There was a small retail park about a mile from my house, with a Sainsbury’s and few other chain stores. At the end of the row was a Frankie and Benny’s. I went in, bought a bottle of Becks and sat in a booth at the back of the bar. Rested my head back against the wood panelling and closed my eyes.

My whole life had been spent as a law-abiding, tax-paying member of the public. I played by the rules. Except that Ben was playing by a different set of rules entirely: the rules of the jungle, red in tooth and claw, the rules of hooray-for-me-and-fuck-you. The rules that said: It’s not enough for me to win – everyone else has to lose. And right now he was winning hands down.

I needed back up. Advice. Help.

I rang Adam.

‘Yup.’

‘It’s me, mate. It’s Joe. Can you talk?’

‘Not really.’

‘Just for a minute? I really need your advice.’

‘Not a great time right now.’

‘I’m in deep shit, Adam, I need –’

His voice turned low and hard, as if he was hunched over the phone to prevent anyone eavesdropping.

‘You need to stop calling me on this number, OK? Get yourself some legal help, and stop calling me at work, all right? I can’t be talking to you. You’re the subject of an active police investigation, and my boss will have my balls for cocktail olives if he knows we’ve even been speaking.’

With every word, my heart sank further into my stomach. I felt like a climber dangling at the end of a rope, hanging over the abyss.

And my friend was about to cut the rope.

‘Adam, please,’ I pleaded, trying without success to keep a note of desperation out of my voice. ‘I need your help. Now more than ever.’

There was a click as he hung up. I stared at the phone for a moment, thinking how fast fifteen years of friendship had evaporated.

The phone buzzed in my hand. A text.

Police here, same detective as yesterday. You OK? Worried about you. M xx

4.27 p.m. Mel mob

I wrote back:

What do they want?

4.28 p.m. Me

Waiting 4 you, want 2 talk. Looks like might be here 4 a while. Where r you? M xx

4.29 p.m. Mel mob

Naylor was still there, hence the texts rather than a phone call.

Wembley. What’s Naylor said?

4.29 p.m. Me

Won’t give details but sounds serious. 4 of them here. M xx

4.30 p.m. Mel mob

I took a long pull of the Becks, then another, the lager icy against the back of my throat.

Back later, text me when police have gone.

4.32 p.m. Me

Her reply was almost instant:

OK. Love you. Take care, come home soon. M xx

4.32 p.m. Mel mob

I sent a final message, wondering whether it would be my last as a free man.

Kiss Wills for me. x