Jill was silent. She knew it was the hide code. That someone was with him, that he couldn’t speak freely. And she knew the situation was dangerous. Then she said: ‘What’s happening?’

Terry gulped. He could hear Ludo, moving lightly behind him. He thought of Jill and Belle alone down there, undefended. This was it, what Nula had warned him about, the coup that Harlan had been plotting all along – and oh shit life had been so sweet . . .

‘Just check the bag,’ he said. Hide, babe. Hide and for Christ’s sake hide Belle too.

‘One thing Harlan asked me to tell you before he got here,’ said Ludo from right behind him.

‘What is it?’ asked Terry, putting the phone back on the cradle, knowing it was the last time he would ever hear Jill’s voice, knowing it was over now.

‘Beezer? That fool weren’t no suicide.’

He felt the garotte come over his brow, then down onto his neck.

Thinking time was over.

99

The concierge on duty at the Tower Bridge building was surprised when the lift opened late one night and two men, one black, one white, emerged towing four large suitcases behind them.

‘Oh,’ he said, and got to his feet.

He was instantly dazzled by the black man’s brilliant smile as the two men made their way across the deluxe marble-encrusted lobby with its indoor cascade and luscious hothouse plants. They didn’t pause; they kept heading for the revolving doors.

‘Can I help you, gentlemen?’ asked the concierge. It was his job to move any luggage down to the lobby for the residents, and he was a conscientious man, he took his duties very seriously. ‘If you had phoned down, I could have done that for you.’

‘No bother,’ said Ludo.

Him and one of the other boys had spent a very messy four hours in the bathroom upstairs, both naked and busily chopping up the remains of Terry Barton in the bath before wrapping chunks of the guy in clingfilm to prevent any leakages. Then they had cleaned the place to within an inch of its life, showered, and got dressed. The night wasn’t over yet. Next job? Dispose of the body parts.

But the concierge was already around the desk, taking one of the cases from Ludo’s hand, assisting with a warm smile. He saw them out the door. Ludo turned and tipped him a twenty.

‘Thank you, sir,’ said the concierge, and returned to his post at the desk, pocketing the money and thinking, What nice people.

100