Expert advice.

It was a good day again, but a match day, so it was easy to convince Fuzz to get the hell out of Hillsborough, and we took the bus up to Crookes. The way the roads at the top of the hill fall away to an open sky, it’s like cliff top roads at the seaside. With the gulls in the park, it’s as if the coast is calling me.

After an hour or two we walked home, circuitously, and I pointed out Miranda’s house to Fuzz. I didn’t tell him everything, just an abbreviation of the truth: she came back to the house after the funeral and I think she stole something. I told Fuzz that she’s gone away and I want to break in. He nodded, thought about it, said okay. He went back after dark to check it out. If he gets arrested again he’s in serious trouble, so it’s not a small favour he’s doing me.

I’d told Fuzz about the nosey neighbour, so he took a look at her too. He wants to do the break in tomorrow, when Coronation Street’s on. She looks the type to let her house burn down if there’s a bust up in The Rovers, Fuzz says. I thought it would be best done later, like in the early hours, but he reckons any noise or people wandering where they shouldn’t be, is more suspicious after eight at night. He doesn’t want the car either, since the footpaths down from Crookes are nice and twisty.

The only problem he anticipates is fobbing off Pamela – his girl. She has a thing about spending Sundays with him. In truth she’s a throw back to his chav days, before he joined me, Pele and the Johns. She keeps him grounded, he says. Unfortunately that’s true in more ways than one. I ought to introduce her to Angela – let them blow each other’s minds while we’re out burgling.

Still no sign of Samuel. He’s not missing as such, but it’s hard not to worry when a demon hunter with blood red eyes strolls off with his sword and doesn’t come home. For all I know this might be normal for him. I’ve written down the things I want to ask him, in case it’s a long wait.