Give The Devil His Due (37 page)

       Peach gave me one of his scowls, and one of his comments. ‘He hasn’t told you to start pumping yet, you idiot.’

       ‘No, it is perfectly fine Trevor. We do need some paste applied before we start.’

       Vaughan unravelled some of the metal cord, a piece about four feet long. He pushed the cut end behind the bolt and pulled it round to the front. He coiled the loose end round his left index and forefingers and did the same with the end attached to the ball on his right. Sitting on the cushion, with the soles of his feet up against the front of the safe, he began to rasp away with the cord, his left hand going back as his right hand came forwards and vice versa. He carried on doing this, occasionally nodding for me to pump a few globs of paste on to the cutting area.

       A sudden crack and Vaughan was toppling over. Peach caught him before the momentum could carry him on to his back. The cord had snapped. Vaughan uncoiled some more and continued. After a while, the cord snapped again. Peach was ready for him this time. Undaunted, Vaughan carried on.

       Without any real warning Vaughan went backwards. This time the cord was intact – he'd gone all the way through the bolt. He looked up and smiled.

       'My dear friends, I think we are making progress!’

Chapter 29

The shopping channel was enough to send anyone to sleep. Norman Speer decided to have forty winks. He wasn’t supposed to sleep while on duty, but
fuck it
– there was nothing worth watching at this time of the morning. He leant back in the easy chair, closed his eyes and within the space of a few minutes he was snoring away, dreaming of a better life and a better job.

       Norman Speer jumped. The first bang had woken him up. When the second bang came so soon after, Norman waited for a third but there wasn’t one. Something wasn’t quite right. Thunder usually rumbled and then there was a bang. This just seemed like a
bang
. Norman walked over to the window. The wind was still gusting and the rain lashing down. The night was a stinker. He’d done his usual round of the building. He looked through the window over to the left, expecting to see the dogs cowering under the horse chestnut trees.

       Otis and Marnie were fearless, like most Rottweilers, but when it came to thunderstorms, they would be under those trees quick as you like. When he first started with Guardian, he’d brought them indoors in the bad weather, but he made that mistake only once. The dogs had run around soaking and dirty, brushing their bodies up against the Mansion House furnishings, trying to dry themselves. The mess and smell meant the house had remained closed to the public for several hours while the upholstery and carpets were cleaned.

       Stern words were uttered to Norman’s boss by the estate manager. Guardian had nearly lost the security contract. It was spelt out to Norman in no uncertain terms – no matter how bad the weather, the dogs were to stay outside! Any more slip ups and he’d be outside – the local jobcentre. Norman was starting to get a little concerned. He put his coat on, switched the alarm off, and opened the front door of the building. Time to go and check on the dogs.

***

Vaughan shone his headlight between the safe and the floor just to make sure that he hadn’t made a mistake. He hadn’t; the cut was good. He started to pack away the ball of high-strength steel cutting-cord. Peach immediately jumped to his assistance.

       Vaughan issued the order. ‘Everything away apart from the bars and the cloth, gentlemen; keep the weight in the sacks even.’ The order was followed.

       ‘Philip, how’s the shoulder?’

       ‘I’ll live.’

       ‘Glad to hear it.’ Vaughan smiled at Phil; Phil smiled back.

       The rucksacks were packed. It was time for the fun part (not). Vaughan positioned the trolley near the front of the safe.

       ‘Now then, we have to push her sideways slightly, so that the anchor bolt hole is clear of the shaft sticking up from the floor. Once we’ve done that, we can then prise the wedges out, get her half-on the trolley, and push the cut bolt-head back inside the safe.’

       Between us, we managed it. Once the bolt was pushed up inside, we were able to get the trolley base under the safe to its full extent. The combination dial lined up with the gap in the trolley frame. We were good to go.

       ‘Balance is the key my friends. Keep the trolley balanced and she’ll remain easy to move. If she leans too far over, things will, shall we say, become a little difficult.’

       I was on the bars, Peach and Phil would be on the trolley. Vaughan would move ahead, open doors and give us instructions, making sure the way was clear. Wheeling the safe to the stairs was straightforward. Trying to get the trolley up the first stair wasn’t so easy. Even with the unusual design of the trolley, every stair required the cloth down and the bars underneath the trolley, helping to lever it upwards, with Phil and Peach both pulling hard.

       Eventually we were up by the combination door; Vaughan keyed in the code. It would be a tight squeeze. He decided to put one of the little wedges down to keep the door ajar. Through we went, and out into the night.

       The weather had worsened severely since we’d entered the house. The rain was now belting down and you could almost lean into the wind and not fall over – it was
that
strong. Across the rear terrace, up the steps that led to a patio’ed area directly in front of the large apse-like part of the building, and down the other side. There were no more stairs to climb! I stopped and quickly put the bars and cloth into my rucksack. By this time, not a man amongst us was dry; we were drenched to the skin.

***

Norman Speer looked to his left; still no sign of the dogs. He began to walk, calling and whistling as he did so. Otis and Marnie would always respond to his call. From his very first day at work, he’d always made sure he had some treats on him, usually chewy sticks or a bit of doggie chocolate and the dogs knew this. It was the one sure way to get their attention. He made sweeping arcs with his high-powered torch, hoping the dogs would see the light and come running, but they didn’t.

       Norman’s concern grew. What if the dogs had got out of the grounds? They were guard dogs, not pets. Someone could be bitten and seriously injured; he would be responsible. What if they were on the main road and caused a fatal accident? Norman started to panic. It was then that he saw her.

       Marnie was lying on the ground. Norman ran to her; she was hardly moving. He could see she was alive and her breathing seemed OK. He tried to rouse her but she didn’t respond. A few feet away from the dog was a plastic container. In it, two chunks of meat. Norman feared the worst; someone had poisoned Marnie.

       Twelve stone of deadweight dog was an immoveable object as far as Norman was concerned. She would have to stay there. Norman picked up the container and ran back to the house. Within a few minutes he was up the Mansion House steps and under the great colonnaded portico. Norman opened the front door of Shoreborough Hall and hurried inside. He picked up the phone and started dialling. As he did, the wind caught the open door and slammed it shut with a bang.

***

We turned from the rear, and moved along the side of the house. Vaughan, a little further in front, suddenly stopped.

       ‘What’s the matter?’ Peach asked.

       ‘Ssshh.’

       My heart was really racing. Vaughan tentatively peered round the corner looking towards Shoreborough’s front entrance. ‘Sorry chaps, I thought I heard a door slam – false alarm.’ The Principal waved us forward.

       We carried on through the horrible weather, passing the horse chestnut trees that we’d peed under, trying our best to stay hidden, but it was a little difficult when wheeling a great big safe on a trolley. The pace was getting to Vaughan; he had started to flag. We’d now overtaken him. As we neared the little gateway with the padlock that Vaughan had picked earlier that night Peach put his hand up.

       ‘What’s the problem?’ Phil asked.

       Peach pointed. Lying on the ground and blocking our way through the gate was a very large Rottweiler.

       Peach was starting to panic. ‘What do we do now?’ The Cynophobia had kicked in. Vaughan caught us up.

       Phil looked at me. ‘You think you’re Doctor Dolittle.’

       ‘I bloody well don’t.’

       ‘Last time I looked, you appeared to be the only dog owner among us.’

       ‘Phil, I hardly think what I’ve got and what’s lying there are the same thing.’

       ‘Come now chaps, we’re wasting time.’

       Vaughan was right. Somebody had to do something. Undoing Peach’s rucksack I took out a tub, removed the lid and put the container near the dog’s nose. I had my headlight on its lowest setting, so as not to spook him. While I stared, considering what to do next, his nostrils started to dilate – he’d caught scent of the meat. He tried to lift his head but couldn’t seem to get it together. I stroked him; he whined. Attached to his collar was a tag with a phone number. I turned it over, on the other side it read
Otis
.

       I said his name softly. As I continued to stroke him he whined again. He was trying to wiggle his back end, but didn’t have the strength or muscular coordination. I kept stroking him, calling him by name, telling him he was a good boy.

       I looked up. ‘He’s fucked, lads. Phil, you’ll have to help me move him.’

       ‘No.’

       ‘Yes. Come on, I’ll take the head end, you move his lower. If he’s going to bite anyone it’ll be me.’

       Still stroking him and speaking softly, I grabbed his collar and started to drag him. Phil was reluctantly assisting. He now had his arm around the dog’s abdomen and was doing his best to move Otis with me. The dog weighed what seemed like a ton, more than any drunk I’d had to get out of the cab. I kept speaking softly to Otis . At last, Otis was now to the side of the path. Our way was clear. We passed the great beast and went through the little gateway.

       Vaughan pulled it closed; it still squeaked. He resecured it with the padlock. As soon as he’d done this, he spoke into his headset.

       ‘Principal to Caretaker’. There was no response.

       Vaughan tried again. ‘Principal to Caretaker’.

       Suddenly Neil’s sleepy voice was audible in everyone’s headset.

       ‘Go ahead Principal’.

       ‘Term has ended’.

       ‘Thank you Principal.’

***

Neil started his engine and within a couple of minutes he’d stopped outside Shoreborough’s main gate. Pushing the van’s sliding rear door upwards, Neil didn’t bother to lower the tail-lift to the ground. He just reached in and yanked the trolley from the back of the van. Quickly, he rolled it backwards and forwards as Vaughan had briefed him. The trolley now had small pieces of stone from Shoreborough’s private road embedded in the tread of its tyres. Neil let it fall to the ground.

       Grabbing the bolt cutters, he hurried over to the gate and cut the chain which was fastened with a large padlock. He pulled the chain hard. As the links hit the railings of the gate it sounded like a giant zipper being undone. Neil threw the chain and padlock down, dropping the cutters beside them. Pushing the main gate wide open, he ran to the van and closed the back door. Seconds later Neil Fairburn
aka
‘Caretaker’ was in the van and away.

***

The wind was still blowing hard as we made our way down the towpath and back towards the boat, remembering to give Zeke’s rust-bucket a wide berth. Something was wrong. Even in the darkness it was glaringly obvious.
Betty
wasn’t there!

       At least she wasn’t where she should have been. She was about forty feet out, in the middle of the canal. Phil the Perfect Prefect and also our Chief of Moorings had not done as good a job as you’d expect from such an important crew member. Sir Wankelot had become Sir Knotalot! Peach wasn’t happy. In fact, Peach was livid.

       We had no time for recriminations. They could come later. The important thing was to get the boat, get the safe on board and get away.

       Peach took charge. ‘We’ll bring her in. Will, you and Vaughan stay here.’

       I held the trolley as Peach let go, managing to keep it balanced. Peach and Phil jumped into the water with a couple of very large splashes. They started wading out towards
Betty
.

***

The base controller hadn’t wasted any time. The moment she’d received the call from a panicking Norman Speer she’d sent in another unit. Colin Drake had been with
GSS
for a number of years. He’d get to the bottom of whatever was going on over at Shoreborough. Drake put his foot down. He was motoring; in fact he nearly collided with some lunatic in a van travelling at high speed in the opposite direction. As Drake rounded the bend and approached Shoreborough’s main gate, the sight that greeted his eyes made him immediately realise this was no false call.

***

Ronald was going nuts. Ezekiel was going green; come to that so was Miranda. Ronald wasn’t as stupid as Ezekiel looked. He might not have been able to read Latin, but with his nose, he could tell the difference between
Agaricus campestris
and
Agaricus xanthodermus
. The edible field mushroom was not to be confused with the nauseous yellow stainer. Both varieties of fungi would normally be found during late summer or autumn, but the mild temperature and damp had fooled Mother Nature. Ronald had decided to give Miranda’s soup a miss in favour of a few dog biscuits, vegetarian of course.

       Ezekiel was now making a few yellow stains of his own. He was too busy with his vomiting and diarrhoea to pay attention to Ronald’s incessant barking. The bull terrier had heard two big splashes. The only splashes Ezekiel could hear were those that he was responsible for.