CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
That evening at the flat, while they expectantly huddled around Fadil and the telephone, he made the call. It was five-minutes past ten when an elderly woman answered, informing him she was not Roxanne and he had the telephone box on Southfields High Street. Fadil apologised, left it for five minutes and then tried again.
After four more attempts listening to the engaged bleeps he tried again. This time he heard the normal ringing tone. But after hanging on for a while and no-one picking up, he decided to leave it for the night and try again the next day with a stake out on the telephone box.
By ten-fifteen the following evening, they were on their third black coffee. The Wimpy Bar on Southfields High Street sat directly opposite the telephone box. Sitting at the windo
