Chapter 7

"Size 10 feet," the officer proudly told his Inspector as they walked past the flowerbed and underneath the Police cordon. "We've measured them. There is no tread to talk of, but the perpetrator definitely had size 10 feet."

The Inspector smiled. "Correction, he or she was wearing size ten shoes. We have no idea of the size of his or her feet."

The officer scowled. "Maybe, but if he is wearing size ten shoes, then surely he has size ten feet," the officer asked, clearly irritated by the Inspector's pedantry. "And I don't think it's a girl with size ten feet. Not unless she comes from Chernobyl."

Inspector Richard Williamson gave a broad grin. "What happened?"

"The owner of the house, a local businessman called Jaroslav Doszak, I believe you've met but he is in Kiev at the moment."

Richard snorted. "I know who owns it. Let's just say we've met professionally," he replied as they walked into the main house. "But he had some bloody good lawyers."

"Well he was out of the house the guy reckons, he left first thing to fly to Kiev for a business trip according to the housekeeper. They must have been watching the house as apparently he went down to the vault before he left and everything was OK."

"What time?"

"About 10:30pm, they reckon."

The Inspector nodded and peered into the corridor leading to the vault, nodding to the forensic crime officer. "Anything?"

"Nothing," he replied, dressed in white protective suit. "Some cat hair and that's it."

"So, vault is fine, obviously Mr Doszak has been to collect his passport from the vault, and by morning his precious statues have gone."

"That's about the jist of it, yes. Although it was the housekeeper with the associate who found the vault open and phoned us. Mr Doszak left very late last night for his chartered flight, he is coming back as we speak. The auction house arrived early to collect the statues as they were going under hammer at the end of the week. And someone didn't want to pay the guide price."

DCI Williamson snorted and pointed to the wall. "CCTV. Can we see the tapes?"

The officer chuckled. "They seem to have avoided them. Three shadows in the distance from the one across the garden and that is about it really. The camera up there," the officer said, pointing to the wall, "is not working. Richard Williamson snorted. "Inside job?"

The Inspector looked behind him and then nodded. "Maybe. Do we know why it's not working?"

"Something sprayed over it, the forensic guy reckons. Some sort of hairspray like substance to mess with the lens."

"Probably a professional not an inside job then. Anyone working for Jaroslav Doszak would be mad to steal from him."

The sergeant smiled. "And one more thing, one of the temporary receptionists hasn't come to work today, he was due in and isn't answering his mobile. Name of Oliver Prutton. We are sending WPC Meadows 'round to have a word."

The Inspector took a deep breath and shook his head. "Oliver Prutton, we don't know him, do we?"

"You might know his brother, sir. Jamie Prutton. He came out last month."

"Ahhh," cried the Inspector. "Yes, we do know the Prutton family. Ahh well, that could be interesting. Yes, let me know what happens on that one."

The two men walked out into the garden and saw a dozen faces pressed up against the office windows watching them. "Quite the attraction, aren't we?" The Inspector muttered and then looked up and down the garden. "If they came out there, then they could have got out over there." The Inspector pointed to the large gate at the end of the garden, scarcely in view and strode towards it.

The officer strode to keep up, almost running as the Inspector walked at a fast pace down the manicured garden. The gate was unlocked and the Inspector raised his eyebrows, looking at the large tyre print on the side of the road. "Get a Cast of these," the Inspector ordered. "It might be nothing, but it might not be. And if they came out here, then they might have hit the traffic cameras on the main road."

"Yes sir," the officer parroted and felt his phone vibrate, answering it with a quick bark of his surname. He smiled as he had a brief conversation and turned to face the Inspector. "Sir. There was a card used last night at 23:02. A door access card, to gain access out of the vault."

"Belong to Oliver Prutton?"

"Yes sir."

"I wonder if our friend has been helping his brother get up to his old tricks again," the Inspector wondered out loud. "Right let's go and see him. Bring him in. After we have a cast of that."

He walked back and stopped at the gate, looking at the floor and stopped. "Get me an evidence bag," he called and turned his head. "There is a cigarette butt here and some matches."

"Oh," came the response and the Inspector scowled.

"They don't look too wet so they've not been here too long. Either our friends are very stupid, or we were meant to find this," he said with a smile. "But let me know what's on this."

"Sir," a voice called and the Inspector walked over to the officer holding out a handbag. "This must be the housekeepers," he told him and the Inspector smiled.

"Get me that cast ASAP and get Oliver and Jamie picked up. They came out through here, I want forensics down here too. Now I need to see DI Hargreaves, make sure we don't tread on any toes," he said, rubbing his chin, and nodding towards the junior officer.

"And we go live to our reporter on the scene, Jenny Phillips, what can you tell us?"

The reporter stood under the obligatory umbrella as the rain bounced off the pavement around her and looked sternly at the camera. "Well full details of the raid have been emerging in the last few minutes. Last night three burglars broke into this mansion house behind me, went into the safe, and stole three valuable statues made of solid gold that are due to be auctioned later this week. The Police have been here since this morning, we have had forensics and sniffer dogs all around here, and the owner of the statues, a local businessman, is said to be quite distressed and cutting short his business trip to the Ukraine."

"Quite, right," Jamie said, mimicking her voice and Emma scowled into the cold baked beans she was eating for lunch; Oliver couldn't work out how to turn the gas on to the cooker and Emma couldn't be bothered to check to heat through the beans so they all had cold tinned food for lunch.

"Any news on the gang who did this?"

"I am joined by Inspector Richard Williamson from the Merseyside Constabulary, any news on the likely perpetrators?"

A tall, smart man looked directly at the camera and gave a nod, his steely eyes bearing into Oliver who shuddered. "There are many leads and at the moment we are focusing on who had access to the vault, but it is early days and we are scouring the local area. There is a couple of people we are anxious to speak to and there will be arrests soon."

There was a shriek from the corner of the room and Oliver put his head in his hands, but Emma just turned up the volume on the television to listen to the reports. "Right, we got to get out of here," Jamie said and Emma shouted at him to sit back down. "They will see he's missing," Jamie panted.

Emma hummed. "I didn't expect them to know so quickly but I told you, I rented this farmhouse. I did it in cash, and I said I was staying alone. They haven't mentioned the Transit and they haven't said they are looking for me or even you. So just sit tight and think."

"I think I should have nothing to do with him," Jamie mumbled and Oliver threw his arms down.

"You have nothing to do with me? You were the one that roped me into this. You were the one that said it was easy."

"You said it was easy," Jamie looked accusingly at Emma. "You said it would be a piece of cake."

Emma shrugged. "It has been. It was easy. The job always is. It's getting away with it that so many people fuck up on. You of all people know that."

Jamie glared at her. "I don't want to go back to jail. I want to get out of here. You said you had a way out of Britain, let's do it."

"And I don't want Doszak and his heavies coming after me. 'Cos I am a dead man if they do," Oliver panicked.

Emma groaned and nodded. "OK. Well let's leave now. But if we get picked up on the motorway as we get spotted I'll kill ya." The two brothers looked at each other and Emma picked up the new pay-as-you-go phone and turned it on, before dialling a number on a piece of paper, looking at Jamie out of the corner of her eye.

"It's ringing," she muttered and waited for the familiar voice of Paolo. "Hello," a meek voice answered and Emma cleared her throat; it was Paolo's wife.

"Is Paolo in please?" The woman burst into tears and sniffed.

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

Emma hesitated before supplying her name. "He is expecting my call."

"Umm ... he died yesterday. He had an accident in his boat."

"Oh I am so sorry," Emma genuinely enthused; she had met Paolo when she had travelled to Sandbanks for a job through a mutual friend and had become enchanted by his mischievous demeanour and ever-smiling face. "I didn't know. You have my sincere condolences."

"His funeral will be in four days time."

Emma hummed. "I would love to, I might be tied up." The wife sniffed and Emma bade her well for the future. "Fuck," she said the moment she hung up.