Chase the Morning

I couldn’t accept that. The unease that was dogging me grew stronger, darker, clutched hard at my heels. It lurked there behind my thoughts, all through the rest of the day that should have banished it, hectic but reassuring. A kind of minor spring filled the office as the air grew sharp and piny with disinfectant, then heady and flowery with scented polish, and at last cool, clean and neutral as the air conditioning took hold; in the background phones trilled cheerfully and printers chattered and whizzed like bright insects, restoring our records to hard copy. Normality burst out like an impatient seedling, stiffened and blossomed into the status quo, sunflower-bright. The smooth speed of it was awesome, like watching a time-lapse film; we had an efficient business here, and a committed workforce. It should have reassured me. It didn’t.

Two break-ins that wouldn’t go away, both strangely motiveless – and with one other obvious connection, namely me. Not one little bit did I like that idea, and I couldn’t make sense of it. Suppose I really had been followed, that night – but I’d got to my car, and away. No other car had followed me out of Tampere Street, not even Danube Street. They might have caught the number, but somehow I didn’t see them using the police computer to trace me. And then they’d have had to follow me not only home, but to the office next day; and why bother? Why hit the office, when they could have got to me personally at home? No, it was a daft idea; but daft or not, it was getting under my skin. If I could find some way of distinguishing the two incidents, some reasonable explanation for one or the other …

First things first. Modus operandi. The office raid must have been a swift and well-planned affair, to do so much damage without attracting attention. Not so the other; in fact, it could hardly have been sloppier. What were the raiders up to, muscling up to the front door like that on the flimsiest of pretexts? Why would anyone want to break into a warehouse that way – with a murder added, and out on the open street, when with an ounce more planning they could have kept everything behind closed doors? Because they wanted their victim to be found outside? As if – almost as if they were trying to establish beyond all doubt that it was a burglary. And ruthlessly enough to snuff out a life for corroborative evidence.

Now that rang a bell. I’d come across cases like that; where somebody was trying to use the break-in somehow … to account for something. Something that wasn’t there, and should have been. Or something that was, and shouldn’t –

‘Jesus, yes!’

I couldn’t help exclaiming aloud. A chill wind of certainty blew through me. I’d found my motive.

Across the newly gleaming desks Dave, deep in checking his recovered records, looked up startled. ‘Whazzat?’

‘Nothing.’ I wanted to be up and running. But I forced myself to be calm, act natural; and yet there might not be much time. If I really hadn’t dreamed up the whole thing … ‘Just getting worked up about this raid again. So bloody senseless. Or so it seems. But sometimes there’s a hidden motive to these things.’

‘Gotcha.’ Dave leaned back and tapped his cigarette packet. To my relief he’d run out. ‘Damn! Like that tonne of hash they had to sneak out of a wool shipment before it came out of bond, and explain the hole it left – so they staged a break-in –’

‘That’s it. Couldn’t be the same here, of course. Not a lot of pot you could slip in with bills of lading.’

‘Maybe we should try it!’ grinned Dave, rummaging in his blazer pocket. ‘Give ol’ Gemma a blast! Ah –’ He popped the cellophane off another black and gold packet.

I stood up. ‘If you’re going to light up more of those coffin-nails, I’m off! It’s late, and you’ve probably done me in already today. Never heard of secondary inhalation? If I get cancer, I’ll sue.’

‘Go ahead, man! I’ll claim I was driven to it by a brutal boss who slunk off early and left me up to here in it. Literally!’

‘That’s no way to talk about Barry!’ I said reprovingly. The banter covered up my departure nicely, and my injured arm gave me a good enough reason for leaving before the others, even on this embattled evening. The wince as Clare helped me on with my anorak was quite genuine.

‘Oh, sorry – Steve, look, be sensible for once.’ Those clear eyes were weighing me up with an expression I couldn’t fathom, almost as if she could see right through the frantic unease I was hiding. And dammit, she was nibbling at that finger again. ‘Let me drive you home. Go on –’

That was the last thing I wanted. ‘Don’t fuss! Just a bit tired, that’s all – same as you. You get out of this, too. Tomorrow’s soon enough.’

Judy’s good night was even more sympathetic than before. But once through the door I had to stop myself running for the car.