Abstract:
The sheet of corrugated iron clattered onto the cobbles. Behind was a door. Nick wedged the tip of his wrecking bar between the timber of the door and the hasp which held the padlock, and another man, a black man, left the window he was forcing open and fitted his crow bar in next to Nick's.
I'd arrived just in time For breaking and entering.
The hasp ripped from the frame, and they shoved the door open. My heart was thudding in my throat as I followed the others in. Any minute now, a car load of baton-waving police and snarling dogs would screech into the yard, and that would be it. I'd be on the next plane home.
Inside, the house was cool and silent, and stank of mouse shit. We followed Fran into a large room, pierced by threads of sunlight from the holes in the corrugated iron covering the windows.
