Free The Boathouse by R. J. Harries Page A

now, trying to disguise their true nature, but they stood out. Some of them stopped and looked agitated. They were not causing enough trouble and the armed police kept them moving. The riot police owned all the nearby streets, including the one where Archer sat waiting as the tension evaporated.
    At first the trouble-makers looked disgusted, then disappointed. They turned their attention from rebellion to drinking cans of cider and smoking weed. They soon slumped against the walls of the side streets in a dazed state. Sneering at the police and anyone they saw in smart clothes or cars. Dishing out slurred abuse as they stumbled and fell over themselves. One fell against the car by mistake. Best was out like a shot, taking the opportunity to vent his anger by threatening to break some bones.
    When the
Drivetime
show started after the five o’clock news, Archer and Sinclair’s men had been watching the car park for nearly two hours. Nothing had happened at the garage. No cars had gone in or out. Archer thought something was wrong. The garage was too quiet. They had not seen a single valet for over an hour. Was it because of the rioters or because of the kidnappers?
    â€œOnly another hour to go.
Drivetime
’s my favourite,” said Jones.
    â€œI’m not waiting any longer. I’m taking a closer look right now,” said Archer.
    â€œThey specifically instructed us not to return until after six.”
    â€œI’m just taking a look, that’s all.”
    â€œBut they said they’d kill her if we went back early.”
    â€œDo you think they’re still watching?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWould you wait until six or would you take the money and run?”
    â€œObviously I’d take the money before. But no one apart from the valet has gone in or out of the office, and no one has taken the key from the cubbyhole yet.”
    â€œThat’s why I’m going to take a closer look. You two stay here and wait for my call.”
    â€œI don’t think you should go back until six,” Best said, loudly.
    â€œDon’t think, just wait here and watch.”
    Archer got out and walked towards the abandoned car park. The armed police were still milling around but the invisible electric charge in the air had disappeared from the collective mass of residents and shopkeepers out on the street.
    The tired-looking garage was still and quiet. The valets’ office had a glass door and floor-to-ceiling window facing the entrance. The messy office was empty. There was not a single valet in sight. Archer tried the office door but it was locked. The key of the Mercedes had been placed in cubbyhole number twenty-one, but he could see that it was now empty.
    Archer looked inside the garage but there was no movement or sign of life. He shouted and waited, but there was no answer. He ducked under the red and white barrier, stepped over the yellow and black floor barrier and walked into the garage, following the lane up to the next floor and looking for bay twenty-one. The garage was only half-full of cars.
    At the top of the incline he turned and saw the black Mercedes with the boot open. He jogged up to it and looked inside. The two canvas sailing bags full of cash were gone.
    The key card had been left on top of the roof. Archer took it and noticed a staircase at the back of the garage with a bright green fire exit sign. He walked to the back of the long narrow car park to see where the fire exit led and peered over the handrail into a narrow lane. It had been a well-planned job. The bags would have been taken to the lane within twenty seconds. He walked down the stairs, pushed the bar and checked the lane. The alarm didn’t go off. No cars in sight, just a few drunken rioters slumped against the walls. He went back inside the garage, closed the door and walked back through to the valet’s office.
    The street was still dead. Nothing interesting until he noticed a