Vogel glowered at her. ‘So everyone keeps telling me,’ he replied. ‘And I will go there, boss, as soon as this is over.’
Nobby Clarke studied him for a moment and gave a resigned shake of the head. ‘All right, Vogel, against my better judgement, you can carry on,’ she said. ‘But you’re going to the hospital later, whether everything’s sorted or not.’
‘Thanks, boss,’ said Vogel, thinking he’d argue about that ‘later’ if necessary.
‘Bob Buchanan’s come in, but Alfonso Bertorelli was so pissed when Carlisle spoke to him on the phone there was no point in even trying to get him here,’ Clarke continued. ‘I’ve got Buchanan and the three Sunday Clubbers we already had in custody waiting in the big interview room. Best to talk to them all together this time, I reckon. Might jog each other’s memories.’
Vogel made his way there, pausing to ask Parlow to go get him some paracetamol. Not that it would do much good. The pain in his shoulder was beyond the remit of non-prescription drugs.
DS Jones took the chair next to Vogel. Bob, Tiny, Billy and Ari were sitting in a row of upright chairs like a bunch of kids in detention, Vogel thought. Not one of them had asked for a solicitor to be present.
‘I want to know if any of you are aware of Marlena ever having owned or ridden a motorcycle,’ Vogel asked.
Ari glanced towards Bob. ‘She did say something,’ he said. ‘Didn’t she, Bob?’
‘Yeah, the last time we played The Game. It would have been—’
‘What game?’ interrupted Vogel.
‘Our version of the truth game,’ said Ari. ‘One of the group would ask a question of the others. The idea was to get everyone talking, to have a laugh...’
‘Only that wasn’t how it panned out that particular Sunday,’ said Billy. ‘It all got a bit too serious, for some reason.’
‘“What was your biggest life-changing moment?”’ said Tiny. ‘That was the question. Karen was the one who asked it.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Billy. ‘And we nearly had a domestic, Michelle ended up in tears—’
‘I got maudlin about my boy,’ Bob cut in.
‘And Marlena told us her life-changing moment was when she had an accident riding her motorbike,’ said Ari. ‘It made her grow up, she said. Seemed a bit strange to me, now I think of it, but Marlena always came up with something unexpected.’
‘That was it though: a motorbike accident, a long time ago,’ confirmed Bob. ‘And I remember that she said it was a pink motorbike. Well, you wouldn’t forget that, would you?’
The hairs on the back of Vogel’s neck were standing on end. This was it. This was really it, he thought. Marlena on her pink motorbike — little Rory Burns’ pink lady. She had to be. No doubt about it.
‘Was that the first time any of you had heard about Marlena’s motorcycling days, the first time she had spoken of it?’ Vogel asked.
‘I think so,’ said Billy. ‘It certainly came as a surprise to me.’
‘Can you all remember when this took place? You said it was the last time you played that game?’ Vogel continued.
‘It was the end of February, wasn’t it, when the weather was so cold?’ offered Tiny.
‘I can tell you exactly,’ said Bob grimly. ‘It was my son’s birthday: February twenty-fourth.’
‘And that was well before any of the incidents, wasn’t it?’ enquired Vogel.
‘Oh yes,’ said Billy. ‘The Mr Tickle thing with George happened in mid-March. I remember because he didn’t come to Sunday Club right afterwards, and that was the weekend we went to your mate’s wedding on the Saturday, Tiny...’
Billy paused. A thought had obviously struck him.
‘Where is George, anyway?’ he asked. ‘We know Alfonso’s on the sauce, but where’s George?’
Vogel did not answer the question.
‘And where’s Greg?’ asked Bob. ‘Though he must be half out of his mind, poor bastard.’
Vogel passed no comment on that, either.
‘Can any of you tell me if George Kristos was present at Sunday Club the night Marlena talked about her motorbike and the accident which changed her life?’ he asked.
‘Oh yes,’ said Bob. ‘He was there. We all were, which was unusual...’
His voice tailed off. Then he spoke again.
‘What’s happened to George?’
Vogel thought for a moment. He decided to tell them the bald facts.
‘Mr Kristos has been arrested on suspicion of the murder of Marleen McTavish and Michelle Monahan,’ he said. ‘And we expect to charge him, probably within the next few hours.’
Four shocked faces stared at him. Nobody spoke.
Then Bob pointed at Vogel’s shoulder.
‘You’re bleeding, Mr Vogel,’ he said, looking even more shocked.
Vogel glanced down. Blood was seeping through Nick Wagstaff’s jacket. Flipping thing would be pale grey, Vogel thought, wondering if he’d end up having to buy Wagstaff a new suit, and if so, whether he’d be allowed to claim it on expenses.
‘Don’t worry about that, it’s nothing,’ he said dismissively.
Without further explanation he told the four men that he had more questions for them, several points he needed to clarify, and he would be grateful for their continued assistance.
They had questions for him too, once they’d recovered from their initial shock, but he could not provide answers. All four men would be called as witnesses in due course, and the last thing he wanted was to see the case thrown out of court because something he’d divulged had prejudiced the defendant’s right to a fair trial. He did tell them that Greg had been injured, but avoided the details.
He spent half an hour or so going over what the men knew about George, and what they knew about Marlena, the meetings between them and so on, and then there was a knock on the door and Parlow stuck his head in.
‘The doc’s here, guv,’ he said, discreetly passing Vogel a packet of paracetamol.
‘About time too,’ said Vogel, checking his watch. ‘Right, get him set up and go fetch Kristos.’
He returned his attention to the four.
Five minutes later Parlow burst through the door without knocking. His face was flushed and he was in a state of panic.
‘You’d better come quick, guv,’ he gulped.
Vogel immediately got to his feet and hurried to the door. Whatever had spooked Parlow, he didn’t want him blurting it out in front of the four witnesses.
As soon as he’d closed the door behind him, he turned to Parlow. The younger man was trembling.
‘It’s Kristos,’ he said. ‘Looks like he’s topped himself.’
Vogel raced to the cell block, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. He pushed through the crowd of police officers who’d gathered in the custody suite and stopped in the cell doorway. George Kristos was lying on the bed, covered in blood. It was obvious that his throat had been cut. A stunned Sergeant Andy Pierce stood over him.
Vogel stared in horror. Then he thought he heard a gurgling sound. That surely meant the man was still breathing, didn’t it?
He leaned forward and felt George’s pulse. Was there a flicker of life? He wasn’t sure.
‘Get that doctor in here, for fuck’s sake,’ Vogel shouted to nobody in particular.
‘I’ve sent Jenkins to fetch him, sir,’ said the custody officer.
Vogel turned to him.
‘How could this happen, Pierce?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you guys check prisoners?’
‘I looked in every half-hour, I swear it,’ replied Pierce. ‘The prisoner was lying down, wrapped in his blanket. I couldn’t actually see him because the blanket was pulled up over his head. I just assumed he was sleeping.’
‘You assumed,’ growled Vogel. He turned his attention to the prisoner.
‘How did he do it? What did he use to cut his own fucking throat? You did search him, I presume?’