Danny Harte saw more than he had expected to over the fence. He was looking into the large garden of a very large house. The house backed on to a thick area of woodland, where Danny was carrying out a vital piece of surveillance.
There were five windows on the ground floor. All with lights on. Four of the windows had curtains or blinds drawn. But through the fifth window Danny could see a massive TV screen. So big it had to be a cinema screen, not a TV screen at all. He’d never seen one like that in the shops. It was amazing.
But he could see more than that.
A gold-plated mirror on the wall next to the screen.
Several huge vases full of fancy flowers.
A giant model of a Ferrari 300 parked between two L-shaped sofas that looked like it was being used as a coffee table.
But none of these things surprised Danny as much as the fence that stood between him and these millionaires’ houses. For a start it was at least four metres high, with the top metre angling out towards the wood. It was tangled with razor wire. And, every few paces, it displayed a sign, black on yellow, showing a man being electrocuted.
Danny wondered just how anyone would get over this fence.
Feeling uncomfortable, he switched his crouching position from one leg to another. He could feel pins and needles coming on. And that was the last thing he needed. He was on private land. He may need to run away.
But fleeing from the investigation was the last thing Danny wanted. His main concern was how a burglar might get into the houses he was watching. He thought back to the book he’d been reading, a book about house-breaking. Burglars explaining how to get in and out without being caught. Danny was reading the book to help him with his latest investigation. An investigation of a crime that he wanted to solve more than any of the others he’d solved before. An investigation into a string of burglaries at City FC players’ houses. His team – the team he had supported passionately all his life. And the latest crime had been on this street just days ago.
The street was actually a gated community of ten houses, and among the rich people living there were three footballers, one pop star and a supermodel.
So, what would a burglar do now? He had to think the way they thought. That was how to solve a crime.
Was this the way they’d come in?
The only other option was the front of the house.
But that meant going through the main entrance on to the street. And past two security guards. That option also meant avoiding being seen by at least seven security cameras Danny had spotted up and down the street. It was a bad option. So how was it that a burglar had got into this gated community and into the house of footballer John Hawley?
Danny was baffled. It had to be impossible. But it had happened. Anyway, it was going to be almost impossible to solve this crime.
If Danny was going to solve it, it would be by thinking like a burglar. That was why he’d been reading about how to burgle. That was why he was here watching footballers’ houses from a wood.
Danny’s focus on the task wavered for just a second as he thought about the football team that had brought him here.
His team, City FC, were playing a first-leg away tie in the knockout stages of Champions League right now. At Real Madrid.
Danny checked around to see that there really was no one nearby. Knowing he was taking a risk – albeit a really quick one, he promised himself – he switched on his mini-radio, slipping in his earpiece.
At first Danny thought he had the wrong channel. All he could hear was noise. He went to retune the set, but then heard the voice of the commentator trying to break through the chaos.
‘… City FC drawing one–one here at the Bernabéu … but after a killer pass the length of the pitch from Real’s midfield maestro … and that late tackle … penalty to Real … chance for the home team to take the lead …’
Danny’s heart sank. He checked his watch. There were five minutes left. If Real scored now City would lose. Probably. And getting through to the semi-finals would be a lot harder.
Danny waited for the noise on the radio to die down. Noise that was so clear Danny imagined he was there. And now he could hear the silence of the Real fans waiting for the penalty taker to step back and shoot. Then the roar of the City fans, trying to put the Real player off. The City fans would be in the top tier of the stadium, miles away from the action. But you could still hear them. Danny felt proud. He tried to picture the game in his mind, his eyes closed.
‘HEY, YOU!’
Danny kept his eyes closed for a second, trying to work out who would be shouting that at the match. Then he realized that what he was hearing wasn’t at the Bernabéu at all: it was in a wood overlooking a footballer’s house. Right here. Right now.
That was when he felt the hand on his shoulder.
Danny ducked instinctively, hitting the ground, ready to escape. That was one more thing he’d learned from reading about burglary. Never fight. Always flee.
Hitting the ground like that worked. Danny had opened his eyes to see a youngish man stumbling above him, his hand outstretched. But now the man – wearing a black security-guard uniform – was on his hands and knees. He’d fallen when Danny had moved away.
And because of that Danny was free to run, through the woods and along the path he’d come down. One of his two escape routes. One he’d worked out before settling down to watch. That was in the book too. A burglar had said: know your escape route like you’re on a plane and might need to evacuate. And know two routes, in case one is blocked.
Danny ran fast. He could not afford to get caught – they would never believe he wasn’t doing anything wrong. As he ran the smell of the woods was strong. The bark of the trees, the leaves damp and rotting in the mud.
He looked back, his lungs straining.
The security guard was close.
And then he slipped. Fatal.
Danny fell hard, his hand striking at the roots of the tree that had tripped him. He tried to scramble to his feet. But he could already feel the arms of the security guard around his legs, like a heavy rugby tackle.
For a split second, he wondered what would happen if he was caught. Could he argue that he was merely watching? Helping to solve a crime? They’d be bound to think he was the burglar, or at least involved in it somehow. Then he’d be in trouble with the police. Again. And that was a problem. This time he would end up with a police record. Or worse.
Because Danny had form. Over the last year he had been involved in helping solve several crimes. Football crimes. A combination of his two greatest loves. Football because of City FC. Solving crimes because he and his dad loved to read detective novels together.
So Danny kicked out against the security guard. Hard. Really hard.
Even though he knew it was bad to kick someone who was just doing his job.
But he had to get away.
The grip on his legs loosened after the kick. Danny got to his feet. Then he ran. He was free.
He wanted to feel good about that, but now he was worried. What about the security guard? Was he hurt?
Danny could hear nothing behind him. So he looked back, but seeing nothing he stopped.
He made his way carefully back. To check what had happened to his pursuer.
In a clearing, among the roots of a tree that was coming away from the hillside, the security guard was standing. Danny was relieved to see that.
But he was not relieved to see the security guard talking. Into a radio.
That meant one thing: back-up.
Danny set off running again. He’d head through the woods to the canal, not the road. The longer he stayed off the road, the longer he’d be safe. He found himself jogging at a steady pace. He was getting away. It was going to be OK.
And Danny Harte smiled: soon he would be able to find out if Real Madrid had missed that penalty. Or not.