for the next private job?”
“Will a morning suit you, later this week? Say I pick you up around four? I’ll fill you in nearer the time.”
As in: four a.m. and keep your week clear. Shit.
“I’ve been thinking about Janey’s kid.” Thomas let his camera range past the laundry in search of Victorian architecture. “It’d help if we knew what the police know.” He heard clapping.
“Bravo! Uncle Karl is already following up that line of inquiry.”
“When we see Janey tonight about the suitcase, maybe we could take a look at Jacob’s buggy?”
“Interesting. What’s your angle?”
“Not sure. It’s the only evidence — your lot have labs, don’t they?”
“That’s what I like about you, Tommo, You’ve never pressed me about my colleagues outside the SSU.”
“Like you’re always telling me, Karl — need to know. Right now, I don’t.”
“Let’s celebrate your self-control with a bacon butty — I’m famished.”
He felt the light bulb go on in his head. “When can I have Jack Langton’s post back, so I can take it over to Natalie?”
“Soon. There’s a slight snag — nothing major. Now, where’s my brekkies?”
Chapter 10
Ken Treavey heard the package scrape through his letterbox. By the time he got to his door and opened it to the night he was alone. He waited there a minute or so, listening to the hum of the city and feeling the chill against his bare feet. This was it then.
He felt his way back to the bedroom and put the bedside lamp on, squinting against the burst of light. He tore at the envelope and looked for treasure. Instead, he found pieces of a puzzle — a left luggage receipt and a key that presumably went with it; a map; a cash card; a note with a PIN number, a name, a time, and the words: ‘Remember to make it look amateur.’ He saved the best till last, tipping the rifle rounds on to the duvet. They clattered like brass and copper jewels under the lamplight.
First thing in the morning he’d visit the PO box across town, as arranged. Checking the map against the street guide confirmed his suspicions: the courthouse. He picked up the cash card and cradled a bullet in the other hand, parodying the scales of justice — everything had its price.
* * *
It felt strange breaking routine, travelling different roads to reach the PO box. He made it seem casual, waiting fifteen minutes after the place opened. The padded envelope was smaller than he’d expected and his curiosity almost overcame him. It was only the thought of the money that swayed him. He checked the balance afterwards, hardly daring to move as the card disappeared into the machine. He didn’t breathe again until the balance showed on-screen — £10,000. Twenty quid would do for now.
He kidded himself he could make a run for it and disappear. Not a chance. He retrieved the magic card and picked up his money, grinning. When was the last time he’d had cash to squander? The padded envelope was burning a hole in his pocket so he treated himself to a coffee. Inside, he found a lonely corner and checked his post: one key and no explanations.
* * *
After collecting the parcel from Left Luggage, he made straight for the observation point. He’d always called them that until he was set up and ready. London’s noisy chaos blurred around him, as if he were a ghost. When he’d been in uniform he never liked to eat or drink beforehand, but now he compromised and pulled out some chewing gum. A hit of mint at the back of his mouth sharpened his wits. Time to get to work.
No one paid him any attention as he approached the block of flats. He blended in, moving unhurriedly like he belonged there. The hard part would be getting out afterwards. He climbed the stairs in twos, the case held tight against his body. As he mounted the final flight of stairs on the top floor he drew out the Ingersoll key, ready.
The well-oiled lock gave without effort and he carefully closed the door behind him. There was a sound
“Will a morning suit you, later this week? Say I pick you up around four? I’ll fill you in nearer the time.”
As in: four a.m. and keep your week clear. Shit.
“I’ve been thinking about Janey’s kid.” Thomas let his camera range past the laundry in search of Victorian architecture. “It’d help if we knew what the police know.” He heard clapping.
“Bravo! Uncle Karl is already following up that line of inquiry.”
“When we see Janey tonight about the suitcase, maybe we could take a look at Jacob’s buggy?”
“Interesting. What’s your angle?”
“Not sure. It’s the only evidence — your lot have labs, don’t they?”
“That’s what I like about you, Tommo, You’ve never pressed me about my colleagues outside the SSU.”
“Like you’re always telling me, Karl — need to know. Right now, I don’t.”
“Let’s celebrate your self-control with a bacon butty — I’m famished.”
He felt the light bulb go on in his head. “When can I have Jack Langton’s post back, so I can take it over to Natalie?”
“Soon. There’s a slight snag — nothing major. Now, where’s my brekkies?”
Chapter 10
Ken Treavey heard the package scrape through his letterbox. By the time he got to his door and opened it to the night he was alone. He waited there a minute or so, listening to the hum of the city and feeling the chill against his bare feet. This was it then.
He felt his way back to the bedroom and put the bedside lamp on, squinting against the burst of light. He tore at the envelope and looked for treasure. Instead, he found pieces of a puzzle — a left luggage receipt and a key that presumably went with it; a map; a cash card; a note with a PIN number, a name, a time, and the words: ‘Remember to make it look amateur.’ He saved the best till last, tipping the rifle rounds on to the duvet. They clattered like brass and copper jewels under the lamplight.
First thing in the morning he’d visit the PO box across town, as arranged. Checking the map against the street guide confirmed his suspicions: the courthouse. He picked up the cash card and cradled a bullet in the other hand, parodying the scales of justice — everything had its price.
* * *
It felt strange breaking routine, travelling different roads to reach the PO box. He made it seem casual, waiting fifteen minutes after the place opened. The padded envelope was smaller than he’d expected and his curiosity almost overcame him. It was only the thought of the money that swayed him. He checked the balance afterwards, hardly daring to move as the card disappeared into the machine. He didn’t breathe again until the balance showed on-screen — £10,000. Twenty quid would do for now.
He kidded himself he could make a run for it and disappear. Not a chance. He retrieved the magic card and picked up his money, grinning. When was the last time he’d had cash to squander? The padded envelope was burning a hole in his pocket so he treated himself to a coffee. Inside, he found a lonely corner and checked his post: one key and no explanations.
* * *
After collecting the parcel from Left Luggage, he made straight for the observation point. He’d always called them that until he was set up and ready. London’s noisy chaos blurred around him, as if he were a ghost. When he’d been in uniform he never liked to eat or drink beforehand, but now he compromised and pulled out some chewing gum. A hit of mint at the back of his mouth sharpened his wits. Time to get to work.
No one paid him any attention as he approached the block of flats. He blended in, moving unhurriedly like he belonged there. The hard part would be getting out afterwards. He climbed the stairs in twos, the case held tight against his body. As he mounted the final flight of stairs on the top floor he drew out the Ingersoll key, ready.
The well-oiled lock gave without effort and he carefully closed the door behind him. There was a sound
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