There’s no movement at the dump he calls home. How anyone can live like that, let alone force a child to endure it is beyond me. And such a sweet kid.
My binoculars sweep across the front of the cottage. No external cameras. The curtains are flimsy. There’s no screen door, just a plain wooden one with no deadlock. Excellent. Smoke curls out of a chimney. A fireplace. Even better. House fires are common.
Only one way off the property unless there’s a gate at the back.
Too far to see.
But I need to know.
There’s a long driveway going to the next house which runs alongside Carter’s property. Plenty of bushes line it. Nobody will see me if a car happens along. My watch says it’s almost two in the morning and I almost laugh at the idea any of these hicks would be out and about this late.
Every few metres along the other driveway I stop and listen and watch. If either property have dogs they’re inside. Not another house is in sight of here. Just the two and they couldn’t be more different from each other.
Carter’s land goes back a long way. Narrow but long and it gets steep at the back. There’s a pony asleep in a shed with three sides. That paddock shares a gate with the driveway. Does Carter sneak up there sometimes to visit the old lady? Yuk. There’s a padlock on the gate. Not so easy for a quick escape. Not for Vince.
Looking back to the road it’s obvious how this will go down.
When the time is right.
A place so unsecured? Asking for trouble.