‘Look, I’m as bewildered as you are,’ Alfonso began.
Then he stopped. One of the uniformed officers searching the property had entered the room and was whispering something in Vogel’s ear. The detective sergeant looked stern when he spoke again.
‘Mr Bertorelli, do you remember when we met yesterday I asked if you owned a bicycle?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what did you reply?’
‘No. No, I don’t own a bicycle.’
‘Mr Bertorelli, PC Sanderson here has just found a black bicycle in your grandmother’s storeroom downstairs. Not only that, the bike is wet, indicating that it has recently been used, probably within the last few hours as the rain only started shortly before midnight.’
There was no colour left in Alfonso’s face. He didn’t speak.
‘So, are you sure you don’t own a bicycle?’ Vogel repeated.
‘I told you. No.’ Alfonso’s voice was now a barely audible squeak.
‘Then who do you think it might belong to?’
Alfonso shook his head. There were tears in his eyes.
‘How old is your grandmother, Mr Bertorelli?’ asked DC Jones.
‘S-she’s eighty-nine.’ Alfonso stumbled badly over the words.
‘And she’s not in the best of health?’
Alfonso agreed that she wasn’t.
‘So it is unlikely the bike is hers?’
‘It’s definitely not hers.’
‘Definitely not,’ repeated Vogel. He appeared to be on the verge of saying more, but he was interrupted by the return of PC Sanderson, who had left the room again.
Sanderson was holding a black leather handbag in one gloved hand. He passed it to Vogel, who glanced inside, withdrew a small folded case and opened it so that Alfonso could see. The case contained Michelle Monahan’s warrant card.
Alfonso made an involuntary gulping sound. He looked close to collapse.
Vogel stared at him with icy eyes. ‘Alfonso Bertorelli, I am arresting you on suspicion of assault and robbery,’ he said. Then he began to recite the statutory caution: ‘You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
As he spoke, Vogel became aware that Alfonso was not looking at him. Instead his gaze was fixed somewhere beyond Vogel’s left shoulder. The detective turned. An elderly woman, wearing a thick knitted cardigan over a nylon nightdress, was standing in the doorway. She looked very frail. Her hands were shaking and her face was ashen.
‘What have you done, my boy?’ she asked. ‘Mio caro, mio caro, what in the name of God have you done?’
Twelve
When George tried to call Alfonso later that morning he got no reply from his mobile. George was unaware, of course, that the other man was in custody at Charing Cross nick.
After several attempts to contact his friend, and having had no success by mid-afternoon, George called the Vine on the staff number. Another waiter George knew vaguely told him that Alfonso hadn’t turned up for his lunchtime shift. Neither had he contacted the restaurant.
‘Leonardo is fucking furious,’ said the waiter. ‘If you hear from Fonz, tell him to get his arse over here pronto — and he’d better have a good excuse ready.’
Alfonso never skipped work. Everyone knew the Vine was his life. George was at a loss as to what he should do next. Then Tiny called, apparently even more distraught, if that were possible, than he’d been over Daisy. His words came tumbling out in a muddle.
‘George, did you know Michelle was mugged last night? Alfonso’s been arrested. They think he did it. He’s locked up in Charing Cross nick, and he phoned Billy, but Billy’s not that kind of lawyer, it’s all right though, he’s trying to get him a criminal lawyer to sort everything out. Oh, what are we going to do, George? What the heck’s happening, I mean who’s going to be—’
‘Hey, calm down,’ interrupted George, sounding none too calm himself. ‘Has Alfonso actually been charged with anything?’
‘Yes,’ said Tiny. ‘I mean no. “Arrested on suspicion of” — that’s different, isn’t it?’
‘I think so,’ said George. ‘I’m no expert. But if that is the case, presumably we should be able to get the Fonz out on police bail. You know, like all those journos mixed up in that phone hacking thing. That’s what happened to them, wasn’t it? They were on police bail for months before it was even decided whether to charge them or not.’
‘But, George, what if he did it? What if Fonz mugged Michelle and attacked Marlena? What if he was the one who killed Daisy and Chump? Billy says the police found Michelle’s handbag at his place, and a bike he claims isn’t his. But what if it is? What if he’s guilty?’
‘Tiny, for a start you don’t believe Alfonso would ever harm Marlena, do you? He idolizes the woman. I’ve always thought he was a bit in love with her. Getting on for obscene, given the fact that she’s an old—’
‘Oh don’t, George, please.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. I’ve been trying to call Fonz all day. Wanted to know if he’d come with me to see Marlena, ’cos I didn’t want to go on my own... It never occurred to me... Wow, I’m just in shock, I suppose.’
‘I know that feeling. But the fact is, someone hurt Marlena. And Michelle. I called her right after Billy told me about Fonz. She’s just out of hospital. She answered her phone, but she could hardly speak. Apparently her nose has been smashed to bits and she’ll need to have an operation to reconstruct it. Maybe more than one op. George, what is happening to us? You didn’t even ask how Michelle was.’
George did an audible double take. ‘No. Oh fuck. I’m sorry, mate. I don’t know why, I assumed from the way you were talking that she hadn’t been hurt at all. I just thought her handbag was snatched. That’s terrible, what you’re saying. And she’s so pretty too.’
‘Do you want to come with me to visit her later?’
‘Yes, of course. But are you sure she’ll want visitors if her face is in that sort of state? I know I wouldn’t.’
Tiny said he’d call Michelle first.
On his arrival at the custody suite of Charing Cross police station Alfonso had been searched, his fingerprints and a DNA sample taken, his clothes, his watch and the contents of his pockets taken away in sealed bags as evidence. Dressed in the white paper suit he had been given to replace his clothes, Alfonso felt as if he was living a nightmare. In between interviews he was detained in a police cell. There was no natural light in the small room, which was furnished only with a blue plastic-covered bench bed and a lavatory in one corner. He didn’t know how long he’d been in there. He was so shaken by the whole experience that he’d completely lost track of time. But despite his confused state, his story did not vary.
‘I know it’s another coincidence, I’m not surprised you don’t believe me,’ he said. ‘But I’m telling the truth. I was just walking home to my nan’s place. I couldn’t believe what I saw. I went to help Michelle, didn’t I? You’ve taken my clothes away. What’s the point? It’s obvious they’re going to be covered in Michelle’s DNA. There was blood everywhere. She was screaming with pain. I held her in my arms.’
As always, Vogel listened carefully. On the one hand, Bertorelli’s story made sense. And on the other hand it made no sense at all.
It was, as his suspect pointed out, quite obvious that Michelle’s DNA would be found on the clothes Alfonso had been wearing. But the grey hoody had been thoroughly washed and was therefore unlikely to yield any traces of forensic evidence. Despite both items having been found at his grandmother’s flat, Alfonso continued to maintain that he had never seen the hoody or the bicycle before, unless they were, as seemed likely, the property of the cyclist he had caught only a fleeting glimpse of both when Marlena was injured and Michelle mugged. So far as he could recollect, he had never touched Michelle’s handbag.