‘Bloody hell. Now what?’ Stan asked.
‘We wait,’ Gilchrist said.
‘For what?’
‘For one – or both – of them to drop.’
‘Good thinking.’
As they waited, Gilchrist’s night-vision improved to the point where he could see the outlines of both dogs clearly. Like before, they stood in silence, head-on, watching him – not Stan, he was sure of that – as if Purvis had trained them not to attack until the fence was actually touched.
In less than two minutes, one of the shapes grunted and shifted, then lowered itself on to its haunches, as if the effort of standing had become too much.
‘I think he’s going,’ Stan said.
Gilchrist waited until the dog settled into the grass, then he stepped forward and lobbed the second steak over the fence. This time there was no feeding frenzy – just a rush of power from the other dog, a nasty growl, and a slobbering sound that lasted all of two seconds.
‘Did it eat it?’ Stan said.
‘Swallowed it whole.’
‘Remind me not to buy one of these as a pet.’
They waited in silence.
Gilchrist counted the seconds in his mind. It took less than thirty beats for the dog’s legs to totter. Then it tried to move, but collapsed to the grass with a grunt and a whimper.
‘I think we’re good to go,’ Stan said, reaching into his pocket and removing his locksmith’s kit with a tinny rattle – nothing more than a few keys and a set of picks.
Gilchrist approached the fence.
As soon as he touched it he would know if the dogs were out cold.
Or not.
CHAPTER 30
Gilchrist kept his eyes on the nearer of the two dogs.
The instant he touched the padlock, both dogs growled, and one of them – the first to collapse – rose to its paws. But it managed no more than a couple of steps before its front legs buckled and it fell muzzle-first into the grass. It struggled to pull itself upright again, but managed only to roll on to its side, where it lay whimpering, back legs kicking, as if somewhere in the darkest folds of its subconscious it was galloping over grassy terrain and tearing police detectives to shreds.
‘Bloody hell,’ Stan said.
‘Precisely.’ Gilchrist peered into the shadows for any movement from the other dog, but saw none. ‘Okay, Stan. Open sesame.’
Stan gripped the padlock, inserted a pick, removed it, and chose another.
With a click, the padlock sprung open.
‘Like riding a bike,’ Stan said.
‘Slowly.’ Gilchrist was conscious of the rattling of the padlock and the creaking of the gate as he eased it open. They stepped into the compound and Gilchrist sensed movement to his side. The closer of the two dogs was still jerking on the grass, its movements becoming more sluggish with each kick, until its nervous system could no longer fight the drug, and it stilled.
Gilchrist let out a breath, and glanced at the cottage. He half-expected to see Purvis running towards them with a loaded shotgun. But the cottage stood undisturbed, a picture-perfect silhouette under a black sky. ‘You’re good to go for the other padlock,’ he said.
Together they strode to the barn door.
While Stan worked at the padlock, Gilchrist searched for the tiniest flicker of light at the cottage windows. Behind him, the sound of metal scraping on metal seemed as loud as hammer blows, and he jumped when his mobile vibrated. He turned his back to the cottage, expecting it to be a call from Jessie, but felt a flutter of hope when he saw it was a text from Cooper’s new mobile number: ‘I need time to myself because I’m pregnant. Will let you know what I decide. xx’
Something tight clamped Gilchrist’s chest. I think you have the right to know. Well, now he did. He read the message again-
‘That’s us in, boss?’
‘Right, let’s go.’ Gilchrist pocketed his mobile, took hold of the handle, and pulled the door open for Stan to enter. Then he followed, closed the door behind him, and clicked on his torch.
Stan did likewise, and the barn filled with shafts of light that stuttered around the shadows until both beams settled on the gleaming body of a black BMW. ‘We’ve got a result,’ Stan said.
As he watched Stan make his way to the front of the car, Gilchrist shone his torch over the walls and corners searching for motion sensors, but found none. But it seemed to him that the barn was smaller inside, as if it should be twenty feet longer. A flick of the torch towards the far end provided an explanation as the beam fell on a door in the left corner, which presumably led through an internal wall to some sort of office or storage area.
‘We’ve got him, boss. Look at this.’
Gilchrist joined Stan at the nearside wing. The headlight was shattered, and the front and side panels badly deformed. He shone his torch along the bonnet to a cracked windscreen and dented pillar. Road Policing had estimated the car that hit Janice was travelling in excess of sixty miles an hour, maybe as fast as eighty. A human body hitting the BMW at that speed would cause exactly this sort of damage.
Gilchrist studied the crumpled metal, searching for evidence of human contact – fragments of cloth, skin, blood – but the bodywork looked as if it had already been cleaned. Another flick of the torch to the wall by the barn entrance lit up a coiled hose, beside which stood a Karcher electric pump, which told Gilchrist that Purvis had power-washed the damaged panels. If the car had been cleaned outside the barn, but within the enclosed compound, any human remains – slivers of skin and blood – would surely have been sniffed out and consumed by the Rottweilers.
‘Stand back, boss.’
Gilchrist walked away from the car and shone his torch around the barn while Stan took a number of shots using his digital camera. The barn appeared to be a workshop of sorts, with a concrete floor and strengthened beams overhead for lifting out car engines. All kinds of tools hung from hooks on its walls or stood beside workbenches – drills, chainsaws, power hammers, sump pumps, oxyacetylene torches, welding gear. And other bits and pieces of equipment, too – gloves, camouflage combat jackets, safety helmets, and what looked like a matching pair of binoculars.
Gilchrist dragged his torch beam along an electrical cable and into a corner, where it danced over a mechanical unit. It took him several seconds to realise it was a generator – power for lighting and for the tools, of course. Which had him wondering why all the equipment was sitting out in the open if there was a storage room at the rear of the barn.
Instinctive curiosity had him edging towards the internal door. He tried the handle, but it was locked. In addition, a padlock was clamped over a metal hasp, causing Gilchrist to wonder why a simple office or storage room would demand such security.
‘Finished?’ he asked Stan.
‘A couple more, boss.’
Gilchrist shone his torch along the top of the door, then ran his hand over the wooden surface. Nothing. He illuminated the wall to the side, and spotted a shelf from which hung a set of keys. From their shape and size, they were all too large to fit the padlock, but the third one he tried in the door’s own lock turned it over with a heavy click. The padlocked hasp kept it firmly closed, though.
Then Stan was standing beside him. ‘Want me to open this one too, boss?’
While Stan worked away with his picks, Gilchrist phoned Jessie.
She picked up on the second ring. ‘Nothing happening here,’ she said, ‘except my tits are freezing off.’ She made a rushing sound, as if blowing into her hands, then said, ‘Any luck?’
‘We’ve found the Beemer,’ Gilchrist said.
‘Brilliant,’ she gasped. ‘Can I go home, then?’
‘We’re going to be another few minutes,’ he said. ‘Any movement from Purvis?’