The Borough

by Steve Dockray

CHAPTER NINE

  Outside the Dog and Duck, the weather had taken a turn for the worse, and a fine steady sleet was lingering where it fell on the ground. Winner and Sally hurried along towards the car park, taking advantage of the shelter provided by the shop front overhangs. Winner went in with her to see her safely into her car. She wound down the window when the engine had started.

  "Thanks for the meal," she said, looking up into his eyes.

  "It was good to have your company. Perhaps we could do it again sometime?"

  "I'd like that."

  Winner watched as she drove away in her small Citroen. Yes, he'd like it too.

  It wasn't until he was walking down the side alley to get to the car park at the rear of the Town Hall that he remembered leaving his briefcase in the office. There were some papers that he really ought to look at before a meeting in the morning. Half past eight. It was just about worth picking them up.

  The Town Hall seemed deserted as Winner slipped in through the rear door. He didn't bother with the light switch, finding his way easily by the faint glow that escaped from the permanently lit emergency exit signs. He stepped into his office and bent down to pick up the briefcase from beside the desk. Through the window a break in the cloud lent a ghostly illumination to the buildings and tree outside. Winner stood looking out at the silvery shadows for a full five minutes until the moon disappeared again. In the suddenly intensified darkness, he groped for the handle on the door to the corridor and was about to leave his office when he heard voices echoing softly through the passageway.

  His hand rested motionless on the door handle as he saw the murky outline of two people cutting across the main corridor to the staircase leading to the first floor. Silently he put his briefcase back down on the floor. Curiosity drew him along the corridor to the foot of the stairs. An individual like himself might wander round the Town Hall without any lights, but would two people together? Their conversation had been very soft and their movements looked stealthy. Winner started up the stairs in pursuit, glad that he was wearing fairly soft soled shoes that made almost no noise. Twice he stopped to listen before reaching the top.

  The upper corridor was empty. He crept from one end to the other in the almost total darkness, narrowly avoiding a potentially noisy encounter with a trolley left outside the post room. He was beginning to wonder whether he had imagined the two people, when he heard some distant sounds from the narrow staircase that led to the small suite of offices in the roof used by some of the planners. Winner hesitated. It could be very awkward if he met anyone on the way up. There would be nowhere to hide and he would be very vulnerable. Not that he was aware of anyone else in the building apart from the two he'd seen.

  He had just climbed a few stairs to see if he could hear anything up above, when the sound of regular footfalls behind him came within range. He was trapped. There was no option but to go on up. He moved as fast as he dared, wondering if he might have been rather rash risking a possible confrontation with burglars. He didn't want to catch up with the people in front, but nor did he want the one behind to catch him up. There were only two rooms at the top of the stairs. He could only hope that both the people would be in one of them. Soon after he rounded the turn in the stairs he heard the third man starting up behind him. There was a glow of light from the office off to the left at the top of the stairs, so Winner went straight into the one on the right, relieved that the door was already open. He stood out of sight, straining to hear what was happening. It was only a few seconds before he heard a man's voice.

  "Where are you?"

  "In here. Keep the noise down. This will take some time. John's going to go back down to the bottom of the stairs and keep watch, while we work our way through these two rooms. You can swap over in an hour."

  "What are we looking for?"

  "Anything at all with the names on. Anything incriminating. If we can't find anything tonight we'll have to assume his secret's died with him or he's hidden the stuff where no-one's going to find it. There was absolutely nothing in his office last night."

  The two people who had talked moved further into the office and their voices became too faint to hear what they were saying. Winner had heard enough. They were going to search both offices and there was a man at the bottom of the stairs. There was no way to get back down without encountering them, and before long they would come into the office where he was hiding. There was only one possibility. He would have to slip out through the fire escape door and wait on the flat roof outside until they had finished their business.

  He moved quietly across the office to the fire door, carefully side-stepping the piles of papers and potentially noisy metal waste bins. There was a feeble light filtering in through the windows, probably not much more than the reflection of the town's streetlights on the clouds above. Winner's hands found the crash bar on the door, secure in the knowledge that only the doors in the cash security zone were wired to the alarm system. He pushed gently down, horrified at the resultant grating noise that came from the mechanism. He could only hope that they were making too much noise with their searching in the next room to notice. He paused briefly, listening for a reaction, then pushed again, but even more slowly. There was a soft clunk and the bar dropped down, releasing the catch. Winner looked back into the room and decided it was now or never. He opened the door quickly, conscious that too timid an approach might result in squeaky hinges. Within a moment he was outside on the flat section of roof with the door resting gently against its latch.

  Out on the roof it was cold. He buttoned his coat up to the neck and thrust his hands into his pockets. Would they notice the door when they came into the office? It was sticking out an inch and probably letting in a cold draught. Even if they did notice it, they probably wouldn't think anything of it. Winner jammed himself into the corner where two walls met, protecting his back from the bitter sleety wind. He could feel the icy air starting to seep in through his overcoat, a garment more suitable for the city streets than a rooftop stakeout. He was about four feet from the window, but it would be impossible for anyone looking out to see him in the shadows of the building. He took his hands out of his pockets for a moment and held his wrist up to his face as he squeezed the light button on his watch. Five to nine.

  By ten o'clock Winner was doing regular knee bends to try and ward off the creeping numbness. What if they didn't come into the office for another couple of hours? For the second time he struggled to remember the layout of the roof. It certainly wasn't the first time he had been out there. In summers gone by, before the Health and Safety inspector had protested, the roof was in regular use by staff at lunch times for eating their sandwiches or lazing in the sun. Once he had been on a tour of the roof with several council members, the general purpose of the exercise having been to show the members what a poor state everything was in. There definitely wasn't a direct route of walkways and ladders that led right down to street level. The door in the planners' office was there to allow the staff to move to other parts of the building normally accessible during working hours. If it became necessary, he might be able to find a window somewhere that he could prise open.

  Winner's thoughts about possible escape routes were cut short by the arrival of the two men in the office. They switched on a small lamp, probably aware that there were no other offices overlooking the windows. They started opening the filing cabinets on the far side of the room. All Winner could see was their backs. Three men in total, including the one keeping watch downstairs. One of them called John. The one who gave the orders had a slightly familiar voice that Winner couldn't place. He moved closer to the window, trying to get a better look. One of the men turned to put a pile of files on the centre table and must have caught an impression of Winner's silhouette against the night sky at the same moment as Winner saw his face.

  There was a sudden raising of voices in the room and Winner knew he must have been spotted. He dropped to a crouch and looked for the best place to hide. Ther
e was a low parapet wall running along the edge of the flat section, separating it from a slightly lower area. He moved over, his muscles half seized up from the cold, and lowered himself over at the same moment that the raiding party found the open fire door.

  "Get the torch. There's someone out here."

  Winner shuffled along behind the parapet to get as far from the door as possible and found himself at the top of an iron runged ladder that led down into a roof valley. He turned to go down, so that as he went over the edge he could see back along the lower flat roof. Three rungs down his foot slipped on the smooth ironwork and he grabbed at the ladder with both hands. The frozen rusty surface of the side rails tore into his palms, but he stopped himself from falling. A beam of light stabbed out from over the parapet as he started down again. For an instant he saw his trailing hand caught in the beam before he pulled it below the level of the roof. He heard the man drop over the parapet edge. They were coming after him. His only possible advantages were a hazy knowledge of the roof geography and a few minutes while his night sight would be better than theirs.

  At the bottom of the ladder the roof valley stretched ahead of him. He ran along the lead lined bottom, just stopping in time to avoid plunging over the edge where the valley opened out at the corner of an internal light well. There was no way out. The valley ended in a large cast iron hopper that funnelled rainwater into a downpipe. Already the roofs echoed with the sound of feet on the iron ladder. Winner tested the sloping slates. They were dry in this area and his shoes seemed to get a reasonable grip. As soon as he had gone a few feet up the forty-five degree slope he regretted his decision. The only possible destination was the safety of the monumental Victorian chimney stack that protruded through the slates about thirty feet away, which meant moving across the roof as well as upwards.

  For the next few yards he was on an outward facing slope with nothing to catch him if he slipped. He used his hands as well as his feet, planting them flat against the surface of the slates to get the maximum grip. He could hear footsteps along the valley now, and a second set on the iron ladder. His left foot slipped on the slates as he took his weight off it, and for a moment he froze as he fought to keep his balance. Then forward again until he could crawl into the safety of the valley formed where the roof met the chimney stack. He turned and peeped out round the corner of the stack, covering his face with his hands to avoid recognition if they should catch him in the beam from the torch. Winner was sure they didn't know who they were chasing. If he wanted to sleep easily at night, he would have to keep it that way.

  The two men were standing at the end of the valley. An arm waved in the direction of the stack and Winner shrunk back behind the stonework as a pool of light flashed across the slates. He thought he heard one of them say he must be up there, but the voices were carried away in the wind. He ventured another glance at them. They had moved back a short way along the valley and one of them was starting up the slope, but straight towards the ridge, so that if he slipped he would only slide back into the valley. Probably a wise choice, since he appeared to be having more trouble keeping his footing on the slates than Winner.

  Back in the lee of the stack, Winner could see that the pursuer would reach the ridge and could then fairly safely make his way around the ridge to above where Winner was concealed. He decided to make for the ridge himself, moving quicker now that he had the stack behind him to stop a deadly slide. Once at the top he would be easily seen as an outline against the sky. If he wanted to get away, he would have to take every advantage of his lead and possibly better grip to increase the distance between himself and the pursuer. He reached the ridge as the other man was still slithering about, half way up the slope.

  There was no margin for error now. As Winner moved away from his pursuers along the ridge there were clear open slopes on both sides. On his left the slates ended in a sheer drop to the street below, the contemplation of which was only made worse by the fact that the Town Hall was fronted by spiked ornamental railings. On his right the slope led down to the internal light-well, a drop of at least forty feet. Winner concentrated on the ridge ahead, trying not to think of his potential fate.

  The sleet was driving harder now, stinging at Winner's exposed flesh and slowly starting to get a grip on the surface of the slates. At the end of the ridge, where it turned ninety degrees to follow the western frontage, he looked back. The man had reached the ridge and must be nearly level with the stack. Despite his shoes, he was going at quite a pace. Winner got moving again, aware that the only safe descent from the roof lay on the northern frontage where there were some more flat roofed offices. His all fours technique was getting better now and he soon reached the second ninety degree bend.

  The pursuer was just turning the first bend. Winner thought he could remember an access ladder from the northern flat roof area that would get him down to a lower level where he might risk climbing one of the solid cast iron drainpipes. He sped along the back stretch of ridge and was about half way to the flat roof area when disaster struck. His style had become too fast and confident for the loose slate that his left foot landed on. The slate slipped out and skated off down the roof and Winner's left leg followed, dragging his right leg over the ridge as his right shoulder slammed into the apex. Face down against the slates and stunned by the impact, he grabbed out to stop himself from sliding, but his hands were too numb to hold the smooth ice covered lead of the ridge. The momentum of his body pulled him downwards, dragging him away down the slope.

  He dug his toes into the surface, and his spread-eagled position gave his clothes the maximum possible drag on the roof, but nothing would stop his steady slide down the sleety slates. Winner's only hope was to catch hold of the guttering.

  The end of the roof came up fast. Winner felt his toes catch momentarily on the lip of the channel, but they bounced up and his slide over the edge continued, the gutter slowing him down as it scraped up his shins and bashed his knees, his crotch mercifully protected at the last moment by the crumpling folds of his overcoat. For a second he was almost motionless in mid air, the top button of his coat hooked onto the cast iron. In the split second of immobility his hands grabbed at the gutter. The button popped off his coat, but his grip on the rainwater channel was firm. The sudden strain on the guttering proved too much for the fixings. There was a crackling sound as rusty screws tore away from their mounting points. Winner found himself floating out into space away from the wall. There was a sudden lurch downwards as a joint in the guttering gave way and then as more screws broke free a long stretch of rainwater pipe slid down across the face of the wall, sweeping him through the air. Then everything was still. Winner was left swinging in mid air at the furthest extent of the crumpled metalwork. His fingers and arms were burning from the pain of keeping hold through the lurching descent. His eyes strained into the murky blackness as he tried to work out how far above ground he might be, or whether he could climb back along the pipe to the wall.

  Just then the moon made one of its fleeting appearances and for a few seconds the dark shadows took on more recognisable forms. Winner had come to rest about two inches above the Personnel Section flat roof. He dropped down and stood there for a few moments, straightening out his clothes and rubbing at his strained muscles.

  He sat down on the roof with his back to the wall, huffing into his frozen fingers to thaw them out. There was no way they could follow him, but could they work out where he was? Should he stay put or try to get away? Best to move straight away, before they had time to get down from the roof or he froze to death.

  Winner crawled to the edge of the flat roof. It was still at least twenty feet down, but there was a sturdy looking rainwater pipe and if it gave way he would probably be dropped into fairly thick shrubbery. He eased himself over the edge, finding it was easy to jam his toes in between the pipe and the wall. It took a few minutes, but he reached the safety of the ground. He looked back up at the outline of the roof and started to shake. There w
as no question of retrieving his car. If anyone asked him tomorrow he would say he'd left it there after drinking a bit too much. It took him nearly half an hour to walk home avoiding the brightly lit streets where someone might notice the state of his clothing.

  Winner lay back in the hot bath, the cold in his limbs rapidly soaking away. His shins and knees were grazed and his hands would need the antiseptic cream, but apart from some strains and bruising he was all right. Definitely fitter than his shoes, one of which had a half detached sole, and his coat, which wasn't even fit for the charity shop. Still, replacing them wouldn't make much of a hole in ten thousand pounds. Had he learned anything from his brush with death? That face was familiar. Perhaps it would come to him. And the need to retrieve papers with certain names on them? What did it mean?

  "Well, what do you think?" Winner said out loud.

  The rubber duck bobbed about, but kept silent.