Loose Ends (The Acer Sansom Novels Book 2)

by Oliver Tidy

  Taking in what he could of the distance he had to cross, he edged away from his position and looked up at the upstairs windows. All the curtains were drawn and there was no light bleeding out. Hooking his bag securely over his shoulder, he trotted across the lawn and scrambled quickly and almost noiselessly over the wall to drop down into Gerald’s back garden.

  He paused and strained his hearing for any sign of alarm to his presence. He heard nothing. Crouching low and staying tight to the wall, he worked his way up to Gerald’s house with his weapon now drawn.

  *

  It was the woman’s first ever occasion to call the emergency services: to dial the nine-nine-nine, a combination she felt she had always been aware of in her seventy-eight years. By the time she had been connected to an available operator and given her personal information, she had a greater understanding of why the crime rate was so high. Either people got fed up of waiting to be connected or the criminals had long gone before the police arrived.

  She explained patiently to the impatient-sounding operator that from her bedroom window she had seen a man cross her back garden, climb the dividing wall and disappear into the garden of the house behind. She added that she knew that this house was not lived in and was currently for sale. She explained a little tetchily that, yes, she knew the difference between a fox and a man – for one thing, foxes didn’t run across gardens on their back legs carrying bags over their shoulders. She assured the operator that she would stay in her home and not attempt to confront the unknown person – as if she would dream of it. Bloody fool. Finally, she confirmed that she would keep herself available if a patrol should need to call on her. She put the phone down, wondering why she had bothered. Whoever it was would have had time to make tea, rob the place and be well on his way home.

  *

  The urn had not been moved. Starved of water, long-dead withered stalks hung over its rim. He eased it up, felt around underneath and was rewarded by the touch of cold metal. At the back door the thought nagged at Sansom that perhaps the house was occupied. Just because it was for sale didn’t have to mean that it was empty. At least Gerald had never had an alarm installed.

  He chided himself for not putting in some time watching the place to see if anyone came and went or whether lights went on in the evening. It was also just as possible that the place was completely empty, stripped of everything that could make a pound at auction or fill a space in a skip. He dismissed his concerns, understanding that they were simply the fruits of his doubts that would often rise to make him anxious at the times of important decisions.

  The key turned easily in the lock of the solid uPVC door and he was in, standing alone in the kitchen in the darkness. Prompted by familiar smells, so many wonderful memories rushed to force themselves upon him, battling each other for attention like excited children and only succeeding in overwhelming him. In all the time he had spent thinking about this, considering the possibilities and eventualities that might be thrown up by his clandestine return, he had failed to consider how he would feel to be back in his father-in-law’s home, a house that he had visited many times with his wife and daughter. Utter sadness rooted him to the spot and he felt the air being crushed out of him.

  Valuable seconds stumbled by as he regained some sort of control. In the moonlight filtered through the net curtains he saw that the kitchen was largely as he remembered it. There were some notable absences: the old station clock, an antique ironstone serving plate that had hung on the wall, the few pretty teapots that had occupied a shelf. He realised that the vultures had been in and helped themselves to what they wanted and what they felt might be worth something. The rest had been discarded and left to clutter the worktops.

  His knowledge of the layout of the place came immediately back to him so that he was able to navigate his way along the hallway and to the foot of the stairs without the need for artificial light. He stood there listening intently for any hint of movement in the creaky old house, although he was now as certain as he could be without knowing it that it was empty. Given the luxury of more time, he would have liked to walk all of the downstairs rooms and harvest what nostalgia he could from them before the place was sold on and modernised, or ruined, depending on one’s perspective, as it undoubtedly would be.

  Sansom had left his box in a bedroom on the first floor. It was the room he and Alison had shared when they had visited. As he slowly made his way up the stairs, the feelings of paranoia generated by the danger of being in the house fought with his more personal emotions for dominance of his thinking. If the memories stirred up at being in the kitchen had been agonizing for him then entering a space that he and his wife had made their own could prove heartbreaking. With some effort, he forced his emotions aside and focused his attentions on his second-by-second survival.

  Standing on the landing outside his old bedroom door and as satisfied as he could be that there was no one asleep on the other side, he eased the knob around and entered. The room smelt the same – a cocktail of old carpet and furniture polish. He noticed in the orange light of the street lamps that came in through the nets the absence of the big mahogany wardrobe. Then he realised that the old nautical prints in their walnut frames had also been removed. The bed was still where he had last slept in it. Discarded on top of it were the contents of the missing wardrobe, unceremoniously dumped in someone’s hurry to pillage and be gone. He felt a wave of intense sadness wash over him to cleanse his sentimentality and clear his thinking. It was just a room. They were just objects.

  He went to the window and risked a look down on the street at the car where his would-be assassins waited patiently. Satisfied, he stuck the pistol in his waistband and bent to his task of carefully searching the rubbish dump that the bed had become for his box that had been in the bottom of the wardrobe.

  He found it quickly and experienced an emotion so strong that his eyes stung. He held it to him like he would have cradled his daughter. He wiped away the tears of grief and elation that he had been unable to stop and turned to leave.

  He had his hand back on the handle of the door that he had closed behind him when he became aware of lights dancing on the far wall. Hues of red and blue chased each other in circles where the wardrobe used to stand. Sansom froze, mesmerised by them, willing with all his being that they would move on; that the emergency services vehicle had not stopped, was simply passing by to some other call, considerately keeping its sirens quiet.

  *

  The man in the driver’s seat woke his colleague with a nudge.

  ‘What the fuck are they doing here?’

  They watched two police officers get out of the vehicle, the lights still twirling, and start towards the house that they had under surveillance.

  ‘Better phone him,’ said his partner.

  *

  If Smith was irritated at being woken, he gave no indication of it. He listened to the news and told them to stay where they were while he found out what it was all about. He then spoke to a duty officer and stayed on the line while he discovered the reason for a police patrol sniffing around their target.

  What was relayed to Smith at first disturbed and then angered him. He called his field operative back. ‘A neighbour has reported seeing a man gain access to the rear of the property. It must be him. You’ve let him get past you once tonight. Don’t let it happen again.’

  ‘And the woodentops?’

  ‘Do what you have to do.’

  *

  Sansom peered down on them from the upstairs window. He saw two police officers get out of the vehicle and come towards the house. They disappeared briefly in the thick foliage of the front garden, only their splintered torch beams breaking through to give them away. Two things occurred to him. If the police were there it meant he’d been seen coming in at the back. That’s where they would make for. Secondly, the two watchers in the car wouldn’t be far behind them. They’d need to contact their control before moving, but if they were here for him they wouldn’t just sit t
here twiddling their thumbs.

  *

  The policeman shone his torch beam in the front window. He understood immediately that the property was not being lived in. So if a man had indeed gained entry to the place, he was likely some opportunist thieving scrote. He tried the front door and found it secured. He conferred with his colleague and they made their way around to the back of the house.

  The female officer tried the back door and it opened. There was no sign of a forced entry. Her male colleague behind her, she moved inside. She called out, identifying them as police officers and taking some comfort in hearing her own shout. Her male colleague tried the pull-cord light switch hopefully and was disappointed. Following their torch beams, they moved from the kitchen into the hallway. It was very quiet. Whoever had been there had most likely run out of the back as soon as he saw their lights. She hoped so. She had never liked the dark and was even less keen on being there with a possibly violent criminal cornered in the vicinity. They rarely came quietly.

  The male officer pushed open a couple of downstairs doors and let his torch beam confirm that the rooms were unoccupied. The female officer had stopped at the foot of the stairs. She spoke into her radio, confirming that they were in the property and looking around. The contact with a busy control room provided her further comfort.

  The woman officer cocked her head at something she might have heard above her. She stood aside to allow her much larger colleague through. He took the stairs noisily. She followed him up. A cool breeze disturbed a sheet of newspaper on the floor. The lampshade of the single pendant light fitting swayed gently. The sash window at the end of the narrow landing was open wide. As her colleague approached it to stare out over the street, she breathed a sigh of relief that whoever had been there had escaped. She was in no rush to go chasing around the gardens of suburbia. They’d done their job, scared him off. She let out the breath that she had been holding. Her colleague shut the window and secured the fitting.

  ‘Odd that whoever it was didn’t need to break in,’ he said. ‘If they’ve got a key, why all the cloak and dagger stuff? Why not come around during the day, especially as there’s no electric?’

  The woman radioed in their findings. She said the place seemed empty; that whoever got in must have had a key and that they were going to leave the place unlocked. She was told that they should make their way to a nearby address where they could look forward to a likely violent domestic.

  The officers made their way down the stairs. Two men were waiting for them in the gloom of the kitchen. The woman officer embarrassed herself by emitting a small noise as she registered their presence. Her colleague pushed past her. He had his torch beam in their faces and one hand on his nightstick. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Calm down, pal,’ said one of the watchers from the car. He had one hand up to shield his eyes and the other holding up identification. ‘Stop blinding me and take a look.’

  The big male officer moved in to study the warrant card and, although he would hide the fact, he was impressed. ‘What do you lot want?’ His tone had lost its open hostility, but was tinged with resentment for their entrance.

  ‘Tell us why you’re here?’

  ‘Neighbour reported seeing someone breaking in. Your turn.’

  ‘We’re watching the place for someone. Have you checked it thoroughly? It’s Sansom.’

  Mention of Sansom’s name changed things a lot. Every police officer in the country wanted to be in at the arrest of that bastard after he’d shot down one of their own in cold blood.

  ‘Window was open upstairs. He’s gone.’

  ‘Which side?’

  The male officer indicated the side of the house with a point.

  ‘We’ve been here all night. No one came out of an upstairs window that side of the property. We’d have seen him. You’ve checked everywhere?’ They delayed too long. ‘Thought so. Right then, let’s do every room, properly this time.’

  ‘I should call in,’ said the woman.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ said the talker. ‘It’ll only take a minute and we don’t want it broadcast.’

  ‘There’ll be trouble if we don’t.’

  ‘I’ll double it if you do.’

  ‘He could be armed?’ said the male.

  ‘Then that makes three of us.’

  The two service operatives drew their pistols.

  *

  Remembering that he had forgotten to lock the back door after him, Sansom knew that the police would soon be in the house. He then realised that this might not be a bad thing. With them on the inside perhaps he could slip away unseen. Perhaps it could work to his benefit. It all depended on how long the other two were prepared to sit on their hands in the car.

  He had one great advantage over them. He knew the house, they didn’t. It was a hell of a risk, but if it didn’t work he had the pistol to scare them into getting out of his way. He hoped that if it came to it they wouldn’t want to risk him using it because he wouldn’t.

  *

  ‘Did you open that?’ said the female officer, pointing towards the wide open door of the walk-in pantry.

  ‘No.’

  ‘It was closed when we came in.’

  It took a moment for them all to understand what had happened.

  ‘Leave it to the woodentops to fuck it up every time,’ said the talker. He sounded very disappointed.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ said the burly policeman, ‘that’s not fair.’

  ‘Listen to him. Well you can still be of some use to us.’

  *

  As Sansom had slipped into the pantry, his eye had caught the glint from the spare set of car keys that Gerald kept there, hanging from a cup hook. He snatched them down and slipped them into his pocket, daring to hope in that fraction of a second before the police shadows appeared at the back door that the car would still be in the lock-up garage that Gerald rented around the corner of the next street. He listened to the police blunder their way noisily through the downstairs rooms and slipped out of his hiding place with his box as they took the stairs. He was confident that any noise he might make would have been masked by the racket they were making. The back door was still open. With barely a moment’s hesitation, he sprinted across the garden towards the wall, tensed for the shout or, worse, the noise of a gun being fired. He got up and over the wall awkwardly with his treasure box and, with far less caution than he had exercised when making his way to Gerald’s, bolted across the lawn for the street beyond.

  *

  The old woman had been at her upstairs window the whole time since making her nine-nine-nine call. She didn’t sleep well any more anyway, and she had promised that she would keep herself available if the police needed to call on her. She counted the minutes until she saw the flashing lights of the response vehicle. She wasn’t impressed. She believed that she saw two shadowy figures come around the back of the property opposite, open the rear door and step in. They must have been the police. She waited now. She felt a tingle of excitement coursing through her at what she had started. Through the uncurtained windows of the empty property she made out the beams of torches that indicated the movement of the police through the house. This all made sense to her. They’d have to be searching thoroughly. What she didn’t expect to see was someone leave the house moments later, run across the garden, clamber over the wall and sprint back across her lawn carrying a box. What on earth were the police doing? She was shaking her head in bewilderment when she noticed two other figures come around the back of the house opposite and step in through the back door. More police, she thought. Too late now. It crossed her mind to open her window and shout across to them, but they wouldn’t have heard her. She saw the torch beams re-enter what she believed was the kitchen. They hovered in there for a minute before turning back into the house. Then she witnessed something that frightened her. Two bright flashes followed by muffled reports. She swallowed hard, closed the curtains and crawled under the thick comforting duvet of her bed, cursing herse
lf for not minding her own business.

  *

  As soon as Sansom made the road he began to slow his pace. Adult males running down streets late at night not dressed for it attracted attention. He risked a look over his shoulder and was relieved to see no one pursuing him. He collected his A-Z from where he had wedged it between a fence and a tree and walked quickly towards the lock-up garage.

  As he moved, he took the small bunch of keys from his pocket: house key, car key and key for the padlock to the garage. The streets remained very quiet, the muted passage of his shoes the only sounds.

  The small row of lock-up garages was huddled on a strip of land that wouldn’t have made a building plot, but with secure enclosed parking space at a premium in the capital, must have been making someone a good little income. Five had been squeezed in. As Sansom reached down to unlock the padlock, he realised that his hands were shaking. He looked around cursing as the padlock clattered noisily to the ground. It was well past midnight and he could expect noise at the garages to attract attention. He prepared himself for the inevitable metallic scraping and straining as he bent to raise the door. He cracked the bottom a few noisy inches, deciding that if the car wasn’t there he’d just walk away. Getting down on his knees, he peered in and was overcome with his sense of good fortune. The grille of the Volvo estate glinted in the borrowed light. He decided to raise the door only a little more and, after pushing the box in and retrieving the padlock, rolled in after it. He pulled the door shut and lay on the cold concrete floor for a moment, just breathing.

  ***