faced blond who was already, and somewhat incongruously, growing a substantial belly.

Marlena agreed that it was so, and affirmed that she’d known Alfonso for several years, regularly meeting him socially.

‘So it was quite a coincidence then, Mr Bertorelli being first on the scene?’ continued PC Perkins.

‘Well, yes, I suppose so,’ replied Marlena, wondering what the heck was coming next. ‘But Alfonso does work at the Vine, and the restaurant is only just around the corner. He was on his way to work. I’ve seen him before when I’ve been going to Soho. I go shopping at the same time every Monday, you see. Just the first time I’ve been horizontal, that’s all...’

‘All the same, a bit of a coincidence,’ persisted Perkins. ‘Perhaps a bit too much of a coincidence?’

Marlena stared at him. Whatever she was thinking privately, she had no intention of sharing her misgivings. Not at this stage. Not to some foot soldier of a PC anyway.

‘Absolutely not,’ she said, and such was the certainty in her voice that Ron Perkins did not further pursue his line of questioning, even though he looked as if he would like to.

Soon after the two officers finally departed, Marlena fell fitfully asleep. She woke to see Alfonso standing at the foot of her bed, again on his way to work, he said. Marlena did not share with him the seeds of doubt that PCs Perkins and Brandt had attempted to sow in her.

Instead she greeted him with the biggest smile she could muster.

‘I’m fine,’ she replied, in answer to Alfonso’s anxiously expressed queries. ‘In fact, I’ve been told I shall probably be able to go home later today.’

‘That’s wonderful, darling, but you can’t go home on your own,’ responded Alfonso at once. ‘I’ll get them to phone me when you’re allowed to leave. We can take a cab to your place.’

‘I’ll be perfectly all right alone,’ said Marlena. ‘Besides, you mustn’t miss any more time at work because of this. You’ll lose your job.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Alfonso, who was quite convinced he was the Vine’s most valuable asset.

‘Maybe not, but you still shouldn’t be skiving off to look after a silly old woman who fell in front of a bus.’

‘You didn’t fall. I saw pretty much what happened, and the bus driver was quite clear about it,’ retorted Alfonso. ‘You were dragged along by a mad cyclist and dumped in front of the wheels of a double-decker.’

‘I didn’t think you saw all that,’ said Marlena. ‘Not that it makes any difference. The end result is, I’m still in this state.’

‘Yes, and you can’t go home alone. You should have someone with you for at least a day or two. Didn’t I hear you once mention a sister? In Scotland?’

Marlena’s features darkened. ‘If I did I must have been drunk,’ she said. ‘You will not attempt to contact my sister — not you, Alfonso, nor any of the others, nor the hospital.’

‘All right, all right.’

As I’ve already told you, I shall be just fine. They’re going to give me a lesson in using crutches and then someone will put me in a taxi. I shall be fine.’

‘Right,’ said Alfonso.

Outside in the corridor he went straight to the nursing station and asked to be contacted as soon as Marlena was able to leave.

On the way to the restaurant he called Tiny. Marlena was right. He shouldn’t miss any more work. Business was not as good as it had once been, even at the Vine. The restaurant probably carried a bigger staff than it could currently justify and Alfonso was almost certainly one of the most highly paid waiters. He’d been there for years, was held in considerable esteem by the management and by many of the regular clientele, including some of the most illustrious, but even though he still thought he was invaluable, you never really knew.

Tiny, already aware of what had happened to Marlena — as were all the group, thanks to Alfonso having spread the word the previous day — answered his phone on the first ring.

Knowing that the big man, aside from being a real favourite of Marlena’s who might just be able to cheer her up a little, was usually free during the day, the Fonz asked him if he wouldn’t mind collecting Marlena from UCH and taking her home. There seemed to be a pause before Tiny gave his answer.

‘Sure,’ he said eventually. ‘Of course I’ll do it.’

‘Great, I’ll be in touch as soon as the hospital call me,’ said Alfonso.

‘OK,’ replied Tiny.

It suddenly struck Alfonso how distracted Tiny sounded. Not himself at all. He hadn’t even asked how Marlena was.

‘What’s wrong, mate?’ he asked. ‘You don’t sound right. You aren’t letting all this business get to you, are you?’

‘No, well... I’m trying not to,’ said Tiny.

‘Look, Greg’s thing and this, well, like Greg himself said, stuff happens in inner cities. It’s got nothing to do with Sunday Club, surely? Those pranks had nothing to do with this. Though I do think it might help now if whoever played them just owned up—’

‘Fonz, stop,’ commanded Tiny. ‘I’m sure you’re right. It’s just, well, something else has happened...’

Alfonso waited for him to continue but there was silence on the other end of the line. ‘What? What are you talking about?’ he asked.

‘It’s Daisy, she’s gone missing.’

‘Oh my God. When? How?’

Alfonso wasn’t mad about dogs, but he knew both Tiny and Billy were devoted to their pet chihuahua, and that Tiny was generally considered to be the most besotted. The spectacle of the big man lolloping around Covent Garden with his tiny dog on the end of a shiny pink lead had become virtually a tourist attraction. Certainly he and Daisy were frequently asked by passers-by to pose for photographs.

‘I took her to the park as usual first thing this morning,’ said Tiny. ‘She was running around, like she does, in the bushes and everything. I lost sight of her for a bit and when I called her she didn’t come. I wasn’t worried at first. I thought she was having a poo or chasing a squirrel or something. Then after a bit I went looking for her. I scoured the park for her. There were other people there I knew, with dogs. They all joined in. We combed every inch of the place. She just wasn’t there. She’s disappeared, Fonz. Our little girl has clean disappeared. And with all these other incidents... Well, we’re afraid some bastard’s taken her. The same bastard who’s been responsible for everything else, more than likely.’

Alfonso could hear Tiny stifling a sob. Maybe Sunday Club members really were being targeted by some unknown antagonist. And maybe it was one of their own. Alfonso could not reasonably deny the possibility. Maybe even the probability. But he continued to explore all avenues.

‘Couldn’t Daisy have just run off?’ he asked. ‘On her own?’

‘She’s never run off before. Never. Well, not for more than a minute or two. It’s been hours now, Fonz. I’m worried sick.’

‘Oh my God,’ said Alfonso again. ‘Do you really think someone’s taken her?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Tiny. ‘I just don’t know.’

‘Oh shit,’ said Alfonso. ‘Look, don’t worry. I’ll get one of the others to pick up Marlena. If necessary, I’ll swap shifts with someone at work and do it myself.’

There was yet another brief silence at the other end of the line.

‘No,’ said Tiny. ‘I’ll do it. Really. It’ll give me something else to think about.’

‘But don’t you want to carry on looking?’

‘I don’t know where else to look, to be honest. Anyway, Billy’s coming home early from work. He can take over. He may bring some new ideas with him. That’s what I’m hoping for, anyway.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’

‘I’m quite sure, yes.’

‘Maybe Daisy will have turned up by then.’

‘Maybe she will,’ said Tiny. But he didn’t sound at all convinced.

Later that day Greg received a call from George.

‘Have you heard about Marlena?’ asked Greg straight away.

‘Yes. It’s awful. I’m so sorry. Alfonso called me last night. I should have been in touch to see if I can do anything to help, only...’ George hesitated. ‘Only something’s happened. Chump’s disappeared.’

‘Are you sure?’

Greg was a dog person, and would have been devastated if anything happened to his and Karen’s pair of Westies, but unlike George, and indeed Tiny and Billy, he’d owned dogs all his life. When he was a kid people had still just let their dogs out on the street to exercise themselves. As a rule, Greg didn’t worry too much about dogs appearing to go missing. He also knew that George’s Maltese terrier was a rescue dog with an unknown past.

‘Of course I’m sure.’ George sounded tetchy. ‘I took him to Lincoln’s Inn Fields mid-morning. One minute he was there at my feet, the next he was gone.’

‘Couldn’t he have gone off chasing something? That place is full of squirrels.’

‘Yes, and Chump’s terrified of them. He might be quite an old boy now, but you know what a baby he is. God knows what went on in his little life before I had him. He’s scared of his own shadow. Sticks to me like glue.’

‘So what happened?’

‘My phone rang. We were by a wooded bit and Chump was sniffing about. I took the call because it was Marnie next door. You know how I look out for her. She can’t get about much any more. She rang to ask me to get some shopping for her, but I think she was lonely and just wanted to chat. I couldn’t get rid of her. When I eventually did, there was no sign of Chump. At first I thought he must be behind a bush or something, you know, doing his business. But no. I looked everywhere. No sign of him.’

‘Where are you now?’

‘I’m in the park. I’ve just come back here. I went home to make sure he hadn’t taken off for there, and I’ve got Marnie waiting in my place just in case. So I thought it was best for me to be here. I’m making myself stay where I last saw him. That’s where he’d be most likely to return to, looking for me, isn’t it?’

‘Probably.’

‘Would you help me, Greg? Nobody knows this area like you do.’

Greg cursed. He had his own problems. But George knew he was a dog person, and Greg responded accordingly.

‘Sure I will, George,’ he said. ‘Where are you exactly?’

‘I’m by the bandstand.’

‘I’ll be there in fifteen.’

Greg lit a cigarette as he made his way along Long Acre. At least the walk gave him the chance to have a smoke. Karen thought Greg had given it up, but although he’d cut down he still couldn’t quite kick the habit. He found his friend exactly where he’d said he’d be, right in the middle of the park sitting on a concrete step beneath the old bandstand. George looked pale and drawn.

‘I don’t like this,’ he told Greg. ‘Looks like we can be damned certain now that some maniac is targeting us lot, can’t we? And it sure as hell ain’t funny any more.’

‘No,’ said Greg. ‘It’s not, if that is what’s happen—’

‘What else can it be?’ snapped George, before immediately apologizing. ‘It’s just that I’m in such a state. You hear about these cases of dog-napping and stuff all the time, don’t you?’ George continued.

‘Not all the time, no,’ said Greg. ‘Honestly, George, the odds are Chump’s just wandered off, got himself lost. He’s chipped, isn’t he?’

George nodded and looked as if he were about to speak again, when both men saw Billy walking towards them. Billy was talking into his phone and didn’t notice them until he was practically alongside.

‘Hiya, guys, you haven’t seen our Daisy, have you?’

George turned even paler. Greg stared at Billy. It seemed things were turning nastier by the minute.

‘Did you lose her here?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Billy. ‘Tiny was walking her...’

He stopped dead, staring at white-faced George. Intuition struck.

‘No, not you too? Not Chumpy?’

George nodded and explained how the little dog had disappeared while he was on the phone.

‘Tiny said he thought Daisy was chasing a squirrel,’ said Billy. ‘But she’s been gone for nearly six hours now. Oh my God. The Mr Tickle thing, Bob’s plants, Greg’s van, Marlena run over. Now two of our dogs are missing. It’s too much happening to one small group of people. More than a series of coincidences, surely. No one can think that any more, can they? What the fuck is going on?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Greg. ‘But, look, George and Bob both got their stuff back with silly notes. Maybe that will happen with the dogs.’

‘Even you don’t sound convinced, Greg,’ said Billy. ‘That was before your tyres were slashed and Marlena was hurt. And this just feels nasty.’

‘OK, OK, you’re probably right,’ said Greg. ‘I never thought I’d hear myself saying this, but it probably is one for the bogeys. You should report the dogs missing.’

‘Right, yes.’

George looked bemused more than anything. Billy’s brain was racing, yet he couldn’t think clearly.

‘Where do you go to report missing dogs round here?’ Billy asked. ‘I know there’s no police station in Covent Garden any more. Do we just phone?’

‘I think we should go round, do it in person,’ said Greg. ‘Come on, Charing Cross is the nearest. Let’s get a cab.’

‘Hang about,’ said George. ‘Shouldn’t one of us stay here in case either of the dogs does turn up?’

‘Yes, good idea,’ responded Greg. ‘Look, why don’t you two go together? The station’s in Agar Street, just off the Strand. You should both go there to report what’s happened. The cops may want to ask questions about your dogs that I couldn’t answer. Don’t worry, I’ll stay here.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked George. ‘I mean, you’ve always got things to do...’

I certainly have, thought Greg, and neither of you two would be likely to guess what sort of things, thank God. But all he said was: ‘I won’t budge till I hear from you or you get back, I promise.’

George still hesitated.

‘What about Michelle?’ he asked. ‘Mightn’t she be able to help?’

Greg shook his head. ‘Not today,’ he said. ‘She’s away on some course. Fonz told me yesterday. He’d hoped she might help with Marlena.’

‘Right,’ said George, still not moving.

‘Go on, the pair of you, for Christ’s sake,’ said Greg.

He lit another cigarette as he watched the other two men make their way across the park to the gate on the lower west corner of the Fields. It was obvious from their body language how distressed they were. Funny what dogs can do to you, Greg mused. Big tough guys like Tiny, smooth operators like Billy, flash sarcastic bastards like George, even hard men like him — though he didn’t feel that hard at the moment.

Dogs turned you to effing mush. That’s what dogs did. And you never saw it coming.

Both Tiny and George were adamant their dogs wouldn’t stray, but Greg reckoned where dogs were concerned there were exceptions to every rule. Years of dog ownership had taught him that there were two phrases a dog owner should never use: ‘my dog never...’ and ‘my dog always...’

This, however, was different. Two dogs going missing from the same park within a few hours of each other didn’t sound coincidental. Especially after the events of the last few weeks. The dogs might yet be safely returned, but all the friends must be on edge now. No doubt about that. Greg was certainly on edge. His own situation was a particular one though, and he wasn’t sure how it tied in with whatever else might be happening. Unlike the other Sunday Clubbers who’d fallen victim, he had a shrewd idea who was responsible for what had happened to his tyres. And he didn’t see how it could have anything to do with the pranks played on George and Bob, Marlena being injured, or the disappearance of the two dogs.

Meanwhile, Karen was at home with their Westies. Greg had a sudden overwhelming desire to make sure she was all right. So he called her. And once he was sure she and their dogs were safe, he told her about Daisy and Chump going missing.

‘That’s awful,’ responded Karen. ‘What do you think’s happened to the poor little things?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied Greg.

‘But it must be linked, there can’t be any doubt about that, can there?’

Greg tried to sound positive. ‘Look, all that matters to me is that my family’s OK. And don’t you worry, darling, I’ll make damned sure of that.’

‘I know you will,’ said Karen in a small voice.

‘Too damned right,’ said Greg.

‘But what do I do about our dogs?’ asked Karen. ‘They’ll need to go out again soon.’

Greg cursed. He’d pledged to look after his own family but he hadn’t thought about that when he’d promised the boys he’d stay in the park either until their return or until one or other of the dogs showed up.

He explained that to Karen, with apologies.

‘I’m really sorry, babe, I feel I should be rushing home to take our two out, but you’ll be fine as long as you keep them on a lead. And don’t bring them to Lincoln’s Inn. I know I’m here, but even so. Keep to the main drag — don’t go down any of the alleyways. Go somewhere that’s always busy: Russell Square, maybe. And if anything worries you, anything at all, call me.’

‘I will,’ said Karen. ‘Don’t worry, love. I’ll be fine. And you’re dead right to help those poor boys.’

Greg ended the call and checked his watch. There was something he had to do later on. Someone he needed to see. But that person didn’t keep office hours. There was no need to start fretting at four in the afternoon. The boys were sure to have returned long before he needed to make a move, and even they would probably agree there was no point waiting in the park much longer. In any case, the gates would be locked once it got dark.

Greg sat on a park bench by the tennis courts, lit yet another cigarette and drew deeply. It was when he was under stress that he most felt not just the desire but the need to smoke. And this was a moment of stress all right.

He leaned back on the cold hard seat. Things were happening that he did not entirely understand. Nothing seemed right somehow. Events were taking a sinister turn. His life was going pear-shaped. He needed to figure out a way to get everything back on track again, and soon.

Tiny had collected Marlena from hospital at about the same time Billy had arrived at the park. He didn’t tell her about Daisy, not at first. Marlena dog-sat for them whenever they needed a minder for Daisy, and took the little dog in when the boys went on holiday, to spare her having to go into kennels. She would be devastated to hear what had happened. And Tiny could see she was in enough distress already. He might fit the stereotype of the big brash bouncer, but Tiny had a very gentle side to him. He understood instinctively what it was like for a woman of Marlena’s age to have been injured like that. Although she was putting on a brave face, as ever, Marlena had to be eaten up with anxiety about the extent of her injury, her chances of making a full recovery, whether she’d ever be able to walk about on her own again. Losing her independence would be Marlena’s worst nightmare. And top of everything else, she was in pain. Tiny could see that too.

An orderly wheeled Marlena out of the hospital, Tiny alongside the chair, fussing. Once outside, the orderly helped load Marlena into the taxi Tiny hailed.

In the back of the cab Marlena clutched Tiny’s arm with a bony hand.

‘Thank you, darling,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without my friends, particularly you and Alfonso.’

‘You’re most welcome, Marlena,’ said Tiny. ‘Though I gather from the Fonz that you initially said you didn’t want or need help from anyone.’

Marlena smiled weakly. ‘I think I may not have quite thought things through,’ she said.

Tiny saw then that the hand clutching his arm was shaking. As if aware that he had noticed, Marlena suddenly withdrew her hand and held it, fingers clenched, by her side.

Tiny put a big arm around her. ‘Don’t you worry, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘I’ll look after you.’

Marlena said nothing, but he could see the gratitude in her eyes and it unnerved him. For an old lady, she’d always seemed a remarkably tough cookie. Now that toughness appeared to have left her.

Marlena lived on the fourth floor of her converted warehouse apartment block, but fortunately, and relatively unusually in Covent Garden, Sampford House had a lift. Thank God, thought Tiny. It was obvious that Marlena was far too frail to use the crutches the hospital had supplied her with. For the moment anyway. And not even for short distances on the level. But Tiny had already planned how he would get her from the taxi, in and out of the lift and into her apartment, and it was therefore a relief that she seemed more compliant than usual.

When the taxi pulled to a halt he snatched Marlena’s crutches from her, jumped out and propped them in the hallway of Sampford House, ignoring her protests.

‘Right, there have to be some advantages to being the size of a house,’ he said, as he returned to the cab, and with that he lifted Marlena out, settling her easily into his big arms.

‘What on earth do you think you are doing?’ protested Marlena. ‘Put me down at once!’

Tiny ignored her. He didn’t think she meant it anyway. Indeed, he suspected she was relieved, though of course she would never admit it.

‘I’m giving you a lift, Marlena baby,’ he said. ‘And if I was you, I’d shut the fuck up and enjoy the ride.’

Marlena laughed as he carried her through the apartment-block foyer and into the elevator. It was almost her normal laugh. Tiny was surprised by just how much he appreciated hearing it, even though he could not get Daisy out of his head.

On the fourth floor Marlena produced her door key and managed to unlock her front door whilst still in Tiny’s arms. Rejecting his suggestion that he carry her through to her bedroom so she could have a lie-down, she insisted on being placed in her favourite armchair, by the window in the sitting room.

‘What do you think I am, a crippled old woman or something?’ she enquired, twinkling at Tiny as he arranged a footstool for her in exactly the right position.

‘I’ll fetch your crutches, you ungrateful old bag,’ said Tiny.

Marlena beamed her thanks at him. At least coming home seemed to have cheered her somewhat, and maybe he had played a part in that too, thought Tiny, in spite of his inner preoccupation with his missing pet.

At that moment his mobile rang. It was Billy. Tiny took the call at once, praying for good news. There was none. Instead Billy told him about meeting up with George and how Chump was also missing.

Tiny felt his heartbeat quicken. He turned his back on Marlena and moved away from her towards the door.

‘Oh my God,’ he said.

He could feel Marlena’s eyes on him. He opened the door, walked out into the passageway and closed it behind him, still speaking into his phone.

‘Two dogs,’ he muttered, ‘on the same day, and both belonging to members of our little group.’

‘I know,’ said Billy, and Tiny could feel his distress.

‘What do you make of it, Billy?’ he asked. ‘And what does George think?’

‘We don’t know what to think,’ said Billy. ‘Neither does Greg — he’s been helping us.’

‘We have to do something. We should go to the police.’

‘George and I are on our way to the police station now. Greg said he’d wait in the park, just in case.’

After ending the call Tiny carried on downstairs, on autopilot, to collect Marlena’s crutches. His heart was still racing inside his chest when he re-entered her flat.

‘What is it, Tiny, whatever has happened?’ Marlena asked.

Tiny didn’t want to burden her with it. Aside from being fond of dogs, and Daisy in particular, right now she was a frightened old lady with a crushed foot, and all the glitter and the bluster in the world couldn’t hide that. The last thing Tiny wanted was to add to her distress. But Marlena gave him no choice.

‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or am I going to have to beat it out of you with one of these damn crutches?’ she persisted.

Tiny told her.

Marlena turned even more pale than she was already.

‘What’s going on, Tiny?’ she asked, her voice frail and bewildered. ‘What in the world is going on?’