Friends to Die For (12 page)

As he finished speaking, Mike Carter returned.

‘We apparently had two officers at the scene of the incident involving your friend Marlena,’ he began. ‘They have since interviewed her and various witnesses. I have just read
their report and there is nothing in it about the possibility of deliberate intent. It is true that the cyclist didn’t stop, but unfortunately that sort of reckless behaviour is not unknown
on the streets of this city. And the victim said nothing about having been deliberately targeted.’

‘Didn’t she?’ asked George. He shot Billy a surprised look.

‘She must still be in shock and in a lot of pain,’ persisted Billy. ‘And she’s an old lady. I shouldn’t think she’s capable of thinking straight right
now.’

‘No, of course she isn’t. But Alfonso, our friend Alfonso who more or less saw it happen, he didn’t think it was an accident,’ said George.

‘Ah, yes.’ Carter glanced down at the computer printout he was holding. ‘Mr Bertorelli. Our officers did comment on the coincidence of his presence at the scene.’

‘What the heck do you mean by that?’ countered Billy. He was a corporate lawyer, quite unused to visiting police stations and dealing with situations such as this, but his legal
brain had switched on automatically. ‘One minute you’re telling us Marlena was merely the victim of an accident, and the next you appear to be making insinuations about
Alfonso?’

Carter’s face was set in stone.

‘I can only tell you what is in our officers’ report, sir,’ he said. ‘And indeed I cannot go into any more detail. I will file a report on your missing dogs, as I have
already told you, and make a note of your other comments, which will then be on record. But under the circumstances, there is nothing further I can do for you at this stage.’

‘I do hope your report is a full one and that it will be swiftly brought to the attention of those who may feel able to take action,’ said Billy, forcing himself to remain calm. At
least on the surface.

George made no attempt to control his rising anger. ‘For God’s sake!’ he shouted. ‘We’re a group of ten friends and now something weird, or unpleasant, or downright
frightening, or even violent, has happened to six of us in less than a fortnight. Never mind the coincidence of one of us witnessing Marlena getting injured, don’t you think there may have
been one or two other coincidences too many in all of this?’

‘I understand that you are upset, sir,’ said Carter. ‘But you need to calm down. Of course, if any further incidents occur, you should let us know.’

‘Oh, what’s the fucking point?’ said George, and flounced off through the open door onto Agar Street with Billy following.

‘Drama queens,’ muttered Carter under his breath, making quite the wrong assumption about George, who did a rather impressive flounce when he put his mind to it, as well as wearing
tight trousers and smelling strongly of cologne. Bizarrely, Carter made the same, and in that instance correct, assumption about Billy, who was dressed in a business suit and had maintained his
professional demeanour throughout, only because of his association with George. Once upon a time Carter would have had a lot more to say, and rather more loudly, but police officers and those
affiliated to the force could no longer express their prejudices in public without landing in trouble. It didn’t alter the fact that, so far as Carter was concerned, George and Billy were
still a pair of poofs, and if he’d been dealing with two straight men he may well have been more helpful. Or at least listened more carefully.

He would have denied that, though, and believed his own denial. So he remained a diligent officer, duly filing a report on the missing dogs and including the suggestion that this might be linked
to other incidents.

George, Billy and Tiny continued to look for their dogs the rest of that day and into the night. Bob, having popped round to see how Marlena was and been told by her that Daisy
and Chump were missing, joined in.

The four men combed the streets, enquired in pubs and shops, and appealed to passers-by, all to no avail.

Meanwhile, after returning home to be with Karen and help her put the kids to bed in a bid to maintain some sort of normality, Greg was finally able to make his way to Soho in an attempt to see
the man he’d been thinking about all day, in between trying to help his friends.

It was nearly ten p.m. before he arrived at his destination, a gambling club called the Zodiac, in the heart of Chinatown. The entrance, flanked by a pair of Oriental heavies wearing black suits
and dicky bows, who were both about half the size of Tiny and twice as menacing, was at the Wardour Street end of Lisle Street. Greg walked towards it resolutely, albeit on the other side of the
road. And it was only when he was directly opposite that he paused. Then he walked on past and stopped again to step into the doorway of a closed Chinese supermarket.

His heart seemed to be beating much faster than usual. He could feel sweat forming on his forehead. He needed to calm down and work out exactly what he was going to say before entering that
club. He took the last of his secret cigarettes from the packet in his pocket and lit up, checking before he did so that he still had the extra-strong mints he would need in order to conceal his
misdemeanour from Karen later.

Lost in his own not entirely pleasant world, he bent forward slightly to light up, cupping his hand around cigarette and lighter. As the flame illuminated his face, he heard a familiar male
voice.

‘Greg? What you doing here, mate?’

It was Tiny.

Greg breathed out a lungful of smoke.

‘Just popped out for a sneaky ciggy,’ he said. ‘Don’t tell the missus, will you?’

Tiny looked puzzled. Greg guessed the big man was wondering why he needed to ‘pop’ this far from Bishops Court in order to smoke an illicit cigarette. But Tiny passed no comment. Of
course, he had his own preoccupations.

Greg took another welcome drag. God, why was smoking so damned good, he wondered.

Tiny still hadn’t spoken.

‘Any news of the dogs, mate?’ Greg asked him, though he could tell from the way Tiny looked that there hadn’t been. Or if there had, it wasn’t good news.

Tiny shook his head.

‘They’ve disappeared without a trace, Greg,’ he said. ‘Billy and I have been everywhere twice, and Bob’s pitched in too.’

‘Anything more I can do to help?’ asked Greg, hoping that Tiny would answer in the negative.

Tiny shook his head again. ‘Billy’s having one last look back at the park, even though it’s closed this time of night. Ari’s printing up some posters and said he’ll
fly-post them all over the West End in the morning. Meanwhile, I’m on my way home to get the drinks poured ready for when Billy gets in. We thought we might get blind drunk.’

‘Trouble is, that makes things even worse when you come round in the morning with a hangover as well as the shit that’s going on,’ said Greg, who was considering doing exactly
the same thing.

He hugged the big man.

‘Just remember, a dog’s job is to break your bloody heart and worry you to death. They’ll probably turn up, the pair of ’em, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as if
nothing’s happened. With or without one of those silly notes.’

‘Thanks, Greg,’ said Tiny, managing a small smile, even though he didn’t believe a word of it.

‘Now take care, yeah?’

‘Yeah. You too, mate. Take care. And of the missus.’

Greg watched his friend carry on down the street, head bowed under the weight of his worries.

If only you knew, pal, he thought, if only you knew. He finished his cigarette, threw the butt down and stamped it into the ground. Then he stood for a moment, looking up the street at the
Zodiac gambling club: its dimly lit entrance standing out by default among the bright lights of Soho, its name discreetly engraved on a brass plaque to one side of the doorway. This was a club of
long standing and considerable reputation. It did not need to advertise. Greg watched a group of punters arrive. They looked like regulars, hurrying through the door, eager to begin their play. A
tall man wearing a dark overcoat with its collar turned up left shortly afterwards. His head was down. Greg wondered how much the man had lost. The stakes were high at the Zodiac.

Greg shuffled his feet. He was nervous. And that chance meeting with Tiny had somehow further dampened an already ebbing resolution. He no longer had the stomach for a tricky and delicate
confrontation, even though he’d been planning it all day.

He told himself that not only might it not be necessary, that his suspicions may have been ill founded, but also there was a risk that by going there he would only increase the danger he and his
family were in.

No, he decided, he would put it off until the following day. Who knew what might have developed by then?

He shivered in the cold night air, thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his bomber jacket, and strode off down Lisle Street, heading for home.

All he wanted was to kiss his sleeping children goodnight, climb into his warm double bed and hold his wife close and tight.

Michelle arrived unannounced at Marlena’s flat. She was carrying a small suitcase, the sort that fits under the seats of aircraft, and looked as if she had been
hurrying.

‘I hope you don’t mind me coming round so late,’ she said. ‘My plane just got in and I rushed straight here.’ She gestured at her bag. ‘I wanted to see for
myself how you were.’

Marlena tried to smile. Her lips stretched into a thin hard line.

‘Ask me a load of questions, more like,’ she said grumpily.

Michelle did a double take. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ll go, if you like. You’re right, of course. I did also wonder if I could help, though.’

‘Oh, please don’t go,’ said Marlena, pushing aside her moment of pique as quickly as she’d allowed herself to display it. ‘I’m sorry too. My damn foot is
hurting so much its wreaking havoc with my temper.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Michelle. ‘What about painkillers? You must have been given some. Are they not working?’

‘Not nearly enough. I’ve already taken more than my quota for today. But to hell with that, I shall definitely be seeking oblivion at bedtime.’

Michelle smiled. ‘Don’t blame you,’ she said. ‘You will be careful though, won’t you?’

Marlena smiled back. ‘I am always careful, dear child,’ she said. ‘Even if it doesn’t look that way right now.’

‘It doesn’t,’ said Michelle. ‘I presume you’ve had a police visit or two about this, haven’t you?’

Yes. Pair of charming young men with a penchant for the obvious.’

Michelle laughed. ‘Sounds like a definition of all too many coppers I know,’ she said. ‘Not sure about the “charming” bit though.’ She paused. ‘Anyway,
I’m back on duty tomorrow, and one of the reasons I’ve dropped in on you like this is because I thought I might gee things up a bit. It’s not my beat, and even if it was I’d
be regarded as personally involved so I couldn’t take part in any inquiries, but there really should be a proper police investigation. Too much has happened for this all to be coincidence.
You’ve heard about the boys’ dogs, I expect?’

Marlena confirmed that she had.

‘Both dogs, same place, same day, and within a couple of hours of each other. Another so-called coincidence? I don’t think so.’

She asked Marlena if she’d go through the details of her collision with the hooded cyclist again.

Marlena protested mildly. ‘The two constables who were at the scene and then came to the hospital made me do that, even though, charming or not, they didn’t seem very
interested,’ she said.

‘They didn’t know the whole picture, did they? Anyway, there’s a CID man I know who won’t be able to resist this case. It will intrigue him, I’m sure. Come on,
Marlena. We really can’t let this go on, it’s getting frightening. One more time, please. Tell me exactly what happened.’

Marlena did so, giving as thorough an account as she could, albeit a little wearily.

‘And the cyclist, the hooded man, if it was a man, just rode off?’ prompted Michelle, after Marlena had come to the end. ‘He didn’t stop?’

‘No, he didn’t stop. Come on, would you expect him to?’ Marlena sighed. ‘I’m still not convinced it was deliberate, though,’ she added. ‘I think
that’s too far-fetched.’

Michelle studied the older woman. There was an element of doubt in her voice, as if pleading for reassurance rather than proclaiming what she believed to be true.

‘I don’t know about that,’ Michelle said, unable to offer the reassurance her friend craved. ‘But I do know one thing: it’s damned well time somebody found
out.’

The following morning Michelle reported for duty at Charing Cross at 7 a.m. On the way to the station she’d encountered Ari, who, good as his word, was already
fly-posting the neighbourhood. He showed Michelle one of his posters, which bore photographs of both dogs, emailed to him by their owners, and the slogan:
Missing. Daisy the chihuahua, light
brown, long-haired bitch, and Chump, male Maltese terrier, white. Generous reward for anyone with information leading to their recovery.
The poster also gave the details of when and where the
dogs were last seen.

‘Well done, Ari,’ said Michelle. ‘Let’s hope something comes of it.’

‘Yep, let’s hope.’

‘You’re out and about early,’ she told him then added, grinning: ‘I doubt you’ve ever been out this early before, unless you were coming home from
somewhere.’

‘Oh, ha bloody ha,’ said Ari. ‘I wanted to catch people going to work, and people walking their dogs before they go to work. They’re probably the most likely to have seen
or heard something.’ He paused, his face falling. ‘If anyone has.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Michelle, giving him a quick hug.

At the station she checked what reports had been formally filed and what action had so far been taken: little or none. Then she set about contacting the CID man she’d mentioned to Marlena
the previous evening.

In the dark days immediately after her transfer to the Met, still aching from the pain of her marriage break-up, Michelle had made a clumsy pass at Detective Sergeant David Vogel outside the
Dunster Arms following a farewell party for some veteran uniform she didn’t even know. She had been very drunk at the time, desperate to blot out her anguish at the betrayal and humiliation
she’d suffered when her husband left her. With his wispy fair hair, wispy fair beard and penchant for elderly corduroy, Vogel didn’t look much like a police officer; and unlike most of
his colleagues that evening, he had been totally sober. As far as Michelle knew, he didn’t drink. And he was rumoured to be a vegetarian. He was a man who seemed to allow himself few personal
indulgences. And playing away from home was apparently not one of them. His response to her unsolicited display of affection had been to blink rapidly behind his hornrimmed spectacles and decline,
quite kindly, on the grounds that he was married with a young daughter.