Surviving The Evacuation (Book 6): Harvest (24 page)

“Yeah, okay. You know, there’s someone else who we can be certain didn’t do it. Styles. Our very own Detective Inspector. This should be right up his alley.”

“And this is what you call safety, is it?” Styles snapped. “A toxic river and no fresh food, except it turns out there’s no food at all because you’ve got a thief in your midst. Do the people in Wales even exist?”

“They do,” Chester said.

“Frankly, I’ll believe it when I’m standing on the deck of a boat waving goodbye to this place.”

“Look, Inspector,” Chester growled. “You can complain all you like, but the children are safer here than in Kent. And it’ll be easier to get them out by boat when it comes.”

“And it won’t until you leave,” Styles said. “And when is that going to be?”

“When we’ve got to the bottom of this,” Nilda said. “There’s a thief here. I’m certain of that. Or,” she added, “perhaps it’s someone spun mad by the outbreak now driven to hide and hoard food. It doesn’t matter which. If we’d not gone down to that farm, if Chester had gone north to get help from Anglesey, we’d have starved before it arrived.”

“Then go to Anglesey, see if they can bring some law and order to this place,” Styles snapped.

“We don’t need to go quite that far,” Chester said. “Not when we’ve got you here, Detective Inspector.”

“Right,” Styles breathed out. “Yeah, okay. Who are the suspects?”

“There’s Stewart,” Chester said.

“The cook?” Styles asked.

“If it was him, he doesn’t know he’s doing it,” Nilda said. “He’s not… well, he’s been pretty twisted by all that’s happened since the event.”

“He could have done it though?

“He’s obsessed with food. Making sure there’s enough of it,” Chester said.

“But everyone’s obsessed with that,” Nilda said.

“He’s a cook. He has access,” the Inspector said. “Right?”

“Yes,” Nilda allowed.

“There you are then. He probably did it.”

“Or possibly didn’t,” Nilda said. “But how do we prove it?”

“I don’t see that as my problem,” Styles said. “I’ll take the children and our food, and we’ll take over one wing of this place. We’ll hand out the supplies one day at a time until you come back with that boat.”

“Your food is still mostly outside the walls,” Chester said. “Even if it was inside, you can’t stop us from taking it.”

“I see. It’s like that, is it?”

“And this is why we need to catch that thief. Look at us. Here. Now.” Nilda sighed. “Okay. So how do we find out who actually did it? What about fingerprints? They put the boxes back, so whichever set is on every box has to be the thief’s.”

“Possibly. I suppose so. But we don’t have a kit,” Styles said.

“Any fine powder will do,” Chester said. “You must have been at least one crime scene where you ran out.”

“I worked Special Branch, not robbery,” Styles said.

“Special Branch? With the MET?” Chester asked.

“Out of Scotland Yard,” Styles said.

“For how long?” Chester asked.

“For the last five years.”

“I see.” He stood up. “You’re not police.”

“What do you mean?”

“N’ah, you see, I thought I didn’t recognise you. On its own it doesn’t add up to much, but you’re not like any rozzer I’ve ever met. And Special Branch? You must have got that from the telly.”

“What do you mean?” Nilda asked.

“They rebranded it as Counter Terrorism at the beginning of the century,” Chester said. “So who are you?”

“Fine. I’m not police. I was underground with a bunch of screaming children whilst some battleship was bombarding us. Being a figure of authority was a comfort to them. How was I supposed to know that I’d end up stuck with them? The lie didn’t matter. Of course it didn’t. I mean, under what possible circumstances could it matter? And how does it matter now, since I’m clearly not your thief?”

“Yeah, but out of all the professions you could have chosen, why police?” Chester asked. “After what they did—”

“He’s right. It doesn’t matter,” Nilda said. “We’re all entitled to reinvent ourselves. But since everyone else actually thinks you’re a detective, we might as well let the lie stand. It could be useful, though it doesn’t get us any closer to finding out who did it.”

“DNA’s out. So is CCTV,” Styles said, clearly eager to move the conversation along. “I suppose you could do fingerprinting. I mean, how hard can it actually be? But you’d need to take everyone’s prints. And I guess the best way of doing that is when you interrogate them. But have you thought about what will happen when you start doing that? As soon as you announce there’s a thief here, people will pick out their own favourite suspect, and those suspicions will linger long after you find out who did it.”

“The man’s got a point,” Chester said. “We could say that this is a stock error. A miscalculation, and because of it we’re going to have to keep far tighter track of food from now on. Keep it under lock and key, and give fewer people access. And make sure those are people you know you can trust.”

“No,” Nilda said. “If we can’t find the thief, then I think I have a better long-term solution, but we shouldn’t give up. Chester, how would you do it?”

“Steal it, you mean? Well, getting it out of the stock room isn’t hard. The difficult part is moving it to somewhere it won’t be found.”

“How do you know that?” Styles asked.

“I’ve got a lot of experience with law enforcement,” Chester said.

“So you think it’ll be hidden in the castle?” Nilda asked.

“I doubt it,” Chester said. “You have to assume that Fogerty knows every tunnel and secret passageway. There’s too great a chance he’d stumble over it. If he did, then everything would be discovered. So, if I was hiding it inside, I’d have to kill the old soldier. Since he’s still alive, I’d say the food was outside.”

“Surely we’d have noticed someone going out with a full bag,” Nilda said.

“Clearly not,” Chester said. “But if it was me, I’d move it at night.”

“Tuck sleeps on that tower, she’d have seen.”

“Only if she was awake and only if our thief went over that section of wall. And why should they? You know, the more I think about it, the more that makes sense. Why is it that there are more undead around in the mornings than in the evenings? They must hear something at night.”

“Well, where outside could they be stashing the food?” Styles asked.

“It could be anywhere,” Chester said. “A restaurant, an office, one of the churches, or anyplace really, but wherever it is, it won’t be far. Somewhere you can walk to from the castle, get inside, and then get back, quickly. It’ll take a while to find it, and we want this over with tonight. We’ll have to lay a trap and that’ll be simple enough, but you’re right, when people are told, they’ll need proof. Something that will allow them to believe it’s over, that the thief is caught and it won’t happen again. Fingerprinting might be a bit beyond us, but I think we can manage CCTV.”

First, they enlisted the help of Jay and Tuck. When they told them what had happened, Jay didn’t want to believe it. Tuck didn’t seem surprised.

After the evening meal, Jay stood up to propose that due to their suddenly increased numbers, any personal stashes of food should be handed in to be added to the stores. He also suggested that as soon as they gathered the food from outside, they should conduct a more thorough inventory. Then they should bottle, pickle, or smoke as much as they could. When the ship from Anglesey arrived, they could then trade for supplies, even if it was only with a token gesture.

The idea was met with almost universal enthusiasm. When Nilda saw this, and that most people did want to stay in the Tower and try and create a functioning society, a small glimmer of trust was restored.

After people had brought their few private supplies to the kitchen, and after Nilda had sent Stewart to get some sleep, they hid the drone with its camera facing the doorway. It couldn’t be left in the storeroom itself since there was no light in there. There was usually none in the kitchen at night, save that from the dying embers of the fire. They left a solitary lantern on an empty table that would, they hoped, give enough illumination to make the face of the thief visible on the recording.

They then retreated up to the second storey above the dining hall to wait. Jay sat with the laptop on his knees. Chester, Nilda, and Styles peered over his shoulder. Tuck looked relaxed, leaning against a wall, only the hand occasionally dropping to the hilt of her bayonet betraying any tension.

“I think,” Jay said, “that the battery might last for another four hours. What do we do if no one comes?”

“Whatever happens, I’m leaving with the morning tide,” Chester said. “If it wasn’t for the children, I’d say you should all come with me.”

“But the children are here,” Styles said.

“And we can’t leave them,” Nilda added. “If we don’t catch someone, we’ll say it was a stock keeping error and keep the food under lock, key, and guard.”

Tuck’s hands moved.

“What’s that?” Styles asked.

“If no one comes tonight, then we find more cameras,” Jay said. “We keep watch every night because this won’t just stop.”

After that, they sat quietly, watching the small screen.

25
th
September

It was nearing two when a shadow appeared.

Nilda nudged Chester.

“I saw it,” he whispered. “Everyone remember their role? Then let’s get this done.”

“Make sure it keeps recording,” Nilda whispered, glad that the camera gave her son a task that would keep him away from what had to be done next. She was equally grateful that the drone’s software didn’t allow it to transmit sound.

She was at the bottom of the stairs and at the rear of the small group when they saw a figure coming out of the kitchens. Nilda saw Tuck move, but Chester moved faster. He leaped over a table, one hand reaching out to grab the figure’s throat, the other punching out in a low jab. The figure dropped, supported only by Chester’s hand around their neck. It was then that the enormity of what they were doing and what would come next swept over Nilda. Before she could yell at Chester to let the figure go, he released his hand, and the suspected thief fell to the floor.

“A bit of light would be nice,” Chester hissed.

Nilda turned on the flashlight and shone it down. It was Graham.

With Chester pinning the man to the floor, Tuck moved over and began a quick but thorough search, checking him for weapons. He didn’t have any. Chester glanced up at Nilda. He was waiting for her to speak, but her mouth was dry, and the words wouldn’t come.

“You have any handcuffs on you, Inspector?” Chester growled, pressing a knee further into Graham’s back.

“Sorry, no,” Styles said. “I left them back at the mansion. Not much call for them these past few months.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Chester continued after a glance at Nilda. He gave Graham’s arm another twist. “Talk about bad luck, mate. The one adult left in Kent turns out to be one of Scotland Yard’s finest. And just when we discover we’ve a thief in our midst.”

“It’s more than luck,” Styles said, sticking to his part perfectly. “It’s serendipity. Fingerprints, that was your undoing. We lifted a set from everyone at dinner and compared them to the boxes. We knew it was you. They wanted to confront you in front of everyone.” He knelt down next to the man. “But I said wait, because as a dog returneth to his vomit, a criminal always returns to the scene.”

Styles glanced at Nilda. They’d talked about it earlier, planned what each was going to say and when, and in what order so as best to elicit a confession. During those dying hours of daylight it had seemed so simple. Now, as she looked down, it seemed so false, so fake, so far from anything that approached justice that the very idea of the charade made her sick.

“Check that bag,” Nilda said. Graham had come out of the storeroom carrying a small holdall.

Tuck picked it up, and slowly emptied it onto the table. It was a mix of items that had gone into the store that afternoon. What struck Nilda, however, was how small a selection it was. Chester and Styles were waiting, she knew. The line she was meant to use, the one Chester had said would work but which she had thought sounded trite even then, now seemed nothing but perverse.

“Do you have anything to say?” she asked instead.

Graham gasped something.

“Let him up,” Nilda said, pulling out a chair. “Let him sit down.”

Chester pulled the man to his feet and pushed him into the chair.

“Well, what about it? You were caught literally stealing from the mouths of children,” he said, extemporising on the theme Nilda was meant to have followed. “What have you got to say for yourself?”

Graham raised a hand to rub at his neck. He looked around and finally met Nilda’s eyes. There was no fear in the gaze.

“Is this it?” he asked. “This is how it’s going to be? You accuse me, and that counts as justice. What about a trial and a jury of my peers?”