23
Rule 5:Never go back to the scene of a previous interlope.
This is a Top Ten rule. Once you’ve interloped a place, don’t ever,everreturn to it.
Let’s say you did a perfect job. Nobody noticed you were ever there. Great. Well done. But if you got something evenslightlywrong, if you aroused a suspicion, if a single fingerprint was taken and kept on file, and you go back? Maybe the owners have installed more security, which you don’t notice. Maybe you’re cocky because you know the way in and you pay less attention. Whatever it is, the odds of you being caught go up tenfold on a return visit. I’ve learned this the hard way (Cornwall, off season, 2019) and it nearly ruined everything.
There are a couple of exceptions. If you’ve left something behind, and you realise within about half an hour,and it’s safe to, then go back. But if you’re doing your job, you won’t have left anything. And normally I’ve locked up the place perfectly behind me, or as perfectly as possible, so getting in again will be a pain.
Balfour Villas is the other exception to this rule, but that’s only because I know about the unique legal limbo it sits in. Even then I try to treat it like a new place each time. And although this isn’t exactly a return interlope, here I am now, staring at the rightful owner of a home I broke into a few years ago, as he shuffles down the hall and through a door I already know leads into a green-wallpapered drawing room.
When was it? I haven’t been in this part of town for years. Were these people the owners at the time? I have a horrible feeling they were: I remember all the decor, for one. It’s not déjà vu, which is apparently just getting some wires crossed in your brain. I have literallyvu’dthis placedéjà.
All these thoughts go through my head in the seconds between recognising the house and Em turning to look at me as I stand gawping. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘I’m just … remembering something.’
‘OK, well, you just sit quietly. We’ll talk.’
Elle is glancing at both of us from the doorway and beckoning. As we approach, she asks her sister: ‘Is he all right?’
‘He’s having a madeleine moment.In Search of Lost Crime.’
‘Very funny,’ I croak.
We cross the threshold into the reception room. It’s full of those extremely posh sofas that start to hurt your spine after five minutes, and tatty cushions that might turn out to besleeping terriers. Elle does the introductions. ‘These are my colleagues, Mr Denton. Or is it Sir Simon?’
He waves a mahogany hand. ‘Please. Simon.’
We smile and murmur our names. It’s all coming back to me now. This was their secondary residence when I was here. He’s some sort of aged industrialist, mineral rights and things like that. He and his family were living in France full-time. It was a safe bet.
Behind him, a woman maybe ten years younger than Sir Simon enters, holding a tray. She’s got a cooler and more calculating eye than her husband, even when she’s just handing out cups of tea and offering round the biscuits. ‘Lady Patricia,’ Denton says, taking a cup and twinkling.
‘Well,’ Elle begins, ‘these are my – oh, thank you, lovely – these are my colleagues. We’re conducting an internal review of Harcourt and Wallace, and your property – your previous London residence, that is – came up as being one of concern.’
‘Chepstow Crescent?’
‘Exactly. We gather you sold it through this man.’ Elle holds up her phone.
‘Oh, yes. Don’t remember his name. Nice chap.’ Sir Simon crunches a Garibaldi.
‘David,’ Lady Patricia says.
‘That’s right. David was one of our agents until recently. Could you tell my colleagues about your discussions with him? What you just told me?’
‘I’m sorry, why are we discussing this?’ Lady Patricia ishawkish suddenly. She looks sideways at her husband:You old fool, what have you told them?
‘These people are investigating something about the agency, dear,’ says Sir Simon. ‘This agent man is dead. They think something was awry.’
‘It won’t go any further than an internal investigation,’ says Elle. ‘And you’ll be strictly anonymised.’
I wouldn’t buy this line myself, nor try to sell it, but Elle is so demure that she’s actually kind of convincing.
‘We’ll tell you as much as we know,’ Lady Denton says. Those words are only ever said by people who are about to give you a deeply partial version of the truth. ‘The firm came highly recommended, you see. By some dear friends.’
‘Roger and Jean,’ Sir Simon murmurs.
‘Yes, exactly. We can ask them if they’ll talk to you. They said we had to specifically ask for David. Well, we did, and he came round, looked at the place, told us what he thought it was worth – I think it was about twelve, he said, wasn’t it?’
