‘No,’ he said.

‘You must be curious. Just to know his identity. I’m not talking about seeking revenge or—’

‘I don’t believe in revenge,’ he said.

I was beginning to get quite angry with him. ‘Dodge, I’ve heard about turning the other cheek, but this is ridiculous. You can’t just accept a savage beating like that without wanting to know the reason for it.’

‘Shit happens.’ He began to shrug, then realized that the movement would be too painful. ‘I must get my van back,’ he said.

‘Yes, I’m sure I can sort out some way of doing that. If you give me the key …’

‘At least,’ he went on, as he handed the key over, ‘whoever it was didn’t touch the van. He probably didn’t realize it belonged to me.’

I keep getting close to thinking I understand Dodge, and then he says something which instantly dismantles everything I’ve ever thought about him. Like what he just said then. It sounded as if he was more concerned about the survival of his 1951 Morris Commercial CV9/40 Tipper than he was about his own.

Which, knowing Dodge – as I inadequately do – was entirely possible.

I stopped in a layby on the A27 to call Mary Griffin. Things with her were as I had feared. She sounded more paranoid than ever.

‘It was Craig,’ she said.

‘What was Craig?’

‘Dodge. Craig did that.’

‘Mary, you know that’s impossible. Craig is in prison and he’s going to stay in prison for some time yet. You’re quite safe from him.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The man who attacked Dodge, he’d just come out of the same nick. Craig set him up to watch the house. He’d heard from someone that Dodge had been seen here. Only delivering furniture for Amy, but Craig was never going to believe that, was he? So, he set up this ex-con to give a beating to any man who came out of the house … and poor Dodge …’ She was overcome by hysterical tears.

‘Mary,’ I said, ‘maybe it’s time we called the police.’

I was worried about betraying Dodge, but in fact Mary was even more against the idea than he had been. ‘No. Craig would find out! We mustn’t call the police!’

‘Are you sure Craig was behind the attack? Do you have any proof?’

‘He texted me.’

‘Craig? From the prison?’

‘Yes. God knows how he managed it.’

‘What did the text say?’

Controlling her emotion, she read: ‘That’s what’ll happen to any other man you start seeing behind my back. You’re still my wife, Mary, and it’s about time you started behaving like my wife.’

‘Oh, Ellen,’ cried Mary Griffin, ‘I’m so terrified!’

I saw it as soon as I opened the front door. A familiar backpack, slumped in the hall where he always chucked it. I ran upstairs and opened his door.

Ben was lying on the bed, his head on the blood-spattered pillow.

‘What happened in here, Ma?’ he asked languidly. ‘Did someone commit suicide?’