‘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.’