Doctor Who_ The Dying Days - Lance Parkin [35]
Eve was standing there in that lace underwear she'd paid a thousand dollars for in Paris. Alan was the only person who had ever seen her in it.
'Alan ... ' she warned.
He frowned and looked around the room.
They had been burgled, by experts. They were both good at spotting the signs. As a matter of routine Eve left little bits of sticky tape on doors and on her suitcases to see if they'd been tampered with, and she was obsessive about noting exactly where she'd left her stuff. Over the years, Alan had begun to share this paranoia - it wasn't just mad dictators who didn't want their dirty little secrets exposed. In their time, Alan had had material stolen by the owners of a rat-infested old peoples' home and even by the manager of a fast-food restaurant who paid below minimum wage.
He was already checking his videotapes. 'Someone's been here, but they've not taken anything,' he announced.
The combination on the case had been altered, it had shifted slightly.
'The tapes could have been wiped.'
He shook his head. 'It's a hell of a lot easier to take them or smash them up. I'll check, though.'
Eve was looking through her notes and clippings. They'd picked the lock of her document wallet, but they hadn't removed a single disk or piece of paper.
'This is depressing,' Eve moaned.
'Why?'
'Nothing's been taken. Someone thought we were on to them, so they burgled our room, but they couldn't find a single thing. They didn't even trash the place to warn us off.'
Eve slumped on the bed.
34
Chesterton Road was a five-storey Georgian terrace that a hundred and fifty years ago would have been a row of town houses for affluent families. Since then times had changed and the rich had gone elsewhere - the buildings had been converted into flats, and regular maintenance had fallen by the wayside. Now the street had a vibrancy to it that the Victorians would have frowned on - the doors were painted in a rainbow or different colours, and hanging baskets and bright pots were scattered around, brightening the place up even more.
The Doctor and Bernice had walked uphill from the tube station and quickly located the right road. Finding the green door after that was simple enough - it was about halfway along the street. If it hadn't been lunch time there would be builders up on the roof, dropping slates down the big plastic chute into a yel ow skip. The Doctor rang the doorbell.
The Doctor checked his watch. They were two minutes early.
The intercom buzzed. 'Come up. Flat Two,' a gruff voice told them.
The door unbolted itself. The hallway inside was unfurnished. Bernice followed him in and closed the door behind her.
'Upstairs,' she told him.
The Doctor climbed the stairs, two at a time. Bernice lagged behind. 'Do try to keep up,' he called down to her.
The door to Flat Two was at the top of the second flight of stairs. The door was already ajar. He walked in, brandishing his bunch of violets.
'Oh, at least knock,' he heard Bernice plead as she reached the top of the stairs.
The flat was small. Three rooms and a little hal way linking them.
First, the Doctor stepped into the kitchen. There was a neat little breakfast bar as well as a gas cooker and a big fridge-freezer. On the fridge door there were half a dozen photos and a couple of postcards. Happy smiling couples in a park. The Doctor moved aside to let the newly-arrived Bernice examine the pictures.
'That's him,' she said, pointing.
'Yes, I know,' the Doctor said impatiently. His fingers found something. A packet full of gold rings. He pressed one of them up to the polythene bag, and