The Blood Isles by C.F. Barrington

Author:C.F. Barrington [Barrington, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781800244375
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing

Monday, mid-morning, and the man in the telecoms uniform stood on the front steps of the last block on Learmonth Place and rang the bell for flat number six twice, then tried number five three times. Satisfied, he pressed number one and an elderly man’s voice answered. Bingo.

‘Morning, sir, sorry to bother you. We had a call from the gent in number six to say his FTTH fibre-optic is down to ADSL speeds. I’ve checked the routing from exchange to street cabinet and all looks fine, as does the coaxial, so it may well be the receiver. The gent said he’d be at work. Would you mind letting me have access to his floor?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t have a key for his apartment.’

‘That’s no problem – I only need to get to the socket outside.’

‘Well, I don’t know. I’m not very good with all these mod-con things. But I suppose I can let you up the stairs. Would you like a coffee?’

‘That’s very kind, sir, but I just had one.’

The buzzer went and he was in. He climbed to the top floor and rang the bell for number six. He gave it several long seconds, eyeing the lock as he waited. Good, a Yale tumbler. He retrieved a set of bump keys from his pocket, selected one and inserted it almost fully, then took out a small hammer, checked over the bannisters and hit the key hard once while simultaneously turning. Bingo.

Okay, part one of the job didn’t require much. The client’s orders were to photograph paperwork and take computer equipment. He pulled on latex gloves and roamed around the flat, opening drawers. He could find no computer, laptop, tablet or any other hardware, so he reverted to taking shots of papers with a compact camera. Mostly bills, statements, insurance, nothing out of the ordinary. There was a notepad with various thoughts and diagrams scribbled through it, so he snapped these as well. Then he tidied everything up, did one last circuit of the rooms, and went back outside.

Easy enough. Now for part two. He rang the bell of number five, waited, rang again and waited some more. No movement. He used his key again and slipped inside. This time the client had been much more specific. He padded around the property, touching nothing, looking into all the rooms before retracing his steps to the small bedroom at the front which, he deduced from a ceiling wallpapered with distant galaxies and a poster of some old sailing ship with shields along its sides, was the son’s. He noted the hard drive stacks and the two laptops on the cluttered desk.

He placed his telecoms bag on the floor, pulled out the camera again and photographed the desk from various angles so that he could replace everything exactly as he had found it. Then he began. First he checked the notepads and snapped anything the boy had written. Then he withdrew his own laptop from the bag, along with a very small screwdriver.

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