I gave them the address.

Connie was hunched on the floor, shivering badly, couldn't take any more. 'Christ, what a night,' I said, 'd'you think you could get us some nice hot coffee?' Give her something to do.

Five minutes later I saw a black saloon pulling in to the kerb three floors below and I thought that was pretty fast, even for the Bureau, but they were people in uniform getting out, so I supposed one of the neighbours had called emergency when they'd heard the gun go off: if he'd been punching the wall there wouldn't have been much sleep for anyone, and the bang in the bathroom had been the last straw.

'In there,' I told the sergeant. He must have come up the stairs two at a time, quicker than the lift, because he just nodded and blew out a lot of breath and went over and pushed the door open. Then he came back and asked if he could make a phone call and I said yes.

There was a nice smell of coffee now and I could hear Connie getting through a lot of Kleenex in the kitchen. She'd called out once — 'Why did he have to come and do it here?' — which I suppose was a healthy sign.

Johnson got here next, looking very compact and noncommittal, taking a look in the bathroom. The sergeant had his notebook out, and started with me.

'Will you give me your name and address?'

'No,' Johnson said as he came back from the bathroom, and pulled out his wallet and showed the sergeant his identity and then told me to clear out Connie was in the kitchen doorway holding a green plastic tray with two cups on it, looking at Johnson and wondering who he was. I called out goodnight to her and opened the door as Johnson said: 'Look, Sergeant, I'm going to call my chief, then we'll work out the best way to handle this. There's no immediate need for an amb — ' then I shut the door and went down the three flights slowly, pressing the time-button to put the lights on, nearly walking into someone.

'What's the trouble?' A man in pyjamas, red-eyed from sleep.