Outside the Box

Communication Services International turned out to be a scruffy asphalt yard housing a single tatty Portakabin.

NO UNAUTHORISED ENTRY

Maggie contemplated the padlocked gates. There was no sign of life. Sod it, she cursed under her breath. She’d spent the previous evening glued to the second-hand laptop she’d asked Colin to source for her, laboriously typing in search terms and cross-checking data. She’d hoped to gain entry before close of business but, in the maze of small roads that crisscrossed the vast industrial estate, it had taken a precious hour of her time to find the place.

The sky was streaked with grey. She pressed her face against the gates. To the rear of the Portakabin, a car was just visible. Maggie clocked it as an Audi A6. With Colin’s input, she was becoming something of a car buff. Her spirits rose. Someone might be there after all. They sank again when she saw that the cabin was in darkness, its window obscured by a blind.

The assignment related to a claim for unfair dismissal by the manager of a mobile phone shop whose employment had been terminated on the grounds of gross misconduct. From its audit process, the company knew its employee was on the take: significant quantities of high-value goods had been vanishing into the ether. But without the phones themselves or a paper trail relating to their disposal, they couldn’t prove it. When internal enquiries by the organisation’s management proved fruitless, the agency had received a discreet approach.

Going by the demarcation lines she’d set, Maggie shouldn’t have been involved in the case. She’d only stepped in because Wilma had been offered a lucrative double shift at the hospital. Her neighbour had already made significant progress: sussed out the interior of the man’s home – Maggie hadn’t dared ask how – produced a 2012 car registration number and a photograph of an orderly, nigh empty, garage. Only the previous day Wilma had turned up a suspect invoice and possible address. Now, Maggie eyed the stout mesh fence that surrounded the premises. Fat chance. That fence had to be eight-feet high. Not a hope in hell of getting over it. What would Wilma do, she wondered? Ram the gates, she thought wryly.

Think outside the box! She prowled the perimeter, looking for a way through. Finally she found it, a buckled section at ground level. For once in her life, Maggie gloried in her petite size. She crouched. Worked with both hands to ease the wire upwards. Slung her bag across her body and wriggled underneath. She was partway across the open ground when she spotted a gleam of light. Maggie stopped in her tracks. Narrowed her eyes, zooming in on the cabin window. Blinked. Might be just the waning sun reflecting off the glass. Gingerly, she crept forward. Another tiny flash. Bingo! She tiptoed towards it, wincing as her shoes crunched on the yard’s rough surface.

Maggie was within twenty metres of her target when she heard the sound: a low growl at first, followed by a whine. She followed it to a space below the cabin. Stood stock still. Nothing happened. The animal must be chained up, she surmised, otherwise it would be out here, going for her. Heart thudding, she resumed her forward momentum. Two growls, louder this time. ‘Shush,’ she whispered, more in hope than expectation, as two large heads appeared, ears pricked. Two wet pointed snouts nosed the air. Two jaws gaped, tongues lolling.

Maggie made the lee of the Portakabin. The Alsatians were pawing the ground, now, straining at whatever tethered them. ‘Shush,’ she mouthed again. She wondered why they weren’t barking. So much for keeping guard dogs. Perhaps they’d been sleeping. Or maybe – wry face – like her, they were new to the job. Crouching, she ran her eyes over the car’s number plate, committing it to memory. She’d check it later against Wilma’s notes, which were safely stowed in her bag. Maggie straightened, then pressed an eye to the exposed corner of the window. A man was seated at a desk, his back to her. With one swift glance, she filed a description. With another she memorised the scene. On the floor around the desk were stacked boxes – boxes of what looked very like mobile phones.

Get the evidence! She fumbled for the zip of her bag, extracted a small camera, held it up to the window. She’d only managed to fire off a couple of shots when her mobile trilled. Idiot! Maggie watched in horror as the man leapt up from the desk, knocking his chair over, and made for the door.

The Alsatians were barking in tandem now. She did a speedy about-turn, stowing the camera as she sprinted across the open yard. Halfway across she lost a shoe, stooped to retrieve it.

‘Hey, you!’

She squinted over her shoulder. The Portakabin door was wide open, illuminating the scene: the man bent double, fingers working feverishly to loose the dogs. Maggie ran on, shoe in hand, the jagged ground sending stabs of pain into her stockinged foot. Her eyes raked the fence, trying desperately to relocate her entry point. She’d almost made it when the dogs came nipping at her heels.