And the police hear Ergo barking as they bang against Old Levant’s front door. The old man has awoken on the floor again, the chair tipped over on its side, Heineken spilled. He’s worried. He couldn’t handle the blackouts the first time around. He’s older and more unhealthy now. Physically. Mentally. But he has enough in him to get up off that floor, get out the room – locking the door behind him – stroke his new companion and answer the knocks.

‘Sorry about that,’ the old man dithers, making himself appear even older.

‘Mr Levant?’

‘I’m sorry, you are…?’

‘The police, Mr Levant. Mind if we come in?’ They flash their badges. They didn’t need to. Old Levant could tell they were detectives from the cheap crumple of their suits and the black bags beneath their eyes and the scent of coffee and alcohol on their breath.

Ergo barks.

‘It’s okay, boy. It’s okay.’ Levant pulls the dog into his leg to reassure him. ‘Please take a seat. I just need to fill his bowl. Can I get you anything while I’m in the kitchen?’

They both decline. They stare at the untidy lounge, look at each other, back at the lounge, then walk towards the sofa, where they sit and wait. They can hear the old man pouring food into a bowl. He is mumbling to the dog. At one point they hear him whistle a tune. Then they hear the kettle boiling.

The old man is trying to buy some time. He knows they are here to discuss his nephew, to put some padding on their theory that he was some kind of evil mastermind. He would rather that his nephew was remembered as a follower, a victim, not a cult leader. The quickest way to fame is to kill somebody. The simplest route to infamy is to kill even more. The old man wants his nephew to be forgotten. So he needs to push the focus on to somebody else. If he can.

He returns with a cup of tea and sits in his favourite chair. A few perfunctory exchanges later and they are on to the subject of Young Levant.

‘But there have been two more victims. My nephew is dead.’ Old Levant almost pleads. He thought that the Millennium Bridge incident would clear his nephew’s name.

‘Often, the legacy can live on a little longer than the leader, in these cases, Mr Levant.’

‘These cases? How many of these cases have you worked on?’

‘Well…’ They falter.

‘It’s already been two weeks and you’re only just getting to me. The media has been badmouthing my nephew that entire time. Where the fuck have you been?’

The detectives are put on the back foot at the outburst.