The Locker Read Free Page B

somehow,” Ruth replied. “Like the others.” She nodded towards the houses further up. Bigger and neater, openly more opulent; smarter cars, too, mostly 4WDs gleaming and polished. Did the gloss indicate a higher standard of living or a greater level of debt? She checked her watch. 10:00 am. Some gone to work, others were still at home. Out of work or self-employed . Sometimes one and the same thing.
    â€œWhy more?”
    â€œBecause Cruxys clients have money—usually lots of it. This is not typical, believe me.”
    The houses she came to in response to calls were generally bigger, the locations more select. Even the problems were bigger, more acute in scale, even if sometimes imagined. Money always brought its own troubles, it seemed to her.
    Still, you could never tell. The briefing notes on the client sent to her smart phone ten minutes ago had contained essential details but she hadn’t bothered memorising them all. They would find out the really important stuff in the next few minutes. And house size or location wasn’t the most crucial.
    â€œHow do you folks handle this?” Vaslik was new to Cruxys and still finding his feet in a strange city and a new environment. He’d been paired with Ruth as his mentor. Follow her lead, he’d been told; it was a kind of induction period. Then he’d be on his own unless teamed up with others for specific assignments.
    For Ruth it was an unwelcome if temporary intrusion; she preferred working alone or with one of the other operatives, and had sensed that Vaslik wasn’t overjoyed, either.
    â€œWe go in, we pull Nancy Hardman down off the ceiling and calm her down. We try to figure out who took her daughter … if that’s what really happened.”
    â€œYou doubt it?”
    â€œI’ve seen it before: domestic stuff. Just because our clients have money doesn’t stop them falling out and doing something stupid.” She looked at him. “But I suppose you wouldn’t have seen much of that in the DHS.”
    He shrugged, not responding to the implied query. She’d been told that he’d been headhunted from the Department of Homeland Security, the huge standalone US federal agency set up in the wake of 9/11, and before that he’d been a New York City cop. His name had come on recommendation of contacts in the US, and he’d been recruited to add to the company’s footprint with US corporations, which was a fast-growing market for a hungry company.
    In the private security industry, she was learning, presentation and identity were every bit as important as they were in banking.
    â€œWe should get in there.” He gestured at the house with his clipboard.
    â€œWe will, Slik. Let’s allow her a good look at us first. We don’t want her thinking we’re part of whoever snatched her daughter.”
    â€œCall me Andy.”
    â€œWhatever.” Slik suited him better; Andy was too boyish, too … everyday. Slik fitted his look, which was slim, clean and contained, like a ballet dancer she had once known. He even had the face, with cool eyes, high cheekbones and hungry features, undoubtedly part of his Slavic ancestry. Probably couldn’t dance worth a toss, though.
    She walked up the paved drive. A Nissan was parked at an angle with the driver’s door hanging open, abandoned in a rush of panic. She nudged it shut with her hip. No point adding to the woman’s problems by having her car nicked.
    She knocked on the door and stepped back, saw a ghost of movement behind the front room curtains. She waited for a shadow to appear behind the frosted glass door panel. At her feet lay a small teddy. It looked forlorn, abandoned. She picked it up.
    A metallic clunk sounded as the door opened and was stopped dead by the security chain. Good girl. She’d listened to instructions.
    â€œMrs. Nancy Hardman?”
    â€œYour names?” The voice seemed to be squeezed with