****
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 hold 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 sight.
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.
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.
She was given two sheets of paper. Concerned that her hands would shake, she clutched the papers tightly until she had sat down and could rest them on her knees.
Each image was a full-face portrait, rendered in a slightly unreal, cartoon-like style. Cate squinted, trying not to overdo the austere concentration; at the same time anxious that she didn’t betray any flicker of recognition.
She saw a definite likeness to Robbie and Dan, but realised it was largely because she’d been expecting to see them. The closer she looked, the more she noticed details that didn’t match. It struck her then that Robbie had changed his hairstyle because of the e-fit – which was, she had to admit, a wise move on his part.
‘Anything you’d alter?’ Thomsett asked.
After a respectable pause, she placed a finger on the one that represented her brother. ‘His face was longer, with a narrower chin.’
Avery snorted, as though he knew precisely what she was doing. She forced herself to meet his gaze, until he shrugged and said, ‘What about the other one?’
Dan’s likeness wasn’t as accurate. Cate wondered if that was because the barmaid had been smitten with Robbie.
‘Darker hair, perhaps. And the nose was fatter, sort of bulbous.’
‘Here ...’ Thomsett gently took the paper, brought out a pencil and sketched the changes, while Avery went on staring at Cate with a peculiar half-smile on his lips. Thomsett showed her the results. ‘Any good?’
‘I think so.’
‘Okay. I’ll get these updated.’ And then, in an offhand tone, he added, ‘I paid your brother a visit yesterday.’
****
Cate’s mind went blank. She hadn’t warned Robbie in advance, but surely it would seem odd if he hadn’t said something to her?
‘He mentioned it last night.’
‘I got the impression he’s quite sore about the loss of that three thousand pounds.’
‘Is he? I suppose it must seem ironic, handing over the money to somebody who dies so soon afterwards ...’ She tailed off, aware that she was straying on to dangerous ground.
‘That’s probably it.’ Thomsett leaned towards her and tapped one of the images. ‘You don’t think that looks a bit like your brother?’
‘Him?’ She made a show of examining it again. ‘Vaguely, I suppose. The man I saw wasn’t as tall as Robbie. He was better-looking, too.’
‘Took a shine to him, eh?’ Avery piped up. ‘You didn’t get his number, by any chance?’
‘No. I didn’t.’
Thomsett frowned, possibly unhappy with his colleague’s intervention. ‘We’re told that Mr Scott was with his girlfriend on Tuesday night. A “Bree Tyler”.’
Cate shrugged. ‘Okay.’
‘Have you met Mrs Tyler?’
Thomsett’s emphasis on
Mrs
was subtle, but not so subtle that she wasn’t intended to notice. Cate raised a hand, palm out.
‘That’s an area of his life I steer well clear of.’
‘Something of a playboy, is he?’ Avery said.
‘Well, women seem to go for him. I can’t say I see his appeal myself, but there you are. He’s in no hurry to settle down.’
Thomsett smiled. ‘Do I sense that you disapprove?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just envious.’