Remote Control (43 page)

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Authors: Andy McNab

BOOK: Remote Control
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I felt a right dickhead. ‘Of course you can. So long as you’re quiet.’ I knew there was more to come.
‘Can I see Melissa and tell her sorry that I missed the sleepover?’
‘We won’t have time.’
She sat back into her seat, brooding.
‘But you’re going to phone her mommy?’
I nodded.
I started to see signs for Washington. We’d been on the road for nearly eighteen hours. My eyes were smarting worse than ever, despite the air-conditioner being on full blast. We’d get there in 2 hours, but there’d still be a few hours to kill before last light. I pulled in at a rest area and tried to sleep. It would be a busy night.
Kelly was in the back doing her own thing in a sea of stale food, sweat and my farts.
It was about six in the evening as we approached the Lorton turn-off. For once it wasn’t raining, just overcast. Only about forty-five minutes to go.
I couldn’t see Kelly in the mirror. She was hunkered down in the seat again.
‘Are you awake?’
‘Ahh, I’m tired, Nick. Are we there yet?’
‘I’m not going to tell you. It’s going to be a surprise. Just keep down; I don’t want you to sit up.’
I drove into the estate and onto Hunting Bear Path, negotiating the speed bumps ultra cautiously so I could have a good look around. Everything looked quite normal. I could see the back of Kev’s garage, but I couldn’t see the front of the house yet.
When I got up level, the driveway was finally exposed. Parked up outside the front door was a blue-and-white. No problem, just look ahead, act normal.
I drove on, checking in the rear-view mirror. The sidelights were on and it was two up. They were basically just there to keep rubber-neckers away. The house hadn’t been boarded up yet, but it was still cordoned off with yellow tape.
I drove straight on; I couldn’t tell if they were looking at me. Even if they did a plate check as I drove past, it wouldn’t matter. They’d only come up with Big Al. If I was compromised, I’d run for it and leave Kelly here. Maybe the uniformed police would be good guys and look after her. At least, that would be the logical thing to do, but there was a conflict. I’d promised that I wouldn’t leave her; that promise shouldn’t mean much, but it did.
I went down to the bottom of the road and turned right, to get out of sight as quickly as possible, then drove a big square to get back in behind them. I reached the small parade of shops. The car park was about a quarter full, so we could pull in without attracting attention.
Kelly shrieked, ‘We’re at the stores!’
‘That’s right, but we can’t buy anything because I haven’t much money left. But we can go to the house.’
‘Yesss! Can I get my Pollypockets and Yak-backs from my bedroom too?’
‘Of course you can.’ I didn’t have a clue what she was on about.
I went round to the back, opened up the boot and got out the bag, then opened her door. I threw the bag in beside her and leaned in.
‘Are we going to my house now?’
I started to sort out the kit I’d be needing.
‘Yes. I want you to help me because I want you to show me Daddy’s hidey-hole. Can you do that? It’s important; he wanted me to check something. We’ve got to sneak in because there’s police outside. Are you going to do everything that I say?’
‘Yeah, I’ll do that! Can I get Pocahontas as well?’
‘Yep.’
I didn’t give a fuck, I’d have nodded and agreed to anything so long as she showed me the cache.
‘You ready? Let’s put your hood up.’ It was dark and cloudy, and thankfully the road wasn’t exactly built for pedestrians. We shouldn’t encounter any Melissas
en route
.
With the bag slung over my shoulder, I held her hand and we set off towards the house. It was nearly seven o’clock and the street lights were on. My plan was to work our way to the back of the house, so I could stand off, have a look at it and prepare to make entry.
We started to walk over the waste ground to the rear of the house, past Portakabins and stockpiles of girders and building materials. The mud was so treacherous in places I thought we’d lose our shoes.
She was almost beside herself with excitement, but fighting it hard. ‘That’s where my friend Candice lives!’ She pointed to a house. ‘I helped her with their yard sale. We got twenty dollars.’
‘Shhh!’ Smiling, I said slowly, ‘We’ve got to be very very quiet or the policemen will get us.’
There was a look of confusion on her face. ‘Nick?’
What now?
‘Yes, Kelly.’
‘Why are we hiding from the police? Aren’t they good guys?’
I suppose I should have anticipated that one. What could I say? She wouldn’t have understood any of the one hundred reasons why we’d be up to our necks in shit if the police caught us. Even if I did have a spare couple of hours to explain them to her. Nor did I want to undermine forever her confidence in the authorities at this early stage in her life. So I lied.
‘I don’t think they’re real cops; I think they’re just dressed up like cops. They might be friends of the men who came to see Daddy.’ It didn’t take long for that to register.
Finally we were standing in the shadow of the neighbour’s garage. I put the bag down and watched and listened. The engine of the blue-and-white was ticking over. They were less than 20 metres away on the other side of the target. I could hear a little of their radio traffic, but couldn’t make out what was being said. Now and again a car drove past, braked for the speed bumps, rattled over and accelerated away.
Lights were on in some of the houses and I could see into the rooms. It had always given me a strange sort of kick doing this, like my own private viewing of a David Attenborough documentary: human beings in their natural habitat. As a young soldier in the late seventies in Northern Ireland, part of our job was to ‘lurk’ – hang around in the shadows, watching and listening, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone with a weapon. It was amazing what you’d see people doing in their cars or front rooms, and slightly less amazing what they’d be up to in their bedrooms. Sometimes we’d watch for hours on end, all in the line of duty. I really enjoyed it. Here, people were just doing their washing-up or watching TV, and probably worrying about the effect of multiple murders on real-estate prices.
There were no proximity lights at the back of the house, just standard ones with an on/off by the patio doors. I remembered switching them on for a barbecue.
I stroked Kelly’s hair and looked down and smiled. Then, slowly and quietly, I unzipped the bag and got out what I needed. I put my mouth right to her ear and whispered, ‘I want you to stay here. It’s really important that you look after this kit. You’ll see me over there, OK?’
She nodded. Off I went.
I reached the patio doors. First things first: make sure they’re locked. They were. I got my Maglite and checked to see if there were any bolts at the top and bottom of the frame. It’s no good defeating a lock if there are also bolts across, and that’s one of the reasons why you try to attack a building at the point of last exit, because you know they can’t have bolted up again from the outside.
Normally the next thing to do would be to look for the spare key – why spend an hour with the lock-picking kit if there’s one hidden only feet away? Some people still leave theirs dangling on a string just the other side of the letter box, or on the inside of a cat flap. Others leave it under a dustbin or just behind a little pile of rocks by the door. If there’s a lamp-post in the garden, it always pays to feel around the base because it’s a natural marker. If a key is going to be left, it will nearly always be somewhere on the normal approach to the door. But this was Kev’s house: I wouldn’t find spare keys lying around. I put the photographer’s blanket over my head and shoulders and, with the Maglite in my mouth, got to work with the lock-pick gun. It didn’t take long.
I opened the doors gently, moved the curtain aside and looked inside the living room. The first thing I noticed was that all the other curtains and shutters were closed, which was good for me because, once inside, we’d have cover. The second thing that hit me was an overpowering smell of chemicals.
34
I tiptoed back to Kelly and whispered, ‘Come on, then!’
Our shoes were caked with mud, so we took them off on the concrete terrace and put them in the bag. Then we stepped inside and I pulled the doors closed.
I held the Maglite with my middle finger and forefinger over the lens to contain most of the light, and kept it close to the floor so we could see our way through the living room. The carpet and underlay had been taken up and all the furniture was pushed to one side. All that was left were the chipboard sheets that the builders had used instead of floorboards. Someone had done a good job of scrubbing the bloodstains where Kev had been lying, which explained the chemical smell. The Murder Mop people had been in; once forensics finished it was up to the commercial companies to clear away the mess.
We reached the door that led into the front hall. Kelly stood still, an old hand at this stuff now. I got on my knees, eased it ajar and looked through. The front door was closed, but light from the street lamps shone through the stained-glass flower set into the window above it. I switched off the torch and stationed Kelly by the bag in the hallway.
I stopped and listened and generally tuned in. The engine was still idling.
I felt Kelly pulling my jacket.
‘Nick?’
‘Shhh!’
‘Where’s the carpet gone – and what’s that horrible smell?’
I turned round and half crouched down. I put my finger on her lips again and said, ‘We’ll talk about it later.’
There was a
beep beep beep
from the blue-and-white’s radio. The guys inside were probably drinking coffee, pissed off to be on guard duty all night. Some radio traffic came on the net. Whoever was Control sounded like Hitler with a dress on. She was giving somebody a bollocking.
Indicating that Kelly should stay where she was, I moved across to the study and gently opened the door. I went back, picked up the bag and guided Kelly into the room, propping the door open with the bag to let the light come through from the hall.
Everything looked very much the same as before, except that the stuff that had been strewn all over the place had now been arranged in a neat line along one wall. The PC was still on its side on the desk, the printer and scanner in position on the floor. They had all been dusted for prints.
I took the photographer’s material and a box of board pins from the bag, and lifted the chair near to the window. Taking my time, I climbed up and pinned the fabric along the top and down the sides of the entire wooden window frame.
I could now close the door and put on the torch, taking care not to shine it in my face – I didn’t want to scare her. I’d done a job once which involved getting a mother and her child out of the Yemen, and the child went apeshit because we were working with torches in our mouths and it made us look like the devil at work. I felt quite pleased with myself for remembering this and sparing Kelly; maybe I knew something about kids after all.
I went over to her. Even above the reek of solvents and cleaners I got a waft of greasy hair, Coca-Cola, bubble gum and chocolate. I whispered into her ear, ‘Where is it? Just point.’
I shone the torch all around the walls and she pointed at the skirting board behind the door. This was good shit; nothing seemed to have been disturbed.
I immediately started prising the wooden strip away from the wall with a screwdriver. A vehicle passed the house and I heard laughter from the police car – probably at Control’s expense. They’d be there solely to deter people from coming round and being nosy. Chances were, the place would be pulled down soon. Who’d want to buy a house a family had been murdered in? Maybe it would be turned into a memorial park or something.
I kept Kelly right next to me; I wanted to keep her reassured. She was interested in what was happening, and I smiled at her now and again to show that everything was fine.
With a small creak the section of board started to give way. I pulled it right off and put it to one side. Then I bent down again and shone the torch inside. The beam glinted on metal. What looked like a gun safety box, about eighteen inches square, was recessed into the wall. The lock was a lever, very similar to a UK Chubb. It was going to need decoding. It could take hours.
I got out the black wallet and set to work, trying to remember to grin at her and let her know it wouldn’t be long, but I could see she was getting restless. Ten minutes went by. Fifteen. Twenty. Finally it was all too much for her. In a loud whisper she said crossly, ‘What about my teddies?’
‘Shhh!’ I put my finger to her lips. ‘The police!’ What I meant was, ‘Fuck the teddies; we’ll get them when I’m ready.’ I carried on decoding.
There was a pause, then, no longer a whisper, ‘But you said!’
It had to be cut. Obviously being Mr Smiley wasn’t working. I turned on her and hissed, ‘We’ll do it in a minute! Now, shut up!’

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