Vogel could no longer prevent the inevitable. DCI Nobby Clarke was very different to his previous boss, DI Tom Forest. She did not bluster. It was hard to imagine that she would ever rush proceedings or cut corners in order to obtain a conviction that might later prove to be unsafe. Clarke was thoughtful and highly intelligent. It was no accident that she was the golden girl of the Homicide and Serious Crime Squad. But she had, understandably, started to push Vogel. The evidence against Bertorelli was substantial and further forensic reports were likely to add more weight. Indeed, Vogel could not even explain to himself why he was still reluctant to charge the man. Ultimately, Clarke told Vogel she could see no reason for further delay. Unless Vogel could come up with a damned good reason why not, she wanted Bertorelli charged.
Wearily Vogel got to his feet and looked down at the quivering wreck of a man before him. A man for whom, whatever the outcome of the chain of events Vogel was about to put into motion, life would never be the same again.
‘Alfonso Bertorelli, I am charging you with the murder of Marleen McTavish,’ he began, his voice very soft.
Alfonso stopped crying again for a moment. He focused red-rimmed eyes on the policeman.
‘I didn’t do it,’ he said. ‘I’m innocent.’
Then he collapsed onto the table, his shoulders heaving, great noisy sobs filling the room.
Fifteen
The friends had learned of Marlena’s horrific murder the previous afternoon. Tiny had spent much of Sunday morning trying to call her to see if she fancied Sunday Club, and to offer to get her to Johnny’s Place, but, of course, he received no reply — until around 2 p.m. when DCI Nobby Clarke answered Marlena’s phone.
The terrible truth quickly became apparent. Tiny and Billy between them called the rest of the group. Everyone expressed shock and disbelief. They were even more shocked to learn that Alfonso had again been arrested, this time on suspicion of murdering Marlena.
Then on Monday afternoon came the official announcement that Alfonso had been charged.
Tiny and Billy saw it on Sky News and again phoned around the other Sunday Clubbers.
‘If it wasn’t so fucking serious, I’d think it was an April fool,’ George told Tiny.
‘What?’ responded the big man.
‘It is the first of April,’ replied George.
‘For fuck’s sake, mate,’ remonstrated Tiny.
‘All right, all right. But how could anyone believe the Fonz would harm his beloved Marlena.’
Tiny ended the call. None of their group wanted to believe Alfonso would have harmed Marlena. But somebody damn well had. She was dead. And although the details were not yet known, she had apparently been killed in a particularly horrific way.
A disjointed and disturbing week followed, during which Alfonso appeared at Westminster Magistrates’ Court and could be seen in press photos and on the TV news, head bowed, being loaded into a police van en route to Brixton Prison, where he was to be remanded in custody.
It was towards the end of the week that Ari, the only member of the group other than the arrested Alfonso not to have suffered from some kind of incident or attack, decided he wanted to see the others, that it might help if they got together again to talk. So he set about trying to organize supper at Johnny’s Place for the following Sunday.
Previously there had never been any need for organization. There had always been an easy relaxed air about their gathering; the table at the far end of the basement restaurant would be laid and waiting for however many of the group turned up.
Ari had realized that if the friends were ever to meet up again — and for reasons he could not fully explain he thought it was important that they did so — then someone would have to not only do some planning, but also some persuading.
Since the sinister chain of events had engulfed the friends, Ari had become increasingly dependent on coke. And it wasn’t coincidence. He hoped that he could get it under control; the last thing he needed was a repeat of the incident at Harpo’s, which, to make matters worse, had been witnessed by DI Vogel. So far his father didn’t seem to suspect. And Ari needed to keep it that way.
Nonetheless he indulged in a hefty snort of the white stuff before beginning to make his calls. George was first on the list. And Ari didn’t receive a particularly warm reception from him.
‘To tell you the truth, Ari, I’m a bit scared of us all getting together. I’ve already had my dog tortured to death and my friends are falling like flies. In any case, I’m probably going out with Carla.’
‘For God’s sake, George, bring her to Johnny’s. Don’t you think it’s time we all met her?’
‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Ari? I can’t think of a worse time to bring her.’
‘Oh fuck,’ said Ari. ‘You’re right. Who’d want to get mixed up with us lot right now. I’m sorry, George. But it would be great if you could make it. I think it might help if we all sit down together to talk things through. Those of us still able to be there, that is...’
‘Look, I do see where you’re coming from.’ George seemed to be relenting. ‘I’ll be there if I can, all right?’
‘Great,’ said Ari. He paused. ‘I can’t believe Alfonso did this though, can you?’
Ari could hear George sigh at the other end of the line.
‘I don’t know what to believe any more, mate,’ said George.
The remaining friends were equally unenthusiastic.
Bob said he didn’t feel like going out anywhere at the moment, particularly not to Johnny’s.
‘Couldn’t you think of somewhere else for us to meet up for this therapeutic chat?’ he asked. ‘It’s not as if Covent Garden is short on restaurants.’
The truth was, Ari hadn’t even considered another venue.
‘We always meet at Johnny’s,’ he said lamely.
‘There’s no “always” about it any more, is there?’ commented Bob.
Ari could think of no reply to that.
‘Look, I’ll think about it,’ said Bob.
Disappointed with the reactions he had so far encountered, Ari took a bottle of Hendricks from his freezer and sent a couple of shots of neat alcohol to join the chemical mix already whizzing around his brain before making any further calls.
Greg told Ari he had a big job on and was working 24/7, and anyway he wasn’t sure Karen could make it because her mother was away and wouldn’t be having the kids that Sunday.
Ari was getting fed up with the knock-backs. And the coke had, as usual, shortened his temper and lengthened his courage.
‘You’re just making fucking excuses,’ he told Greg tetchily.
‘What if I am, mate?’ Greg answered. ‘What if I am? Far as I know, you haven’t been mugged or had a brick through your bleedin’ window, ’ave you?’
Then he hung up. Ari felt terrible. The coke was beginning to wear off. He regretted having been temperamental with Greg, and as was often the case at this stage in the proceedings, knowing that he was heading for a big low, he regretted having taken the cocaine in the first place. Ari was well aware that he was the only one of the remaining friends not to have been the victim of something. Until Alfonso had been charged, Ari had wondered, obviously, how many of the group suspected him. He’d tried to put himself in their shoes. They had all suffered to some degree, and he had not. Even if they didn’t suspect him, they probably didn’t like him very much any more. Ari decided that was it. He wouldn’t call anyone else. Sunday Club was over. Dead as Marlena. The thought made him shiver.
Then Greg called back.
‘Sorry, mate,’ he said. ‘We’re all on edge, aren’t we? I’ll come if I can. And we’ll see if we can get a babysitter so Karen can come too. You’re probably right. It might do us all good.’