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better knowing you were at my back.’
    â€˜Yeah,’ said Nick, spoiling it utterly, ‘but by the same token you wouldn’t want to meet her in a dark alley.’
    Of all people, it was Stan who came to my rescue.
    â€˜Well I, for one,’ he asserted, ‘am heartily grateful for Jen’s psychotic tendencies. Without them I could be dead now. Or worse.’
    It was time to turn the spotlight on my client and guest. The first thing to get clear was how he had arranged for the aquarium to be removed. He told us he had contacted the shop that had originally supplied it – the somewhat bizarrely named Koi Korner in Rotherhithe.
    â€˜Should be Koi Kaput,’ Frank uttered brightly. Poor Frank. It was probably his wittiest utterance for weeks. We all turned withering gazes on to him until he self-immolated before our eyes and dissolved into a small pile of ashes.
    I asked Stan if he had their phone number. He produced a miniature electronic-data digital thingy that was neither a laptop nor a mobile. Nirvana was being dragged screaming into the third millennium all right. He tapped the screen with what looked like a toothpick and turned it to face me. I pulled over the phone and dialled 141 followed by the number he showed me. I wasn’t really expecting an answer at 7.30 in the evening, but the phone was picked up on the second ring.
    â€˜Koi Kor-ner,’ a voice sang at me.
    I’d anticipated Bermondsey Boot Boy. But this voice was pure posh. That’s ‘posh’ as in Victoria Thompson-Witherington-Hartley-Smythe, not ‘Posh’ as in Victoria Beckham. I adjusted my vowels to fit hers.
    â€˜Oh, hello. I’m phoning on behalf of Stanley Highshore. He had an appointment today to remove an aquarium.’
    There was a long silence. I could hear her breathing.
    â€˜One moment, please,’ she said, before being replaced by a tinny sea shanty.
    The music continued long enough for me to wonder if she’d forgotten me. When she came back on the line, she was brisk and assertive.
    â€˜Oh yes,’ Ms Plum replied. ‘Our driver was unable to gain access. We tried to contact Mr Highshore but his phone was out of order. I’m afraid they had to leave empty-handed.’
    I asked her what time that had been.
    â€˜Four o’clock,’ she simpered. ‘The driver waited twenty minutes…’
    Four o’clock. Two hours after I had arrived.
    â€˜Well, thanks for your help,’ I trilled, but she cut in before I could hang up:
    â€˜Would you like to reschedule the appointment?’
    â€˜No thanks,’ I replied breezily. ‘We’ve already disposed of the aquarium by other means,’ and then hung up before she could reply.
    â€˜Actually,’ Stan mumbled, ‘it was hired from them.’
    Whoops. Sorry. But on the list of things to worry about, the aquarium came pretty low down right now. Koi Korner itself was another matter. It was obvious that whoever had sent Pinky and Perky to abduct Stan had either known about the appointment from the shop itself or had tapped Stan’s phone. Dealing with a posh fish shop was one thing; coming into contact with the kind of people who tap phones was a whole different ball game. Apart from signing on, we all had as little contact as possible with the Establishment, so it was vital we eliminate the piscine option first before turning our attention to any alternative. We formulated a plan to check out Koi Korner, then moved on.
    Next we questioned Stan about the alleged attack on the Beeb by eco-warriors. Although he must have been fighting a combination of shock, pain and exhaustion, he made the effort to cooperate. He told us the vandalism had been in response to a programme that was being made, attempting to state the case for genetic modification. A ripple of hostility floated through the room Stanwards, but if he noticed it he hid it well. We illuminated him on the results of our