‘Me and my friends.’

‘Your friends?’

‘Yep.’

‘If you have any friends, then they’re as mad as you are.’

‘Maybe. But someone was supplying the bones, and bones don’t come without bodies. So either Tito was stripping the flesh off, or someone else was. A pottery kiln would be the perfect thing to deal with the problem.’

It stops her, and she swivels towards me, hands on hips, head forward. I push on the brakes.

‘You’re just going to persist with your ghoulish fantasies, aren’t you?’

‘I am.’

‘No matter what I say. Did I do something bad to you, or have you just let all this craziness get the better of you?’

‘Why did you use me?’

‘Use you? Please.’

She turns, and drops her hands.

‘I could have helped, but instead you sacrificed me.’

‘Fuck off.’ She walks away without talking, interview over.

‘You’d better make sure you’ve got that bodyguard on duty.’ I call this out to her ramrod back as I pull over to the side of the road. I turn the vehicle off, and sit slumped backwards. Despite the way she is carrying on, she knows she has used me at least a little bit. What Shiflon said about Tito sending boxes to me must play on her mind. And what I’ve said, maybe.

16

16

And then Shiflon Vasser is in my house, lying on the floor behind the couch. I don’t know how he got here, but I guess he snuck in when I was out. I have not seen his car. I don’t see him at first, either. I hear him breathing, but I don’t realise what it is. In the kitchen, I pick up a strange huffing sound in the next room that doesn’t fit in with anything I’m used to. The sound is low and soft. I may be hearing things. Then I guess it is a lizard or something caught under the couch trying to wriggle its way out. I walk over to investigate, and I come across a body flat on the floor, face down, hands and arms up under the chest like a small child playing hide and seek: I can’t see you. That means you can’t see me.

‘Shiflon?’

‘Dave?’ He doesn’t lift his head, or acknowledge the stupidity of his situation.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Um.’

‘Have you got a gun?’

‘No.’

‘Well, get up. Talk to me.’ For no good reason, I’m not scared of him.

He gets up slowly and stiffly, like he has been lying on my carpet for hours.

‘What the hell are you doing here? You said you decided you couldn’t trust me. You shot at me. Not just once, either.’