Still there was silence, so she went around the van trying to find the slightest gap in the curtains but without success.
‘He’s not in, duck.’
Sandra spun round to see a middle-aged woman with plaited hair, who was carrying a red plastic washing-up bowl piled high with plates and pans.
‘Police took him away first thing this morning.’
‘Police?’
‘Well, they was plain clothes of course, but I can always spot ‘em.’
‘Right,’ said Sandra distractedly as her brain struggled to work out the most logical reason for the police’s interest in Trevor, but there were too many possibilities. More importantly, had they taken the Jiffy bag?
‘He didn’t look much like a criminal though, I must say. And believe you me, I’ve known quite a few in my time, I can tell you.’
‘Right,’ Sandra said again and smiled at the woman, wishing she would clear off and let her get on with finding out if the Jiffy bag was still in the van.
‘Friend of his, are you?’
‘Kind of,’ said Sandra and started to rummage through the contents of her shoulder bag.
‘What’s he supposed to have done then?’
‘No idea.’
‘Here, he’s not a murderer, is he?’
‘Ah, here we are.’ Sandra exhibited the set of keys she had taken from Trevor the day before. ‘Good thing he gave me the spare set.’
‘Or one of those pervies even? I mean, I’ve got kids here and—’
Before the woman with the washing-up bowl had finished her sentence, Sandra had opened the sliding door and jumped inside. ‘Thanks for your help,’ she said and slammed the door behind her.
She went straight to the locker above the sink and was relieved to see that the green, padded envelope was still there. She was about to stuff it into her bag when she noticed that the seal seemed to have been tampered with. Her instructions had been very precise. On no account was she to look inside the package. Her job was simply to collect it and then deliver it. The contents were none of her business.
Sandra hesitated. Well maybe not, but it had already been opened so… She took hold of the envelope and peeled back the flap.
‘Eh?’
She pulled out a packet of cigarettes and stared at it before upending the Jiffy bag onto the sink drainer. Five more packs fell out, and all were identical by the look of them. She’d suspected the envelope probably contained a substantial amount of cash, but whatever she’d expected, it certainly wasn’t cigarettes.
No, this can’t be right. Why pay her two grand to collect something you could get for a hell of a lot less at your local tobacconist, and why were people apparently prepared to kill for them? Maybe Trevor had pocketed the cash, or whatever else was in the Jiffy bag, and substituted the fag packets. But why bother? He couldn’t have known she was about to catch up with him. – Damn and bollocks. Her original plan had been to grab the package and leave, but now she’d have to hang around till Trevor got back so she could ask him a few questions.
She sat down on the end of the bed, almost dizzy from the rapidness of her breathing. Her eyes darted around the interior of the van as if it were a cage and she was desperate to find some means of escape. She told herself she needed to keep calm and concentrated on controlling her breathing. Coffee might help. Most people would have considered this counter-intuitive, but Sandra often found a burst of caffeine strangely calming in situations like this.
She picked up the kettle from the hob and half filled it with water, but when she tried to light the gas, nothing happened.
‘Sod it.’
There was a small fridge, which was partly obscured by the bed, but she managed to open it just enough to see that its only contents were a couple of boil-in-the-bag cod steaks and three cans of beer. A little early, she thought, and then remembered she’d grabbed a can of Coke when she’d stopped for petrol. She searched in her bag. The Coke was a bit on the warm side, but at least it had some caffeine in it, and she was desperate for a fix.
Sandra had just taken her third mouthful when the shrill ringtone of her mobile phone startled her into inhaling rather than swallowing. Most of the Coke shot out of her mouth in a fine spray, and she spluttered as she fought to control the coughing spasms. She fished around in her bag with one hand while she held the palm of the other tight against her heaving chest. Despite being half blinded by tears, she could focus sufficiently on the phone display to recognise the number. She had ignored it before, but now she was in possession of the Jiffy bag again she had something positive to report even though she was doubtful that its contents were quite what her client was expecting. She let the phone ring a few more times to allow her lungs to recover as much as possible before answering.