I watched Emily drive out of the gated building. She was driving an Aston Martin. She seemed to have unlimited access to cars, like everything else.
I got across the road before the gate clanged shut, and getting into the main block took a good five minutes. I had a fine-tuned set of burglar keys given to me by a guy who now sat on the new water board. Still picking people’s pockets but with sanction, if not approval. The door to her apartment gave me a moment of pause. Would she booby-trap?
Oh, yeah.
So I was extremely careful, my heart hammering.
Finally the door opened and I stepped inside. An OCD wet dream. Spotless and everything in white: walls, sofas, coffee table. A lingering aroma of weed and patchouli. Not unpleasant.
There was an open-plan sitting room leading to a kitchen
