Beyond the gate, the road was un-surfaced and disappeared into a wood that spread as far as the eye could see. A brand new chain and padlock secured the gate to the post, its message absolutely clear. Keep out!
The two men climbed over the gate and walked towards the tree line, but hadn’t got within a hundred metres when a man emerged from the trees and walked towards them. Brandon and Murray slowed but continued walking.
The man was dressed in lightweight green trousers and a waxed Barbour jacket, with a pair of green Wellington boots on his feet and a deerstalker hat on his head in an obvious attempt to meet the cliched uniform of a gamekeeper, however, it was the shotgun cradled in the man’s arm that focussed their attention.
‘Can I help you?’ asked the man.
‘Yes, I’m looking for a convent,’ said Brandon, ‘I was told it was somewhere up here.’
‘Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said the man, ‘This is private property and I have to ask you to leave.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ said Brandon, ‘I didn’t realise. It’s just that I am doing some research for a book and was wondering what is actually up there.’
‘Nothing that concerns you,’ said the man, ‘Now if you don’t mind.’ He pointed back down the track, making the instruction to leave crystal clear.
‘What’s your problem?’ asked Murray to the gamekeeper, ‘We won’t cause any damage, can’t you allow us half an hour? You’re boss wouldn’t need to know.’
The man took a few paces towards him.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘You have climbed over a locked gate and are on private property. I have already explained that we cannot help you. Now, I will ask you one more time to leave. Otherwise, I will have you removed by force.’
‘Oh yeah,’ snapped Murray, ‘I don’t see any signs saying private property, so I can walk wherever I damn well want to.’
‘Really, well this says otherwise,’ said the man un-cradling the shotgun.
‘Oh for fuck sake,’ said Murray, ‘Like you’re going to shoot us just for trespassing.’
Brandon grabbed his arm, holding the taxi driver back. As the gamekeeper had un-cradled his shotgun, his jacket had swung open slightly and he had seen the strap of a shoulder holster.
‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ he said, ‘You heard the man, it’s private property. Come on, let’s go.’
‘Listen to your friend, stupid,’ said the game keeper with a sneer, ‘Or you may get hurt.’
‘No problem,’ said Brandon with a smile, ‘Sorry for bothering you, come on Murray, let’s go to the pub.’ He pulled the reluctant taxi driver and walked back down the path, closely followed by the gamekeeper. Five minutes later they were driving back down the road towards the town.
‘Do you believe that Pratt?’ snarled Murray, ‘Gamekeeper my arse, nothing more than a jumped up gardener as far as I am concerned.’
‘He was no gamekeeper,’ said Brandon looking out of the window.
‘Looked like one to me,’ said Murray, ‘Even had all the clobber.’
‘He did,’ said Brandon, ‘But I’ve never seen a gamekeeper wearing Ray-Bans, have you?’
Murray looked in the rear view mirror.
‘Yeah, I noticed that too,’ he said, ‘And he had a strange accent.’
‘Italian!’ said Brandon.
‘So who do you think he was?’ asked Murray, ‘Some sort of security guard?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Brandon, ‘But I intend to find out. Stop here.’
‘But we’re in the middle of nowhere,’ answered the driver
‘Pull over,’ said Brandon, ‘There’s something I want you to do for me.’ A few minutes later, they were both stood alongside the taxi. Brandon was scribbling an address in his notebook.
‘I want you to drive to this address,’ he said, as he wrote. ‘Pick up a bag for me and bring it back here as soon as possible. I have made the arrangements. All you have to do is pick it up. But I need you back here by dark. Do you think you can do it?’
Murray looked at the address.
‘I suppose so,’ he said, ‘But what about you? Forecast says there’s a bad snowstorm coming, you can’t stay out here all day, you’ll freeze your nuts off.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Brandon, ‘Just make sure you get back here as soon as you can.’
‘Okay,’ said Murray, ‘But then we are done. Agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ said Brandon, ‘Now go. My number is on the pad. Ring me when you’re on the way back.’
He watched the taxi disappear down the lane before climbing over a stile and making his way back up the hill, keeping close to the hedgerow to avoid being seen.
In the car, Murray glanced at the address on the pad. ‘Oxford,’ he read.
Brandon walked around the hill, keeping to hedgerows and dead ground wherever possible until he found a relatively sheltered area overlooking the track leading into the forest. For hours he watched the gate, catching occasional sightings of the two security guards located just within the forest edge. Throughout the afternoon a few vehicles drove passed into the forest, including two cars and a white transit van. The van in particular caught his eye, as, unlike the cars, it was quite old with an odd door on the passenger side, obviously the result of an amateur repair. He watched for a few more hours before making his way back down the hill and waiting in a small copse, huddling beneath his coat as the temperature dropped. After what seemed like an age, his phone vibrated and his head sprung from his chest where he had dropped off into a light sleep.
‘Murray?’ he asked.
‘Who the fuck is Murray?’ asked a voice.
‘Sorry, Mike, You caught me having a power nap. Any news?'
‘Well, sort of,’ said Mike, ‘We reviewed the CCTV on all the entrances and there is no sign of her entering the station.’
‘Shit!’ cursed Brandon.
‘Hold your horses,’ said Mike, ‘I also reviewed the cameras outside the station and it seems like two people matching your descriptions got out of a cab and entered a house halfway between the train station and the bus station.’
‘You think it was them?’
‘Sure it was,’ said Mike, ‘We managed to get someone inside, but it seems the place is hardly used.’
‘What happened?’ interrupted Brandon sitting up, ‘Was she there?’
‘No, one of the guys had a good look around and there’s no sign of her. The only thing we can think of is that they left the building via the car park.’
‘Car park?’
‘Yes, underneath the building there is a small car park that exits onto the road at the side of the building.’
‘Anything on camera?’
‘No, that’s the thing. The only vehicle to come out after the time she went in was a battered old van.’
Brandon looked up the hill towards where he had spent the last few hours, thinking about the vehicles he had seen a few hours earlier.
‘Describe it,’ he said suddenly.
‘What?’
‘Describe the van,’ said Brandon tersely, ‘Was there anything strange about it?’
‘No not really, it was a bit shit, really. Old, white, battered.’
‘Go on,’ thought Brandon, ‘Say it.’
‘Oh and it had a black door on the passenger side,’ said Mike, confirming Brandon’s suspicions. By the time we realised the connection it had long gone, and I can’t access the London CCTV grid without a warrant. Sorry, Brandon, I have no idea where it went.’
That’s okay, Mike,’ said Brandon, ‘I know exactly where it went.’ His phone beeped once in his hand. ‘Mike, I have to go,’ he said, ‘I’ve got another call on the line. Talk later, cheers.’ He pressed the red button on the phone, quickly followed by the green one.
‘Murray,’ he said, ‘About fucking time.’
‘Calm down,’ he said, ‘I got stuck in traffic.’
‘Where are you?’
‘About ten minutes away,’ he said, ‘You okay?’
‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Brandon, ‘Just shift your arse and get back here.’ He hung up and made his way down the last few hundred yards to the lay-by. A few minutes later, the taxi pulled up and Murray got out.