“Really?” Peters followed his lead, stretching his seatbelt to lean forward. “It's probably just cleaners or lights left on at workstations.”
“I suppose so.” White pulled into the same parking spot they'd used yesterday. Was it only yesterday? I felt like weeks had passed since they'd been here. “Let's find a caretaker to open the place up.”
“Yes, sir.” Peters slipped off his seatbelt. “You've got a warrant, haven't you?”
“Would I be so foolhardy?” White patted the breast of his jacket. Actually, he hadn't got a warrant. Asking for the removal of a super computer from the college because it was the project of two lads that were unofficially missing would have been a stretch for any magistrate, not least at four o'clock in the morning. Still, Peters trusted him to do the right thing, and the right thing wasn't always accompanied by the correct paperwork.
“Sorry sir. I had to ask.”
“Quite right, sergeant. I would expect no less of you.” He unfolded himself from the car and stood for a moment flexing his back. He'd been hunched in the seat too long. He put his hands in the small of his back and made a reverse arch. His spine cracked, the retort loud in the pre-dawn silence. “Aah! That's better.”
“You should get that looked at, sir. I can recommend a chiropractor. National health.”
“Nothing that a good stretch can't cure.” White locked the car. “Ready? Let's find a way in.”