briefcase. He fumbled with his keys before locking the door and heading for the driveway. The red Audi beeped, unlocked, and Rathbone climbed in and started the ignition.
‘Quick,’ I said. ‘On the bike!’
We looked through the vine-covered windows of the expensive city restaurant. Rathbone was sitting at a table in the corner with another man in a dark suit.
‘That’s not his usual briefcase,’ whispered Winter.
‘You’re right,’ I said, peering at the black bag at his feet. ‘I’ve never seen that one before.’
We looked at each other for a moment beforeWinter spoke again. ‘Something different from the usual,’ she said. ‘It could mean something.’
I pulled out the camera Boges had given me on the weekend. I made sure the flash was switched off, pressed the lens to the glass and, when no-one was paying any attention, I took a picture.
I checked the image on the camera’s screen. It wasn’t a very clear shot, as the foreground was partially occupied by a couple near the window. But in the distance it showed Sheldrake Rathbone and his companion, and the black briefcase beneath the table.
‘Look,’ I said, noticing something else under the table as I zoomed in on the image. I turned the screen to Winter. ‘The other guy has an almost identical bag at his feet.’
‘So he does,’ she said. I looked into Winter’s dark, almond-shaped eyes. She suddenly squinted and grabbed the camera from me. ‘Hey, wasn’t that bag the one Rathbone went in with?’
‘What?’ I said, taking the camera back and looking at the image again. ‘You think they’ve done a switch?’
‘I swear he came out of his house with the bag that’s now at the other guy’s feet. It’s more squarish than a typical briefcase. I could be wrong…’
‘I think you’re right!’ I said.
Rathbone climbed out of his car, lugged the briefcase out after him, and returned to his house. Around us, the night was still and quiet, apart from a possum or two scurrying along the trees that lined the street.
‘What should we do now?’ I asked Winter. ‘The briefcase is no use to us unless we find out what’s inside it.’
‘You want to break into his house?’
Before I could answer, Rathbone appeared at the front door carrying a small kerosene lamp in one hand and a shovel in the other. His eyes darted around the yard, a clear sign he was up to no good. He leaned the shovel against the wall and disappeared inside once more.
Winter and I grinned at each other, anxious to witness whatever was about to unfold.
A few minutes later he was back, this time with the black bag by his side. He reached for the shovel, turned on the lamp, and started for the backyard.
‘You wanted dirt ,’ said Winter, ‘and now it looks like you’re gonna get it!’
We carefully followed Rathbone down the sideof the house. He went straight for the vegetable patch down the back. There seemed to be a few cabbages or something leafy growing in three neat lines, and beside that was a low mound of soil.
Rathbone stopped at the mound of dirt and placed the lamp on the ground. A small circle of light surrounded him. He pulled up his sleeves, took the shovel with both hands and began digging .
We huddled down behind a birdbath water feature that was flowing in the corner of the yard.
‘He might be burying someone,’ I quietly joked, as the sounds of the spade hitting dirt continued . Winter gave me a strange look, as if to say my words weren’t that far-fetched. I shuddered, remembering my own burial at the hands of this shady guy we were watching.
The sound of digging became louder and then suddenly stopped. Had Rathbone sensed our presence? We squatted like statues, not daring to move.
After a moment I peered around the birdbath.
Rathbone was flat on his stomach, reaching into the hole he’d just dug. He grunted as if he were lifting something heavy.
He struggled, but finally squirmed backwards, pulling a wooden chest out of the
‘Quick,’ I said. ‘On the bike!’
We looked through the vine-covered windows of the expensive city restaurant. Rathbone was sitting at a table in the corner with another man in a dark suit.
‘That’s not his usual briefcase,’ whispered Winter.
‘You’re right,’ I said, peering at the black bag at his feet. ‘I’ve never seen that one before.’
We looked at each other for a moment beforeWinter spoke again. ‘Something different from the usual,’ she said. ‘It could mean something.’
I pulled out the camera Boges had given me on the weekend. I made sure the flash was switched off, pressed the lens to the glass and, when no-one was paying any attention, I took a picture.
I checked the image on the camera’s screen. It wasn’t a very clear shot, as the foreground was partially occupied by a couple near the window. But in the distance it showed Sheldrake Rathbone and his companion, and the black briefcase beneath the table.
‘Look,’ I said, noticing something else under the table as I zoomed in on the image. I turned the screen to Winter. ‘The other guy has an almost identical bag at his feet.’
‘So he does,’ she said. I looked into Winter’s dark, almond-shaped eyes. She suddenly squinted and grabbed the camera from me. ‘Hey, wasn’t that bag the one Rathbone went in with?’
‘What?’ I said, taking the camera back and looking at the image again. ‘You think they’ve done a switch?’
‘I swear he came out of his house with the bag that’s now at the other guy’s feet. It’s more squarish than a typical briefcase. I could be wrong…’
‘I think you’re right!’ I said.
Rathbone climbed out of his car, lugged the briefcase out after him, and returned to his house. Around us, the night was still and quiet, apart from a possum or two scurrying along the trees that lined the street.
‘What should we do now?’ I asked Winter. ‘The briefcase is no use to us unless we find out what’s inside it.’
‘You want to break into his house?’
Before I could answer, Rathbone appeared at the front door carrying a small kerosene lamp in one hand and a shovel in the other. His eyes darted around the yard, a clear sign he was up to no good. He leaned the shovel against the wall and disappeared inside once more.
Winter and I grinned at each other, anxious to witness whatever was about to unfold.
A few minutes later he was back, this time with the black bag by his side. He reached for the shovel, turned on the lamp, and started for the backyard.
‘You wanted dirt ,’ said Winter, ‘and now it looks like you’re gonna get it!’
We carefully followed Rathbone down the sideof the house. He went straight for the vegetable patch down the back. There seemed to be a few cabbages or something leafy growing in three neat lines, and beside that was a low mound of soil.
Rathbone stopped at the mound of dirt and placed the lamp on the ground. A small circle of light surrounded him. He pulled up his sleeves, took the shovel with both hands and began digging .
We huddled down behind a birdbath water feature that was flowing in the corner of the yard.
‘He might be burying someone,’ I quietly joked, as the sounds of the spade hitting dirt continued . Winter gave me a strange look, as if to say my words weren’t that far-fetched. I shuddered, remembering my own burial at the hands of this shady guy we were watching.
The sound of digging became louder and then suddenly stopped. Had Rathbone sensed our presence? We squatted like statues, not daring to move.
After a moment I peered around the birdbath.
Rathbone was flat on his stomach, reaching into the hole he’d just dug. He grunted as if he were lifting something heavy.
He struggled, but finally squirmed backwards, pulling a wooden chest out of the
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