"Jer-" The word died on his lips.

Tyler staggered to the bed. One of his kitchen knives stuck out of Jeremy's chest.

"F-f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k. Jeremy!"

Tyler thought he was dead, but he heard a gurgling breath and wrenched his phone from his pocket. "s.h.i.t, shhhhit." His head was already swimming with the sight and smell of the blood. Don't pa.s.s out, don't pa.s.s out.

"Hang on, mate. Hang on." He fumbled but managed to press 999.

"Emergency. Which service do you require?"

"Ambulance. A guy's been stabbed. Hurry. Flat four, seventeen Persh.o.r.e Road, Deptford. Oh G.o.d. No...stop asking me for my name. There's a knife still in his chest... No, I haven't touched it. I won't pull it out. Forget about me. He's unconscious. His breathing is wrong. Get someone here. Fast. Please. I think he's going to die. Flat four, seventeen Persh.o.r.e Road, second floor. Deptford... No, I won't calm down. Just get someone here."

The room was wavering in and out of focus. He'd had to shout all that out in case he pa.s.sed out.

"Why do you need to know-he's seventeen. Please. Please send help."

He flung down his phone and stared at Jeremy.

"What can I do?" Bile surged and burned his throat as he looked for something to press against the wounds. Oh G.o.d. How many times had he been stabbed? The blood. Don't lose it. Don't lose it.

Tyler grabbed a couple of his T-shirts from a drawer and moved back to the bed. As he pressed them against Jeremy's chest, his eyes fluttered open and Tyler's vision dimmed. Oh no. Afraid he'd fall on Jeremy and make matters worse, in his last split second of conscious thought, he flung himself backward and went down like a stone.

The first thing Tyler noticed when he came round was that he had a terrible throbbing pain at the back of his head. The second thing was the loud banging that wasn't in his head. Oh G.o.d, Jeremy. He tried and failed to get to his feet and instead crawled to the door and pulled it open. It crashed back into him as uniformed police rushed in followed by paramedics. He sat on the floor and watched in a daze as they worked on Jeremy.

Don't die. Please don't die.

A paramedic crouched next to him. "Are you injured? Can you tell me what's happened?"

"Came. Found him like that." Tyler's chest was tight and it hurt to breathe.

He spotted blood on his fingers and he tried to rub them on his jeans but his hands wouldn't work properly. Why are my jeans wet? What's in my pocket? Everything was spinning and the floor vibrated. He leaned against the wall, breathing faster and faster, knowing he was having a panic attack. He pressed his arm against his mouth to slow his breathing, tasted blood and gagged. The paramedic reached for his wrist.

"Help him. Help him." Tyler cast a desperate look at the bed.

"He has enough help. Look at me. Let me see your eyes. Don't look at your friend."

Tyler's head felt too heavy to hold up.

"What's your name?"

"Ty-ler."

"You're breathing too fast. You need to slow down. Count. Breathe when I tell you to."

Tyler tensed as Jeremy was carried out of the room, someone holding an intravenous bag in the air above the stretcher.

"Is he-okay?"

"They'll do everything they can for him. Slowly in and out."

Tyler made a conscious effort to control his breathing but he could do nothing about his mind. Someone had stabbed Jeremy. He might die. If he'd had the strength, he'd have run, no matter how bad it would look.

A policeman crouched next to the medic. "What's your name? What's the name of the young man who's been stabbed?"

"He's Jeremy. Don't know...other name. I'm Tyler Bellamy."

"Whose flat is this?"

"Mine. I said Jeremy...could stay here. Oh G.o.d, oh G.o.d."

"Are you hurt?"

Tyler shook his head and the room wavered. My head. I'm going to throw up.

"He's fighting a panic attack," the paramedic said.

The paramedic rose to his feet but the policeman stayed next to Tyler on the floor.

"Did you have a quarrel?"

"What?"

"Things get out of hand?"

"No."

"Where did the knife come from?"

"Looked like one of mine. What are you...? I didn't do this... I found him. He texted me and asked me to come." Tyler closed his eyes. Oh f.u.c.k. Did Gerald do this?

"I need you to come to the station and answer more questions," the policeman said.

"Are you arresting me?" Tyler whispered.

"Should I be?"

"No."

"Then you won't mind coming with me."

Tyler struggled to his feet and staggered.

"I'm not sure he's fit to go with you," the paramedic said.

"None of that is his blood, right?"

"No."

Tyler couldn't stand to be in the room any longer. It was impossible to breathe. When he opened his mouth nothing entered. His lungs weren't working. He stumbled toward the door, collided with another policeman and went down flailing. He wasn't fighting, just trying to get free, desperate for air.

"Stop it," someone shouted.

The click of handcuffs around his wrists brought him some way back to reality. Don't struggle. They think I'm resisting arrest. I f.u.c.king am. Oh G.o.d. As they dragged him downstairs past gawping neighbors, fear surged into every cell of his body as if he'd been zapped with electricity. If Jeremy died, how could he prove he didn't do it?

Tyler was under no illusion that even if he explained everything, they'd let him go. He sat with his eyes closed in the back of the squad car and wished he'd told Haris the truth before about Prescott because it was all going to come out now. Except what if the police didn't believe him? What if he'd been set up? He didn't have an alibi. He'd spent hours in college on his own tonight. There were CCTV cameras at the station. They could check those. But whatever had happened to Jeremy hadn't happened long ago. Oh G.o.d. What if he dies?

I want Haris. I need him to tell me everything's going to be all right.

By the time they reached the police station, Tyler had a splitting headache. Pain radiated in a throbbing band around his eyes. When he'd pressed his head back on the seat in the car, he registered there was a place that hurt more than anywhere else and thought he must have injured himself when he pa.s.sed out.

They read him his rights, took his fingerprints and photograph and then gave him sweat pants and a T-shirt to put on. Tyler gagged when he took off his b.l.o.o.d.y clothes. He threw up in a trash can when one of the cops pulled something soaked in blood from Tyler's pocket.

"Like to explain these?" the man asked.

One of the items was a sock, the other was a fabric belt he wore with a pair of pants that were too loose.

"I can't," Tyler muttered. What the h.e.l.l were they doing in my pocket? Then he threw up again.

No one would tell him how Jeremy was and Tyler was scared he'd died. Gerald had to have done this but it was Tyler's fault. He remembered the look of anger on Gerald's face when he'd accused him of raping Jeremy. Were the belt and sock an attempt to set Tyler up for Jeremy's murder? A way to shut them both up? But why should Tyler keep quiet now? He had to tell the truth about everything.

A cop took him into a room, removed his handcuffs and told him to sit down. When two non-uniformed policemen took seats opposite, their faces grim, Tyler worried he'd start crying. They read him his rights again and gave him a copy of the Codes of Practice. The words blurred as he tried to read.

"Is there anyone you want to tell where you are?" one of them asked.

"A friend." Tyler swallowed hard. How much longer would Haris be his friend?

The policeman took out his phone. "What's his number?"

"It's in my phone. You took it."

Tyler sat in silence while one of the men went to fetch it, trying hard not to fidget. He didn't want to drag Haris into this but he was scared. Only the truth would extricate him but maybe that wouldn't be enough. He came back holding Tyler's phone inside a plastic bag. The officer switched it on without removing it.

"What's his name?"

"Haris."

The policeman found the number, tapped it into his own phone and sat down.

"Is that Haris? This is Detective Constable Munroe at Deptford police station. I have a man in custody who asked for you to be informed of his whereabouts. Tyler Bellamy."

Tyler wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. Not just swallow him, crush him and crunch him up until there was nothing left.

"He's not been charged with anything yet, sir. He's being questioned." The man listened for a moment and then put the phone on speaker. "He wants to talk to you."

"Tyler? What the h.e.l.l's happened?"

"Someone's stabbed Jeremy. They think it was me."

"Don't say another word until I get a lawyer to you."

"I didn't stab him."

"Not a word, Tyler. Promise me."

"Okay."

Tyler's head felt too heavy to keep up. He looked down to see the floor coming up to hit him.

Haris's fingers shook as he ended the call. Oh Christ. If only he'd kept Stan watching him. He scrolled through his contacts until he found the number he was looking for.

"Michael. It's Haris. I have a problem."

While he explained the situation, he grabbed his sweater and wallet and left the study. He arranged to meet Michael at the police station and went looking for Wilson. When he didn't find him in the kitchen, he went down to his quarters, knocked on the door and called, "Wilson, I need you to drive me to Deptford police station."

The door opened and Wilson stood there in his slippers.

"Tyler's in trouble."

"Five minutes."

It was less than that before they were on their way. Sensibly, Wilson didn't try to engage him in conversation. Haris couldn't remember when he'd felt more agitated. They hadn't reached the station before he had a call from Michael to say Tyler had been taken to Lewisham hospital and that he'd meet Haris there instead.

Now he was even more anxious.

Wilson dropped him off outside the entrance. Haris told him to find somewhere to park and stay with the car. Michael waited in the lobby.

"Do you know what's happened?" Haris asked.

"Tyler's okay. They think he's concussed."

Haris sagged. "Where is he?"

"Under observation."

"Do you know how his friend is? Jeremy?"

"Only that he's in theatre."

"Think they'll let me see Tyler?"

Michael sighed. "We can try."

The answer was no but Haris was desperate and persuasive and finally a doctor agreed.

"Remind him not to talk to anyone until he's spoken to me." Michael glanced at the police officer sitting next to the nurses' station. "The only good thing about him needing hospital treatment is that the police can't use anything he might already have said."

Haris washed his hands with the antibacterial gel and slipped into Tyler's room. He was curled up in bed, his eyes closed, his fists balled up next to his face. He looked ready to fight the world and Haris's heart swelled.