Raven's Gate

a retired policeman who was half-asleep most of the time, with his feet up and his head buried in a newspaper. Charlie knew all this because a friend of his had been in to do some electrical work. According to Charlie, you could break in with a bent paper clip and you could probably walk out with a couple of hundred quid’s worth of equipment. It was easy, just waiting to be taken.
    That was why the two of them had arranged to meet here. Matt had agreed to the idea when they were talking about it, but half of him had thought Kelvin wasn’t being serious. The two of them had done plenty of things together. Under Kelvin’s guidance, they’d stolen stuff from supermarkets, and once they’d driven off in someone’s car. But Matt knew this was much worse. This was serious. It was breaking and entering. Burglary. Real crime.
    “Are you sure about this?” Matt asked.
    “Sure I’m sure. What’s the problem?”
    “If we get caught…”
    “We won’t. Charlie says they don’t even have CCTV.” Kelvin rested a foot on the wall. Matt noticed he was wearing a pair of brand new Nikes. He had often wondered how Kelvin could afford his clothes. Now, he supposed, he knew. “Come on, Matt,” Kelvin went on. “If you’re going to be such a wuss, I’m not sure I want to hang out with you. What’s the big deal?”
    A look of exasperation had crept into Kelvin’s face and in that moment, Matt knew he would have to go. If he didn’t, he would lose his only friend. When Matt had first started at St Edmund’s Comprehensive in Ipswich, Kelvin had taken him under his wing. There had been kids who thought Matt was weird. Other kids had tried to bully him. Kelvin had helped see them off. And it was useful having Kelvin just a few doors away in Eastfield Terrace, where Matt lived with his aunt and her partner. When things were really bad, there was always somewhere to go. And he had to admit that it was flattering, hanging out with someone three years older than him.
    “There’s no big deal,” he said. “I’ll come.”
    And that was it. The decision had been made. Matt tried to damp down the sense of rising fear. Kelvin slapped him on the back. The two of them set off together.
    Darkness came very quickly. It was the end of March but there was little sign of spring. It had rained heavily all month and the night still seemed to arrive before it was meant to. As they reached the industrial zone, the street lamps flickered on, throwing pools of ugly orange light on to the ground. The area was fenced off with signs warning that this was private property, but the fence was rusty and full of holes, and the only other barrier was the wild grass and thistles that sprouted all around where the tarmac ended. Railway lines stretched out overhead, high up on a series of brick supports, and as the two boys approached quietly, flitting through the shadows, a train rattled past on its way to London.
    There were about a dozen buildings in all. Some had advertisements painted on the side: L for Leather, office furniture. J.B. Stryker Auto Engineering. Spit & Polish Industrial Cleaning. Kelvin’s warehouse was unmarked. It was a long, rectangular block with corrugated iron walls and a sloping, tiled roof. It had been built slightly apart from its neighbours, separated from them by a row of bottle banks and a junk heap of cartons and old tyres. There was nobody in sight. The whole area seemed deserted and forgotten.
    The main entrance to the warehouse – a large, sliding door – was at the front. There were no windows, but Kelvin led Matt round to a second door at the side. The two of them were crouching now, hurrying through the darkness on tiptoe. Matt tried to relax, to enjoy what they were doing. This was an adventure, wasn’t it? An hour from now, they’d be laughing about it with their pockets full of cash. But he was uneasy, and when Kelvin reached into his pocket and produced a knife, his stomach tightened and he felt even worse.
    “What’s that for?” he whispered.
    “Don’t worry. It’s just to get us in.”
    Kelvin inserted the point of the blade into the crack between the door and its frame, and began to play with the bolt. Matt watched him without saying anything, secretly hoping that the door wouldn’t open. The lock looked secure enough and it seemed somehow improbable that the seventeen-year-old would be able to unfasten it with anything as cumbersome as a knife. But then there was a click and light spilled