Stan slowed the Audi to forty as they approached Jason Purvis’s cottage.
‘Lights are on,’ Gilchrist said.
‘Doesn’t mean he’s in,’ Jessie countered.
Stan kept the speed steady as they drove past. A Ford Focus was parked in the driveway at the side of the house. Purvis was home.
‘You think he might go out later?’ Stan asked.
‘That would be too simple,’ Jessie said.
Gilchrist weighed it up. ‘We’ll enter round the back, from the adjacent field, as close to the barn as we can. But Jessie, you need to get close enough to the cottage to report any activity the instant it happens.’
They decided to park well off the road and out of sight of the cottage. From there, Gilchrist and Stan would walk across the fields while Jessie worked her way along the back of the hedgerow that lined the road until she found a spot from where she could monitor the cottage, and remain hidden from the headlights of passing cars.
About a hundred yards along the road, the open entrance to a field was too good to pass up. Stan reversed into it and switched off the lights. The sky was clear, and Gilchrist worried out loud that the half-moon might throw too much light on the surrounding fields.
‘Where’s the Scottish weather when you need it?’ Jessie asked.
‘We’ll be all right as long as we keep low,’ Stan said.
‘What if the dogs hear you and start barking?’
‘That’s a chance I’m prepared to take,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Remember, they kept quiet when we approached them this morning.’
‘That was in daylight. In the dark it might be different.’
‘If they start barking and it’s obvious they’re going to alert Purvis, then we’ll abandon it and try something else later.’
‘Like handcuff and lock him up?’ Jessie suggested. ‘That would simplify things.’
They each checked their mobile phones were switched to vibrate. Although the phones’ screens would still light up when they received a call, as long as they kept their backs to the cottage, Purvis would be unlikely to see them. And once inside the barn, they could talk freely.
Outside, the crisp night air stung. Stan clapped his gloved hands. ‘Bloody hell, boss, I’d almost forgotten how cold it can be in March.’
‘A brisk walk across the fields will heat us up,’ Gilchrist said.
They set off, Jessie beside the hedgerow, Gilchrist and Stan into the heart of the open fields. The approach to the barn proved more difficult than Gilchrist expected. Hollows and ridges small enough to avoid in daylight were large enough to jar bones and jerk the breath from their lungs in the darkness. Bands of cloud doused the moon, which helped keep them hidden, but made their trek more troublesome.
Keeping the lights of Cauldwood Cottage to their right, they tried to guess the position of the barn. But with nothing in front of them except blackness, they were left with no option but to continue to plod on as if blind.
Gilchrist cursed as he felt his boots sink into softer ground.
Stan whispered, ‘I think we’re coming to a burn, boss.’
They agreed to change course, heading farther away from the cottage, and Gilchrist was relieved to feel the ground firming up. His vision was becoming attuned to the dark, too, and he thought he could just make out the silhouette of the high row of pine trees that lined Purvis’s boundary close to the barn.
‘This way,’ he said, and changed course again. At that moment his mobile vibrated. He turned his back to the cottage and took the call.
‘That’s me,’ Jessie said. ‘I’m about fifty yards from the back door. The car’s still in the driveway. I think he’s watching the telly.’
‘Can you see him?’
‘No. But there’s a wee gap in the curtains, and I can see a light flickering. Maybe he’s watching Songs of Praise.’
Gilchrist smiled. ‘Keep out of sight. And don’t use your mobile unless you see movement.’
‘Can’t I call my wee boy?’
‘For crying out loud—’
‘Only joking. Jesus, Andy, where’s your sense of humour?’
‘Freezing itself to death, along with my balls,’ he said. ‘And I don’t want any heroics if Purvis sticks his head outside. All you have to do is alert us. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
Gilchrist killed the connection.
‘Everything all right, boss?’
‘Except for her tongue.’ He slipped the mobile into his pocket and set off in the direction of the pine trees.
Within three minutes the fence appeared. Gilchrist peered into the darkness beyond, straining every sense for any sign of the dogs. But other than the dark shadow of the barn itself, he could see nothing. ‘What do you think?’ he whispered.
Stan cocked his head and lifted his face to the breeze. ‘Not a squeak, boss.’
‘Let me get the meat ready,’ Gilchrist said, ‘just in case.’
He removed the steaks from his jacket pocket. Still wrapped in cling film, they were cool now, rather than cold. He was pleased to see they were positioned downwind of the barn. He did not want the dogs to catch the scent of raw meat.
‘Let’s work along the front of the fence,’ he said.
They eased towards the corner, where the fence turned at a right-angle to run parallel with the rear wall of the distant cottage. Its windows were bright squares on the black horizon. Two cars drove past, their headlights briefly illuminating both the building and the Focus in the driveway. Then they passed and the cottage was swallowed by darkness again.
Gilchrist turned his attention back to the task at hand. A memory of both dogs eyeing him in silence until he touched the fence reminded him to keep well back from the chain links.
They were only about twenty yards along when Stan stopped. ‘Over there, boss.’
Gilchrist peered into the darkness and felt a shiver run down his spine. ‘I don’t see anything,’ he whispered.
‘It’s standing still,’ Stan said. ‘Watching us.’
‘Only one?’
‘So far.’
Purvis was not the sort of guy to sit in front of the fire with one of the dogs at his feet. No, both Rottweilers were here, somewhere, protecting the barn. Gilchrist was certain of that. ‘I still can’t see it,’ he said.
‘I think the other one might be lying down.’
‘We need to make sure we feed both of them.’
Stan edged towards the fence.
‘Don’t get any closer,’ Gilchrist said. ‘If you touch the fence, you’ll set them off.’
Stan stepped sideways, like a crab edging along an invisible line, keeping his distance, not taking his eyes off whatever he thought he could see.
Gilchrist followed, his fingers gripping the meat. He was finding it hard to resist the urge to rip off the cling film and just launch both steaks over the fence.
‘There,’ Stan whispered. ‘You see it?’ He pointed to the corner of the barn, held it for a couple of seconds, then swung his arm twenty feet to the left. ‘And over there.’
Gilchrist stared hard into the darkness, forcing his eyes to see. Slowly, limb by limb, muscle by muscle, the dogs manifested into view – first the one standing at the corner, then the other – their deep chests and powerful shoulders a raw display of animal strength.
‘I need to get closer,’ Gilchrist said. ‘The meat’s got to land right beside each of them.’
‘We don’t want one of them eating both pieces, boss.’
Gilchrist saw that Stan was right. And they had to close the gap between the dogs and the fence, without setting off a barking frenzy. ‘If we edge a bit to the right,’ he whispered, ‘we might entice them to approach.’
They’d moved only a couple of yards when Stan let out the tiniest of whistles. Gilchrist felt his throat constrict as both dogs trotted towards them. They stopped about five feet from the fence, and ten feet from each other. As steadily as he could, Gilchrist undid the wrappers and held a chunk of raw meat in each hand. He eased his right arm back and lobbed the first piece over the fence.
The instant it landed in the grass, both dogs launched themselves at it with snarling growls, tearing and ripping into it. Within three seconds, the fight turned into silence, except for hard sniffing and grass ruffling as the dogs searched for more food.
In the darkness, from where he stood, Gilchrist could not tell if one dog had eaten the whole steak, or if they had both torn a share from it. He worried that one of them might not have enough thiopental in its system to knock it out. He could throw the other piece over, and hope the hungrier of the two managed to prevail. But what if that did not work?
‘Bloody hell. Now what?’ Stan asked.
‘We wait,’ Gilchrist said.
‘For what?’
‘For one – or both – of them to drop.’
‘Good thinking.’
As they waited, Gilchrist’s night-vision improved to the point where he could see the outlines of both dogs clearly. Like before, they stood in silence, head-on, watching him – not Stan, he was sure of that – as if Purvis had trained them not to attack until the fence was actually touched.
In less than two minutes, one of the shapes grunted and shifted, then lowered itself on to its haunches, as if the effort of standing had become too much.
‘I think he’s going,’ Stan said.
Gilchrist waited until the dog settled into the grass, then he stepped forward and lobbed the second steak over the fence. This time there was no feeding frenzy – just a rush of power from the other dog, a nasty growl, and a slobbering sound that lasted all of two seconds.
‘Did it eat it?’ Stan said.
‘Swallowed it whole.’
‘Remind me not to buy one of these as a pet.’
They waited in silence.
Gilchrist counted the seconds in his mind. It took less than thirty beats for the dog’s legs to totter. Then it tried to move, but collapsed to the grass with a grunt and a whimper.
‘I think we’re good to go,’ Stan said, reaching into his pocket and removing his locksmith’s kit with a tinny rattle – nothing more than a few keys and a set of picks.
Gilchrist approached the fence.
As soon as he touched it he would know if the dogs were out cold.
Or not.