As we’d guessed, he didn’t want to escort her anywhere, preferring instead to get straight down to business. But within seconds of his amorous advances she was claiming she wasn’t that sort of girl and an escort meant just that. He asked her what the hell she was on about and continued with his pawing, which was when she showed him some of her kjung fu moves. One series of ferocious blows and kicks later and he was out cold on the floor. Quick as a flash, she used a pair of tweezers to remove the packet of pills from her handbag. Shebrushed them briefly against his fingers, then threw them under his bed. He was coming round by that time so she ran out of there, shouting and screaming, and immediately phoned the police on her mobile phone, saying that this man had tried to give her some pills and rape her. She gave the address and his first name, and the cops, knowing who he was, were round there like a shot. By which time, of course, she’d made herself scarce.
Five minutes later she called the police again, saying that she was sorry, she didn’t want to get involved in pressing charges against the guy, but she had seen him put the pills back under his bed. Dispatch passed this information on to the officers on the scene, who’d entered the flat through the open door. A dazed and bloodied Darren Frennick was arrested and remanded in custody. He ended up serving nine months for supplying Class A drugs, which Danny didn’t feel was revenge enough, but which I assured him was the best he was going to get.
And that should have been that. Except that it wasn’t. I don’t think Jean ever found out the full story, but somehow she got wind of the fact that I’d used an escort girl to set Frennick up, and worked out that this was a side of me she’d never seen before and one that she didn’t particularly like. Things became strained after that, Jean repeatedly asking me if I’d ever slept with prostitutes, and not believing me every time I said no. First, the living-together lark went on hold; a couple of months later, the relationship followed suit.
By rights, I should never have forgiven Danny for fucking up what will in all probability turn out to be my one chance of getting hitched, but he was so grateful for what I’d done, and felt so guilty for the problems he’d caused, that I found it difficult to hold it against him. Jean and I never really saw each other again after that. She met this chartered surveyor from up north and moved to Leeds with him, but Danny and I continued to keep in touch. Occasionally we did business together. One time I sold him a couple of kilos of dope I’d liberated from its wrongful owner. He tried to move it on but ended up selling it to undercover Drugs Squad officers and getting nicked instead. They leaned on him hard, trying to get him to name his source, but his experience with Darren Frennick had hardened him. He feared prison – who doesn’t? – but he kept quiet, even though they told him that co-operation would surely mean a lighter sentence. He ended up doing eighteen months.
Danny was not the luckiest man in the world; nor was he, in criminal terms, one of the best at his profession, but I trusted him absolutely, and there are very few people I can say that about. That’s why I took him with me when I wen off to kill three men. Because I knew he’d keep his mouth shut.
He rented a basement flat up in Highgate, not too far from the cemetery, and it was twenty to six when I finally rang his doorbell. He opened the door slowly, keeping the chain on the latch, and poked his head round. His face was pale and there were bags under his eyes. He looked like a man with a lot on his mind.
‘You’re late, Dennis.’
‘It’s the pressures of policework. It makes punctuality close to impossible. Blame the government. They’re the ones letting all the criminals out.’
He released the chain and let me in. I followed him into the kitchen, noticing that his feet were bare, and his shirt was hanging out the back of his trousers. A very slovenly state. It looked like he hadn’t set foot outside the flat all day.
‘D’you want a cup of tea, or something?’ he asked, putting the kettle on.
‘Yeah, thanks, a tea’d be nice.’ I put the bag containing his share on one of the worktops and leaned back against the cooker. ‘I’ve got your money here.’
He nodded, getting a couple of cups down from one of the shelves. ‘Cheers.’
‘Do you mind if I smoke?’
‘You don’t usually ask.’
‘Well, I can see you’re in a sensitive mood, so I thought I’d be polite.’
He turned to me, his face registering a vague disgust. ‘This whole thing doesn’t faze you at all, does it?’
I lit the cigarette. ‘Of course it does. But it’s been done now. We’ll know to be more careful next time, but regrets don’t change a thing.’
‘It’s not about regrets. This was a huge fuck-up, Dennis, and the cops aren’t going to let go of it. Not until they’ve caught someone. And that means us.’
I took a drag on the cigarette, feeling tired of all the verbal sparring in my life. I’d once had the chance to become an apprentice plumber, which would have
