He recognises the larger man as one of Locke’s men. George has seen him at a few of the poker games, though he’s never seen him play a hand. George doesn’t know his name, only remembers people referring to him as the Big Fella. He looks like his mother hewed him out of a quarry rather than gave birth to him. He doesn’t recognise the smaller man. The one with teeth like a Thames rat, eyes darting everywhere like flies looking for a place to land.

Big Fella nods towards the living room. ‘Sit down, lad. We need to work this through.’

He disappears along a hallway, returning moments later with worryingly empty shoulders. He turns away to talk to Rat Face, and George can hardly make out a word. He sees Rat Face shrug, gesturing down the hallway where the girl must be. The big man grumbles like an outboard motor ticking over but steps aside. Rat Face heads to the open-plan kitchen, does a silent eenie-meenie-minie-mo along a row of kitchen knives. Slides a cleaver from the block with too much enthusiasm for George’s liking. He scurries down the hallway and out of sight. George feels the sweat drying on his back. Smells his own vomit and feels his insides start to bubble like a witch’s cauldron again. He swallows it down and finds his voice.

‘Where is she? What have you done to her?’

Big Fella sighs and shakes his head like a disappointed parent to a naughty child. ‘The question is what have you done to her, Sergeant?’

George swallows hard. Asks the question but isn’t sure he can handle the answer. ‘Is she … Have I … have I killed her?’ He hears the fear in his voice but can no more put more steel into it than he can undo what’s happened.

‘She’s seen better days, George.’

‘Just bloody tell me!’ he shouts back at Big Fella, desperate to know.

The big man narrows his eyes. ‘I suggest you keep your voice down, George. We wouldn’t want anyone coming to check out the noise, now, would we?’

George gets to his feet, moves towards the hallway, but is propelled back into his seat by a palm the size of a dinner plate smashing into his nose. Eyes cloud with tears, and he tastes the coppery trickle running over his lips, dripping onto the carpet. He’s stunned into silence.

‘You’ve done enough, George. Nearly fucked this whole thing up, but I’m an accommodating man. We can still make this work for everyone. Apart from her, of course,’ he says, jerking his head in the direction of Rat Face’s disappearance.