A wino was witnessing ‘I was never a social drinker, only a social security drinker.’ I’d asked Doc if his boozin’ had been as serious as he told it. He’d answered, ‘Lemme put it this way. I was living in Bradford for six months before I realized it was Darlington.’

Quite.

I still had the Astra, I dunno why. It’s a woman’s car in truth. If you need a second car, then it’s as good as any. But for the main event, the numero uno, the big friggin’ cheese, it’s window dressing. Got home and planned a slow evening of strong drink. The phone went.

‘Dave?’

‘Yeah… hey… Doc, is that you?’

He never called me by my Christian name, I actively discouraged it. Only when heavy shit went down did he resort to it. Right now, I’d swear he was sobbing, his voice sounded broken.

‘Dave, it’s Laura – she’s dead.’

‘What!’

‘It’s true Dave – she went under a train… oh God.’

Now he was sobbing, I said, ‘I’m on my way buddy, just hang tight… OK.’

‘OK.’

The flaming Astra wouldn’t start. Then I realized I was flooding the engine and forced myself to calm down… OK… OK… try again. Burned rubber outa there.

As I drove I could hear Doc in my head, the thousand things he’d said. Once, ‘You never hear of Tom Leonard?’

‘No.’

‘Ah, you ignoramus, he proposed that long-term prisoners be given the freedom to purchase their own cells.’

The police cars were parked outside his house. I went in and came face to face with Quinn. What appeared dangerously close to a smirk was plastered on his grey-hound snout. He nodded.

Doc was sitting in an armchair, a bottle of Scotch between his legs. I crouched down, said, ‘I’m so sorry buddy.’

He looked blank, asked, ‘I dunno, should I drink whisky, Laura says it makes me cranky.’

‘How about some tea?’

‘I’d like some tea, two sugars please.’

A uniformed cop was in the kitchen, his shoulder micro-phone emitting squawky messages. I asked, ‘Do you know what happened?’