The Opener

By CR Spencer

Edward Carter is a contract opener. He'll open anything for the right price. He chooses his contracts carefully and he's not too fussed who he works for as long as he gets paid. Some of London's biggest and ruthless crime organisations approach him to get things done. He has strict rules of work. He gets half his fee for opening and then the remainder within a few days of the job. He neither cares nor is interested in what the thieves are after; he simply opens the premises and leaves. His reputation goes before him; he is very selective over the offers he gets. He lives off the grid; no-one knows who is. He has no phone, no car, no driving licence. He pays no tax nor National Insurance. In short, he doesn't exist. He simply turns up, does his job and leaves.

Edward Carter lives in his little bubble. With the exception of Marta De Luca, he has no friends. He unofficially takes care of De Luca and the street girls of Wormwood Scrubs. In sorting out some thugs who try to take over the girls, he comes across the beautiful but slightly wayward Janice Deveaux. He grows very close to Deveaux and he decides enough is enough. There is just one last job before he re-invents himself again, this time with her by his side. This last job goes wrong when he realises that the thieves are stealing from each other and he doesn't get paid.

He is always one step ahead of the police but can he stay that way as the net closes? Can Detective Inspector Laura Sawyers finally begin to make progress on identifying the opener? Read how easily Janice Deveaux gets sucked into the underworld where the casual taking of a human life is not something over which to lose sleep.

Follow the man known as Jasper through the harsh reality of London's dark and violent underbelly of prostitution, drug dealing, theft and casual killings.

Does he get caught? Will it all go terribly wrong? Will Laura Sawyers and her team finally get their man?

This is the first of a two part series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CR Spencer
• Release date: Jul 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005036119

CR Spencer

CR Spencer is a graduate of Manchester University and King's College, London and has worked in a variety of roles within the education sector including school principal and school inspector across the world from the Far East to Central America. He is the author of the Penance Trilogy and the creator of the character of Dagmar JohnsonCR Spencer lives in the Herault region of southwest France where he enjoys the peace and tranquility of the vineyards, the rolling hills and active village life. He writes almost daily when his unruly garden does not distract him...The author can be contacted on [e-mail]

Book preview

Part 1

Crimes and Misdemeanours

Chapter 1

A January job

He began to feel the little beads of sweat under his arms and at the back of his neck. He blinked several times as he stared intently at the mass of wires and circuit boards in front of him. His nimble fingers worked methodically; the tight plastic gloves that adorned his hands were no barriers to his dexterity. He paused as he heard a crackle in his left ear.

What’s happening? Have you done it yet?

The man sighed and stepped back.

A hand instinctively went up to the tiny microphone that was on the wire tucked neatly under the black cotton balaclava. He spoke quietly,

"If you’d stop bothering me I’ll have this unit disabled quicker.

Fucking get on with it…

The man shook his head and leaned forward towards the cream coloured plastic case. He closed his eyes and pictured the multi-layered circuit he had spent about a week memorising; alpha 33 needed to be jumped before he removed the capacitor on sigma 21…

He raised his eyebrows and allowed himself a little smile.

A little bead of sweat trickled down his neck. He wondered why the company that owned the premises would leave the heating so high on a Friday night when no one would be in at the weekend. Well, it was just below freezing outside; so cold that the lone security guard couldn’t be bothered to leave the warmth of his little portacabin.

He reached into his back pocket and extracted a small, sharp pair of wire cutters. His hand hovered over the wire he knew as sigma 21. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes mentally rehearsing all the steps he had taken to shut down the main security system of the building. His mind went back to the homework he had completed on the place when he had first been approached to do this work. The premises were situated on a small industrial estate in Hounslow, West London. The estate backed on to the old Middlesex Drainage Works and was deserted at this time of night. Several of the units were empty with the business having packed up through debt, non-payment of taxes or sheer inefficiency.

He didn’t like working for this crew; they were too rough and dished out the violence with no thought for the recipients. He always charged more for this lot…

The voice buzzed in his ear again,

Jasper! For fuck’s sake! Are you there yet? We’re freezing our bollocks off out here.

The profanity jolted the man to his senses. He gently squeezed the cutters and said a silent prayer. He knew if he had made a mistake the whole world would hear the one hundred decibels of the alarm, never mind the minimum wage employees in the monitoring centre, somewhere in deepest, darkest Wales, who would have the local boys in blue on the doorstep within a few minutes.

He felt the cutters bite into sigma 21…he squeezed again. The cutters went clean through the wire….silence…

He breathed a sigh of relief. He said quietly, Clear…

About fucking time, too…

Twenty metres away four masked men began to break through a flimsy plaster wall with assorted crowbars and sledge hammers. There was no way the security guard could hear them over his loud television. He was too busy watching Angel Delight enjoying the attentions of three well endowed men. Besides, the alarm system was too complicated for your every day common thief. The guard enjoyed the night shift. It took him away from his nagging wife and three brats all under the age of ten. Banned from watching pornography at home he could indulge his passion all night just interrupted occasionally by a perfunctory walk around.

The man called ‘Jasper’ was also busy. He carefully extracted the jumper wire and re-assembled the inner and outer covers of the box wiping down all the surfaces. Before he joined the box together he bonded the joints with a gel from a tiny tube taken from his waist bag. They would have to smash the box open to see what he had done. The head torchlight scanned the area immediately around him. He flicked his head from side to side.

He zipped up the waist bag after tucking in the microfiber cloth. He picked up his black puffer jacket and pulled it on. When he was as certain as he could be that there was no evidence of his visit, he carefully retraced his steps. He approached the inner door of the storeroom and turned the latch glancing one last time at the place of his work. His headlight scanned the floor. When he was satisfied, he went out, carefully clicking the door behind him. He tried the handle; it was locked. The simple Yale lock presented no more than ten seconds worth of work to him.

He could hear the crew at work behind him. His hand reached up to his face.

I’m done, he breathed.

He waited a few seconds, Well piss off then…

‘Jasper’ raised his eyes and walked off into the night…

The searing cold hit him as he pushed open the back door of the unit. The orange of the estate lights cast an eerie glow. He blinked as his eyes adjusted. He could see cigarette ends littered on the ground where employees often sneaked an unauthorised break. He hoped the crew hadn’t also indulged in the habit as they waited for him to silence the alarm system. He shook his head; he didn’t really care…

The head torch came off and was stuffed into the bag that was now concealed under his coat. He pulled up the zipper and the hood of the jacket. He liked this jacket. It was a pity it would have to be disposed of together with everything else he was wearing.

He glanced over at the portacabin. He could see the flickering light of the television. He pulled up the left sleeve of his jacket and touched his watch. It woke up and showed him it had taken him less than five minutes to complete his work. The watch flipped over to the time. It would be another two hours before the guard would bother to get out and do his rounds. There was plenty of time for Angel Delight to get what she needed…

He strode off with his soft, black boots moving silently over the worn tarmac. The industrial estate had seen far better days. He glanced up at the security cameras. He had disabled them remotely about an hour before the crew had approached the building. The pictures on the screens in the portacabin were shots taken from the previous Friday night. The loop would last about three hours and then the screen would flicker and return to live action. The guard would glance at the monitors, raise his eyebrows and ignore the incident; the monitors were always on the blink, weren't they?

‘Jasper’ could hear traffic on Bridge Road. As he approached the main entrance to the estate, he removed the balaclava and shoved it into the bag. He took out a black baseball hat and pulled it down over his eyes; the puffer jacket hood came back over his head. With his hands in his pockets he walked purposefully towards the noise. The road was quiet. He looked around to see in what vehicle the crew had arrived. There was a battered white Ford Transit across the road; he raised his eyebrows as he walked past on the opposite side. He glanced down an entry. The interior light of an old saloon car was on. He could see the car moving rhythmically as the two occupants indulged their lust. He snorted…

He relaxed as he came up to London Road where he turned right and began the hour’s walk. As he walked steadily, the contents of his bag began to be placed into the commercial dustbins that were pulled out onto the road awaiting the attentions of the local authority wagons.

By the time he reached Brentford High Street even the waist bag had disappeared. He pushed open the door of an all night café and his nostrils were assailed by the smell of frying bacon. His tummy rumbled. He glanced around at the occupants. A couple of lorry drivers sat together. Some rail workers, resplendent in their fluorescent but very dirty jackets, were huddled over steaming mugs of tea. As he approached the counter a woman in a stained apron spoke out loud,

What can I do for you, love?

‘Jasper’ looked at her, Black coffee and one of your bacon sandwiches, please.

The woman smiled at him. Coming up. I’ll pour your coffee, take a seat and I’ll bring over the sandwich when it’s done. You look cold, love.

He raised his eyebrows as she poured the thick murky liquid. As he passed the table with the rail workers he could hear one of them speaking with a broad London accent. The other three were listening intently as he related a story. ‘Jasper’ caught the punch line…

She said, ‘Yeah, but you keep putting it in the wrong hole’…

There were roars of laughter…

He sat down to await his sandwich. He unzipped his jacket and glanced again at his watch. He wondered if the crew had finished and taken whatever it was they were after. He sipped the warming liquid with the cup between two hands with his elbows on the table. He stared off into the distance. He heard one of the rail workers…

I swear you make those stories up.

The joker raised his eyebrows, I just repeat what I hear, that’s all… There were more guffaws.

‘Jasper’ zoned out with the cup between his hands. He blew away some steam. He had taken the message some ten days before. Those who required his services knew he never took on a job with less than seven days notice. He needed to do his homework. He recalled the voice on the end of the pay phone.

Straight in and out, Jasper. You could do it blindfold.

You say it’s a monitored Snapper?

Yeah. Two internal door locks. The alarm unit is in the back storeroom.

How do you know the outside door is not alarmed?

It is, normally, but our man on the inside will conveniently forget to set it when he goes off shift at eight.

There was a silence on the phone; ‘Jasper’ spoke,

"What’s the outside lock?

Quickset 660 deadbolt.

‘Jasper’ sighed, Okay send over the details. I’ll take a look at it and let you know in a couple of days.

Don’t take too long. It’s a go-er on the next Friday. If you don’t want it, there’s plenty who will.

Fifteen up front and another fifteen within three days of the job.

The phone had gone dead…

The lady plonked a plate with the sandwich in front of him; she nodded at his coffee, Refill on the house, love.

He smiled at her as the railway workers got up to leave still chatting noisily. One of them turned to the woman, Thanks, June. See you tomorrow.

She called back, Be careful boys… they waved a collective wave.

‘Jasper’ picked up the previous evening’s London Evening Standard and casually flicked through it as he munched on his sandwich. The door opened and three women entered, slightly the worse for wear; they were giggling. June looked up disapprovingly from behind the counter. She raised her voice,

You ladies behave yourself. I don’t want no trouble. Do you hear?

He glanced up from his newspaper. The ‘ladies ‘ were all dressed alike; long leather coats and very little else underneath. He heard a smattering of Eastern European words. Romanian, he reckoned. Two of the women sat down on the other side of the café. One went up to the counter; the accent was thick,

Three coffees, June, and three of your best sandwiches…

Take a seat and don’t disturb the other customers.

The female blew her a kiss and went and plonked herself down next to one of her friends. As she sat down, the leather coat split open revealing a tiny skirt. She made no attempt to cover up herself. The ladies began a rapid conversation in their native language. He could hear a litany of English swear words interspersed in the conversation.

The man known as ‘Jasper’ returned to his newspaper and coffee. The hot liquid warmed his stomach; he always felt like this after a job. It was a sense of relief coupled with the urge to get as far away from the scene as possible. He flicked over a page. He looked at the crossword puzzle and mentally completed clues from the short one; he’d have to concentrate to tackle the cryptic challenge. He felt the table move; he slowly raised his eyes. A fake blonde sat down in front of him. She smiled at him,

Hello, handsome man.

He nodded at her.

It late…what bring you here? She spoke softly.

‘Jasper’ carefully folded the newspaper, Working, Miss, like you, I suspect.

We finish work for today.

He felt a stocking clad leg rub against his under the table; she stared at him.

She was attractive and tastefully made up. She had professionally finished dark eyebrows and long eyelashes. She held his gaze and smiled at him.

I like you. My friends like you.

‘Jasper’ sighed, And I love you too. Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to get home. He stood up as June approached. The café worker had a scowl on her face as she raised her voice.

I told you ladies to behave and now you’re bothering the customers.

He spoke quickly, It’s okay; I’m finished anyway. He looked at the lady of the night, She’s not bothering me, really.

He passed over a ten-pound note, Keep the change and thank you…

The lady called June wasn’t going to complain; she smiled at him, Make sure you come back…

The man hunched up with his hands in his pockets as he walked off down the street. He pulled the black baseball hat over his eyes. It was approaching four in the morning. He walked up Brentford High Street and finally halted at a bus stop with a matrix board that indicated a night bus would be along in seven minutes. He leaned into the shelter as a fine drizzle began to fall…

Over in Hounslow, the crew drove away from the scene in the battered Ford Transit with three quarters of a million pounds worth of uncut diamonds in a soft velvet pouch. The security guard was still watching Angel Delight entertaining her three boys…

‘Jasper’ walked the remaining two miles back to the warehouse he had called home for the past three years. He had felt himself dozing off as he sat on the back seat of the double decker. He could hear the rough footsteps of the passengers on the upper deck. The bus was warm with the windows becoming steamed up as the rain began to intensify. The cold night air hit him as he got off to complete his journey on foot. His home backed onto the railway sidings at Old Oak Common. The girls were still huddled under flimsy umbrellas as he walked past the western side of Wormwood Scrubs. He could always smell the Victorian prison. An orange haze under the bright perimeter lights hung over the distant building.

As he walked, the occasional car would pull up next to some girl who would haggle and then either get in the car or stick up two fingers to the driver. As he walked up towards them, they looked up in turn, recognised him and then smiled a greeting.

Hey, Jasper, you have time for me tonight?

‘Jasper’ would say, Sorry, no time tonight; maybe tomorrow?

You always say that….

The two would laugh at the running joke.

The Old Oak Common ladies fought for possession of the prime spots under the railway bridge. The pecking order of the women was clearly established. Newcomers were relegated to the ends of the road. To get to a prime spot, you had to wait your turn; …Marta De Luca had such a prime position even though she was relatively new. She had no pimp but she had a friend in high places.

De Luca stepped forward as ‘Jasper’ approached; she had a cigarette between her fingers. She was dressed in a short leather dress over which she had on a long maxi coat and knee length boots. She reached up and kissed both his cheeks; she whispered,

Have you been working tonight?

He raised his eyebrows.

The Brazilian accent was soft; she continued, It’s late. Shall we go and get some coffee?

He replied, Is it quiet?

She nodded. The police were down here twice; the punters are scared away.

He nodded, Put out that cigarette and I’ll buy you a hot tea.

The dying ember was carelessly tossed into the wet bushes. She shouted a quick ’Chow’ to fellow workers, put up her umbrella, linked arms with ‘Jasper’ and strode off…

The cabbies’ café was busy and noisy. No one paid them any attention as they pushed into the warm room. Marta De Luca told him to sit down whilst she flirted with the owner and got two large coffees for the price of two small ones.

She sat down opposite ‘Jasper.’ She asked, Any good tonight?

He sipped his coffee, Yeah, same old same old.

Any problems?

Nah; just some idiot banging in my ear whilst I was working.

She snorted, blew away some steam and said, Get a real job, then.

He laughed, I could say the same for you.

She feigned being upset, I have a real job it’s just that they won’t let me practice it. There’s no excuse for you.

He raised his eyebrows, Yeah, but I like what I do.

You don't like the people who employ you.

I don’t think about them.

A younger cabbie stared at her. She flicked her long black hair and smiled at him. She got a poke for her pains.

I told you, you don’t work when you’re with me, Marta.

She pouted, I think he likes me…

If you are going to work, I’ll leave you to your devices.

He stood up plonking down his half finished coffee. Marta De Luca gulped down hers and slowly went over to the young lad. She leaned in and said,

You can’t afford me, sonny…

His mates jeered at him…

She caught up with ‘Jasper.’ Are you going home?

Yes, Marta, and so are you. There are plenty of cabs here. I’m sure one of the drivers will be extremely happy to escort you.

Yes, but can you find me one who will take payment in kind?

He pulled her to him and hugged her. Go home, Marta, I need to sleep."

She had hold of him and breathed into his ear, Let me come back with you or at least come to my place; it’s only up the road.

He pushed her away but still had hold of her two arms.

I do know where you live, Marta, now good night…

He left her as he turned the corner back out to the road he could see her chatting closely with a middle-aged cabbie. He smiled to himself. Marta De Luca, the Brazilian with the Italian surname, could look after herself…

‘Jasper’ unlocked the old corrugated outside door. He entered the small vestibule and pressed the electronic keypad. It woke up and glowed a deep red. He placed his left index finger on the small screen and it turned green. The heavy steel door clicked as the locks opened. He pushed down the handle and opened the door. The place was immediately bathed in harsh light. A loud bleeping started. Mentally, he began to count to himself. He walked over to the far wall and tapped in a six-digit code. The bleeps stopped at fifteen…He glanced up at the CCTV cameras that followed his movement across the twenty metre concrete floor.

To the naked eye, the door to his home could not be seen easily. He liked it that way. He flipped an aluminium vertical rail that was on hinges and exposed the lock to the door; another keyless entry system. The fob, buried deep in his pocket, woke up, recognised where it was and the door clicked open. He went through. As he shut the door behind him, the aluminium rail slowly closed securely over the entrance. The lights behind him began to flicker and turn off…

The home was warm; the pleasant heat hit him like a soothing blanket. The white mice, sensing that their master had returned, stirred from their slumber and began to scratch around the cage. The wheel began to spin. He looked over,

Settle down, children. I’ll be over to you shortly.

He carefully stepped onto two cut up black bin bags that were taped together. He emptied his pockets and placed the small digital radio receiver, around which was wrapped a tiny, thin earpiece cable and the head torch, into a plastic container. He extracted his plastic gloves put them back on and removed his clothes depositing them into another rubbish bag.

When he was naked, he reached over to a large bath towel and wrapped it around his waist. Still wearing the gloves, he gathered up the makeshift plastic sheeting and stuffed it into the bag on top of the clothes. The plastic gloves were peeled off into a little inside out ball

He stood under the fine spray of the hot shower and washed away the night’s work. Donning an old tracksuit, he fed and watered his ‘children’ and told them to go back to sleep.

He climbed up the steps into the converted ambulance and crawled into his bed. Within ten minutes, Edward Carter, otherwise known as the man who could open any premises, was fast asleep…

Chapter 2

Home is where the heart is

The Opener, Edward Carter, woke just before nine in the morning. He could hear a regular thudding on the corrugated iron door at the front of his warehouse. He sat up, squinted through the van window at the bank of monitors on a table in the corner of the room. He shook his head as the off-white leather football crashed against the door for the umpteenth time. He struggled out of bed, put his feet in some flip-flops, stood up and stretched. The children already disturbed by the outside noises, were scurrying around the cage.

The room was warm with the heating system having kicked in on the timer some hours ago. He yawned as he went down the steps of the converted ambulance. He flicked on the kettle in the kitchen area of his home and sat down at the table to look at the group of boys as they kicked the ball around outside his warehouse.

He sighed. They were up to no harm. He took his coffee into the makeshift bathroom. He stood in the shower and let the hot water stream over his body as the electric water heater did its stuff. By the time he had dressed, the footballers had decided that the game didn’t warrant the soaking they were getting in the persistent icy rain. The CCTV cameras followed the bedraggled boys as they trooped off the old industrial estate.

He looked over at the black bin bag that sat by the main door; the contents needed to be disposed of carefully. He sat with his feet up on the table whilst he sipped his coffee. His mind went back to the events of the previous evening. The job had been successful. The owners wouldn’t know about the robbery until the early shift returned first thing on Monday morning. Edward Carter didn’t know what Sully and the rest of his hooligans had been after; he didn’t care just as long as he got paid. That reminded him; he needed to go to Stratford to pick up the remaining fifteen thousand pounds. He didn’t mind the trip as it got him out of the warehouse giving him the chance to pick up some essentials.

He looked around at his home and smiled. It had taken him nearly three years to get the abandoned warehouse to the current state. He decided he didn’t really want to go through the stress and strain of moving again. The room was almost a twenty metre square with the recycled ambulance parked up against the massive double doors at one end. The doors were bolted together, insulated and sealed up. A flick of a switch would blow off the bolts and the door motor would rip away the insulation as they opened when he needed to make a hasty getaway…A skylight that ran over the length of the end wall was covered with an electric blind that reacted to sunlight or the absence of it. Edward Carter had repaired the hot air blowers and set up a timing and temperature system. He wasn’t so much bothered about keeping warm himself but he didn’t want his children to feel the cold. He shot a look at them; they seemed content as they messed around in the large cage.

Edward Carter was in his thirties. A natural loner by nature, he neither sought out friendship nor needed it. Marta De Luca was the exception. Their friendship, such as it was, was born three years earlier not long after he had moved into the warehouse with the old ambulance. He needed to pop up to see her to make sure she got home okay the previous evening…

He swung in the captain’s chair. He moved the computer mouse and the monitor woke up. He pressed a few keys and a system report came up with a screen full of green lights. He ran the CCTV from the night before whilst he had been out. There was nothing to concern himself with just the dark coloured saloon car. The camera focused on the front of the vehicle. He zoomed in to see a white man and a black female in the front seats. The lovers had settled on the estate, just outside his warehouse, for their secret assignations. He smiled as they clambered over the front seats to make passionate love in the rear. He wondered about their lives. Did they really have to indulge their lust in such a desolate and dreary place? He quickly fast-forwarded the replay to see the vehicle drive away with the female still re-arranging her clothes. He reminded himself to run the plates with the Driving Agency when he was next on line just to see whom the amorous couple were. Edward Carter was always very careful.

The ambulance needed its two weekly start up; it was on his to do list for later in the day, or, maybe first thing on Sunday. He had rigged up a ventilation system that would draw away the poisonous fumes. A trickle charge kept the battery in good shape. He’d owned the ambulance for some time. He had converted it over a year when he still occupied the railway arches in Hackney. That place had been too damp for his liking. This warehouse was reasonably modern. The vehicle had been purchased for cash from two hippies who had decided that bringing up newly born twins in a nomadic lifestyle was perhaps not such a good idea. In any event, the arrival of the twins gave the couple priority for housing with the local authority…

Carter had ripped out the interior back to the metal panels and rebuilt the van. It was now fully insulated and had a comfortable bed. He had installed a kitchen but this had never been put to use since the van had arrived. He didn’t cook much anyway. According to the vehicle agency, the van didn’t exist anymore. For an extra one hundred pounds, the hippies had told the authorities that it was scrapped.

Since the van had entered the warehouse, it had never gone anywhere. Edward Carter had overhauled the mechanics and just about replaced most of the parts that were prone to wearing.

Edward Carter had been born to a lower middle class family in Suffolk. The only child of socially ambitious parents, he had thrived at school doing sufficiently well to win a scholarship to Darwin College, Cambridge, studying electrical engineering. He had been fascinated how things worked as a small boy and his father soon realised there wasn’t much he couldn’t fix if it had an electrical charge going through it. The other skills, he just picked up along the way. He was on course for a first class degree with the promise of funding in a higher programme before he left just before his final exams, much to the consternation of his parents.

A group of upper middle class students, who were only there by dint of parentage, knowing of his prowess with all things electrical, had persuaded him to assist in the break-in of a college office to get sight of some examination papers. It was the first time he had disabled an alarm system. One of the Hooray Henrys slipped his name to the college elders to save his own skin after being caught. Rather than admit to having their so-called foolproof security being compromised, they simply expelled Edward Carter. At least, the police weren't involved.

Not long afterwards, both Carter’s parents were killed in a car crash. It didn’t help the family’s reputation that his father was twice over the legal limit to drive. Before the mortgaged house was repossessed, Edward Carter had ingratiated himself with some of London’s lesser-known villains as a jobbing alarm and security ‘advisor.’

As the net closed, he decided a long trip to the Far East was in order where he availed himself of the local beauties and cheap alcohol. He decamped from there in his late twenties when his exploits were becoming quite famous although the authorities could never put a name or face to the mysterious alarm expert. His passport went into a hospital incinerator upon his return. He recommenced his chosen career working on his own from a succession of squats until he was approached by a team from South London to assist them in emptying the contents of a jeweller’s shop. The tactic developed over a period of time. He charged a fee for opening a premises; he wasn’t interested in the take or lack of it…A deposit up front with the remainder within three days of the job, whether successful or not, was all he asked.

Since returning from the Far East, Edward Carter had lived off the grid. He paid neither income tax nor National Insurance. He didn't possess a driving licence, cell phone, bank account or Internet contract. In short, Edward Carter did not exist…

He had met the owner of his current home in a pub late one night in Tottenham after a job. He got talking to the man who had clearly had too much to drink. The man, one Calum Wilson was about the same age as him. He ended up sleeping on the floor of his room in the squat. Over a fried breakfast the next morning, Wilson told him that his little engineering business was going under during one of the frequent recessions that seemed to hit Britain over the years. Wilson had taken to drink and the business had sunk even lower. Carter had taken him back to his apartment in Kingsbury later that day and stayed with him whilst he sobered up. Carter borrowed Wilson’s car and drove to the warehouse. His mind was going ten to the dozen. The place was perfect for what he had in mind. The landlords were coming for him at the railway arch…

Edward Carter bought the warehouse from Calum Wilson for cash. He set about converting it after making quite a bit of money from the redundant machinery. Meanwhile Mr Wilson did his best to consume the cash in bottles and cans of extra strength larger.

The two of them were out one night when Calum Wilson fell asleep in the car on the way home and never woke up. Edward Carter emptied the man’s pockets of anything that could identify him and propped him up against a wall near a homeless persons’ illegal camp…

Carter had learnt enough about Wilson to know that there was no immediate family and no close friends. He had all but been abandoned when the drink took him. Going through the flat in Kingsbury, Carter had found the papers to the warehouse including demands for the business rates that didn’t appear to have been paid for some time. He had smiled at the pretty Asian clerk as he paid the arrears in cash at the town hall. Much of what he had given Wilson for the warehouse he found stuffed in a drawer in the bedroom.

Carter made sure the utilities and bills on the apartment were kept up to date by regularly topping up the bank account of the newly deceased. He had even gotten himself a passport in Wilson’s name safely delivered to the apartment, care of Her Majesty’s Passport Office. He terminated the contract for the phone and Internet and simply set the heating on frost protect.