‘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.’
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.