Lenny let it go. “The police think they know who’s been stalking me.”
“Who is it?”
“They didn’t say, only that they’d picked someone up for another offence last week and found evidence in his home that he’d been harassing me and a couple of other people.”
Nero whistled. “So you weren’t the only one?”
“Apparently not. The bloke was staying at an HMO in Tottenham when they found him, but they reckon he’d moved around a lot, depending on who he was targeting at the time.”
“Sounds like a whack job.”
“Or a sadistic wanker. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. They’ve got him.”
“Banged him up?”
Lenny nodded. “The liaison officer is going to stay in touch with me—when I reactivate my phone—but they don’t think he’ll get bail, and even if he did, there’s a court order in place stopping him from coming near anyone on the list of victims.”
Victims. Targets. It sounded too good to be true, but as the first real smile he’d ever seen from Lenny warmed him from the inside out, Nero didn’t have the heart to say it just yet. “Do you feel better?”
Lenny nodded. “I do, actually. Much better. I can get on with my life now.”
Nero didn’t have it in him to be as optimistic He took a surreptitious deep breath and hid his frown behind his tea mug. “Who died and made the old bill so helpful? Thought they’d fobbed you off?”
“They did, but when I lost my shit at Misfits I told Cass everything. He told Tom, and I guess they took him more seriously than they did me.”
“You never told me Tom was helping you.”
Lenny shrugged. “Not on purpose, mate. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been off my head these last few weeks, and not in the good way.”
Again, Nero’s lungs cried out for the burn of a weed pipe, but he ignored it. “I know. I’m sorry, and I’m sorry if I’m a dick about Tom too. He’s a good bloke.”
“Sounds it. I still haven’t met him in person, and it’s been ages since Cass made me Skype him from the office. I can’t even picture him.”
“Tall, blond, posh.”
“That’s all there is to him?”
Nero chuckled. “I doubt it if he’s been with Cass this long, ’cause he’s a fucking handful. Jake too.”
Lenny said nothing. He drained his tea mug and ditched it on the coffee table with a dull thud. Suddenly Nero noticed the neatly folded bedding and zipped-up bag of clothes. “Are you leaving?”
“Um . . .” Lenny shrugged. “I don’t know. Cass said I could stay here as long as I needed to get this shit sorted out. Now it is, I should probably find somewhere—”
“Why?”
Lenny blinked. “Because I’m bodging around your kitchen, hogging your couch, and generally fucking up your life.”
“You’re not fucking up my life.”
“No? Then why are we creeping around each other? Or screaming at each other in the middle of the night? Tell me, Nero, ’cause I’ve got no bloody idea.”
“I don’t want you to go.” Nero knew bugger all else, but of that he was certain. “I like having you—I like you being here.”
“Why?”
“For fuck’s sake, I don’t know!” Nero’s frustration boiled over, sudden and violent. He stood and drove his fist into the wall. The brutal impact with the plaster was instantly calming, the pain washing over him like an old friend. “I don’t know anything, okay? So you can ask me any question you like, just—”
Nero’s voice cracked, ragged and broken, like it belonged to someone else. Lenny came to him and claimed his clenched fist, prying it open so he could press their palms tight together. “Finish the sentence. That’s all I’m asking.”
