The Borough

by Steve Dockray

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  By Monday morning, it was apparent that the storms of Friday night had caused a substantial amount of damage. Even in the limited view offered by the window in Winner's office it was possible to see a large branch ripped off the ash tree and a temporary tarpaulin covering roof damage on one of the shops. Peter Vaughan had come in to let Winner know what he had found out so far.

  "Some of it's insured, of course," he told Winner, "but there's quite a bit that isn't. There was a shelter demolished in the Memorial Gardens when an old pine came down. You probably saw where they'd cleared away the branches at the side of the Town Hall. That was another tree blown down. It smashed a couple of windows in the Personnel Office, but nothing too expensive."

  "They always seem to get the worst of it."

  "Probably divine retribution for being involved with sacking all those people."

  "Anything else?"

  "There was a section of the sea promenade washed away. That will have to be replaced. Apart from that there's just a catalogue of clearing up to be paid for. Fortunately the highways stuff will be the County's problem. There's a possibility of grant aid for the sea defence works."

  "I know that sort of grant aid," said Winner. "Just after you've done your estimates and found out that the repairs will cost a hundred thousand pounds, that's when the Government announces a generous aid package for those authorities that have suffered damage in excess of a hundred thousand pounds."

  "I don't think it will be any more than that. Perhaps we could treat the repairs as capital works, so that we can charge the work to capital receipts."

  "Times have changed, Peter. The first reaction will be to avoid anything other than the essentials. If the shelter isn't insured, it just won't be rebuilt. We might be able to treat the sea promenade as a capital job, but our ability to spend in that area is severely reduced."

  "I thought we had enough for a deposit on the theatre."

  "Only a small amount. I think everyone realises that's a non starter for the moment. There's something else, as well. Westerman asked me to keep it to myself, but all you accountants will find out eventually. Unfortunately, Nigel Stewart got this Authority involved in some complicated arrangements that were supposed to increase our resources, but ended up costing us half a million. That comes on top of the theft, our general budget problems, and now the extra cost of the storm damage."

  Vaughan sat quietly for a few moments, absorbing what Winner had said.

  "I wondered what he was up to," he said after a while.

  "What do you mean?" Winner asked.

  "Well, he was always rather secretive. Sometimes he'd be on the phone and stop speaking if you got within hearing range, that sort of thing."

  "I hope you'd tell me if you knew of anything concrete. I've heard a few suggestions myself, but it's not right to speak ill of the dead without good reason."

  "No, nothing definite. Is there anything more you want me to do about this storm damage?"

  "Let me have a schedule, broken down between insured and non insured, essential and non essential. You could mark any that you think might legitimately be charged to capital. When we've put some cash figures against the various items, I'll go and see Westerman."

  Ten weeks to go yet before the new financial year, and already they were looking at additional expenditure running into tens, if not hundreds of thousands of pounds. If any more disasters came along, they would almost certainly be looking at further staff cuts.

  The Daily News that afternoon was filled with pictures of the damage, including a yacht that had broken free in the marina and ended up on the estuary rocks after smashing into three other moored boats. Winner hoped the Council wouldn't be accused of negligence in supplying weak mooring chains. The Marina profits helped to subsidise the Council Tax, and every hike in insurance premiums resulting from a bad claims experience effectively ended up adding to the Council's expenses. Because of all the storm pictures, Councillor Avery's attack on the superstore was relegated to the less important inner pages, losing almost all of any impact it might have had. Winner would once have put such a setback to the Councillor's cause as bad luck, but now he could see that other forces were at work.

  Barry Freeman came into the office at about four o'clock.

  "If you've got time to read the paper, you might consider letting me have my staff back," Freeman told Winner.

  "Strictly business, I'm afraid, Barry. Checking to see whether there's any storm damage we hadn't heard about. It's going to create awful budget problems."

  Winner folded up the paper and threw it down onto his briefcase.

  "I just dropped in to say that the police have decided to drop their investigation of the theft, unless any evidence comes to light by chance."

  "They didn't make any progress beyond the bank in Gorston?"

  "Actually, they did. A routine check through bank records for another account in the name of Johnson revealed a safety deposit box in Petermere. They got a court order to open it, but it was empty. The bank's records showed that someone had walked in three days before and presumably cleaned out the box."

  "Could they identify him?"

  "Whoever it was had the key, the deposit number and called himself Johnson. The regular security guard was off sick and the replacement could only give the vaguest description. The pictures from the security camera were useless again. The man kept his back to the camera and might have been disguised anyway."

  "Some people have an incredible nerve," said Winner. "I don't think I could have kept cool if I'd gone in there knowing that the police might be waiting for me."

  "Anyway, that seems to be where the trail goes cold. If the accomplice was a Council employee, he'll soon be caught by the new controls we've introduced if he tries it again."

  Winner could feel his heart pounding and would have avoided discussing the bank vaults at all, except that it would appear odd if he wasn't interested, and besides, he needed to know every possible detail. He had never expected the police to trace the deposit box in Petermere. He hoped his tension didn't show.

  "Any luck with the tender rigging investigations?" he asked.

  "Nothing yet. The grounds' maintenance western sector contract is due in two weeks time and the tenders will be stored in the safe until I take them up to the tender opening meeting. We'll see whether they manage the same precision with their tender."

  "Too many people are being put under too much pressure in this organisation, Barry, and it's not good for security or health. It may be cutting costs, but it's not really increasing efficiency."

  "Westerman looks pretty sick," agreed Freeman. "We must get together soon and see if we can sort out some long term arrangement for sharing Sally Travis, or re-arranging the other staff."

  "Yes, in a week or two," Winner said, thinking to himself that he was less than keen about sharing Sally.

  They got back to the flat just before six o'clock after stopping off on the way for some pork chops. On the landing outside the front door, Winner put down his briefcase while he got out his keys. As he straightened up, he noticed some fresh looking scratches on the edge of the door. He put his finger to his lips and pointed at the scratches.

  "Do you think we've had visitors?" Sally asked in a whisper.

  "I'm not sure I want to look."

  "We can't stand out here all night."

  Winner slipped the key silently into the lock and eased the door open. He had feared that he might find a scene of wreckage, but in the hallway everything looked normal. They crept inside and he closed the door without a sound. One room after another, they cautiously pushed the door open and looked inside. There was no sign of an intruder. By the time they reached the kitchen, they had looked in every possible place where a person might hide.

  "Are you sure someone's been in here?" Sally asked, still whispering

  Winner realised that he was still clutching two pork chops. He put them down on the counter
top and was about to say something, but changed his mind. He picked up the message pad and wrote 'bugs?' in large letters. Sally looked at him in disbelief, raising her eyebrows in a silent question. Winner shrugged his shoulders. It was certainly far-fetched to think that the flat had been bugged, but with the other things that had been happening there was no doubt it was a possibility.

  Sally pulled off her coat, draped it over the stool, and looked around. It was hard to know where to start. They spent the next hour feeling under all the furniture edges until they were sure there was no listening device concealed. The last thing Winner thought to do was to have a look inside the telephone. He unscrewed the end and pulled off the plastic covering. Alongside the regular electrical bits and pieces, an extra component had been stuck to the casing with a blob of modelling clay. He prised it away and dropped it in a screw top jar, which he put in the fridge, next to the strawberry jam.

  "We must have checked everywhere," Winner said, raising his voice back to a more normal level.

  "Can that thing in the fridge transmit from there?"

  "No, I only put it in there to be double sure. As far as I know, a device like that has to be in the phone to be effective. The eavesdroppers actually use the phone to hear what's going on in the room."

  "This means they know who we are. Do you think that's all they did, leave a bug and hope that we wouldn't realise anyone had been in here?"

  "No, I think there's been a very careful search, but they've tried to do it so that we wouldn't be aware of it. If you look closely you can see that things have been moved around a bit. They've probably had a look through all the piles of papers to see if there's anything about Cavendish or his business."

  Sally shivered, despite the warmth of the flat. "It makes you feel insecure, doesn't it? - knowing that someone can get in so easily and poke around in your personal stuff."

  "We're reasonably safe for the moment. I've put the bolt and chain on the door and I'll get a locksmith here in the morning to fit a decent mortise lock. You start grilling the chops and I'll sort out some potatoes."

  "What might they have found?" Sally asked, as she forced herself to concentrate on preparing the food.

  "Not the diary pages, I'm glad to say. They were in my briefcase. The diskette's still in with the others, so there's no way they've seen all those details. I think they've probably seen the list of companies and a piece of paper with Cavendish's name and address on. Unfortunately, they might deduce from those papers that I know something, even though you and I suspect that we probably only know ten percent of what's going on."

  "What about my house?"

  "We'll have to go and have a look after we've had something to eat. Do you think your house would be as easy to break into as this?"

  "I don't know. All the windows have locks, but they could take their time round the back where it's very secluded."

  "They might not have identified you yet, so we can't be sure they'll have been there."

  Winner poured boiling water over the potatoes as the first sizzling noises came from the grill. The ease with which Cavendish's men had broken into his flat was rather alarming. He was quite sure they would know who Sally was, but she was frightened enough already.

  Sally sat reading the paper while Winner kept an eye on the cooking and sorted out some vegetables from the freezer compartment of the refrigerator.

  Just before eight they sat down to eat, and Winner was surprised to see that Sally hadn't lost her appetite. It wasn't until she was well into her triple-choc icecream that she came back to the subject of the break-in.

  "This man Cavendish thinks he owns the town," she said. "He manipulates the news in the local newspaper, he arranges burglaries in the Town Hall and private houses, he cheats on contracts and doesn't declare his interests. Worse than that, it looks as though he arranges for people to be killed. Maybe not just Nigel, either. Where did all his money come from? He's obviously hiding something up at his house, or there wouldn't be a need for trip wires and guard dogs. We've just been watching him and it's put us in danger. Are we going to let him get away with it?"

  "Are we sure about all this?"

  "Well I am and so are you, if you'll admit it. It's time we started being a bit more aggressive and made some plans to trap him. I don't want to spend the days wondering whether I'm being watched or targeted for some nasty accident, while he carries on cheating and stealing. We have to go onto a war footing."

  Winner was quite taken back by her sudden change in outlook, though he liked the way her anger brought some colour to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes.

  "It was you who didn't want me to risk going for the bank box," he reminded her. "And then you nearly panicked when I stopped the car to look over Cavendish's wall."

  "All right, but I've changed my mind now."

  Winner started clearing away the plates. He went into the kitchen, put on his apron and started running some hot water into the sink. She was right of course, but had he got the courage? Was it sensible for a man who wore seagull patterned aprons and juggled figures for a living to contemplate taking on a violent and powerful man who had a wide range of resources at his disposal? On the other hand, he had surprised himself with the roof escapade and the trip to the bank. He was obviously capable of responding to difficult situations that arose. And what about Sally? She was angry now, but could she convert that anger into action?

  Sally came into the kitchen and picked up a tea towel.

  "So you've changed your mind," said Winner. "Just suppose I go along with that, what precisely are we going to do? A life of office work and committee meetings doesn't equip us too well to do battle in the criminal world. What exactly would our objectives be?"

  "I wasn't suggesting a gun battle on the streets of River Heights. His crimes are mostly to do with paperwork anyway, and that's an area where we're both experts. We just have to be careful to protect ourselves from his troops."

  "That might be easier said than done. I'm afraid I'm not skilled in martial arts. Where would we start?"

  "We go over everything we've found out so far to make sure we haven't missed anything. We still have Cavendish's appointments schedule for the next few weeks, so we'll be able to see who he meets and maybe overhear some of what's said."

  "Then what, after we've got to the bottom of what he's doing?"

  "We either foul up his operations or expose him."

  "Of course, if there was something in this for us, as a by-product, so to speak, you wouldn't object?"

  "He certainly seems to have an excessive amount of wealth. If a small slice went missing, that would be no bad thing." She smiled a rather mischievous smile.

  "I was rather hoping you might say that," said Winner. "It's all a case of risk and reward. If we're going to take some risks, we might as well get something in exchange."

  Sally was drying a wine glass. Winner held up the other in his pink, rubber gloved hand. They clinked them together in a mock toast.

  "To risk and reward," they said in unison.

  From the unlit gloom of Toby's occasional bedroom, Winner could see a car parked down in the street. One of many, in fact, but this one distinguished by the brief glow of a match or cigarette which suggested an occupant. Unless Winner was suffering from paranoia, there was a definite chance that his flat was being watched. He slipped back into the hallway, where Sally was buttoning up her coat.

  "Walking shoes, gloves and a scarf, I suggest," he said, pulling his own thick coat off the stand. "I think someone wants to know if we go out."

  He picked up the heavy rubber torch from by the front door and they went out into the hall. As he closed the front door, he wedged in a small piece of paper torn from a sweet wrapper, so as to reveal any further attempt to break in. Sally was about to set off down the stairs, but Winner took her arm and led her to another door that opened onto a second utilitarian set of concrete stairs that served as an emergency fire exit. To Sally, th
e move from the carpeted landing to the dimly lit back stairs seemed like the first satisfactory step into the new plan of action. Their soft footsteps echoed around the hard surfaces of the stair well as they went down past the next two floors.

  Winner pushed the crash bar on the door at the bottom and they stepped out into the unlit service alley, disturbing a cat which jumped up on the dustbins, clattering the lids. He switched on the torch and they squeezed past a parked van out into the side road. Motioning Sally to stay where she was, he walked up to the corner and peered out cautiously through the overgrown hedge plants that hung out over the low wall. With his eyes now more accustomed to the dark, he could see the silhouette of the man in the car. He retreated from the corner and went back to Sally.

  "We'll take the scenic route," he told her, leading her down the side road away from the junction.

  Even using a less than direct route, it was only a few minutes walk to Sally's house. The small side streets were deserted and rather creepy, being less well lit than the main roads which had benefited from modernisation of their lamp-posts and light fittings. Maturing trees and hedges overhung the pavements, casting deep pools of black shadow. Winner didn't want to use the torch.

  "It's just possible that they're watching the flat to make sure we don't go to your house," he said softly, as they approached the last curve in the road. "They may not have had time to get to both places during the day, if they only managed to find out where we live this morning."

  "You mean there might be someone in there now?"

  "Possibly. Have you got your back door keys?"

  When the house came into view, there was an unfamiliar small van parked across the road, maybe twenty yards past. Sally put a restraining hand on Winner's arm and led him back to the junction that they had just walked past. They went down the side road, then turned into another road that ran parallel with the road Sally's house was on. A small cul-de-sac doubled back to behind her back garden.

  "Let's hope the neighbours are all settled down in front of their televisions," she whispered, as they crept into a private driveway past a parked car and round the side of the house into the back garden.

  Away from the street there was only the faintest of light from the surrounding houses, and the pale reflection of Sharmouth's streetlights on the low cloud cover above them. Sally had been in the garden before, an invited visitor to summer barbecues, but Winner was completely disorientated. He narrowly missed stepping into the garden pond before she tugged at his sleeve and steered him towards a gap in the hedge that led into her own garden. They waited a few seconds in the black shelter of the hedge, peering into the shadows to see if there was anyone about.

  Sally pointed up to one of the bedroom windows where, just for a moment, it looked as though there was a dull light moving about inside. Stealthily crossing the winter-soft grass with Winner in tow behind, she softly slid her key into the kitchen door lock. She could feel her heart beating obtrusively as she gently turned the handle. Once they were safely inside, Winner eased the door shut behind them and they stood motionless by the kitchen sink. A low creaking gave away the presence of a person moving about upstairs. Sally slid open the drawer under the draining board and pulled out a carving knife.

  They crept across the room and checked out the hall.

  Empty.

  Winner led the way up the stairs, keeping close to the wall to reduce the risk of creaking. The rubber torch was gripped firmly in his right hand, ready for use as a weapon if the need should arise. At the top of the stairs they could see a low light coming from the open door to Sally's bedroom. Sally would have gone straight in there with the carving knife, but Winner pushed her gently into the spare bedroom. He half closed the door behind them, so that he could watch the landing from the shadow of the room.

  What if there was more than one person in the room? It would be best to wait until the man came out. If he was big and powerful it could be very dangerous for them to corner him where his only means of escape was to smash them out of the way. He was about to whisper his plan of action to her when the light went out and a shadowy figure was suddenly framed in the doorway of the main bedroom. He came out, his hand reaching in front to feel the way, and turned to go down the stairs.

  Fired by the tension that had been pumping up his adrenaline level, Winner flung the door open and charged at the startled burglar. He let out a loud war cry as he swung the rubber torch into the back of the man's neck, following up the blow with the momentum of his own charge, which sent him crashing into the intruder's back.

  He was a big man, more solid than Winner, but the suddenness of the attack had caught him off balance and he lurched forward, missing his footing on the stairs and grabbing out wildly to try and stop his fall. He bounced heavily off the wall and crashed down as his feet slipped from under him, the newel post at the bottom catching his right arm with a cracking blow before he slumped into a heap on the floor.

  Winner had hit him hard and the fall must have at least winded him, but he was still able to move. He shook his head and staggered to his feet, grabbing at his arm. For a moment it seemed as though he was going to come back up the stairs to get his revenge, but by now Sally had pushed past Winner and started down, slashing the carving knife through the air ahead of her. The burglar took one look at her, turned and lurched towards the front door, heaving it open with his good arm. Before Sally had reached the bottom of the stairs, the man was running awkwardly across the open-plan front gardens towards the opening door of the van that stood waiting with its engine revving.

  Winner pounded down the stairs and ran past Sally, out into the garden and onto the road, but already the van was pulling away. He tried to pick out the registration, but the plate was covered with a thick layer of grime. In the orange glow of the street lights it was impossible to tell the colour of the vehicle. He walked back into the house and closed the door. Sally was still standing in the hall gripping the knife. Winner hugged her tightly and could feel her shaking, even through the thick padding of their winter coats. He unwound her fingers from the knife handle.

  "You were magnificent," she said, her teeth chattering slightly. "I'm sure he broke his arm on the stair post."

  "It was you who frightened him off."

  "I was terrified of him coming back at us. He looked a lot stronger than you or me."

  "Let's hope he doesn't return to get his revenge." Winner held her for a moment, then broke away and closed the front door. "He must have left the door on the latch for a quick getaway," he said, clicking the little button on the back of the lock to release the catch.

  "I'm glad I decided to move in with you," she said. "I wouldn't have felt safe here on my own after this. The trouble is, we've got them agitated, but we still don't know enough about what's going on."

  "Well, at least we know a bit more about the opposition now. There were three of them this evening, two here and one back at the flat. We'd better have a good look round the house before we go back to the my place."

  They searched thoroughly, looking in all the cupboards, with Sally checking that nothing was missing, feeling safer now that all the lights were on. It was the same as the flat. No real signs of disturbance, just a few things repositioned slightly, suggesting that everything had been carefully examined. The kitchen window had been forced to gain access, and Winner used a screwdriver from Sally's tool box to refix the catch.

  Sally collected a few more of her things to take over to the flat, then after they had switched off the upstairs lights Winner stood in the dark at the bedroom window, his eyes probing into the gloom for any sign of life. A car came along, briefly illuminating the scene, but the place was deserted. He went back downstairs and they checked that all the other windows were secure.

  On the way back through the gloomy back streets, they stopped from time to time to listen for the sound of following footfalls, but the only pedestrian they came across was an elderly man out walking his dog. They li
ngered again at the leafy corner at the end of the side road, but the car with the watcher had gone from the road in front of the block of flats, and Winner felt quite safe walking in through the main front door.

  The tell-tale scrap of paper was exactly as Winner had left it and soon they were curled up together on the sofa, a late evening brandy helping to calm them down after the excitement at the house.

  "I got frozen out there," said Sally. "I'm only just starting to thaw out. It's just as well that we drained down the water tank at my house, with it being so cold."

  "Where do we go from here?" asked Winner.

  "I think we've had enough for today," she said, looking at her watch. "Mind you, this excitement has a curious sort of aphrodisiac effect. I think our next move ought to be towards the bedroom."