The Trespass(19)

Dracup exchanged glances with Sara. A moment later the doorbell rang. Potzner ushered the newcomer into the lounge. Suited, expressionless. Potzner clapped him on the shoulder. “This is Farrell. He’s a bright guy. Just do what he says, when he says, and you’ll be okay.”

“You mean we’re stuck with this gorilla?” Sara was indignant. “I can look after myself, thanks.”

Farrell’s face remained impassive. He was around the thirty mark, with an easy, laid-back manner. He wore a pair of shades pushed up onto his crew cut and a flesh-coloured earpiece in his right ear. Dracup wondered how much he knew about Red Earth. He intended to find out soon enough.

Dracup took Sara’s arm. “It’s probably a good idea.” He looked over to Farrell. “No offence.”

“None taken,” Farrell drawled.

Potzner was rummaging in his briefcase. “I suggest you make the trip to Scotland sooner rather than later. This is a hotline to the London office.” He handed Dracup a card. “Check in once a day – without fail. If you don’t, like I said before, I’ll come looking.”





Chapter 6





“There you go – Forest Avenue. Next left.” Sara folded the street map and shoved it down into the side pocket.

“Got it.” Dracup swung the car into the street and crawled along its length counting the numbers down. He glanced in the mirror. Farrell was scanning the pavements on either side of the street. Next to the agent lay the flotsam of a long journey: empty biscuit packets, juice cartons, chocolate papers.

“There!” Sara pointed.

Dracup found a space, eased the Saab along the high kerb and killed the engine.

“I’ll do the neighbourly thing.” Sara was out of the car and Farrell followed suit.

“Meet you at the front door. Ah – looks like it’s side access,” Dracup called over, and walked up the path of the old granite house. The property had been converted into two flats, according to the solicitor, and his aunt had owned the first and second floors. Dracup found the side door and strode briskly past it to the garden gate. He peered over the top. It was overgrown, neglected. His aunt would have been mortified.

“Success.” Sara appeared with Farrell in tow. She tossed the key to him and he caught it deftly by its attached piece of string.

Inside, a pile of freesheets and unopened mail greeted them. Dracup picked up the pile and began separating the post from the newspapers. To their left, a staircase led directly up from the tiny hallway. A smell of mothballs permeated the small space.

Sara was flicking the light switch. “Bit gloomy.” The bulb remained unlit. “I’m going up.”

The landing ran the length of the property and two rooms led off it to the front of the house, while at the far end the kitchen opened out to the right. A further staircase apparently led up to another floor. Sara, hands in jeans pockets, found an armchair in the living room and sat down. “It’s very quiet.” She shivered and rubbed her hands together. “And damp.”

“Darn cold, that’s for sure.” Farrell was by the curtains, looking out into the street.

“It may be worth lighting the boiler,” Dracup said tersely. “Come on. Let’s get started. I’ll take a look upstairs. You two can do the lounge and kitchen.” Dracup ascended the small wooden staircase to the top floor. There was a smell of musty linen, mothballs. On the second floor landing stood a grandfather clock, silent and cobwebbed. He quickly checked the two bedrooms, which revealed nothing but a chest of drawers in the first and a solitary iron bedstead in the second.

He took a deep breath, went back down the narrow staircase, retrieved the pile of letters and began to open each in turn. It seemed a futile exercise, but he knew that he daren’t leave anything to chance. The stakes were too high. He rubbed a bead of sweat away from his forehead and, tight-lipped, continued to slit open and discard his aunt’s correspondence.

Sara placed a hand gently on his arm. “I’ll start in this bureau.” She attempted to roll back the lid but it refused to budge. “Blast. Locked.”

“One moment, ma’am.” Farrell stepped forward and produced a set of keys. A moment later the desk was open.

“Thanks.” Sara began sifting through the various pigeonholes of the bureau. Farrell took up his position by the bay window and began a flat, tuneless hum.

Sara drummed on the bureau with her fingers. “You’re making me nervous, Farrell. I can’t concentrate. Sit down, can’t you?”

“I have to keep an eye on things, ma’am.” Farrell raised the corners of his mouth slightly and turned back to the window.