Becky poured herself a cup. I admired her confidence. Then again, she must have had a pretty strong constitution to do all those things with Goldie.

“Let me make myself clear,” she said. “Johnny isn’t available. But if you want to leave a message—or anything else—with me—” Her eyes flicked to Harry’s box. “I take it you’ve been through the contents?” she said.

I nodded. She was pretty quick.

“Then I’ll make sure it’s dealt with,” she said. “But this is a sensitive time, Dave. I don’t want Johnny involved in anything that might jeopardize his work with St. Oswald’s. The school is already in a delicate situation. Any adverse publicity will just make his job so much harder.”

I explained to her about Poodle. She drank her tea and listened, occasionally nodding. I remember, when she was a Mulberry girl, she wanted to be an actress. From the way she reacted, I guessed she would have been a good one.

“So you see,” I told her. “That’s why I need to see Johnny.”

Becky shrugged. She isn’t so much a red Flamingo girl anymore. She’s more like a ginger house cat—purring by day; a killer by night.

“I’ve told you. That isn’t possible.” She looked at me with cat-green eyes. “You’ll just have to talk to Charlie. Persuade him. I know you can.”

I wasn’t sure what she was saying at first. But, Mousey, she was serious. I’d never thought about her much, not even after what happened. She was Goldie’s girl, which meant hands off and no peeking. Besides, she wasn’t my type. But now I started to wonder. And to be honest, Mousey, if I’d persuaded Charlie, back in the winter of ’81, we wouldn’t have had this problem at all.

At last I said: “I’ll give it a try.”

She smiled. “I know you will, David.”

• • •

It took me a few days after that to decide what to do about Poodle. I’d told him I was in discussions with Johnny about when to hold Harry’s memorial, and for a while that was enough to keep him happy. But soon he grew impatient, until finally, late one Friday afternoon, he turned up at my door, wanting Johnny.

“Of course. I’ll phone him right away. But he’ll still be at work right now. Let’s have a drink first, and talk. Okay?”

He gave me a suspicious look. “What, here?”

“Unless you’d rather go out.”

I knew what he was thinking, Mousey. He knew I was a killer. He sensed I’d given in to him just a little too easily, and he thought I might have murder in mind. I made my expression as bland as I could.

“Don’t you trust me, Charlie?”