Nancy fastened
a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Yes. Since I will be overseeing Mr. Jonas’
care here, I will need access to his property during his rehabilitation. Do you
happen to have the code to his gates?’
Henry’s
face was difficult to read in the dark. His ivory jumper appeared almost
disembodied. ‘Well, some of Mr. Jonas’ guests has an electronic key.’
‘What’s
that, exactly?’
‘It’s
a handheld device with a built-in code. You point the device at the gates and
the security programme makes a recognition.’
‘So
the cameras are not always manned?’
Henry
crossed the strimmer over his chest. ‘They are manned at random times.’ He
shrugged. ‘Surveillance is pretty tight here anyway; the alarms are hotwired to
Kirkby Manor station just two minutes away. If Mr. Jonas is not accepting
guests, the gates are set on programme override. No one can get in, even with
an electronic key.’
The
green button, Nancy thought. ‘So you got in by overriding the gates?’
A new vigilance seemed to descend upon
him. ‘Er, yeah but only a provisional override code is given to me when Amy is
away. Normally, only Mr. Jonas, his PA and an appointed watch-guard at Kirky
Manor station know the override code.’
Nancy
knit her lip. Once a groundsman, always a groundsman.
Henry
seemed to detect the meaning of her silence. He licked his lips. ‘If you need an
electronic key, I can get you one, but it will only get you into the grounds. I
will need to be present to let you into the house.’
Nancy
sensed she should show esteem of this power. ‘You can do that for me?’
Henry
paused in raising his strimmer. ‘Sure. If you wait in the kitchen, I’ll get one
for you.’
‘Thank
you, Henry.’
Nancy
turned and made her way back to the house as Henry restarted his strimmer and
continued shaping a layer of air above the hedge.
She
cut a route through the kitchen, pausing at the recess leading into the
surveillance room. She had almost forgotten. She moved swiftly to the panel on the
wall. The keys glinted dully within the box. Nancy foraged for the FF keys
within her pocket. Henry would soon return, expecting to see a complete set
before closing the lid and locking up. She returned each key to their
respective hooks. Her sights idled over the central row: G1, G2, G3, G4 and G5.
And the bottom row: E1, E2 and E3.
Nancy
unzipped the front pouch of her satchel bag and fished out her car keys.
Sheila’s front and back door Yales hung redundantly from a secondary keyring.
Her fingernails pinched, the double coil snatched within her grip. Once
liberated, the keys underwent an aesthetic appraisal: staggered shafts
terminating at hooped tops of tarnished brass. Doubts lurked as she held one
against E2. Sheila’s offering was no match for an artifact of burnished bronze
bearing the seal of an eagle’s head. Hung within the box, Sheila’s key looked
more like a rusted splinter. Nancy unhooked E1 and placed Sheila’s other key
beside the first. Two rusted splinters. Well, they were less conspicuous than
one, and in this poor light would not draw the eye as would vacant hooks. Nancy
could only hope Henry would not notice.
She
dropped E1 and E2 into her satchel bag. In time, she would discover what they
unlocked.
