Private London (Private 4)

KIRSTY WEBB AND DI Natalie James stood in front of the exposed safe.

Looking for a series of numbers that would open it, they had been through Chappel’s diary and every bit of paperwork.

Nothing.

DI Webb was convinced that they would be written down somewhere. They always were. When it came to passwords or codes, the public were pretty bad like that.

It was like leaving a key under the doormat, or in a wellington boot on the back porch, or under a flowerpot as millions of people throughout the country did. Might as well just leave the door wide open and a welcome mat for burglars to wipe their feet on.

Kirsty nibbled on a thumbnail, then pulled out her mobile and tapped in some numbers.

‘Dan,’ she said when it was answered, ‘I need your mate Gary’s number.’ She listened for a moment. ‘I’ve got a safe that needs opening, that’s why! It’s a combination dial. And I can’t find the code anywhere … okay, I’ll try that and call you back if I need you.’

‘Who was that?’ asked DI James after she hung up.

‘My ex-husband.’

‘That wise?’

‘I certainly wasn’t wise marrying him.’

‘I meant telling him what you’re up to.’

‘He runs a private detective agency. He’s been helping me.’

DI James threw her a pointed look. ‘Like fast-tracking DNA identification.’

Kirsty nodded. ‘So forth and suchlike.’

‘And this Gary – he’s a security consultant for him?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Must be some agency to run a DNA check that fast, and with the Romanian police.’

‘He’s with Private International.’

‘Yeah. They have resources,’ DI James said dryly. She nodded at the safe. ‘So what’s he suggest?’

‘That we try his date of birth. Most common numeric aide-memoire, apparently.’

‘Aide-memoire, you say?’

‘Dan’s been to college. Thinks he’s smart.’

‘And is he?’ DI James pulled out her notebook and flicked through a couple of pages.

‘He’s smart in some areas, dumb as a box of rocks in the ones that count.’

DI James stepped up to the safe and spun the dial clockwise and counterclockwise a number of times. She paused and tried the handle.

Nothing.

‘Try his number plate,’ Kirsty suggested.

DI James flicked through her notebook, spun the dial again a few times and turned the handle.

Open sesame.