Which was the difficult part. The guy, whose name was Darren Frennick, didn't tend to leave his flat very much, apart from to do the odd deal, and we needed uninterrupted access. We thought about it for weeks, racking our brains for a way to get in there, before we came up with a simple yet foolproof solution. Frennick was an ugly bastard but, like all young men, he had a healthy sex drive. I knew a girl at the time who was a professional escort and who could be trusted with difficult jobs. So what we did was this. Having paid her a substantial amount, funded by Danny, and given her the tablets, we sent her round to the flat. She knocked on the door, and when Frennick answered she told him she was his escort for the evening. He started to claim ignorance, but she was a good-looking girl and he didn't want to look a gifthorse in the mouth, so he invited her in and kicked out the couple of mates he'd had round there at the time.
As we'd guessed, he didn't want to escort her anywhere, preferring instead to get straight down to business. But within seconds of his amorous advances she was claiming she wasn't that sort of girl and an escort meant just that. He asked her what the hell she was on about and continued with his pawing, which was when she showed him some of her kung fu moves. One series of ferocious blows and kicks later and he was out cold on the floor. Quick as a flash, she used a pair of tweezers to remove the packet of pills from her handbag. She brushed them briefly against his fingers, then threw them under his bed. He was coming round by that time so she ran out of there, shouting and screaming, and immediately phoned the police on her mobile phone, saying that this man had tried to give her some pills and rape her. She gave the address and his first name, and the cops, knowing who he was, were round there like a shot. By which time, of course, she'd made herself scarce.
Five minutes later she called the police again, saying that she was sorry, she didn't want to get involved in pressing charges against the guy, but she had seen him put the pills back under his bed. Despatch passed this information on to the officers on the scene, who'd entered the flat through the open door. A dazed and bloodied Darren Frennick was arrested and remanded in custody. He ended up serving nine months for supplying Class A drugs, which Danny didn't feel was revenge enough, but which I assured him was the best he was going to get.
And that should have been that. Except that it wasn't. I don't think Jean ever found out the full story, but somehow she got wind of the fact that I'd used an escort girl to set Frennick up, and worked out that this was a side of me she'd never seen before and one that she didn't particularly like. Things became strained after that, Jean repeatedly asking me if I'd ever slept with prostitutes, and not believing me every time I said no. First, the living-together lark went on hold; then a couple of months later, the relationship followed suit.
By rights, I should never have forgiven Danny for fucking up what will in all probability turn out to be my one chance of getting hitched, but he was so grateful for what I'd done, and felt so guilty for the problems he'd caused, that I found it difficult to hold it against him. Jean and I never really saw each other again after that. She met this chartered surveyor from up north and moved to Leeds with him, but Danny and I continued to keep in touch. Occasionally we did business together. One time I sold him a couple of kilos of dope I'd liberated from its wrongful owner. He tried to move it on but ended up selling it to undercover Drugs Squad officers and getting nicked instead. They leaned on him hard, trying to get him to name his source, but his experience with Darren Frennick had hardened him. He feared prison – who doesn't? – but he kept quiet, even though they told him that co-operation would surely mean a lighter sentence. He ended up doing eighteen months.
Danny was not the luckiest man in the world; nor was he, in criminal terms, one of the best at his profession, but I trusted him absolutely, and there are very few people I can say that about. That's why I took him with me when I went off to kill three men. Because I knew he'd keep his mouth shut.
He rented a basement flat up in Highgate, not too far from the cemetery, and it was twenty to six when I finally rang his doorbell. He opened the door slowly, keeping the chain on the latch, and poked his head round. His face was pale and there were bags under his eyes. He looked like a man with a lot on his mind.
'You're late, Dennis.'
'It's the pressures of police work. It makes punctuality close to impossible. Blame the government. They're the ones letting all the criminals out.'
He released the chain and let me in. I followed him into the kitchen, noticing that his feet were bare and his shirt was hanging out the back of his trousers. A very slovenly state. It looked like he hadn't set foot outside the flat all day.
'D'you want a cup of tea, or something?' he asked, putting the kettle on.
'Yeah, thanks, a tea'd be nice.' I put the bag containing his share on one of the worktops and leaned back against the cooker. 'I've got your money here.'
He nodded, getting a couple of cups down from one of the shelves. 'Cheers.'
'Do you mind if I smoke?'
'You don't usually ask.'
'Well, I can see you're in a sensitive mood, so I thought I'd be polite.'
He turned to me, his face registering a vague disgust. 'This whole thing doesn't faze you at all, does it?'
I lit the cigarette. 'Of course it does. But it's been done now. We'll know to be more careful next time, but regrets don't change a thing.'
'It's not about regrets. This was a huge fuck-up, Dennis, and the cops aren't going to let go of it. Not until they've caught someone. And that means us.'
I took a drag on the cigarette, feeling tired of all the verbal sparring in my life. I'd once had the chance to become an apprentice plumber, which would have paid a lot more money for a lot less hassle. At this moment, I wished I'd gone that route.
'Danny, there's one thing about policework you ought to know. It's all about trails. If you leave a trail when you commit your crime, which most people do, then the police will follow it until they find you.'
'Don't patronize me, Dennis. I don't fucking need it.'
'But if you don't leave a trail then there's nothing to follow. The police just run into a brick wall.'
He sighed, then turned to pour the teas. I watched him as he beat the teabags with his spoon. He was agitated, badly so; I felt I might have overestimated his nerve. I took another long, thoughtful drag on the cigarette. Most cigarettes I smoke I don't enjoy. I think that's the case with the majority of smokers. You put one in your mouth because you know that if you don't, you'll only be thinking about smoking and wondering when you're going to have your next one until you do. But this cigarette was different. It tasted really good.
'You know, looking at you with that makes me wish I'd started smoking.'
'Do you want one?'
'You'd give me one as well, wouldn't you? Christ, Dennis, the things you get me involved in. And you a fucking copper…'
He passed me my cup of tea. It didn't taste very nice. Underbrewed and too much milk.
'I'm sorry about the job, Danny, I really am. I didn't know it was going to turn out to be customs men. If I had, I'd never have touched the thing with a bargepole.'
'So what were you told? Originally.'
'I was told it was three drug dealers. According to my contact, they were trying to muscle in on some friends of his.'
'And who was your contact?'
Danny had never met Raymond nor, as far as I knew, had he ever heard of him. I liked to keep Raymond Keen, and my association with him, as quiet as possible. For obvious reasons. 'You don't want to know,' I told him. 'Seriously. There's no point.'