The faint sound of knocking drifted into Tino’s trance-like state. He was fantasizing about making love to three clones of Judy on his uncle’s boat, all of whom were satisfying him with their tongues and telling him what a good, brave man he was while at the same time, in a perfect combination of his two favourite pastimes, he was fishing for herring off the Friesland coast where he’d grown up. The knocking grew louder, and with his reverie now disturbed, he got up off the bed and walked through the lounge to the front door of the apartment.
‘Who is it?’ he called out.
‘Trevor.’
Without responding, Tino pulled open the door and glared at the man he’d once thought of as a friend. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he said formally, moving aside to let Murk in, ‘but I think it is the least you could do, would you not agree?’
Murk stepped inside. ‘Listen, cool it, sweetboy, I can explain. That bastard, Stegsy-’
‘Who?’
‘Sorry, Mark. The undercover copper. He was blackmailing me, same as you. He made me do it.’
‘He said you always did this sort of thing, reporting your friends to the police when they were breaking the law. He said you were a grass.’
‘That lying cunt. Don’t you believe it, Tino. He’s as dodgy as something dodgy. It’s his way of sowing the seeds of discontent among the masses. You know what I’m saying?’
‘No, Trevor, I do not. But that’s not important now. As I told you, we need to find Mark, and quickly. He could have murdered this poor girl, and I don’t want her death on my conscience.’
‘Very upstanding of you, Tino. I always knew there was more to you than met the eye, and that’s saying something. I’m only sorry that Mark put me in a position where I had to cause you this much trouble.’
‘Where will Mark be now?’
Murk put the bag he was carrying down on the floor. ‘I know a couple of pubs he uses near here. We’ll try them, see if he’s there. Otherwise I’ll have to phone him down at the station.’
‘OK,’ said Tino, nodding. ‘Let’s go.’
‘You’re not going out like that, are you? It’s cold out there, you’re going to need a coat.’
Tino looked down at his shirt and jeans and decided Murk was right. He wasn’t dressed for the English weather, even on a spring day. ‘Hold on a minute, I’ll go and get one.’
He turned and walked into the bedroom. As he did so, Murk opened the bag and took out a.38 Smith and Wesson and silencer. A rag wrapped round the handle to protect it from fingerprints meant that he didn’t have to worry about gloves. He stepped over to the bedroom door and positioned himself to the side of it in a similar spot to the one in which he’d waited for Robbie O’Brien almost exactly a week ago.
When Tino came back through the door, just like Slim Robbie, he didn’t have a chance. He must have caught something out of the corner of his eye because he turned towards his killer and his eyes widened dramatically as he saw the barrel of the.38 level with his eyes. Murk pulled the trigger twice and blew the top of Tino’s head off, not even bothering to try to catch him as he tumbled messily to the ground with all the dignity of a sack of potatoes, the blood already leaking rapidly from the exit wounds.
Then, satisfied that Tino was dead, Trevor Murk returned the gun to the bag, checked the place over to make sure he hadn’t left behind any tell-tale clues, and walked out of there, thinking that he’d earned five grand and it wasn’t even lunchtime.