Page 116 of Convict's Game
She shivered. “Unless they guessed the code, they can’t have got into the cabinets we need.”
“Wait here while I go in and check.”
I pushed the door open, treading on the splinters of wood underfoot, and entered the space. The shadowed office was narrow with a large table in the middle of the room taking up most of the space, and cabinets around the walls, many of which were opened with their contents strewn.
Not many places to hide.
I scoped the corners and stooped to peer under the table then gave Mila the all clear to follow. Whoever had been here was long gone, leaving a flurry of paperwork in their wake.
Prowling in deeper revealed a map on the wall, or what was left of it. It was torn down the middle, the left and right sides hanging from where they were tacked to a board and the rest of it shredded.
Mila stared at it. “That used to show all our trading locations. Why would someone vandalise that?”
She shook her head and continued to a cabinet in the corner. It was identical to all the others, but the drawers remained shut. Kneeling, Mila poked at the dial lock built into the mechanism then yanked at the top drawer.
It didn’t budge.
“They’ve had a go at trashing this, too. The code’s in, but I can’t get it open. I think it’s broken.”
I dropped down beside her and gave it a sharp tug. Something cracked, and the drawer slid out.
I fake-polished my nails. “Or you just ask your big strong boyfriend to do it for you.”
Mila gave a soft laugh, kissed my cheek, then dove in to bring out an armful of folders. She handed each stack to me as she gathered them. This was what we’d come for. The vault her grandfather had created. Why we needed it was a mystery.
In the dark, the file covers gave me nothing. “What are we looking for?”
Mila giggled. “You ask that now?”
“What? I’d follow you anywhere. There doesn’t have to be a good reason.”
She continued loading me with paperwork, moving on to the second drawer and emptying it. “I’m not entirely sure, but my gut tells me I need to understand why my grandfather decided to support all these people. He wouldn’t just throw money away. He was shrewd. He made good decisions.”
Mila brandished a file and activated her torch, holding it low. She ran a finger on the name on the front of the cover then flipped it open. “This is one of the families we went to see, the Marchant-Smythes. It lists their basic details and also their previous employment. They ran a taxi service thirty years ago. No sign of them doing so now.”
“Does it include their son?”
She traced down the page. “It lists their child, Presley, with his birthday, so yes.”
“Meaning your grandfather was in the habit of updating his vault.” I set the stack on my lap and leafed through it. “They’re colour coded.”
She swung the light across to my files. My top one had a green tab on the cover, while hers had an orange one. I openedmine. The single page listed an elderly couple, both with the words ‘Deceased’ underneath their names.
Mila regarded it then checked through the other folders, sorting them between us. “Some have an orange tab, some are green, and some are yellow. I need to work out what that code means.”
“We’re taking them, right? Better to do that detective work in the safety of your apartment.”
She hesitated. “I can’t just steal them. Can I?”
A rattle came through the open door, a distant sound from somewhere deep in the bowels of the building.
Both of us stiffened.
Mila’s eyes met mine in the dim glow of the torch. “Please tell me that was the pipes.”
I shook my head once in silent disagreement. Someone was down there.
Leaping up, I snatched a box from on top of another cabinet, dumped the contents, then stacked the files inside. Mila did the same with hers, her stealing question neatly answered.
