Friends to Die For (11 page)

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?’

George and Billy’s luck did not immediately improve upon arrival at Charing Cross police station. They were mildly surprised to find one of the big wooden doors standing
open, and might have been encouraged by this as they stepped into the lobby of the Agar Street main entrance.

Unfortunately, however, they were dealt with by a civilian public access officer whose never particularly good temper had that day been further frayed by learning that his services would soon no
longer be required. He shouldn’t have been too surprised, as the Met were in the process of phasing out civilian front-office staff in favour of a rota of serving police officers, but that
didn’t stop him feeling affronted. Michael Carter was a former uniformed sergeant of the old school, and even though he’d been retired from the force for several years he continued to
fail to see quite how the Met could survive without him. In addition, Carter was a cat man who had no interest whatsoever in dogs. Indeed, he actively disliked them. He considered dogs to be dirty,
disobedient creatures who fouled pavements and every so often lost the plot and bit somebody. Usually a child.

Nonetheless, he dutifully went through the motions of recording all the details of the two missing animals, asked George and Billy if their dogs were chipped, which they were, and said he would
file a report.

‘But what will happen? I mean, what can you do? Will you look for our dogs?’ asked George plaintively.

Even Billy, in his state of deep distress, knew better than to believe that the Metropolitan Police Force was likely to conduct a formal investigation into the disappearance of a couple of dogs.
But he too stared at Mike Carter with a hope born of desperation.

Carter looked George up and down in a pitying sort of way. However, no sympathy at all for the loss of George’s dog was implied.

‘We will put out a notice to all officers, dog sanctuaries and so on, according to procedure,’ he said, as if reciting from a manual. ‘And should the dogs be found or we
discover anything at all pertaining to their whereabouts, you will be notified at once.’

George merely nodded. Billy found some spirit.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘There’s more to this than just two missing dogs.’

‘Really, sir,’ said Carter, sounding totally uninterested.

Billy persisted. He began to relate the series of incidents which had befallen the friends.

The Mr Tickle story caused the corners of Mike Carter’s more or less permanently downturned mouth to twitch. Just a bit. Fleetingly, he glanced at George with a little more interest. By
the time Billy had related how Bob’s plants were taken in the night, however, Carter was looking thoroughly bored again. He raised an eyebrow at the slashing of the tyres on Greg’s van,
but merely muttered something about wanton vandalism, much as Greg had done in Johnny’s Place.

Then Billy told him about Marlena.

‘It seems almost certain she was hit deliberately by the cyclist,’ he said.

‘Was the accident reported to the police?’ asked Carter.

‘I think so. I’m not sure,’ said Billy. ‘Only we don’t believe it was an accident, do we, George?’

George shook his head.

‘Hold on a minute,’ said Carter.

He retreated to a computer at the rear of the front office and began tapping away.

‘I don’t see how this is helping us find the dogs,’ muttered George. ‘That man doesn’t give a toss, does he? He’s made himself perfectly clear. We’d be
better off out on the streets looking for them than hanging round here.’

‘Let’s at least wait until he comes back,’ said Billy. ‘If he begins to believe what we all do, we might yet get some help.’