Border Princes

his eyes. ‘It’s October,’ he said. ‘It’s cold. School’s in. And we can hear an ice-cream van at ten thirty in the morning?’

Toshiko’s screen suddenly blipped. Solitaire folded up into the drag bar. A new window opened.

She sat up. ‘He-llo,’ she said.

She began to type.

‘Owen!’

He was shooting hoops with Ianto down by the cog-door.

‘Owen!’

‘What?’ he yelled back. ‘I said you could play the winner.’

‘Get here.’

He jogged up to join her at her station.

‘What?’

She pointed at her screen. ‘Say hello to my little friend.’

He squinted. ‘Blimey,’ he said. ‘That’s different.’

NINETEEN

They slammed the doors of the SUV. Jack led them across the street, his hands in his coat pockets.

The van had been parked on a meter between a Volvo and a Mondeo. Trees overhung from behind garden walls, and the broad pavement was slick with dead leaves.

‘Mr Swirly,’ Gwen read. The van was old, an old Commer, its paint job fading and peeling in places: decals of ice-cream cones and space-rocket ice lollies pasted over a pink and cream background. James pressed his hand against the back panel grille.

‘Still warm.’

Cupping his hands around his eyes, Jack peered in through the hatch window. The interior was gloomy, but it was reasonable to conclude that Mr Swirly hadn’t dispensed ice-cream products for a fair number of years.

‘Look around,’ Jack instructed, rotating his hand. ‘He’s got to be close.’

Jack went one way, Gwen and James the other. They walked along the damp pathway, past the raw smells of cyanothus and creosote-drenched fencing.

‘Posh houses,’ said Gwen. ‘I hate posh bloody houses with names. Look. Bindreamin’. What the bloody hell is that about?’

James shrugged.

‘Bindreamin’. I ask you. Do you think it’s the home of a retired garbage collector?’

‘That would be Binladen, surely?’

‘Oh, you’re going to hell then,’ she said.

‘You know what Julius Caesar called his house?’ James asked.

She looked at him. ‘This is a joke, isn’t it? Hang on. The Laurels? No, no, wait… Caesar’s Palace?’

‘Dunroman,’ he said.

She winced. ‘I do not believe you actually had the nerve to crack that one,’ she said. Her phone rang.

‘Yeah, hello?’

‘Concentrate. Please,’ said Jack’s voice.

They looked back down the street at Jack, and Gwen gave him a cheery wave.

‘Will do,’ she said into her phone and hung up.

They went past two more driveways.

‘And as for friggin’ gnomes,’ she began.

James touched her arm. She followed his line of sight. Across the street, down a gravel driveway, a young, good-looking man in a suit was standing at a front door with his back to them. He had a briefcase under his arm. He was talking to a middle-aged woman in a housecoat. The house was called Idlewhile.

Gwen pressed a fastkey on her phone. She let it ring once then hung up. Far away, down the street, Jack turned and immediately began making his way back towards them.

James and Gwen started across the road. They approached the gate.

‘Hang back,’ Gwen said quietly. ‘It’ll spook him right off if he sees two of us.’ James obediently stepped back behind a dwarf conifer at the gate post.

Gwen stopped in the open gateway.

‘Excuse me!’ she called.

The man turned and looked at her with a slightly baffled, slightly annoyed expression. The middle-aged woman didn’t react at all.

‘Excuse me,’ Gwen repeated. ‘Is that your van parked back there?’

‘What?’

‘Your van? The ice-cream van?’

‘Who are you?’ the man asked. He was stiff, wary. His briefcase lay in the crook of his arm, like a clipboard. It was unzipped.

‘I’m only asking because I could fancy a Ninety-Nine just now. Any chance?’

The man took a few steps back up the driveway towards her. He stared at her. The woman remained in the doorway of Idlewhile, gazing into space.

‘Are you joking?’ he asked.

‘No. I love Ninety-Nines, me.’

He took another step closer.

‘Are you police?’ he asked.

‘Maybe I am. Maybe I’m here to check your ice-cream permit. Maybe I’m from the cones hotline. Maybe I’ve come to examine your wafer waiver. Geddit?’

‘What?’

‘Now I’m joking. Keep up.’ She fixed him with a bright grin. ‘How d’you do it, then?’

‘How do I do what?’

‘What’ve got in the briefcase? What’s your secret?’

Dean Simms swallowed. He squeezed the soft lump in his briefcase.

Gwen took a step back. She got a sudden, strong smell of cut-grass and vanilla.

She turned and walked away. James stared at her as she went past him.

‘What are you doing?’ he hissed.

‘Oh, there you are,’ she smiled.

‘What are you doing?’

She shrugged. ‘I… I dunno…’

‘Gwen?’

The man with the briefcase came out of the driveway behind her and saw James. His face darkened.

James moved towards him.

‘These aren’t the droids you’re looking for,’ the man said.

‘What?’ asked James. ‘You what?’

Dean Simms gazed at James. ‘These aren’t the… you… you’re supposed to… ‘He squeezed the soft lump again.

‘Give me the briefcase,’ said James.

Dean hesitated, then turned and ran off down the street. A second later, Jack pounded by in pursuit.

‘Come on!’ Jack yelled as he went past.

‘Again with the running?’ James wailed, and set off after them.

Gwen, wrinkling her nose, stood there for a moment. She watched the three running figures recede down the