by Tom Bale
‘Look, it was a damp night. They probably won’t get anything.’
‘We’ve got to pray they don’t.’
Robbie gave him a thoughtful look. ‘You might wanna do something with your hair, though. How about a flat-top? Or a number two all over?’
He rubbed his scalp, mimicking the actions of a razor. Dan was incredulous.
‘I can’t believe you’re treating this as a joke.’
‘Ah, Dan. You need to try and relax a bit. Otherwise you’re gonna keel over from the stress.’
****
It was advice that Dan neither wanted nor needed from Robbie. He picked up his phone, hoping for an excuse to leave. But he didn’t need an excuse, did he?
‘You getting them in?’ Robbie asked as Dan stood up. Then he groaned. ‘Aw, come on. The night is young.’
Dan ignored him. He marched out, and was halfway along New Road before Robbie caught up. The street was busy with after-work drinkers and early theatregoers. The noise of the traffic from North Street was like a brass band tuning up.
Robbie grabbed his sleeve, a gesture of clumsy affection. ‘Sorry, man. I know this is really hard on you.’
‘You don’t give a toss about me. Or anyone else.’
A hollow laugh from Robbie: Dan’s temper had always amused him.
‘I’m still gonna sort out your car, I promise.’
Dan was only half listening. He reached North Street and turned left, towards the bus stop. It wasn’t until a procession of vehicles had rumbled past that he noticed the altercation taking place across the road.
A taxi had pulled up at the kerb, its front passenger door open. A group of young men were clustered around it, haranguing the driver. The pedestrians flowing past were studiously ignoring the swearing.
‘Unhappy customers,’ Robbie muttered. Then he said: ‘Hey—’ as Dan sprinted across the path of a bus.
****
He only just made it. Adrenalin pumping, Dan burst into the group, grappling with the man who had launched an angry kick at the car’s tyre.
There were shouts of alarm as the others realised what was going on; one or two lashing out at Dan with clumsy punches. He moved away, turning so they could see him clearly, but his attention remained locked on the man – the boy – he was holding.
‘Louis! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
His brother’s mouth opened but he was too stunned to speak. His eyes wouldn’t focus properly. He reeked of booze.
There were angry cries of ‘Get off him’ and ‘Leave him alone, wanker’; and then someone muttered ‘It’s his brother’; and at that the group fell silent and abruptly resembled nothing more than schoolboys in the presence of a teacher they respected.
‘Fucking hooligans,’ the taxi driver yelled. ‘Few years in the army, that’s what they need.’
He drove away, a couple of the boys flipping him the finger. Louis shook off his brother’s grasp. He was red-faced now, his voice an octave too high when he tried to explain. ‘He wouldn’t take us to Hove. We offered him good money, but he treated us like shit—’
‘I don’t want to hear it,’ Dan said. ‘This isn’t how you behave, and you know it.’
‘Our money’s good as anyone’s.’
‘You can’t afford taxis. Where were you going, anyway?’
‘Strip club!’ one of the others shouted, to guffaws. Dan gave the boy a contemptuous glance, then he realised it was Miles, who’d been friends with Louis since infant school. The Miles that Dan knew was shy and polite: a wallflower. What had got into them?
‘Louis, you need to go home.’
‘Piss off. I don’t have to obey you.’ Louis stepped away from him, swaying slightly. His eyes were dilated and his gaze wouldn’t settle on anything for more than a second or two. This isn’t my brother, Dan thought. It’s an impostor.
He turned to address the group. ‘Have you been drinking all afternoon?’
There were a few grunts of assent, with a defiant edge.
‘What else have you had, besides the alcohol?’
No one answered, but Miles betrayed them with a goofy smile. Dan became aware that Robbie was loitering nearby, staring at Louis. When he sensed Dan’s attention he looked away.
The distraction was Louis’s cue to move. ‘Come on, we’re out of here.’
‘You’re going home.’ Dan reached out but his brother chopped viciously at his arm.
‘Make me.’
There were snorts of laughter as the boys jostled past him and set off up North Street. For all their youth and bluster, Dan knew he couldn’t physically stop them; nor did he want to. He’d never in his life struck out at his brother. The thought of doing so made him feel sick.
Sidling up, Robbie said, ‘Best to let ’em go.’
‘Did you see the state they were in?’
‘You were seventeen once, remember?’
‘I didn’t go round behaving like that. They could have got arrested.’
Robbie shrugged. ‘They weren’t doing any real harm. You’ve got to realise, your brother’s a free spirit. A bit like me,’ he added.
‘I hope not,’ Dan said, making sure Robbie understood that he wasn’t joking in the slightest. ‘Anything but that.’
CHAPTER 39
Stemper had pictured O’Brien’s farmhouse as an imposing period building, Grade II-listed, tile-hung in the Sussex fashion, boasting oak beams and tile floors and great open fireplaces. In fact it was a modern four-bedroom house that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a 1970s estate of executive homes. The main benefit, as far as Stemper could tell, was the seclusion offered by the extensive grounds.
A night visit was far from ideal for a thorough search, but Stemper was eager to create some momentum. This evening’s meeting had left him in no doubt as to the importance of making a swift breakthrough.
What shocked him most was that the Blakes had entrusted Jerry Conlon with the task of watching over an asset worth fifty million. Stemper wouldn’t have relied on Jerry to take his suits to the dry-cleaner’s.
****
He’d insisted that they wear latex gloves, overalls and woollen hats to minimise the trace evidence. He could tell Jerry thought this an absurd overreaction. Conlon looked like a refugee from some hideous alternative-theatre group: without the greasy mop of hair on his brow, his face resembled that of an elderly lizard.
Stemper said, ‘I understand there was talk of the alarm code being changed?’
‘Yeah, but it wasn’t.’
‘I know that. Didn’t you find out why he’d considered changing it?’
Jerry sneered. ‘You never met him, did you? Hank was always bitching about something or other.’
‘He was of vital importance to the Blakes, and your job was to protect their interests. You should have made it your business to know.’
A moment of icy silence, then Jerry sniffed and said, ‘Yeah, well, water under the bridge. Let’s get on with it, eh?’
****
Inside, the decor was an uneasy mix of traditional and modern. Nowhere was this more evident than in the main living room, which had a 1970s-style split-level layout and bare brick fireplace, as well as white leather couches and smoked-glass tables.
The farmhouse was visible, at some distance, from a couple of neighbouring properties. Since flickering torchlight was more likely to arouse suspicion, Stemper decided it was better to close all the curtains and blinds, and then use the normal lights, one room at a time.
It took only a few minutes to complete the initial reconnaissance, Jerry scurrying behind him like an overexcited but cautious puppy; one that knew what it was like to feel his master’s boot.
The results were disappointing. There was a safe hidden within a wardrobe in the master bedroom, but it wasn’t much larger than a shoebox: designed to take passports, jewellery, cash.
‘We might have to get inside.’ Stemper was troubled by the possibility of a flash drive: a USB stick could hol
d a room’s worth of documents.
Jerry didn’t feel it was likely. ‘What we’re after will be on paper. I can guarantee it.’
‘Really.’ Stemper wasn’t as sceptical as he sounded. The Blakes had said as much themselves. But the house’s construction seemed to preclude the possibility of a hidden strongroom or a walk-in safe.
They began the methodical search in the office, situated in the larger of the two back bedrooms. The Blakes had already trawled through the work laptop, and Stemper had recommended that he bring it back here tonight. In addition, there was a desktop PC and also an ancient laptop – kept for backups, perhaps.
Stemper’s briefcase contained, among other things, a portable hard drive with a two-terabyte storage capacity. While Jerry powered up the computers, Stemper focused on a large four-drawer filing cabinet.
‘I’ve looked in there,’ Jerry said. ‘It’s all kosher.’
Stemper had his doubts, but he saw that Jerry was correct. All he found were conventional company documents, most bearing the glossy emblem of the Templeton Wynne group and distribution lists that went far wider than any illicit paperwork would go.
****
The old laptop interested him more. There were signs that the hard drive had been wiped. Setting his data-recovery software to work, Stemper examined the desktop PC. It had a single user account, no password protection, and the files and folders consumed only eighty-one gigabytes of the 250-gig hard drive.
Stemper wondered if there was an element of double bluff: hide the evidence in plain sight. It seemed unlikely, but the Blakes could check it for themselves when he delivered a copy of the hard drive.
‘You say he would have favoured paper over digital. Could he have stored it offsite somewhere?’
Jerry screwed up his face while he thought about it. ‘Nah. That wouldn’t be Hank’s style. He’d want it close.’
‘The outbuildings?’
‘There’s a garage, an old barn. Couple of sheds. Have a look when we’re done here.’
‘I intend to.’
Jerry gulped audibly and focused his attention on the laptop. ‘Aye aye,’ he said, blatantly relieved. ‘Looks like you’ve got something here.’
The software was busy plucking out files that had been buried deep but not beyond reach. Even Stemper couldn’t suppress a smile at the titles: Girls ’n’ Dogs, Dirty Virgins, Little Darlings, Deflowered.
‘Filthy bastard,’ Jerry muttered. ‘Underage stuff, you reckon?’
‘Could be.’
‘I’m glad he’s dead, then.’
‘They’ll have to be checked, in case he’s hidden anything amongst them.’
‘Yeah, well, the Blakes can handle that. I’m going nowhere near any paedo shit—’
A sharp noise made him jump. It was the sound of glass giving way.
Stemper, perfectly calm, exchanged a glance with Jerry, who looked like he might be about to soil himself.
‘I think we have company.’
****
Stemper removed a couple of items from his briefcase and slipped them into the deep pockets of his overalls.
‘Police?’ Jerry said, his dry lips smacking noisily.
‘No.’ Stemper indicated the desk. ‘Sit there. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.’
Jerry nodded, immensely grateful to be assigned such a straightforward task.
Stemper descended the stairs and crept into the hall. He heard a thud from the living room. From the doorway he saw a torch beam roaming the room like a distressed insect. The light settled on the entertainment consoles beneath a plasma TV. A soft exhalation as the intruder assessed what he could take.
He would kneel down to disconnect the cables.
Stemper made no sound as he entered the room. He was holding his breath, though he nearly let it go when he saw the white stripe glowing along the leg of the man’s trousers. A burglar clad in tracksuit bottoms with white piping, and big white trainers that also shone in the half-light.
No professional, then. But Stemper didn’t see that as grounds for leniency.
He took out the stun gun. Acquired in America, it delivered a charge of five million volts that would render a grown man insensible for several minutes.
The intruder was sifting through a pile of Xbox games when Stemper reached him. He had possibly half a second’s awareness that he wasn’t alone before the stun gun did its work.
****
Stemper had ample time to put the light on and drag the intruder into the centre of the room, where he sat him up against a coffee table. He removed the man’s cheap plastic jacket, tied his hands with the sleeves and used the rest as a hood. Pulled tight over his face, it would leave him struggling to breathe, disorientated and afraid.
The man was groaning, his breathing ragged. Stemper considered the possibility of a congenital heart defect. A corpse on his hands tonight would be an unwelcome complication.
He gave his prisoner a slap. ‘Wake up.’
The man writhed for a moment. ‘Who the fuck ...? What d’you do to me?’
‘I’ll show you.’ Stemper pressed the stun gun into the man’s side.
‘No! Leave it out—’
‘Who sent you here?’
‘No one.’
‘You’re lying. Tell me who you’re working for.’
‘I came here ’cause I thought the house was empty.’
‘How did you know that?’
He shrugged. ‘Just did.’
‘Wrong.’ Stemper moved as if to strike again.
‘Don’t! I heard a whisper ... The owner wound up dead the other night.’ He was growing more confident. ‘Me and a mate thought we’d take a look. He’s keeping watch. You’d better let me go. He’s tooled up, ’n all.’
It sounded blatantly untrue, and Stemper said so. ‘Who told you about the owner?’
‘Just picked it up.’
‘Someone gave you the address. Tell me.’
His body sagged in defeat. ‘Just some girl, all right? Works in a pub round here.’
‘And she tipped you off?’
The man only grunted in response.
‘Where does she live?’
‘What? Ah no, you got no right—’
Stemper gave him another shock, for a shorter duration this time. The man screamed but did not lose consciousness.
‘Yeah, yeah. It’s Worthing, okay? Broadwater Street. There’s a block of flats just past the churchyard. Traci’s the ground floor. Number six.’
****
Stemper heard movement behind him and turned, braced to take on the man’s accomplice. But it was Jerry Conlon, open-mouthed with shock. Stemper shook his head fiercely, gesturing back towards the office.
The burglar sensed something had changed, lifting his head and casting blindly around.
‘He’s out there. You better let me go.’
Stemper didn’t think the man had brought an accomplice, but he couldn’t discount it completely. He hauled the man to his feet. ‘How did you get in?’
‘Broke a panel in the conservatory door.’
Stemper wanted him leaving the same way. Boldly opening the front door would emphasise that Stemper was an insider.
He walked the man through the dining room, where an arched opening led to the conservatory. Sure enough, a single pane had been punched out; foolishly, Hank had left a key in the lock.
Stemper took a look outside. The night was still and very dark, low cloud blotting out the moon and stars. There was no sign of anyone else.
‘Remember this,’ he said quietly. ‘I saw your face when you blacked out. You haven’t seen mine. If any word of this leaks, you won’t see me coming.’
‘I get the message. I’m hardly gonna blab, am I?’
‘Nothing to Traci, either, or I guarantee she’ll suffer.’
He propelled the burglar across the patio, the man stumbling, pulling at the coat that still covered his face. Stemper locked the door, removed the key and retreated from sigh
t.
Jerry was in the office, biting so intensely on a nail that he could have chewed half his finger off.
‘Small-time burglar,’ Stemper told him. ‘I don’t think he poses a risk, but we’d better get out of here.’
‘Was that Traci he mentioned?’ Jerry gave a bitter laugh. ‘Did she put him up to it?’
‘I’ll be finding out.’ Stemper pointed to the computers. ‘Let’s shut these down.’
‘This is a nightmare. It’s like there’s a frigging curse on O’Brien.’
Or on you, Stemper thought. But he didn’t say that. It made no sense to give Jerry any warning.
CHAPTER 40
On Friday morning Cate woke in an unexpectedly positive mood and went for a run. The air was cool but fragrant, stirred by the lightest of sea breezes. A thin veil of cloud glowed with the promise that eventually the sun would break through. Cate managed two miles along the promenade, exchanging rueful smiles with the other masochists out early to run, cycle, rollerblade or walk their dogs.
She tried not to dwell on Robbie or Hank O’Brien. Instead she thought about work. There were medical reports to read and schedules of loss to prepare, and she was determined to get up to date before the weekend.
She was back home by twenty to eight, feeling virtuous enough to contemplate cookies for elevenses. She showered, dressed and was seconds away from leaving when the doorbell rang.
It was DS Thomsett, clutching a document wallet. Avery, the unruly henchman, lurked behind him.
‘The e-fits. Do you have time to take a look?’
A disarming smile overcame Cate’s defences. ‘I can spare a few minutes. Come in.’
She led them into the lounge, then remembered there was a bra on the radiator – not a decent bra, either, but an everyday one from M&S that had gone grey with age. Casually she managed to unhook it and let it drop out of sight beneath her dining table. Thomsett gave no indication that he’d noticed, but Avery made a sarcastic noise in his throat.
