The Courier & Advertiser (Perth and Perthshire Edition)
She pulled a pad out of her handbag and consulted her notes. For a few moments, she ran back over jottings she’d made on her previous sorties
Maggie slouched in the seat of her car. For the umpteenth time, she wished she drove something other than a large Volvo. It was way too big for her needs, a pain to park, and hardly inconspicuous. She’d debated asking Wilma for a loan of her Fiesta. But red? Maggie was thankful for small mercies. At least her vehicle was silver, one of the most common car colours, according to the surveillance websites.
She’d found a small car park ancillary to the low flats. The further away the better, according to the internet. She looked around. Make sure your observation point is secure.
There were only two other cars in the car park, its exit clear. Maggie relaxed back into her seat. Didn’t look likely she’d come under threat.
She glanced at the oversized watch on her wrist. She’d borrowed it from Colin. He’d handed it over without a murmur.
Maggie’s own was too dainty, and besides, if she was there for a while she might be thankful for its luminous dial. Don’t be so stupid, woman, those kids will have to go home for their tea. Tea? She snorted.
The looks of many of her pupils, they saw fair few nutritious meals for, Spar apart, the shops that catered to the residents of Seaton seemed to comprise nothing but takeaways.
Not that Maggie could talk. Not these days. For weeks she’d been relying on ready meals to feed Colin. Bless!
As long as his tea was on the table and his rugby strip in the wash, her son didn’t complain. Col was so like his father in that respect. She sighed.
Surveillance
George was easy-natured, even-tempered, not an unkind thought in his head. If you’re happy, I’m happy, wasn’t that what her husband always said? In such contrast to Maggie, whose mind worked overtime, who’d harboured during the years of their marriage so many angry, spiteful thoughts.
What a b***h! Tears stung her eyes. Roughly, she wiped them away. Clocked the dial of Colin’s watch. She’d only been there 20 minutes.
From where she sat, Maggie had a clear view of Northview Towers. She’d followed Willie Meston there by car on two previous occasions, and before that to another of the tower blocks.
Although her initial surveillance exercise had proved unproductive, she’d determined to keep a weather eye on the boys.
Willie’s visits took place after school, sometime between four o’clock and four thirty. He always went on his bike. Rang the call system. Vanished inside, bicycle in tow. Seaton wasn’t the sort of place where you left things lying around, especially something like that.
Maggie was no expert, but the Meston boy’s bike looked to her like an expensive bit of kit. Unlike poor Kieran’s, a ramshackle old thing. She knew from her surveillance that the lad didn’t live there.
On both prior occasions she’d managed to sneak up close on foot, but all she saw when she peered inside was a bank of lifts.
Focused
She’d had to scarper, then: once when she was waylaid by one of the school mums, the other time she’d spotted the community bobby from the school police office approaching from a distance.
Cover the entry/exit point. Maggie shook herself alert. Focused on the door of the high rise. Ryan Brebner had turned up that last time, shortly after Willie, no Kyle in tow. He too had wheeled his bike inside.
She pulled a pad out of her handbag and consulted her notes. For a few moments, she ran back over the jottings she’d made on her previous sorties. Not that she really needed to. She’d been rehearsing the operation all night in her head.
Mindful of Wilma’s instructions, for she’d finally confided her surveillance practice, Maggie picked up George’s digital camera and fired off a couple of practice shots.
She cupped the camera in her hand. It was lightweight, neat enough to slip into a pocket. But it had been expensive, she knew. She’d found the receipt with the other items the police had brought from George’s office.
She sighed. No wonder her husband had needed money to tide them over. She glanced at the dashboard clock. 3.55pm.
She settled down to wait.
A small figure on a bicycle sped down Seaton Crescent and crossed the sea of concrete towards Northview Towers. Maggie craned her neck.
The figure dismounted, removed a safety helmet. She watched as two fat pigtails dropped down the girl’s back.
The small figure depressed a call button, pushed the door open, wheeled her bike inside.
Ten minutes later, a huddle of boys rode across Maggie’s line of vision. They didn’t slow down, but pressed onwards towards the beach.
She was beginning to despair when she spotted Willie. He rode up to Northview Towers and dismounted his bike.
He propped it carefully to one side of the entrance. Maggie wondered if it was a signal. She groped for the camera.
Click.
Willie pressed the call button.
Click.
He went inside.
Not five minutes later, Ryan rolled up, alone once more.
Click. Click.
He too propped up his bicycle, this time on the other side of the main door.
Strained
Ryan reached for the call system. Maggie leaned forward in her seat. Craned her neck. Wished – not for the first time – that she owned a pair of binoculars. Ryan slipped inside.
Click.
Maggie strained forward even further. She thought she could still see his small figure through the glass.
The boys had not long entered when a couple of lads in denim jackets sauntered across the forecourt. They tapped on the entrance then stepped through. Minutes later they re-emerged, joshing one another.
Maggie fired off another couple of shots, just in case, her hands by now sticky with perspiration. Stay cool. She wiped them on her jeans.
No point getting worked up over nothing. Those lads could have gone in on an errand, been laughing at a joke. Except she could have sworn she caught a glimpse of Ryan in the doorway.
More tomorrow