12
They scoured the inside like they continued searching for the crown jewels. To begin with, at least. Every piece of mechanical and electrical equipment explained. They examined in every cupboard, rummaged through Alexis's clothes, and surveyed the bathroom, like I would hide Her Majesty's finest in a toilet.
The rest of the inspection didn't take long, and in the kitchen Alexis persuaded the local police force to accept her hospitality. Smee became more human than when she turned up. The Sergeant, I gathered, not so relaxed. He acted glum. Perhaps he didn't approve of his Constable consorting with us.
Within five minutes, they left. A civil goodbye on both sides, and they departed.
"Odd."
Alexis gazed at me.
"Didn't clap eyes on anything?"
"No!"
Alexis became testy. As short of sleep as I.
"Opinion on the Sergeant might be helpful."
"I want to think otherwise would make things easier in a way. Fitzgerald appears an old-fashioned style policeman and trustworthy, too."
"A dependable cop and an honest one."
I agreed.
"Not his line, and they tricked him. Our branch and they deceived us until now."
"Speak for oneself."
"Detect anything strange about the two special constables guys?"
I shivered. Perhaps the chilly night of wind and rain outside.
"They said a little."
"They said nothing."
"Why?"
"They couldn't speak English."
"What?"
"Their uniforms, a size too bulky to disguise the fact they carried guns."
"Jesus Christ!"
"They inspected holiday camps all around the Suffolk coast."
"Yes."
"Why did they possess knife-edged creases in their trousers? Or did they remove them straight from the hangars and put them on?"
"What did they want?"
Alexis spoke in such a hushed tone, I did not grasp what she said.
"Nothing?"
"I don't understand?"
I held an index finger to my lips to tell Alexis to keep quiet for a moment. She followed me to the kitchen and dropped beside me, after I opened the compartment under the sink.
At first, I couldn't spot anything, but I assigned a small black component, almost concealed from sight by the down pipe.
"Anything?"
"One of our friends put something inside here."
I reached in and seized hold of the appliance and brought the item out. About the weight of a mobile phone, and because in use, warm to the touch. I held the object in my hand, showing Alexis. Purred with life; from one end, cables snaked out of the storage space, still connected to somewhere else.
"What the hell?"
Alexis asked.
"A hard drive."
She frowned.
"For doing what?"
I stared at the cords coming out.
Audio leads.
"I think someone wants to listen to what we say."
We stood still for a moment, looking around the interior. Neither of us wore shoes, to use the softness of the carpet to our advantage -- and split up. Alexis went to the principal bedroom. I went back to my area.
I didn't move furniture, touched nothing for now. I searched, only climbing all over the sofa at the end of my exploration, to peer along the upper edges of picture frames and the top of a bookcase.
Nothing suspicious, but the cavity in which we found the hardware stood on this side and wired up to another system -- perhaps only one -- the lines either came through here, or through the chamber.
I double-checked again.
This time, I moved books on shelves, cushions, ornaments, pictures, all with caution. I opened the cover on a cigar box, now used to store pencils, pens and paper, and the lid came away in my hand, the hinge broken. The whole thing clattered to the floor, the contents spilling out.
Shit.
Alexis shifted.
I moved into eyeshot and spotted Alexis standing in the bedchamber doorway with a frown on a face, arms out in a What the fuck? Gesture. I held up the empty box and rolled my eyes, returned to the lounge, settling on my hands and knees, and picking up the spilled contents.
A noise.
A gentle hum, fading into the background, but one I remained certain I never encountered when I first arrived. I pushed the box aside and, still on all fours, hands pressed into the carpeting, leaned down, and glanced under the couch.
A light blinked on its underside.
I got to my feet again, grabbed the bottom of the settee and -- with as immense care as possible -- tilting back enough to view underneath. Screwed to the base, a small device, a digital readout on its front displaying a series of red vertical bars. An acoustic equalizer, like the kind found on an old stereo. A visible lead ran from the back of the machine down and through a pinhole in the fabric.
Now I understood why, no wires.
They went under the flooring.
I placed the recliner back and checked the rest of this section before moving back to the kitchenette.
Another gadget, the same as the one I discovered in the living room, hidden inside the plastic casing of a strip light, its connection to the output snaking off through another minuscule hole, this time in the ceiling.
I took the entire fixture apart to find both the mechanism and the connecting wire, and I found them. The display on the central processing unit bobbed up and down in response to my actions, notwithstanding minor ones.
Afterwards, I stayed on a chair in the kitchen, silent, motionless, observing, and realized every sound registered, no matter how faint.
We walked around the caravan in almost total silence, to conceal our search, but proved a worthless act: despite the gentleness of my breathing, I got a reaction, pulsing into life.