There Were Three In The Bed

The Reliable Three Jamie had been looking at the same photograph for six minutes when Colin told him the photograph was three years old. ‘Four,’ Jamie said. ‘March, four years ago. The little brass plaque on the table gives it away.’ Colin, who had brought a paper cup of coffee back from the service station, leaned over the bonnet to see what he meant. The printout was laid between a road atlas and a half-eaten packet of mints. Under the orange light above a shuttered loading bay, the photograph showed a roomful of old watches behind glass and a man in a velvet jacket pretending to enjoy a charity reception. Jamie had circled three display cases with a biro. The marks made the whole thing look like evidence from a school project. ‘It was a private view,’ Colin said. ‘They moved things around afterwards.’ ‘They might have sold the lot afterwards.’ Jamie flattened the corner of the printout before the breeze could lift it. ‘They didn't.’ ‘You know that because somebody told you.’ ‘Yes.’ Colin took a drink, found it too hot and lowered the cup. ‘And you went looking because you don't like being told things.’ Jamie slid a second photograph across the bonnet. It was a cropped picture from a dealer's magazine, taken eighteen months ago. A pair of watches rested on a dark green cushion, the same cushion visible in the older photograph. Beside them stood a little silver carriage clock with one foot shorter than the others. Jamie had noticed the uneven stance before he noticed the maker's name. ‘Same pieces,’ he said. ‘At least those. There was a photograph last autumn as well, but you can't make out much. Whoever runs the place likes being mentioned in other people's brochures. Can't blame them. Cheaper than advertising.’ Colin looked at both pages. His attention stayed on the newer photograph a little longer. ‘Satisfied?’ ‘There was a collection when somebody took these pictures. Doesn't mean it's there tonight.’ ‘You've said that.’ ‘And you've still not answered.’ ‘Because I can't tell you what's in every cupboard at nine o'clock on a Tuesday. You want to go somewhere with a guarantee, rob the till at the petrol station.’ From the passenger side of the car, Darren said, ‘You'd get about a hundred quid and a scratch card. I've seen their prices.’ He had been eating a cheese sandwich, methodically tearing off pieces of the crust and putting them back into the wrapper. He came round to join them, wiping his fingers on the seat of his trousers. At a distance, Darren could look like the sort of man other people instinctively moved around: thick through the shoulders, heavy-featured, with an old break in his nose that hadn't healed straight. Jamie had known him long enough to forget that strangers saw this before they saw anything else. ‘A hundred and forty,’ Jamie said. ‘They sell cigarettes.’ Darren regarded the photographs. ‘I like the green one.’ ‘That's a cushion.’ ‘I know what it is. It's a nice colour.’ Colin gathered the pages before a passing breeze could take them. They were parked in the empty strip behind a gardening wholesaler, half a mile from the service station. The car park was used by delivery vans during the day and by nobody Jamie had seen in the evenings. An occasional vehicle crossed the road beyond the locked yard. Colin waited for a passing car to go before speaking again. ‘The house belongs to a property outfit. Eversden Collection Properties. Been theirs for years, not something they've bought to dress up and sell. They use the gallery for private viewings and their own collection. There are people who know what's there, and people who've seen it. I'm not basing this on one bloke saying he knows a bloke.’ ‘Who says the house is empty?’ Jamie asked. ‘The information I've got. Also, what I've checked since.’ ‘How recently?’ ‘Recently enough. And before you start, I know what recently means.’ Jamie left it there. Colin had turned down good money before when something didn't add up, and he'd been proved right often enough that Jamie took his reservations seriously. Still, he'd have liked to know where the occupancy information came from. There was no point demanding a name Colin wasn't going to give, especially with Darren finishing his sandwich and waiting for them to settle it. He had checked the photographs himself. The older photograph had appeared in a local arts leaflet. The newer one came from a specialist dealer whose reputation Jamie understood. Neither established that a particular watch was still in the building, but the pictures confirmed the sort of collection that was being kept. Genuine pieces, properly maintained, arranged for people who could tell a fine movement from an imitation. Someone had spent money on more than the contents. The gallery was the sort of room where fittings cost as much as a small house. ‘What about the safe?’ he asked. ‘There'll be one. There may be more than one. We're not there to dig the walls out.’ Jamie turned another page in the wallet. ‘They've got jewellery as well.’ ‘Some.’ ‘Fine. Show me the rest.’ Colin opened the atlas, which was mostly a prop now, and spread out a photocopy of the property's publicly available floor plan. The study was marked on it, and beyond it a rectangular extension labelled *collection room*. Jamie had already seen the plan; Colin knew he had. They went through the principal rooms anyway, with Colin describing the reason he favoured the route and Jamie saying where a change in the building might make their assumptions worthless. Neither had to win the exchange. Darren listened, occasionally shifting his weight as lorries left the distribution estate behind the station. A few minutes later Colin tapped a finger on the rectangle. ‘That stays the priority. Anything else is a bonus. If something's wrong, we walk away.’ ‘Your favourite sentence,’ Jamie said. ‘It's kept you breathing.’ ‘You say it a lot for someone who hates walking away.’ Darren gave a short laugh. Colin didn't. He folded the page carefully, matching up the creases before it disappeared into a document wallet. Colin could find work worth doing and knew when an attractive plan was slipping into wishful thinking. Jamie queried the measurements, checked the photographs and got called difficult for it. When they encountered someone who preferred fists to argument, Darren stood closest, usually without being asked. They'd saved one another enough trouble over the years to put up with the rest. Sometimes a householder fought back. Jamie had seen a thirty-second job turn into ten ugly minutes, and he tried not to think too far ahead while they were still working out what to take. He kept his attention on which valuables would fit into the bags and which would have to stay behind. Darren picked up the loose wrapper he had left on the passenger seat and folded it into a neat square. ‘The side passage,’ he said. ‘You said there's room for all of us, Col?’ ‘There is.’ ‘Jamie wants to stop and check the second door if it's different from the plan. We shouldn't leave him on his own while we do that.’ Jamie had been planning to inspect the second door while Colin moved ahead. Darren had spotted the difficulty before he did: anybody coming out of an adjoining room would find Jamie with his attention on the fittings and no one at his back. He didn't thank Darren. Darren hadn't asked him to. ‘I'll stay with him,’ Darren added. ‘You can have the corridor.’ Colin considered this. ‘All right. Don't make a meal of it.’ ‘Wasn't planning to.’ ‘You usually are,’ Jamie said. ‘Especially if it's got cheese in it.’ Darren looked at his folded sandwich wrapper, then tucked it into the empty bag in the passenger footwell. ‘That's lunch finished, then.’ They went through the equipment in the boot. It was a mixed collection of ordinary items and things Jamie would rather nobody asked about: bags with unobtrusive straps, gloves, a compact torch, protective wrapping for fragile objects, a change of clothes. Darren found a split seam in one bag and passed it to Jamie. It wasn't serious, but something sharp could catch in it. ‘We'll use the other one,’ Jamie said. ‘Or give me this and I'll keep the soft stuff in it.’ ‘There isn't going to be any soft stuff worth keeping.’ ‘That cushion you showed me.’ Colin was counting the bags. ‘Can you two finish your domestic arrangements?’ Jamie handed Darren the imperfect one. It would be perfectly useful for cloth or clothing if they needed it, and Darren was unlikely to overload it. He had a peculiar respect for small flaws. He could be brutal with a person who stood against them but wouldn't carry a glass vase by its handle unless Jamie told him it would bear the weight. The last thing they dealt with was personal possessions. Colin had a small plastic container in the car, and each man put his everyday phone into it. Jamie checked the screen for a message he had been expecting from his sister; there was nothing. He switched the phone off and set it beside Colin's. Darren's went in without ceremony. There was no discussion about making an exception. Colin had imposed the rule years before, after a job that had brought unwelcome attention to a man they no longer worked with. They didn't need a device for talking to each other when they were all in the same room. ‘Keys?’ Colin asked. Darren held his up. Jamie had left his in the car. The container went beneath the spare-wheel cover with the remaining things they weren't taking. It had become such a dull routine that Jamie barely associated it with caution anymore. He closed the boot, then reopened it because he had forgotten the thin cloth sleeves he used when handling old metal. Darren watched without comment. ‘There,’ Jamie said. ‘If I've forgotten anything else, don't tell me.’ ‘You forgot your dinner,’ Darren said. ‘I've eaten.’ ‘Four mints aren't dinner.’ Colin was already in the driver's seat. ‘If either of you wants a proper meal, there's a place along the bypass. You can go there tomorrow.’ Jamie settled in the rear, pushing a folded sheet of paperwork out of the way with his knee. Darren took the front passenger seat. It was the same arrangement they usually used, partly because Darren disliked twisting around to talk from the back and partly because Colin preferred Jamie close to the equipment where he might want to check something before they arrived. They left the service station and joined the road out of town. The houses gradually gave way to dark hedges and larger properties set far enough apart to make the spaces between them feel inhabited by nobody. Colin drove with the radio off. Darren asked whether the football results had come in and then, remembering where his phone was, settled for a prediction that Jamie told him was optimistic. Twenty minutes out, Jamie asked to see the last photograph again. He held the print against the faint wash of the rear reading light until Colin told him to stop doing that while he was driving. Jamie turned it away from the windscreen. He was studying the exhibition case at the far end of the room, trying to determine whether the upper section was glazed on three sides or four. The photograph wasn't good enough. He put it away. ‘Something wrong?’ Darren asked. ‘No. Just working out what's worth the effort.’ ‘You'll know when you're there.’ Jamie considered arguing, decided it wasn't worth it and put the photographs away. The strap of his bag had worked itself underneath his leg; he tugged it free and settled back against the seat while Darren tried to get Colin interested in the football.