‘This is kidnapping,’ she spits. ‘I am a friendly with a badge. Do you really want to throw that away?’

Friendly? Most of my friends don’t aim their weapons at my privates. Most.

Delano is still coming. She’s screaming too, something about me being just as bad as all the others, which wouldn’t be so bad except for the glass shards she’s swinging with every word. Deacon isn’t calming down either; she’s bucking like there’s a scorpion on her back, and trying her damnedest to get a heel into my crotch.

I have no alternative but to play into Mrs Delano’s fantasy.

‘Thank God you’re here, darling,’ I say, hoping she’s too far gone to notice my atrocious acting. ‘This woman tried to assault me. You saw the gun. Look, handcuffs.’

Delano’s eyes fog over and she stutters to a halt, gobs of lasagne dripping from her hands, splatting on to my good rug. I wince but don’t mention it.

‘Handcuffs?’

I push Deacon’s head into the wall as gently as I can, covering the side of her face with my palm. I’ve had relationships go wrong before, but never this fast. ‘Yeah. Can you believe it? I woke up to find this crazy lady holding a gun on me.’

‘Crazy lady,’ says Delano slowly. ‘I’ve heard that phrase before.’

‘I bet you have, you fucking lunatic,’ Deacon says, spitting the words through mashed lips.

‘You shut your filthy mouth,’ orders Delano, and without hesitation clocks Deacon on the crown with the corner of Pyrex dish in her hand. The blow has surprising muscle in it, and Detective Deacon goes limp in my arms.

‘Sorry, baby. Did I catch your finger there?’

Baby? ‘Ah . . . no, I’m fine.’

‘Do you think we should kill her? Cut her up like in the movies? I have an electric carving knife. Penis looks good, baby.’

I lower Deacon on to the rug, then hurriedly pull on some pants, very uncomfortable with my penis being mentioned in the same breath as an electric carving knife.

‘No. No need to kill her. She’s confused, that’s all.’

Delano winks at me, or maybe it’s just hard to keep that eyelid open with all the mascara trowelled on to it.

‘Maybe she heard about Mister Pee-Pee and came to see for herself.’

‘M . . . maybe,’ I stutter. ‘Whatever the reason, this woman has problems. We need to be compassionate, show understanding.’

‘Or slice her head off. I have plastic bags.’

Sure. We could toss her in the car beside her partner, then drive to the mall where I dumped Macey and line up all three bodies together in the Lexus. Hell, why not steal Connie’s corpse from the morgue to complete the set?

Mrs Delano squeezes my arm.