When Tim reached Silverdale House the day had dawned, although the light was still greyish. He parked his car at the top of the drive and climbed out cautiously. The lawn was in its usual rundown state, but the toys that had previously lain scattered across it had gone. Perhaps the stand-in nanny had cleared them away.
The house itself had a closed-up look, as if its owners were on holiday. All the windows were shut. No electric lights were burning, either in the downstairs or the upstairs rooms, although he remembered that the kitchen was a gloomy room in which the light had been switched on when he and Ricky had first met Fovargue there.
When he reached the door, he could hear no sounds coming from the inside. It was nearly eight o’clock now: surely the two Fovargue children weren’t still sleeping? He didn’t fancy tackling the nanny again – she’d been sullen and uncooperative when he’d met her the day before – but he guessed he would have to, unless by some miracle Susie herself answered the door. But Tim was convinced this wouldn’t happen.
He was about to ring the bell when he realised that he hadn’t thought about what he was going to say. He’d ask for Susie, of course, but whether she was there or not, he wanted someone to let him into the soil appreciation shed so that he could examine the cesspit. Susie herself would probably have reservations about giving him access, but the nanny would be an even worse bet: he doubted she understood the security arrangements or would know where to find the keys. Even if she did, she had “jobsworth” written all over her: she’d be unlikely to let him into the shed while the Fovargues were away.
He turned slightly as he paused, still trying to work out his best plan of action, and glanced across at the two big sheds. There was a long, narrow gleam of light shining underneath the one containing Martha’s office – the one where the cesspit was also concealed. He tried not to raise his hopes unduly: the most likely explanation was that they had forgotten to switch off the light the previous evening. It was just possible, however, that someone had turned up early and let themselves into the shed.
He decided not to try to raise anyone at the house, but instead make straight for the shed itself. He knew he’d have to take care: at best he would be an unwelcome visitor. If he was right about the cesspit, the situation could get tricky.
The garden was bare of foliage: it offered no cover from shrubs or even a hedge. He moved across to its left-hand perimeter, which was near to the road, a rough wooden fence acting as the boundary, and crept alongside the fence, taking advantage of what meagre protection it offered, until he could cross the track and reach his car again. There were no weapons as such in the car, but he took a military-style torch from the glove-box and put it in his pocket. He removed his phone from his inside jacket pocket, debating whether to call for backup now – he’d forgotten to do it earlier – or wait until he was certain that the circumstances merited it. He told himself he didn’t have time to enter into a tedious explanation with Superintendent Thornton now and that, besides, someone at the farm might hear him talking. It would be better to press on. He replaced the phone.
He ran along the left-hand edge of the road in a crouching position, trying to keep in the shadows as much as possible, until he reached the shed. The door had been opened, but not by much: if someone was inside the shed now, they had squeezed through a gap that was only a few inches wide.
Tim looked at the gap. He was confident he’d be able to get through it, but it would be impossible to do so without alerting anyone who happened to be on the other side unless they were right at the back of the shed or in the office. He took a deep breath and sprinted through the gap as silently as possible, taking cover in a kind of shallow alcove in the right-hand wall as he entered. He looked around him, adjusting his eyes to the sudden shadows, looking out for signs of movement.
The shed was barer than he’d remembered: Fovargue and Susie had taken some of the stuff normally stored there to Lincoln with them. There was now a big, empty expanse in the middle of the main part of the building which would be impossible to cross unseen, even though it was quite dark in the further reaches of the shed. Only the first bank of lights, the ones that illuminated the doorway, had been switched on.
Tim could still hear no sound within the building, but he had a nagging hunch that he wasn’t its only occupant. He edged along the wall until he reached the glass and wood structure that was Martha Johnson’s office. He ducked down below the level of the glass and crawled along the floor until he reached the office doorway. The door was not fastened shut, but it was almost closed. He wouldn’t be able to see if there was anyone inside the office without pushing it further open. He stood up as noiselessly as he could, flattening himself against the door lintel in what he knew was a futile attempt to conceal himself if someone inside the room happened to be looking out.
There were no lights on in the office, but a skylight set in the sloping roof of the shed enabled him to make out the shapes of the furniture it contained. Tim moved to his left so that he could get a view through the glass unimpeded by the door. Although he’d thought he’d prepared himself for this, he was both astonished and appalled by what he saw.
Inadvertently, he moved back a couple of steps, knocking wide the door as he stumbled clumsily and noisily against it. The sound of it banging open reverberated throughout the shed.