I Really Should Know Better Than To Listen To Greg.

I find out why Greg wanted the list. He insists we wait around at work until it's almost dark, and then he says,

"Here are the keys to the Gregmobile - you go and get in. Won't be a minute."

Five minutes later, he re-appears and dumps fifteen manila folders in my lap, together with a map and a torch. I get really worried. Is Greg's Patrick Bateman exterior an unsubtle indicator that he is a menacing rapist? Should Max have been more concerned for my safety? When will Max notice that I'm missing? Will Max notice that I am missing?

"What's number one on the map?" says Greg, swerving wildly to avoid a cyclist.

"What?" I ask.

"Map," says Greg. "On your lap. What's number one?"

I open the map, but can't see and start dropping files all over the place.

"Torch," says Greg, and then, "Fucksake!"

I direct the torch at the map and find fifteen small, coloured dots affixed to various parts of East Northwick. These are cross-referenced to a list of numbers stuck at the side of the map. I cheer up - surely Greg wouldn't have gone to all this trouble to rape someone old enough to be his mother?

"Number one - Eleanor Road," I say. "Why?"

"Find the file with number one on it," says Greg.

I do as he says. The file is labelled, "Edmund Beales." Oh, Christ.

"Gregory," I say, "I thought we were going for a drink. What the hell are we doing?"

"Our DIY version of a CRB check," says Greg. "I am sick of waiting for some mad constituent to chop my head off with a samurai sword, so you and I are going to make a pre-emptive strike."

"Huh?" is my considered response.

"We are going to check out what little we actually know about the crazy f*ckers we have to deal with every day - without security - and see if it stacks up. We could get killed waiting nine months for the Criminal Records Bureau, and Special Branch only ever seem to notice the Animal Rights loonies. First stop, the lovely Edmund Beales' house."