Friends to Die For (16 page)

The very sight of him, injured and bleeding, caused Tiny to fall to his knees beside Billy, take him in his arms and beg forgiveness.

‘You’ve hurt me, you stupid bastard, you’ve really hurt me,’ said Billy. ‘And it makes me wonder what else you are capable of.’

‘Don’t say that, please don’t say that,’ begged Tiny.

All the anger had left him now. His eyes were filled with tears again and he looked totally broken. Billy loved Tiny too much not to feel compassion for him, even as he lay on the ground wiping
the blood from his face with one hand and gingerly twitching his sore shoulder muscles.

‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘It’s all right, darling, I know I went too far. I know what good care you always took of Daisy.’

‘Not good enough, it seems,’ said Tiny grimly. ‘You will never be able to make me feel more guilty than I already do.’

And so it went on, as the two men continued to express their grief and their anger. One minute they were being loving and supportive of each other, and the next hitting out. Although neither did
so physically because they both feared the consequences – Billy because he was the weaker and Tiny because he knew he was so much stronger.

At some time during the day Michelle phoned; to see how they were, she said. Tiny took the call. He asked if there was any news of a post-mortem examination on Daisy and Chump.

‘I’m sorry, Tiny, but apparently the powers that be have decided there’s no point,’ Michelle replied. ‘They say it’s obvious how the dogs died. And
there’s all this stuff going on about not wasting public money . . .’

Tiny ended the call and told Billy what Michelle had said.

‘Not wasting public money,’ he repeated. ‘How dare they?’

‘Don’t worry, darling,’ said Billy, putting a consoling arm around his partner. ‘We’ll get the dogs’ remains returned to us and ask our vet to do a private
post-mortem. The bastards can’t stop us doing that.’

A couple of times they spoke to George on the phone. After all, he was going through the same thing they were going through, wasn’t he? Or rather, they tried to speak to George. He seemed
to be in an even worse state than either of them. He couldn’t stop crying long enough to formulate words.

It was a black day for all the friends. Seven of them had now been directly touched by some mysterious or at least unexplained event, ranging from the seemingly innocent and vaguely amusing to
the malevolent, the malicious, and the downright evil. Only Michelle, Ari and Alfonso had not been the victim of either some kind of prank or worse.

‘So far,’ said Alfonso, when Ari had called him that morning.

‘Yes, well, for myself I wouldn’t mind something happening – something small and inconsequential that is,’ said Ari. ‘I think the others are beginning to suspect us
three.’

‘Oh, come on,’ said Alfonso, who didn’t believe anyone could ever seriously suspect him of wrong-doing. ‘I know it’s not me, and I don’t believe it could be
you or Michelle either. You’d have to be crazy to cut up two dogs like that. As for deliberately setting out to harm Marlena, we both adore her. And why would anyone want to do
that?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Ari. ‘I’m bewildered by all of this. But it looks as though someone did set out to harm Marlena. And did you know the police have finally sat
up and taken notice? Some CID buddy of Michelle’s called Vogel, supposed to be a bit of a genius, he’s already been to see Greg and Karen and Marlena.’

‘I heard,’ said Alfonso. ‘Well, all I can say is I hope he sorts this mess out before, before . . .’

‘Before what, Fonz?’ asked Ari.

‘Nothing.’

‘You were going to say before someone dies, weren’t you, mate?’

‘Of course not,’ said Alfonso.

Vogel spent the next couple of hours going over the data he had compiled thus far. He was like that. Methodical. Painstaking.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Michelle and whether or not she could be involved in the unpleasant series of events he was investigating. He’d been fretting about her ever since
Marlena had made that reference to the policewoman having been away on a training course he now knew had not existed.

He told himself there were a million reasons why Michelle might have fibbed to her friends. Friends told each other white lies like that all the time. If they wanted to get out of an engagement,
if they felt they’d been remiss about something. Or if they didn’t want to hurt someone’s feelings.

But he was unable to shake off the little niggle at the back of his mind. And Vogel was a man who couldn’t proceed with an investigation, or indeed anything much else in life, until he had
dealt with anything that niggled at him. What were the odds against a group of friends finding themselves on the receiving end of a series of random incidents of this nature? No, either someone was
targeting them or one of the group was the perpetrator, which meant that anyone whose behaviour was not entirely straightforward had to be suspect. And that included PC Michelle Monahan.

Vogel checked his watch. Michelle was on point duty and would not be returning to the station until late afternoon. He decided to fill in the time by interviewing Ari Kabul. As he was uncertain
where to find him, Vogel checked the list of numbers for the group which Michelle had supplied and dialled Ari’s mobile.

He was unsurprised to be diverted to voicemail and left a message asking Ari to call him back as soon as possible concerning the incident involving Marlena. He was, however, somewhat surprised
by how promptly Ari returned his call and the way in which he so readily agreed to come into Charing Cross – ‘for a chat’, as Vogel put it.

‘Anything I can do to help clear up what happened to poor Marlena,’ said Ari. ‘Not that I think I have any information for you, but I’ll help in any way I can.’

Vogel was struck by the highly educated Englishness of Kabul’s voice. He promptly gave himself a telling-off for indulging in stereotyping verging on a kind of racism. What had he
expected, for God’s sake? Peter Sellers doing ‘Goodness Gracious Me’?

Ari duly arrived within the hour and was escorted to an interview room. Vogel noted that the young man was not only handsome and well turned out, he was also extremely self-assured and displayed
no obvious signs of drug or drink abuse, nor of suffering from a hangover. Just because he had been arrested under the influence of alcohol and in possession of cocaine, did not, of course,
necessarily mean that Ari Kabul had a drink problem and was a regular drug user. The sequence of events Vogel had witnessed at Harpo’s the previous evening could merely have been a one-off
occurrence from which Kabul had, apparently, swiftly recovered. However that wasn’t how it had seemed. And, Vogel reminded himself, the effects of cocaine could be deceptive.

He stared hard at Ari, looking for dilated pupils, or even an unnatural brightness in the eyes. There was nothing, and if Ari noticed Vogel’s close scrutiny he passed no comment.

He also gave no indication of recognizing Vogel. But then, in spite of his impressively swift recovery, the previous evening’s excesses must surely have dulled Kabul’s senses to some
extent.

He answered most of Vogel’s questions easily and satisfactorily enough. Was he speaking any more quickly than might be normal? Did he seem overexcited or overactive? Vogel didn’t
think so. Ari Kabul appeared to be quite calm and in control.

There was one question he could not answer satisfactorily. He had no verifiable alibi for the time of Marlena’s incident.

‘I’m afraid I was on my own, at home in bed, Mr Vogel,’ said Kabul. ‘I had some sort of tummy bug. I didn’t go into work that day. My father was in his office as
usual and my mother was out most of the day. In any case, my flat in the basement is completely separate from their part of the house, and has its own entrance, so they rarely know for certain
whether I’m in or not.’

‘Did you contact your doctor?’ asked Vogel.

Kabul shook his head. ‘’Fraid not, Detective Sergeant. I just put it down to some dodgy grub at Johnny’s the night before.’

Other than, perhaps, the absence of an alibi, there was nothing in Kabul’s response to raise any suspicions in Vogel.

Ari seemed genuinely eager to help and concerned about the misfortunes, albeit that at least two cases were mere pranks, which had now befallen seven of the ten Sunday Club friends.

‘If I think of anything that might throw any light on any of this, anything at all, I’ll call you right away, Mr Vogel,’ said Ari, when the policeman indicated that he had no
further questions.

Vogel waited until the young man had reached the door before calling after him.

‘You got home all right last night, then,’ he commented.

Ari suddenly didn’t look quite so self-assured. Which had been Vogel’s intention.

‘Were you at Harpo’s?’ he asked, perhaps a little apprehensively.

Obviously he had no memory of Vogel being there, but that was hardly surprising, thought the detective.

‘Playing backgammon,’ he said.

Ari grinned disarmingly.

‘We didn’t play each other, did we?’ he enquired. ‘Surely I couldn’t have forgotten that.’

Vogel shook his head.

‘Did you win?’ asked Ari.

Vogel reckoned the other man was a good recoverer in more ways than one.

‘I did, as a matter of fact,’ he said. ‘Did you?’

Ari looked puzzled. Presumably even he could remember that he’d been knocked out in the first round.

‘The young woman, the one you left the club with,’ said Vogel, by way of explanation.

‘Ah, the lovely Kylie,’ said Ari, grinning again. ‘Oh yes. I won.’

Vogel remained sitting at the interview-room table for a few minutes after Ari left, pondering their dialogue. Ari was disconcertingly likeable, and obviously had a way with women, probably
whether or not he was coked up. Vogel wondered fleetingly if the young man had been too helpful. But he reckoned he could drive himself crazy with that sort of thinking. And in any case Michelle
Monahan was due back from point duty any minute.

Vogel couldn’t help feeling a reluctance to confront his colleague. He certainly could not bring himself to do so formally, not at this stage anyway. So he hovered at the coffee machine
conveniently situated in the corridor just outside the Traffic department’s offices in order to contrive an apparently accidental encounter. In fact, when he saw Michelle approaching he moved
so fast he almost tripped over his own feet, lurched forward and bumped into her, spilling much of the black coffee he had already acquired, but fortunately over himself rather than her. She looked
surprised and a tad alarmed.

‘Cup of coffee?’ he enquired, dabbing ineffectively at the stained front of his faded beige corduroy jacket, but otherwise making a fairly good recovery.

Michelle nodded her assent.

‘White, no sugar,’ she instructed.

Vogel had been confident she would take the opportunity to spend a few minutes with him. He knew she liked him – well, possibly more than that, although he had no intention of taking
advantage. He also suspected she would want to know what progress he was making on the matter she had brought to his attention, although she was probably not yet sure whether he was actively
investigating it.

He told her that he had already interviewed Greg, Karen, Ari and Marlena, and that he was planning to talk to the remaining members of the group over the next day or two.

‘Does that include me?’ Michelle asked levelly.

‘Oh, come on,’ said Vogel.

‘No. There’s something else you want to ask me, isn’t there?’

Michelle was looking him straight in the eye, her manner absolutely direct. She might once have made a pass at him but that didn’t make her any kind of pushover professionally, he reminded
himself. He also, either because of or in spite of the pass, remained disconcertingly fond of the young policewoman.

She spoke again before he had time to fully marshal his thoughts.

‘You’d better get on with it,’ she said.

Vogel felt his cheeks flush. He didn’t like it when his usually clinical approach was tainted, as he saw it, by even a hint of emotion. That was when mistakes were made.

‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ Vogel said.

‘For God’s sake, shoot,’ said Michelle.

‘W-well,’ Vogel stumbled. ‘Marlena told me you said you’d just come back from a course when you visited her the other night. That you’d been with the Diplomatic
Protection boys in Belfast. There was no such course in Belfast.’ Vogel paused. ‘Indeed, as far as I can discover, there was no such course at that time anywhere, and although you have
made an application to Diplomatic Protection you’ve not been interviewed yet, let alone sent on a course. And apparently you called in sick those two missing days.’

Michelle stared at him.

‘You really have been checking up on me, haven’t you?’

Vogel felt the flush in his cheeks deepening. He didn’t reply.

‘For goodness’ sake,’ said Michelle, the impatience clear in her voice. ‘I took a sickie to go back to Dorset to see Phil. The tart he left me for has dumped him, which
serves him right. Trouble is, I still love the rotten bastard. He called me in a dreadful state in the middle of the night on Sunday and I upped sticks and took off straight away. It was too late
to apply for leave so I just went sick. And I didn’t want Marlena or any of the rest of our lot to know, because I’ve done nothing but slag Phil off to them all. So I lied. I
couldn’t bear the thought of them knowing that I went running back to him at the first opportunity. I can’t believe you picked me up on that, Vogel.’

‘I can’t help it,’ said Vogel.

Michelle managed an ironic laugh. ‘No, you can’t, can you? You pick everyone up on everything. You dissect every detail. And that’s why I asked you to look into this. So serves
me right you’re currently dissecting me, I suppose.’

‘Sorry,’ said Vogel.

‘That’s all right,’ said Michelle. She downed the last of her coffee and binned the paper cup. Vogel was still holding his cup even though it was already empty. After all,
he’d spilt most of it. Michelle turned on her heel and headed on to Traffic HQ. For a second or two Vogel watched her go. Then he called after her.