‘It stays in the hair,’ says Ron.
‘Point two, we meet at eleven a.m., and here, you see, our paths diverge, as it is eight a.m. Is there a reason, is there an explanation? None has been forthcoming.’
‘How is Pauline?’ calls Joyce from the kitchen as she fills the kettle.
Ron grunts a non-committal reply.
‘And from there onto point three,’ continues Ibrahim. ‘We meet in the Jigsaw Room, and, without putting the point too bluntly, I see no jigsaws.’
‘Skunk is very good for arthritis,’ says Elizabeth.
‘I don’t have arthritis,’ says Ron.
‘And I’ve never seen the classified files on the assassination of JFK,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Pull the other one, Ron, it’s got bells on.’
‘So before we go any further,’ continues Ibrahim, ‘I want to know if there is a good reason – and my definition of “good” will be strict – as to why we are meeting here and now. Because it plays havoc with my spreadsheet.’
Alan lollops into the room from the hallway, tail wagging, and makes an immediate beeline for Ibrahim. He starts tugging at Ibrahim’s sleeve.
‘Here is another man who is confused,’ says Ibrahim, now ruffling Alan’s head. ‘Another man who understands the importance of consistency. A man who knows it is walk time, not meeting time.’
Alan lies on the floor and exposes his belly for Ibrahim to tickle. Joyce puts his cup of tea on a side table.
‘Thank you, Joyce. And so my point is this. I was expecting to meet at eleven a.m. to talk through the latest developments in the Bethany Waites case. To discuss, perhaps, the note left by Heather Garbutt. To hear from Ron about Jack Mason. I even have some exciting news for you from my source at Darwell Prison. Joyce, is Alan’s collar a little tight?’
‘No,’ says Joyce. ‘Unless you know better than the Supervet.’
‘So, unless something fairly spectacular has happened in the last twenty-four hours, and I think I might have spotted that, I see no reason why we can’t move the meeting back to its regular time, and its regular place.’
‘You would spot it?’ says Elizabeth. ‘If something had happened?’
‘I am observant, yes,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Now, I want to show you something …’
‘How many pairs of shoes were there in the hall?’
‘I am not observant of shoes,’ says Ibrahim. ‘I am not perfect, Elizabeth.’
‘Why are we meeting at eight a.m.?’ asks Elizabeth. ‘And why are we meeting at Joyce’s? You want a good reason?’
‘Were there four pairs?’ asks Ibrahim. ‘That’s my first guess.’
‘A number of days ago,’ starts Elizabeth, ‘while you were fluttering your eyelashes at Connie Johnson, and Ron was, I don’t know, being seduced perhaps …’
Ron raises his cup of tea in a toast to that. ‘I’ve played a bit of snooker as well though.’
‘… I was kidnapped, alongside Stephen, and driven to, of all places, Staffordshire. Not now, Alan, I’m talking. After regaining consciousness I met a very large gentleman we are calling the Viking, real identity as yet unknown, but we are working on it. He had a proposition for me. I was to kill a man named Viktor Illyich, a former KGB station head. And, if I failed to kill him, or I chose not to, I would be killed.’
‘OK,’ says Ibrahim. ‘But even so.’
‘I haven’t finished, dear. Yesterday morning, Joyce and I travelled up to London to visit Viktor Illyich.’
‘Wait till you hear about the swimming pool,’ says Joyce, Alan curled uncomfortably on her lap now, his eyes darting around, thrilled by all this unexpected company.
‘Quite so,’ says Elizabeth. ‘We entered the penthouse apartment of Mr Illyich, whereupon I proceeded to pretend to shoot him dead in one of his many bathrooms.’
‘I didn’t know it was pretend at this point,’ says Joyce.
‘Bogdan then kindly made his way up to London, and we stuffed Viktor Illyich into a holdall and he drove us all back here.’
‘Good lad, Bogdan,’ says Ron.
‘As far as we are aware, the Viking believes that Viktor is dead, so we are out of immediate danger, but that situation will not last for long, and we need to find, and neutralize, the Viking, before he realizes what we’ve done. So we are meeting at eight a.m., because we don’t have a second to spare, and we are meeting at Joyce’s flat, because she is hiding a former KGB colonel and criminal kingpin in her spare room. He also has a great deal of experience in money-laundering and interrogation, so I will set him straight to work on the deaths of Bethany Waites and Heather Garbutt. Is that an explanation you find acceptable, Ibrahim?’
Ibrahim nods. ‘I knew it would be something like that, yes. Given the circumstances, I waive my objections.’
‘That is good of you, thank you,’ says Elizabeth.
Ibrahim looks up, and in the doorway sees Viktor Illyich with a cup of tea and some toast. Viktor gives him a huge smile.
‘Everybody is here! The whole gang, now. Alan, you are too big for Joyce’s lap, I think!’
‘Viktor, I am Ibrahim.’
‘I have been told you were handsome,’ says Viktor. ‘But I didn’t expect you to be this handsome.’
Ibrahim nods. ‘Yes, it takes people by surprise sometimes. What is it like to be dead? Is it freeing?’
