The Trespass(29)

Dracup looked at Farrell and shook his head slowly. “All right, Farrell, we get the picture. But these sevens mean something a little closer to home.” As he uttered the last word, Dracup had a thought. Home. His grandfather’s home. It had been sold, but maybe... The clock would have been in situ at the old house, not his aunt’s, when Theodore had left these clues. Dial a close shave. What had been his grandfather’s address? 14 St Andrew’s Close. “I think we’re looking at something left at his old address.” Dracup felt a surge of excitement. “Sara – you found some old photos in the bureau? I need to see them.”

“They were just some old black and whites,” Sara said.

“But they were outdoor photos? Of the garden, weren’t they?”

“I think so.”

Dracup bounded down the stairs into the front room. He seized the pile of photos and papers from the open bureau. Where was the garden shot?

“Hey. Careful – I have a system going here,” Sara said, hard on Dracup’s heels.

“Don’t worry. I’m just after – ah. Here.” Dracup held up a photograph and waved it. “This is it. Take a look. What do you see?”

Farrell and Sara peered over his shoulder at the image. “Coupla people. Grass. Trees. House in the background.” Farrell clicked his tongue. “Not a lot else.”

“Come on. Look again,” Dracup said. Surely they would get it. He was right, he knew it. He had to be right.

Sara ran a hand through her hair and massaged her neck, yawning. “Simon, I can’t see anything. Explain.”

“In the middle of the garden.” He clapped a hand to his forehead.

“An ornament of some kind,” Farrell said.

“Brilliant. What sort of ornament?” Dracup was almost jigging in frustration now. Sara was usually razor sharp. Why couldn’t she see it?

“A bird table?”

“Bird table my backside. Come on. Think.”

“I give up, Simon. Tell us.” Sara flopped onto the sofa and folded her arms.

“It’s a sundial. Dial a close shave in the nick of time.”

Farrell’s expression brightened. “Good job, Mr Dracup.” The American gave the briefest of grins before a frown reappeared on his forehead. “But what the heck shaving’s got to do with it beats me.”

Sara’s mobile beeped. She reached into her handbag and fished it out.

Dracup frowned in dismay. Surely she wouldn’t take the call now? Not now they were getting close...

“Excuse me a sec.” Sara left the room.

Shaking his head in dismay, Dracup turned back to the photograph. He was within reach of something at last, something tangible. “Give me a chance, Farrell,” Dracup said. “What have we got so far? Two sevens and a sundial.”

“Yeah, seven... but seven what?” Farrell took the photo from Dracup and frowned.

Dracup clicked his fingers and paced the room. “We’ll just have to go and take a look. Of course the house is no longer in the family; we’ll have to pay a clandestine visit.” Or could they just knock on the door? Something lay hidden in the garden of Theodore’s old house. Near the sundial. Seven something from the sundial. He looked out onto the street. The rain was sheeting down; fleeting figures scurried by packaged in mackintoshes and thick scarves, their umbrellas wayward in the northeasterly blast sweeping in from the sea. Hard to think about sundials with a backdrop like this… Dracup ran his finger down the glass, traced the number seven in the condensation, and watched the water gather then ripple down the pane, distorting the outline he had made.

“Cracked it yet?” Sara came in and gave Farrell a smile that said come on smarty-pants, let’s see you get this one. Dracup knew the expression. It was when Sara had the answer and knew that no one else did.

Farrell read her meaning. “I’m working on it.”

Dracup watched Sara slide her mobile into her handbag, but there was something covert about her expression. “Who was that?” he asked her. “Problems?”

Sara’s eyes met his then lowered. “Tell you later. It’s probably nothing.”

“Sure?” Dracup sensed a change in Sara. It clearly wasn’t nothing.

“It’s fine – don’t worry.”

“I’m not, I just –”

“Occam.” Farrell said.

They both turned to the American and Sara grinned. “Ah ha. Not just a pretty face then.”

Dracup racked his brains. Occam. It rang a bell, but a very distant one.

“Occam’s razor,” Farrell said. “You never heard of that, Mr Dracup?”