CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The two hours between two and four o'clock had dragged interminably. They had gone for a short walk, but it was cold and they didn't want to get tired. Back in the warmth of the flat they had played back-gammon and re-read the paper. Winner had even sat down and watched an afternoon quiz show.
Now at four o'clock they had reached the starting time.
The bags of clothes were tucked into the bottom of the wardrobe in their bedroom. Black jeans, black sweaters, black leather gloves. Only the coats were not black, just very dark blue, the sort of donkey jackets with leather shoulders and elbows that were worn by Council manual workers. For the feet, black socks and black trainers with soft grippy soles. Sally had unpicked and removed all the labels. Winner had thought it was all a bit over the top, but as Sally had said, if things went badly wrong it would be best if they didn't leave any traceable fibres or fingerprints behind.
The clothes they had been wearing went into two bags, ready for a quick change after the raid. Sally rummaged about in a drawer and came out with another bag.
"My final purchase," she said, pulling out two black knitted woollen hats. "It's going to be cold and these will hide our hair."
Winner put his on and Sally couldn't keep a straight face. They gave each other a long hug before breaking apart. Sally picked up the bags of clothes and Winner collected a set of cardboard grocery boxes from the kitchen. They were just about to open the front door when the phone went. Winner picked it up.
"It's me, Lorraine." There was a sound of muffled sobbing. Her voice was unsteady.
"What's the matter?"
"He's gone. Someone's taken Toby."
"What do you mean, gone?"
"Toby's been kidnapped. He was grabbed coming out of school."
"What!" said Winner. "Were you there?"
"What are we going to do?"
Winner was stunned. He had thought about the possibility of reprisals after the raid, but not like this, and certainly not before they had actually done anything.
"Try to tell me what you can. Did you go to pick him up?"
"No, he usually walks back on his own these days. It's not far. Jean Porter rang me. She saw it happen, but it didn't really register with her. It wasn't until they'd driven off that she thought it had looked a bit odd. What have you been doing, David? Who would want to take Toby."
"Has anyone been in touch?"
"A couple of minutes ago I got a call from a man saying they'd got him, but he'd be quite safe if you did what they wanted. I can't believe this is happening. What have you got that a bunch of kidnappers would want? They said I wouldn't see him again if I called the police. What are we going to do? Can you come over?"
"Yes. No. I can't, I mean I think I know who might have done this."
"You've got to get him back. Give them what they want."
"If I can, I will, but it's not that simple."
"What have you been doing that's got you tangled up with criminals?"
"It's nothing like that. It's Council work."
"I can't believe that," she shrieked. Winner held the phone away from his ear.
He had to say something to calm her down. "I've been involved in a fraud investigation. They just want to hold Toby to stop me exposing them for a couple of days while they tidy things up. They've no reason to keep him after that."
"You think he'll be all right?"
"I'm sure he will, but I'm not leaving it to chance. They'll not get away with this, I promise you. I'm going to go and get him back. You stay by the phone and I'll call you when I know something. Please don't worry. If you don't hear from me by tomorrow morning, call the police anyway. I can't stop now. The quicker I go, the better my chances."
"I hope you know what you're doing. I'll never forgive you if anything happens to Toby."
Winner put the phone down.
"Cavendish has kidnapped Toby?" Sally asked, looking pale and concerned. She had grown rather fond of the boy.
"I'll get that bastard. He'd better not harm him. I don't understand it though. Something must have happened to drive him to this."
"Does it matter what the reasons are? The main thing is to get him back."
"This ruins all our plans for this evening."
"Not really, he might be holding him at the house. It's very secure and he wouldn't be expecting an immediate counter attack. We have to go ahead with our plan."
Winner stared at Sally, his mind racing over the various possibilities, but unable to come up with a better suggestion.
"Let's go," he said.
Sally held his arm. "Don't let this affect your judgement. We need to be calm and careful."
Winner said nothing, but picked up his boxes again and opened the door.
Half past four, but already the heavy cloud cover was hastening the end of daylight. The passing cars all had their headlights on and it looked as though it might start snowing. Sally's car started easily, the engine still holding a little warmth from earlier in the day. She drove along two side streets and dropped Winner off, lingering in a quiet road for him to catch up with her in the van. They drove steadily through the back streets with Sally leading the way, until they came to the pre-arranged spot, a deserted access road to a closed-up bankrupt warehouse.
The road was littered with stones and half bricks, evidence of the target practice that had knocked out all but one of the street lights. Sally pulled up in the pool of light shed by the solitary lamp. Given a year or two it would be hard to call the place a road. Already there were buddleia plants forcing their way up through the cracked tarmac.
They both turned off their engines and waited for a few minutes to be sure that there was nobody about. Winner got out first and unlocked the rear of the van. He pulled out the decorators' trestle and stood it at the side. Within a few moments the Petermere Rent-a Van sign was hidden under a Sharmouth Municipal Services logo, firmly Sellotaped down all round. Two minutes later they were busy doing the same to the opposite side.
Sally paced around nervously as Winner pulled out the fake number plates and peeled off the protective coatings to stick them over the genuine ones. He stood back and admired his handiwork. A passable copy of a van that was probably even at this moment being locked away for the night in the Council depot.
Sally got back into her car and led the way out of the deserted road. They had debated leaving her car there for the evening, but the chances of theft or vandalism in such a quiet place were too great. Instead, she went ahead and parked in a busy suburban road close to a pub. When Winner caught up, she climbed into the van passenger seat next to him.
They drove through the back roads, wishing to avoid any encounter with other Council vehicles, venturing onto the main road only for the short distance needed to cross the river and reach the River Heights turning. They didn't go all the way up to Waterview drive, but parked instead in the end of the final cul-de-sac before the top of the hill, where they would be able to see all the cars coming and going.
Winner turned off the engine and the silence settled around them. It wasn't cold in the cab because the heater had been blasting out warmth as the motor worked hard climbing the hill. Now they had to wait, and gradually the warmth started to seep away as the minutes ticked by. A few cars went past, people coming home from work, maybe. Only two pedestrians, both out walking their dogs. If they noticed the van, they didn't show it, probably assuming that the council workers were parked there for a routine tea break.
It was another long wait, a reminder of cramped hours spent lurking in boats and bushes in the freezing cold. Winner kept thinking of Toby, frustrated that he couldn't act faster. Common sense told him it was essential to wait for the money. That way, if Toby wasn't at the house, at least they should have something that they could trade for his safe return. The clock on the dashboard made a low grinding noise as the second hand crept endlessly round
Nearly two hours had gone by before they fina
lly saw what they were waiting for. It was a great relief, because if it had been any longer Winner would have felt obliged to move on, knowing that even council tea breaks rarely ran that long. A dark blue BMW drove past, heading up the hill.
Winner only got a brief glance at the rear number plate, but it was long enough to be sure that it was Riggs. He started the engine again and pulled out onto the hill, reaching the top just in time to see Riggs' tail lights disappearing into the Cedar Park gateway. Turning right, he took the long way round the loop, away from Cavendish's house so that he wouldn't have to drive past.
Three quarters of the way round he pulled up, and Sally got out with her shopping bag. He drove on, leaving her walking alongside the Cedar Park perimeter wall. She whistled softly as she strolled along, scuffing her shoes on the pavement and generally making a bit of noise until she heard the low growl of the dogs as they located her and paced along on the other side. She dipped into the shopping bag and pulled out the tub of stewing beef, liberally laced with crushed sleeping tablets. Stepping back onto the road, she checked that there was no-one about before lobbing generous handfuls well over the top of the hedge. It had been hard to decide how much of the drug to add. It had to be enough to take them out of the picture, but not so much as to kill them. Sally hoped they would find somewhere warm to curl up and sleep. She didn't like to think of them suffering.
The growling got louder as the dogs fought over the meat, but they gave up following her. She rounded the top corner just in time to see the tail lights of the van go out. Winner was parked a few yards short of the lower corner, out of sight of anyone arriving at or leaving Cedar Park. The van was close to the wall, the upper bodywork brushing lightly against a few of the longer shoots of the hedge. Winner jumped back as she melted out of the shadows next to him at the rear door.
"Oh, it's you," he said. "The black works better than I expected. I didn't see you coming. Keep watch at the corner while I put the cones out."
Sally walked to the corner and looked round. The road was empty. Looking back, she could see that Winner had put a row of four cones at each end of the van and was busy lighting some small yellow paraffin lamps. If anyone asked, they were going to say that they were waiting for the sewer gang.
She stayed at the corner while Winner propped a ladder at the back of the van and moved the scaffold planks and other equipment up onto the roof. There was some clattering and muffled cursing as he struggled up the ladder with the awkward trestle.
Sally looked at her watch. Seven fifteen. The cold air seeped into her clothes and she jogged on the spot to fight it off. The sound of a car starting made her more cautious and she shrank back against the wall as the dark blue BMW reversed out into the road.
"What's happening," Winner whispered to her.
"Don't creep up on me like that, you startled me. Riggs has just gone. Do we wait for Cavendish?"
"Yes, I'd rather. The fewer people in the house, the better. Someone's coming."
Another dog walker was heading their way. They went back to the van and climbed into the cab. It was an old man, with an equally old looking dog. He didn't give the van a glance. As soon as he was past, they were out again, Sally at the corner to watch the entrance, Winner following the dog walker to make sure that he was going to go right round the loop and not just up to the corner and back.
Winner returned, satisfied that the walker was going on the full circular tour, and he had only been back with Sally for a few chilling minutes before the gates opened and Cavendish drove out. As soon as the tail lights were out of sight down the hill, Winner and Sally ran back to the van. With just a last glance to check that they were alone, they climbed up the ladder onto the roof of the van and pulled it up behind them.
Winner knotted a thin rope round the end of one of the scaffold planks and stood the plank in front of himself on the very edge of the van where it lay tight against the hedge, the rope hanging down from the top of the plank and the bottom jammed against his toes. He pushed it gently forward and then took the weight on the rope as the plank slowly descended like a drawbridge.
It had looked from the aerial photos as if the out-house roofs were within the reach of the length of the scaffold board, but their height relative to the top of the van was rather less evident. The trestle had been brought along to level out the plank, propping up one end or the other, as required. The plank was near level now, and Winner found he was having to lean right back to counteract the leverage from its not insignificant weight. Sally could see the strain he was under and grabbed him round the waist. He was glad he was wearing the leather gloves, because the thin rope was starting to cut into his hands. As the plank came down level, he lost control and could only just manage to slow its descent. The crack as it hit the out-house roofs sounded very loud close to, and they waited motionless for a full two minutes before deciding that no-one was going to investigate.
Winner took the second scaffold plank and slid it down the first, jiggling it about when it reached the bottom, to get it lying alongside the first.
"It's very steep," whispered Sally. What happens if the other ends slide away when we try to climb down?"
"You'll have to go first, you're lighter. I'll try to hang on to this end so that they can't slip off the van."
Sally turned and climbed onto the boards. Winner gripped the ends, wedging his fingers between the boards and the van roof to stop them sliding. She set off backwards on her hands and knees, gripping the edges of the planks to stop herself from slipping. As she went, Winner could feel his fingers being squeezed. The heavy boards were slowly being dragged towards the edge of the roof, trapping his gloves between the metal and the wood. She reached the out-house roof just in time to prevent lasting damage to his hands. As it was, there was barely two inches of plank left overlapping the edge of the van.
He heaved the boards back a few inches and hissed out to Sally to jam her feet against the ends. Balancing the trestle over one shoulder, he inched down the treacherous slope and was soon next to Sally. He held up the planks while she slipped the trestle underneath. The approach way was almost level now, with just a slight slope down towards the out-houses.
Winner was glad that it was the roof that was lower than the van, rather than the other way round. If the trestle had been needed at the van end there would have been a much higher chance of their access route arousing the suspicions of a chance passer-by. Sally stayed on the outhouse roof while Winner made three trips back across the bridge to get the rest of the gear.
With everything assembled on the flat roof, they paused, listening carefully for any noise that might suggest their arrival had been detected.
"I can't hear the dogs," Winner said in a low voice.
"Don't mention the dogs. It makes me feel guilty."
From the photos, it had looked as though the out-houses were close enough to the flat roof of the garage block to be able to step across, but now that they were actually there, it turned out to be more like an eight foot gap. Winner had to go back and slide one of the planks off the trestle to use as a second bridge.
Once again they had to transfer the rest of their equipment, but now they were conscious of how close they were to the main house and the front door. Crossing a single plank was far more nerve wracking than the pair that they had used from the van roof. Sally tried to think back to the confidence she had developed as a young teenager on the beam in the school gymnasium. The important thing was not to look down. Despite the sub-zero temperatures, she found she was getting quite hot inside her workman's jacket. Winner crossed carefully, remembering his descent from the deck of La Mouette.
The streetlights that had provided enough illumination for the manoeuvres on the van roof were filtered here, the hedge allowing only a feeble residue of rays to reach the garage block roof. In the courtyard below there was a lamp outside the front door, but they kept their eyes turned away because a brief glimpse at it would temporarily destroy night vis
ion.
Winner fumbled around in the dark, fitting the two sections of ladder together. In between the garages and the house was a brick archway that he used to brace his foot against as he tilted the double length ladder towards the house. There was a faint scraping noise as it came to rest against the guttering, high above.
For a moment they stood looking upwards and they hugged briefly before starting off. Sally went first as Winner tried to hold the ladder steady, a difficult task, as its lightweight construction made it very springy. He felt the jerk as she stepped off the top onto the roof. He hoped their choice of shoes was right. His past experiences were already coming back to haunt him.
He was half way up the ladder himself and laden with various tools, when the floodlight suddenly came on and the gates began to open. He froze where he was, not daring to move. A man walked in and strode towards the brick archway. He didn't look up, there was no reason to. Winner wasn't sure if he'd be able to see him anyway, as the pool of light shining into the courtyard from the floodlight made the surrounding darkness an even inkier black. Winner and the ladder were just a few feet outside the spread of its beam. A pool of light fell briefly onto the garden at the side of the house and then Winner heard low voices before a shutting door restored the silence. He waited the two minutes before the floodlight turned itself off and then carried on up the ladder.
The house was very substantial, and to avoid large expanses of sloping tiles the architects had sliced off the top of the ridge and replaced it with a lead sheeted flat area. When Winner poked his head above the level of the guttering he saw that Sally had gone all the way to the top and was lying on the lead looking down the slope. He eased his weight onto the tiles and tried wiggling his foot about to see how well the soles gripped. Much better than his office shoes on slates. Leaving the security of the ladder, he slowly climbed in a half crouched position.
"Lovely view of the town from up here," said Sally. "You can see the road, as well. The woman with the Ford Fiesta should leave soon if they follow the same routine."
"We can wait a few minutes," said Winner, not wanting to admit that he had nearly been overcome by fear of falling on the way up and needed a while to recover.
They couldn't look directly down into the courtyard from the flat roof, but they knew when the floodlight came on because it lit up other parts of the building. They heard a car start and pull away. Sally stood up in time to see the back of it disappearing down the access hill.
"That's it then," she said. Cavendish is out and we're down to the minimum in the house, though whether that's one or two, who knows?"
"Or three, if Toby's there," Winner reminded her. "Let's get on with it."
He uncoiled some rope and tied it round the chimney stack, knotting the other end round his waist with enough slack to allow him to reach half way back down the roof face. Now he felt more confident as he ventured back onto the dangerous slope. He chose a likely looking tile that was sticking up slightly and slipped his crow bar under the edge. There was a soft crunching sound and Winner was just quick enough with his free hand to stop a chunk of the tile sliding away down the roof. He positioned his feet to trap any further loose bits and as he worked he handed up the rubbish to Sally, who piled it up on the flat area. Gradually the roof came away in increasingly large pieces, until an area at least a yard square was devoid of tiles. Sally passed down a craft knife and he sliced away the underfelt between the cross battens. With a small pad saw he cut away two of the tiling battens, leaving an opening between the rafters large enough to climb through
He eased himself down through the tiles, so that he was sitting on the lower edge of the opening with his feet dangling into the attic. The choice of location for the hole was perfect, because he found that he was seated directly above the purlin that supported the centre of the rafters. Once again they waited and listened, knowing that the removal of the tiles was the noisiest thing they had done so far. All they could hear was the wind and an occasional distant murmur of traffic.
Five minutes went by before Winner felt confident to go on. He undid the rope from round his waist and Sally pulled it back onto the flat roof. She passed the torch to him and he leant forward into the attic. In the beam from the torch he could see a large open roof space with nothing in it apart from two lagged water tanks. The ceiling joists of the floor below were flush with the top of a fleecy blanket of yellow fibreglass insulation. Winner wriggled forward until his toes made contact with the top of a joist, then carefully transferred his weight so that he was standing in the roof with just his upper body sticking out through the hole. Sally handed him their various bits of equipment, then shuffled down the tiles to join him. Winner only ducked fully inside when he was sure that she had a good grip on the wood surrounding the opening.
"Watch where you're treading," Winner warned her in a low voice as he steered her first foot onto the safety of a joist.
Sally switched on her torch and looked around, glad to have escaped from the freezing wind that had been blowing across the exposed rooftop. Less than a third of the way across the roof was a break in the regular pattern of the joists, suggesting the presence of a trap door. They walked over, stepping carefully on the joists. Winner squatted down and pulled at the insulation which came away in his hand, having been only lightly glued to the back of the trap door. In the beam of the torch a fine cloud of dust particles could be seen drifting up from the disturbed fibreglass. He hoped neither of them would get a sneezing fit.
There was nothing to get a hold of on the back of the door, so he opened his small tool bag and took out a robust screwdriver. His first attempt to open the door resulted in the splintering away of some of the wooden framing, but then he managed to get a better grip and prise it up. He tuned off his own torch and Sally turned hers away as he opened the hatch. There were no lights below, so he folded it right back on its hinges. Winner hung over the edge, trying to see where they were, but the room either had very thick curtains or no windows at all. He paused for a moment, but there was not a sound. Flicking his torch back on, he took another look.
"Linen cupboard," he said to Sally, somewhat un-necessarily, as she was right beside him now.
Not knowing the internal layout of the house, Winner had come equipped with a rope ladder for descending from the loft trap. If the house had been a small modern one there would probably have been no need, but the ceilings in Cavendish's house were at least ten feet high, far too far to drop silently and risking cutting off a potential escape route. No need for the ladder today, though. The carpenter who had fitted out the linen cupboard had provided them with a series of slatted shelves that formed large steps all the way down to the floor. Winner went first and within a minute they were both standing on the floor in front of the stacks of towels and sheets. Sally saw a light switch and was about to turn it on, but Winner stopped her.
"There might be a light over the door outside to show that the inside one is turned on," he warned her in a whisper. "You know, so that the light doesn't get left on accidentally."
"I'll have to take this jacket off," said Sally. "It's going to be too hot in the house."
In the confined space of the closet they pulled off their jackets, stuffing them under some towels on the lowest shelf. Winner was now carrying a small bag of tools with a shoulder strap, and his heavy rubber torch, which could double as a weapon in an emergency. Sally had her torch and a vicious kitchen knife fixed to the waistband of her jeans in a home-made sheath.
Winner gripped the door handle and turned it gently. As soon as they knew that the door would open, they turned off their torches. He opened the door a fraction and looked out. A faint light was spilling from a stairwell, enough to see that they were on a deserted landing. They crept from the safety of the cupboard, listening all the time for the sound of any occupants. In the distance there was some barely audible music, perhaps from a television set.
They tip-toed along the landing, glad of the thic
k carpeting which muffled their footsteps. There were no lights shining from under any of the doors, but they weren't going to take any chances. Each door was opened slowly and noiselessly. The tension of constant listening for the smallest of noises was almost unbearable.
It took nearly an hour to search the upstairs rooms, using just the minimum torchlight to look in closets and windowless bathrooms. Six bedrooms and four bathrooms, but no sign of Toby or the cash. Only one of the bedrooms seemed to be in current use and they spent longer in there to see if Cavendish had left any papers lying around. Sally kept watch at the door while Winner hunted through the chests of drawers and the rails of hanging clothes. After his experience searching Nigel Stewart's desk, he was careful to run his fingers under the edges of drawers and underneath shelves.
He was about to give up and move on when he came across a slim envelope taped to the underside of a bedside cabinet. He tucked it into his back pocket, not wanting to waste any more time away from his search for Toby and the money.
"What now, then?" Sally asked him. There's nothing more to see upstairs."
The staircase looked open and exposed, but there was no other way down. Winner's caution about burglar alarms had been well justified. Even on the upstairs windows he had been able to show Sally the tell-tale wires that would set bells ringing if the window was opened. What if the staircase was also alarmed in some way?
Sally pulled her knife from its sheath before they started down. They kept tight to the banister side, treading only on the narrow wooden margin to the side of the carpet, so as to avoid any detection pads or squeaking treads. The hallway was softly lit by a lamp in the entrance porch, which cast light through a glazed inner door. The sound of a television or radio was louder now, coming from a passageway that led off the main hall. Sally stayed in the main hallway while Winner tip-toed along towards the source of the noise. At the end of the corridor a door to one side was slightly open, so that a thin wedge of light sliced across the floor. He crept up close, his unlit torch at the ready as a weapon if anyone should suddenly come through the doorway.
Through the narrow gap between the door and the frame, he could see the backs of two men, one seated and one standing. Looking between them Winner could see a black and white television screen that had a picture in four segments showing the front door, the entrance gates, the staircase and the main garden. The pictures of the garden were the most surprising, suggesting a powerful light intensification camera. To one side there was another regular television set, the bursts of canned laughter suggesting some sort of situation comedy. Winner was able to hear some of the conversation between the two men.
"I don't know where the dogs are," the man standing said. "I reckon they've found somewhere to keep warm. It's perishing cold out there, I'm not going looking for them."
"What time's his lordship due back?"
"Not before ten. Why not put the kettle on?"
Winner edged back from the doorway. As he retreated, he stopped to look into the two doors that led off the passageway. One was a small cloakroom, presumably for the staff to use, the other a storeroom with household equipment and cleaning materials. The door catches operated smoothly enough, but Winner was still glad of the distracting noise provided by the television.
Back at the hallway, he whispered to Sally. "Two men. I don't know how they missed seeing us come down the stairs. They must have been watching the other screen."
He pointed up to the ceiling, where he had located the camera that pointed at the stairs. Sally put her hand to her mouth, her eyes opening wide.
"Let's get started," she said. "We can avoid that."
The first door that they tried led into the music room. It was large, but only occupied them for a short time as there was very little furniture and no other doors or cupboards to look into. Slowly they worked their way round the ground floor rooms. One door was locked, but they investigated a formal sitting room, a large kitchen, a breakfast room, a formal dining room and a more cosy family type room before they returned to the locked door.
"How are we going to get in here?" Winner asked. "We'll make a hell of a racket if we try to break it open, but there's nowhere else left to search."
Sally inspected the door. It was held shut by a Yale type lock and looked quite substantial. The face of the door shut closely against the stopping strips that were fixed to the opening framework. No room to slide in a piece of plastic to slip the lock, even if she had come equipped with one.
"I know," she said.
It was Winner's turn to keep watch, while Sally attacked the door. She took the kitchen knife from her waistband and pushed the point in where the stopping strip met the frame. Keeping the blade parallel to the frame, she struck the back end of the knife handle with the heel of her hand, so that the blade started to slide in behind the strip. She pushed and twisted until the strip sprang away from the frame with the fixing pins slightly dislodged. There was now a two millimetre gap. Pushing the knife further in, she could feel the latch of the lock. Another sharp thump on the knife pushed the latch back. This time when she turned the door handle, the door opened, the latch sliding along the face of the knife blade. Sally pulled out the knife, and bracing herself against the opposite side of the door frame she pushed the stopping strip back flush against the frame.
They hurried inside and gently closed the door.
"We're safe in here," said Sally. "The staff can't come looking in a locked room."
"This must be his office, or study," said Winner, now confidently shining his torch around the room.
There was a large old flat-topped wooden desk with a pen stand and blotter. Behind the desk was a leather covered office chair and there were two upholstered chairs in front. Heavy curtains were drawn along one side of the room and the other three were panelled in dark wood. There were no filing cabinets, just a low bookcase and a few pictures of maritime scenes hung on the panelling.
Winner took some magazines off the top of the bookcase and laid them along the bottom of the door before switching on the desk lamp. There wasn't enough light shining in the direction of the door to be visible from the corridor. They started hunting around the office, Winner desperately trying to keep his mind on the job, despite his disappointment at not finding Toby. It was Sally who found the suitcase, tucked into the desk knee well. She slid it out and tipped it over so that it was flat on the floor.
"Do you think it's safe to open?" Winner asked. "I mean, it might be booby-trapped, if Cavendish is trying to get rid of Farrier."
"He's hardly going to risk an explosion in his own house. Besides, it's locked."
Winner pulled out his screwdriver and slipped it under one of the catches. It soon succumbed to a bit of brute force. The second was just as easy. He lifted the lid.
"Wow!" Winner exclaimed.
"That's a hundred times what Nigel left us." Sally pulled out a few bundles and thumbed through them. She selected a note from the middle of a bundle and held it in the light of the desk lamp, looking for the metallic strip. "All genuine, by the look of it, and packed solid. There must be hundreds of thousands of pounds here."
"Close it up, we've got to decide how to get out of here."
Sally reluctantly pushed down the lid, but the smashed catches wouldn't hold it shut. She had to hunt about in the desk for a roll of sticky tape which she wound round and round the suitcase until it ran out.
"This case weighs a ton," she said. "I'm not sure I could carry it. What about you? It would be a hell of a weight to drag up into the roof. I think it's probably too big to go through the loft trap anyway."
"Forget the roof. I told you, the staircase is on television surveillance. We can't chance it a second time."
"What if we just made a dash for it, out of the front door?"
"We don't know how to work the gates. Besides, it won't be easy to dash tugging this lot along."
As they thought about a way to get out, they busied themselv
es looking through the desk drawers and the bookcase, but after ten minutes they had found nothing interesting
"We're wasting our time," said Winner eventually. "I know what we'll do."
He explained his plan to her and she looked at her watch.
"We'd better do it straight away," she said.
Winner lugged the suitcase to the door and Sally switched off the desk lamp. By torchlight, she went back to the door, gripping her now-darkened torch under her arm as she operated the lock and the door handle together. Outside, the hallway was still deserted.
She was about to step out when a door opened, filling the corridor with the sounds of a toilet flushing.
She held the door shut for a minute before chancing another look. It was all quiet again now. They slipped out across the hall, closing the office door behind them. Sally opened the inner lobby door and Winner went through, putting the suitcase down where it wouldn't stop the front door from opening. Sally stayed in the lobby with the case, while Winner padded quietly back to the corridor that led to the staff room.
Half way along, he found what he remembered from his first look in the passageway nearly an hour ago. The house must have been rewired quite recently, because instead of an old fashioned fuse box, there was a neat row of circuit breakers above the electricity meter. There was no sound from the staff room apart from the drone of the television, so he knelt down in front of the switchboard.
There were ten contact breakers, all in a straight row. With his torch under his arm, he held his two index fingers tip to tip in a straight line underneath the small switches. In one swift movement he flicked them all off, and without waiting for a reaction dashed back to the hall. As he left the passageway, he could hear some cursing coming from the far room. Sally was already opening the main front door when Winner reached the lobby. He pulled the inner door closed behind him and heaved the suitcase outside.
Sally softly closed the front door and shone her torch into the shrubbery near the gates. She ran over and pushed open a gap for Winner to lurch into with the suitcase. The branches sprung back behind them, hiding them from the house. They had been concealed for barely half a minute before the staff restored the electricity supply and the porch light came on again.
"Won't they know there's been an intruder?" asked Sally.
"Not necessarily. Those contact breakers can trip if there's a surge of current. It's impossible to tell that they were switched off manually."
"I wish I'd kept my coat on. The evening won't be much of a success if we freeze to death."
Winner huddled up to Sally's back, so that they could share some of their body warmth. His digital watch told him it was already two minutes past ten. Hopefully Cavendish would be keen to get home promptly from his dinner engagement.
Five minutes went by, and Winner was starting to get worried. Lights were going on around the house, presumably a security inspection after the mysterious electrical failure. If they went into the linen cupboard and looked up, it might precipitate a crisis. It was starting to feel very cold, the low temperature enhanced by the dampness of their clothes where they had been sweating with the tension of their task.
The sound of a car approaching drew Winner's attention away from the lights in the windows. He tightened his hold on the suitcase handle and rose into a crouched position. A moment later the gates started to swing open and the movement-sensing floodlight came on. As soon as the gates were fully open, Cavendish's Mercedes drove in. Two or three seconds later, the gates started to swing shut.
"Now," said Winner, and they ran, bent double, towards the closing gates.
It was a very close thing, with the dead-weight of the suitcase reducing Winner's speed, but they slipped through the reducing gap with just moments to spare. The electric bolt on the gates fired shut behind them as they hurried along the pavement, keeping as close to the wall as they could. Back at the van and out of sight, Winner whipped open the rear door and hefted in the case while Sally kicked the traffic cones out of the way. With the door closed, he dashed round to the cab and they both scrambled in. Winner released the steering lock with the ignition key and let off the handbrake. There was a loud crash behind them as the remaining plank slipped off the roof. As the van gathered speed past the gates to Cedar Park, they heard the burglar alarm go off, presumably triggered by the plank hitting a detector wire. The van rolled on and Winner turned into the access road, where he let up the clutch and bump-started the engine. He flipped on the lights and drove down the hill.
It wasn't until they had turned onto the main road and escaped from the confines of the River Heights estate that they could be sure they had got away without being followed.
"We did it!" she shrieked.
"No Toby, though."
"No," she said, subdued by the reminder. "Mind you, that suitcase gives us some leverage to get him back. You were magnificent. Are you sure you've never broken into someone else's house before?"
Winner turned to her and smiled. "I thought we might try Barclays, or maybe Lloyds next week."
She laughed. "Let's wait and see what the after effects are first."