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It was 11 p.m. and Ron was snoring quietly. The iPad had slipped from his hands an hour ago as his eyes closed. Maureen had gradually reduced the volume on the film to which she’d given scant attention and the TV was now off. She approached Ron and tentatively picked up his legs to make him more comfortable on the sofa. He didn’t stir. She placed a cushion behind his head and he continued to sleep, breathing heavily.
Maureen stood looking at him. This was the moment she had been waiting for. She felt in the pockets of his discarded trousers and found his leather key case. There was the recognisable collection of house and office keys matching the ones she’d used the other night but there were other keys, one of which looked like a small desk key.
She picked up both his mobiles, crept over to the door and opening it gently padded out into the hallway, leaving Ron sleeping on the settee. His other mobile was a cheaper model but like his main one was PIN protected. There wasn’t time to try to guess the number, she tried the one he had told her for his main phone but it didn’t work.
After one final glance towards her husband, Maureen closed the lounge door and scurried to the main entrance. She carefully unlocked the door and checking in her pocket for her torch ran down the path towards the annexe and his office. Her hands were trembling as she opened the door and this time she felt automatically for the light switch. Her heart was pounding in her ears and she felt flushed and hot.
Maureen sat in the leather office chair and selected what she imagined to be the desk key. Her first attempt failed but she realised she had it upside down. Cursing to herself she inserted the key the correct way and tentatively opened the top drawer and espied the contents. There was nothing unusual, a stapler, some pens, a set of business cards, flyers from the golf club and the accumulated odds and ends such as paper clips, elastic bands and the like which build up over time.
The next drawer down contained a few recent items of post, bank statements still to be filed, some letters from the glioblastoma charity and two framed photographs, one of his late wife Shirley and another of Natasha with Ron and Shirley. She gazed at the photo of Natasha and felt her eyes begin to prick. How she wished she could have been part of her life and a friend and step-mother to the teenager who had bravely battled her illness.
Maureen was beginning to realise this might be another fruitless expedition. The bottom drawer which was deeper was another filing drawer. Instead of accounts and financial statements, it appeared to contain information about various people. She took out one folder and flicked through it. There were photographs showing a person she didn’t recognise kissing someone at a door and then getting into a car and driving away. Another folder detailed payments to a name which meant nothing to her. The next divider she selected did contain a name she recognised, Dalton. It had some invoices from Ron’s hotel, The Cedars, a CCTV image of Laura which also looked as though it was in the hotel, details about Christian’s children, their school and his wife’s place of work. She quickly closed it and sought the next file.
To her horror, it was labelled, Welch. The file bore details of the matter which had threatened to come between them, namely the sordid affair of Councillor Long. In addition, there were details about Lane End farm. She began to sweat. Had Ron somehow told Laura about this incident or had she gained access to this drawer? It was too much of a coincidence that Laura had just remembered something in the past about a property deal.
She rested her head in her hands trying to calm her breathing. When was Ron going to use this information against her? What hold was he going to have over her to force her to do something against her will? Perhaps he hadn’t expected her to be so willing to loan him or more accurately give him the proceeds from the sale of her house. Now wasn’t the time to sit pondering the whys and wherefores or Ron’s motives. What was apparent was just how devious and manipulative he was. He spent his time gathering information about people’s indiscretions which he could then use to his advantage.
She felt sick and had to swallow down the bile which began to rise up her gullet. What a fool she had been. There still remained the smaller filing cabinet and the safe. She selected the correct key and opened the upper filing drawer. Each filing divider, of varying thickness, had a name, she ran her finger along them but the names didn’t mean a huge amount apart from one, Peter Leighton, Ron’s frequent golf partner. Why did Ron have a file on the Superintendent? There were some pictures of a smartly dressed woman getting into a car which looked to be parked outside The Cedars. Was this Peter’s wife? Ron had mentioned something about Peter being divorced. Maureen couldn’t be bothered with the domestic details of Ron’s rivals or friends. It would take ages to assimilate and work out the full extent of the dossiers in this room.
Looking over to the cupboard on which sat the whisky bottles she realised that there could be even more incriminating information in the safe. But what was the combination? In her spare moments, she had pondered this all week. People were usually quite predictable in the passwords they chose, dates of birth, anniversaries, and so on. Was Ron so transparent? She thought of his life and his world and the person dearest to him. Not herself for sure, from the recent revelations. It surely had to be Natasha. His only daughter who had been so cruelly taken from him. The one person who was driving him from beyond the grave to fund glioblastoma cancer research. If it wasn’t her birthday she was stumped.
Opening the cupboard door she turned the wheel this way and that entering the date which she hoped she’d remembered correctly. She heard a faint click, turned the lever to open the door and peered inside.
**
‘Wayne, long time no see!’ said the custody sergeant. ‘Oh, no, that’s not quite correct is it?’ he laughed.
‘You’re such a comedian,’ said Wayne, sullenly.
‘Well, I try my best. Empty your pockets, you know the drill.’
The sergeant began to make the inventory and the drugs were placed in an evidence bag.
‘Right, sign here,’ he said, offering the pen to Wayne. ‘Now, I’ll take you to your room. Would you like a cup of cocoa?’
Wayne ignored the sergeant. He would dearly have loved to land a punch on him but knew better.
‘Can I give you an early morning call?’ he continued.
Wayne shuffled into the cell and flopped down on the thin mattress. He was glad to be on his own away from the baiting and leg pulling. He knew it would take him a while to sleep and in that time he needed to think carefully about what he was prepared to say tomorrow.
