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He extracted a copy of the key from his toolbag, along with notes he’d made.
“A tough one, this. I’d have been here earlier, but I had an emergency.”
Gardener wondered if he was going to launch into what had kept him. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve been here since around six this morning. All I need to know now is where I have to go to get the answer to my questions.”
“Sorry,” said Lewis. “There’s a little town over near Harrogate called Bursley Bridge.”
Gardener knew it well.
“Place reeks of money,” said Lewis. “There’s a private bank in the market square called Roland’s, next to one of the up-market hotels. Only very wealthy people go to Roland’s bank. They like to attract a particular kind of clientele.”
“All well and good if you can pick and choose these days,” said Reilly.
“That’s banks for you,” said Gardener.
“Believe me,” said Lewis, “the taxpayer does not own this bank. There was never a need to bail these people out.”
“So this key fits one of the safe deposit boxes inside that bank, does it?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know the manager’s name?”
“Giles Middleton.”
“Contact number?” said Reilly.
“They won’t be open now.”
“He means a mobile,” said Gardener.
Lewis was reluctant, but Gardener knew he would certainly have the number. The man was obviously a reliable locksmith and had probably dealt with the bank on a regular basis – almost certainly out of hours.
Gardener passed the number to the desk sergeant. “Tell Giles Middleton to meet us there in half an hour. If he doesn’t, I will issue a warrant for his arrest, and he won’t see daylight for the next ten years.”
Gardener thanked the locksmith for his time, and he and Reilly left the building.
True to their word, they were outside the bank thirty minutes later. Middleton wasn’t.
Gardener called the station on his mobile. The desk sergeant said that Middleton was on holiday, but his deputy, David Challenger, should be with them by now because he lived in Bursley Bridge.
As Gardener disconnected, a man around thirty years of age came into view. He was dressed in a tee shirt and jeans. The night was warm enough not to wear a jacket. One of the pubs advertised a live band; a number of couples outside were drinking and smoking, listening to the band and singing along; a number of others milled around the square.
As Challenger approached, Gardener and Reilly showed their warrant cards.
“How can I help you?” he asked.
Gardener briefly explained. The doors were unlocked, and they all went inside. The assistant disabled the alarm and walked them through to the vault. Gardener felt that the bank was probably no quieter at night than it was during the day, the only difference being that no phones were ringing. The hum of electrical apparatus was more prominent.
The vault was clinically clean, and Gardener could see a steel door in front of him like he’d never seen before. It if it wasn’t bomb proof, he’d be surprised. On a shelf built into a recess was a computer monitor and keyboard with a CCTV camera above it. The monitor screen flickered into life when Challenger moved the mouse.
“Don’t think I’ve ever been in a bank this late,” said Reilly.
“You wouldn’t be now if Mr Middleton was here.”
“Trust me,” replied Gardener, “we would.”
“Have you any idea what you’re looking for?” asked Challenger.
