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.
Unaccustomed to the company of honourable men, Michelle had felt a total fool. But she’d been impressed too. From that night, Vogel had seemed all the more attractive to her, though she made sure to hide the fact for fear of embarrassing them both. In any case, unless she was really stupid and repeated the performance of throwing herself at him, Vogel could be relied upon not to notice. He wasn’t the sort of man most women found attractive. Which, of course, with the sorry history of her wrecked marriage still ruling her every emotion, was probably why Michelle was so taken with him.