Rainstone Fall (12 page)

‘Cat – meow – hunger – food. Cat food.’

‘Can’t he eat what we’re having?’

‘Pumpkin, sweet potato and banana curry?’

‘Ah.’

‘So then you’d better go and get some. I think he’s hungry.’ The cat looked at me from the safety of her arms and meowed his agreement.

It had started.

Chapter Eleven

‘If it’s Thursday then it must be burglary,’ Annis murmured, wrapping her warm limbs tighter around me and snuggling her face deeper into my shoulder. It was still early, judging by the thin quality of the light, and I was wondering whether it was time for breakfast yet when I heard a scrabbling noise at the door. I saw the brass door handle move a little, then stop, then silence. Interesting. Not interesting enough to let go of the woman in my arms – not many things were – but still noteworthy that the nameless cat could stretch that high. More scrabbling. The door handle dipped, the door opened a few inches. I briefly saw the cat hang from his front paws on the handle, then drop out of sight. The door closed. Seconds later the thing had jumped on the bed and was walking confidently all over us.

‘Annis, the cat can open doors,’ I said in alarm.

‘Great. We could call him Paws.’

‘No chance.’

‘Let’s try and teach him to warm croissants then . . .’

It was over a breakfast of said croissants, heated in the oven without feline help, that I sought once more to simplify my life. I called Giles Haarbottle at Griffin’s and told him again that I was now convinced Lane was kosher.

‘All right, if you say so, but I don’t believe a word of it. Ah well, you can’t win them all. Sometimes that’s just how the cookie crumbles, you win some, you lose some.’

‘Mr Haarbottle, there are only so many clichés I can handle at breakfast time . . .’

‘Breakfast time? I’ve been at work for hours,’ he complained. ‘It’s the early bird that catches the worm, you know?’

‘But it’s the early worm that gets caught. And remember, it’s the second mouse that gets the cheese: I’ll send you my invoice.’

As soon as I cut the connection the phone rang. It was Sergeant Hayes. ‘Good news, Honeysett. They released what’s left of your car. What’s more they delivered it back here, which was kind of them, but we want you to pick it up pronto. Before traffic decide it’s not roadworthy, which I’m sure it isn’t.’

‘I’m on my way,’ I promised, not entirely truthfully, since it suddenly dawned on me that the keys hadn’t been in the ignition when it was found and I didn’t have the foggiest where the spare set might be.

It took nearly an hour and several upended drawers to locate them. They were hiding in a little wooden box along with a book of matches from a Turkish seaside restaurant, a champagne cork with lipstick marks and a dead beetle. If there was a story behind this then I didn’t remember it. By the time I got back downstairs, triumphantly waving the keys and expecting a lift to the station, Annis had gone out.

Another expensive taxi ride later and I was reunited with the DS. The bonnet was crinkled and one headlight smashed, the driver side was scratched and dented, and there was a star-shaped crack in the windscreen but I greeted the poor thing like an old friend. Miraculously the CD player was still there and not a single disc was missing. The rest of my possessions, Dictaphone, camcorder, my lightweight binoculars, were handed to me in a clear plastic bag. Nothing had been stolen. Nothing had even been touched. The car had been cleaned by the technicians, on the inside only, with some stuff that possibly smelled worse than death but faint stains still remained on the upholstery. I drove home with all windows open, with Radiohead at a satisfying volume level, wondering if anyone might deign to let me know who Albert really was and how he ended up in my car. I would go and ask Gemma Stone again, who obviously knew more about it then she let on, but not today. Needham and Deeks seemed to have decided I had nothing to do with it and anyway I had to cook supper for three, then commit burglary. Now, what was appropriate food for a break-in? Something light – you won’t feel much like climbing through windows after a three course meal that includes treacle tart – but at the same time sustaining – you don’t want your stomach to start growling halfway through. Raiding Telfer’s fridge really wasn’t part of the deal. It would be bad enough to come home and find your safe had been cleaned out.

I stood in the open kitchen door, watching the rain drown what was once a thriving herb garden, and called Jill. We had spoken every day, during which time she had shown a heartbreaking composure. ‘It’s tonight, isn’t it? I never wished anyone luck for a burglary before but there it is, good luck, Chris.’

I promised to call again as soon as there was any news.

Once we were all assembled in the kitchen, Tim already dressed in black and Annis with her hair in a tight plait, I went to work. Cooking in the face of adversity. I reckoned the wok was as hot as it would go and the water in the large saucepan was seething. I dropped a bundle of egg noodles into it. Then I poured oil into the wok, quickly followed by shredded spring onion, ginger and garlic. Keeping everything moving round in the pan I threw in shitake mushrooms dusted with corn flour and pak choi stalks. A good slug of rice wine and a few squirts of soy, then the torn leaves of the pak choi and some chili sauce. By the time the leaves had wilted to a glossy dark green it was ready to serve. In and out in three minutes like a good burglar. We slurped the noodles and chased what Tim insisted on calling shit-ache mushroom with chopsticks until we had finished every bit of it.

Tim dispelled my last-minute doubts. ‘It should be so hard. If Telfer goes playing cards at the Blathwayt Arms tonight like the man promised then we’ll be all right. It’s just a house with a safe, not the Royal Mint.’

Unless of course he had left it well guarded or installed some bizarrely sophisticated alarm system or had filled the house with trained attack dogs or kept a pet leopard or . . . I just couldn’t help fretting while Annis and I drove to the Blathwayt Arms high on Lansdown after dark. Tim had gone ahead to the Telfer house alone. I stopped the car by the side of the road a hundred yards or so from the pub so it wouldn’t attract attention.

‘I’ll just check he’s really here and looks like he’s enjoying himself, then we’ll zoom down and join Tim.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Annis said quickly. ‘This car smells bad, it needs a clean. Also a new headlight, windscreen replaced, the bonnet straightened out and the side resprayed.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘You’ve got soy sauce on your shirt.’

The Blathwayt was a large out-of-town pub with an over-ambitious car park and catered mainly to racecourse punters and golfers. It had recently left exotic 1970s fare like prawn cocktail and surf ’n’ turf-style nonsense behind and had gone down the ‘pan fried’ scallop/braised lamb with ‘mint jus’ road. I vaguely knew what Telfer looked like from seeing his picture in the papers but unfortunately had no idea what car he drove, which would have been helpful. There were three yellow cars parked outside. We pushed through the door and into the warm and cosily lit bar and dining room. There was a large fire burning in the grate. Several tables were taken by couples and families; none of them looked like gangsters. If Telfer was there to play cards and money was changing hands then the game would take place away from the public area in a room upstairs. Just when I was wondering how to go about this a waiter made for the stairs with a large tray full of a variety of drinks, all of them extremely blokish-looking, i.e. there wasn’t a slice of lemon or paper parasol in sight. I intercepted him at the foot of the stairs.

‘Has the Telfer party arrived yet?’

‘Yes, a few minutes ago.’

‘Mr Telfer himself, too?’

‘Naturally. May I ask . . .’ He looked at me with badly disguised irritation; the tray had to weigh a ton. I counted eighteen drinks. Rather a large number for a card game, I thought, until I realized that there were probably three of everything – they ordered ahead to be undisturbed for a while.

‘I had hoped to catch Mr Telfer before the game started but I really wouldn’t want to disturb him. When do they normally finish?’

‘It’s a private party so they can go on as long as they like but they usually finish around midnight.’

I thanked him and we left. There’d be plenty of time then. I called Tim on his mobile and told him the news he’d been waiting for. ‘It’s just as well, I’ve set the train in motion. You know where to find me.’

I did. After parking the DS in Charlcombe Lane we climbed up to Telfer’s property the way we had come when we recced the place and caught up with Tim by the hole in the hedge. It was dark and our legs were damp from the grass but for once it wasn’t raining. Worryingly there were lights showing all over the house.

‘Do you think there’s someone in or is it just for show?’ I asked.

‘Oh, there’s someone in, I always figured he would leave someone here. It’s the same slob we encountered last time. We’ll have no problems tonight.’

‘I wish I shared your optimism. So what kind of train were you talking about?’ I whispered.

‘What?’

‘The one you said you’d set in motion.’

‘Oh that. Well, I think it’s best I demonstrate. Let’s go tunnelling,’ he said, picking up a small black leather bag that contained his gear.

I had brought a zip-up canvas bag myself to carry away whatever we found in the safe. This time I’d also brought decent leather gloves. I slipped them on and followed Tim and Annis through the autumnal hedge.

‘You guys take cover down there where the security lights won’t catch you,’ Tim instructed us. ‘Keep an eye on the goon’s favourite pond. I’ll go and trigger the lights.’

‘Bigwood knows best,’ I murmured to myself and squeezed with Annis into the soot-black shadow of a trio of not-so-dwarf conifers. Moments later the acid glare of the security lights flooded the upper part of the garden and Tim came skidding down the grass in a hurry to join us. We each found a gap in the vegetation to peer through. It was a short wait. The same big guy we had seen at our last visit pushed open the verandah doors and practically fell through them. He carried a pool cue like a club. His gait appeared more than a little uncertain as he negotiated the steps, down one level where he paused for a shuffle to steady himself, then another level to the pond where his vodka bottle was hidden. He was talking to himself in a happy slurring voice but being much further away this time I couldn’t make out the words.

‘The guy is three sheets to the wind,’ I concluded.

‘More than that,’ Tim corrected me confidently. ‘I’d say at least four sheets. I know someone at the chemistry department up at the uni. He’s working on a new drug in his spare time. Strictly recreational, you understand, and he let me have a small sample, which I dropped into this bozo’s bottle of booze since he seems to reward himself with a drink each time he has to investigate why the security lights come on. He’s had a good swig already. The next one should finish him off.’

‘Finish him off how?’ I said in alarm. The bozo in question was kneeling by the pond’s edge, leaning heavily on his cue and fishing around for his bottle in the murky water. ‘What effect does the drug have?’

‘You get extremely blissed out and it creates the impression that you know everything there is to know in the world.’

The goon had found the bottle, cackled and straightened up.

‘Taken at the right dosage it makes you feel as though any second now you’ll understand all the secrets of the universe.’

The goon took a swig from the bottle, corked it and keeled over on to the grass like a felled tree.

‘Unfortunately it abruptly sends you to sleep just before you do,’ Tim said in a normal voice and got up. ‘Needs more work.’

While we carried the limp and heavy body up two flights of stone steps and through the verandah door the goon began to snore. We deposited him on the nearest sofa. There were three of those in the spacious and dimly lit room, arranged around a freestanding faux fireplace with an excessive amount of wrought iron, hammered copper and snowy sheepskins around its base. In one corner a bar with four stools sported enough optics to start a pub. Dotted all over the place were imitation coconut palms in large pots, complete with plastic coconuts, and on one wall hung a TV screen so enormous it took a while to walk past it.

I’d brought the pool cue. ‘Let’s make sure he’s not got a game going with some mates, shall we?’ I suggested in a low voice. I crossed the room, passed the broad sweep of the open-sided staircase, into a wide area with several doors off and a wall of glass bricks at the end beyond which I suspected lay the entrance hall. One door on the left was ajar and showed light. I listened but didn’t hear a sound. I pushed the door open with the cue: a games room, dominated by a pool table. Half the balls were scattered on the immaculate green baize but the black appeared to be missing. Acigarette still smouldered in an ashtray on a side table that also supported an open backgammon set. I put the cigarette out and returned the cue to the rack which already held half a dozen others.

Tim and Annis had quickly inspected the other rooms on this floor: dining room, kitchen and a bathroom. The safe had to be on the next floor. Just as we began padding up the stairs the imitation grandfather clock round the corner chimed: ten o’clock. Upstairs a hall with more plastic palms had five doors leading off it. One was ajar and turned out to be another bathroom. I tried the next one; a sparsely furnished bedroom with a very large window. It reminded me of a hospital room. Annis had opened the door opposite. ‘Bingo,’ she announced softly. Tim and I were both moving towards it when a door at the end of the hall opened a few inches and a female voice shouted: ‘Darren? Bring me another drink, will you? And go easy on the tonic, no matter what my husband told you, all right? Dar-
ren
?’

We’d all frozen as soon as we heard the voice but playing dead in the middle of the hall was clearly not going to work. We crept quietly into the office Annis had found. I left the door open a tiny crack so I could see what, if anything, was happening outside. Only seconds passed before a woman swished past. The unexpected Mrs Telfer brought with her a cloud of flowery perfume. Her head was a black helmet of shoulder-length lifeless hair and she wore a dressing gown that shimmered lime green in the twilight. She called the goon’s name again from the top before slip-pering downstairs.