Atlantic Street was quiet, with a chill rain hosing down the dirt of the day and not a single light in the malign eyes of the windows. Watters knelt at the door of the Wild Geese and examined the padlock. It was reliable and serviceable, but he knew he could pick it open in seconds. He applied gentle pressure to the door; it held at the top and bottom where bolts were drawn on the inside.
Swearing, Watters muttered, 'No entry that way,' and checked the windows.
All had four wooden shutters, with each slotted into place and a padlock over the central two: to move one would mean moving all, an operation that would take time, and with no way of replacing them while he was inside, Constable Anderson would notice their absence on his return in thirty minutes.
'Well secured, Mother Flannery,'
