by David Wilson
Alasdair leaned out and looked up and down the street, ‘Where’s everyone else? They haven’t just sent you have they?’
‘Yes, sir. May I come in?’ Alasdair was glowering at him as he opened up the door and waved him in.
‘What about forensics, where are they? And what about CID, I assume they’ll be coming?’ PC Buchan waited in the hall to be shown where to go, since there were several doors leading off.
‘No, sir. I’m here to take a statement and have a look at the scene. From the information we received when you called last night it sounds like a common burglary so we won’t need forensics. They’re very busy today with a murder in any case.’ He watched as Alasdair walked ahead into the lounge, muttering over his shoulder as he went.
‘The last thing this is, young man, is a common burglary as you put it! Did they tell you what has actually happened? I know that you people are not always the most effective at these things.’
‘Us people, sir?’
‘Yes, the police. I know very well why they’ve only sent one person. I doubt if there’s much credit to be had in following up what you think is a simple burglary, but this could be the making of your career. Reputations have been secured in solving crimes such as this, like the man that tracked down the Great Train Robbers, look at him, or Jack the Ripper.’
‘I don’t think they ever caught Jack the Ripper, sir.’
‘Exactly! I rest my case.’
PC Buchan was about to answer when a woman entered and Alasdair greeted her in an exaggerated gesture, ‘Ah Sophie, there you are. This is the cavalry in the form of … what was your name?’
‘PC Buchan.’ Sophie smiled at him, introduced herself and offered him a seat. She seemed much more reasonable and he sensed he should make her the focus of his enquires. He declined a cup of tea, feeling the weight of Alasdair’s stare on him.
‘If you could explain to me what happened and what items have gone missing?’ He listened and jotted down some notes of the facts from Sophie as Alasdair paced around behind the sofa she was sitting on. ‘So the only items stolen were a pair of slippers?’
‘They were not just any old slippers,’ Alasdair said, his face aghast, ‘these slippers were a part of our national history and once belonged to Sir Walter Scott.’
PC Buchan didn’t look overly impressed. ‘I see.’
‘But do you see, young man? They were bought only a few weeks ago at a price of eight thousand pounds! Not exactly a common item to be stolen in a common burglary, wouldn’t you say?’
PC Buchan nodded slowly. ‘I suppose that’s true. So to be clear, sir, you paid eight thousand pounds for a pair of slippers? I mean for the antiques?’
Before Alasdair could launch into another outburst, Sophie stepped in quickly. ‘Perhaps if we show you the back door where they came in and also the study from where the items were taken?’ She led him through to the kitchen and he had a look at the door.
‘It does seem to have been opened quite skilfully,’ he said. ‘No crowbar marks or signs of force. They must have opened it with the lock. Does anyone else have a key?’ Sophie shook her head.
‘No, there’s just myself and my husband. Our son has a key but he lives in America.’
PC Buchan examined the lock. ‘It’s quite an old lock; you might want to get it changed. It wouldn’t have taken much to open this.’ He stood up again. ‘If I can have a look at the study now?’ Sophie led him through the house to the study, with Alasdair following behind, his foul mood not helping in the least.
Alasdair strode over to his bookcase. ‘There you are, the scene of the crime. I kept them in this glass case, it has specially treated glass to keep the sunlight from harming them.’ PC Buchan noted this down, hoping that his involuntary eye rolling had not been seen. I wish I had money to waste on stuff like this, he thought, eight grand for slippers and keeping them in a glass case. He noted down a description of the case and the slippers, ‘So nothing else was taken? Any drawers or cupboards opened or ransacked?’ Sophie shook her head, ‘Have you checked all of your jewellery Mrs Mills?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, all accounted for. It seems they haven’t touched anything except the slippers. Oh, and the waste-paper basket. They must have kicked it over and there’s a footprint on this piece of paper.’ PC Buchan stooped down to look at it, humming thoughtfully, ‘It doesn’t look muddy, and there weren’t any other footprints by the back door?’
Alasdair shook his head. ‘What exactly does that tell you?’
‘Well Mr Mills, it was raining yesterday evening and if the burglar had come in at that time I would have expected there to be some footprints evident near the back door at the very least. Since this looks clean, they must have come in before the rain, which suggests to me they must have known you were out and took their opportunity.’
Alasdair looked unimpressed. ‘How do you come to that conclusion?’ PC Buchan gave a sigh which he should have regretted, but he couldn’t help himself.
‘Because Mrs Mills told me before that you only went out around half past six. It was still daylight at that time and the rain only came on later in the evening. So the burglar must have come in and out during daylight, which suggests some confidence in their ability. Wouldn’t you agree? It doesn’t suggest some opportunistic night prowler. That and the fact they only took the slippers suggests it was an intended break-in for the slippers in particular.’ Alasdair grudgingly agreed and although keeping it well hidden, he now had some small amount of respect for the young officer. PC Buchan walked back out of the study and down to the entrance hall, ‘I have as much as I need for now Mr and Mrs Mills. Given the circumstances I think it might be a good idea if we do have our forensic team come by to check for fingerprints and remove the paper with the footprint. If you would be so kind as to stay out of the study until they’ve been and avoid touching the back door any further that would increase our chances of finding something.’ Sophie thanked him for his help, while Alasdair said nothing, and she showed PC Buchan out of the front door.
Sophie came back in to find Alasdair pacing around the lounge.
‘I don’t know why I paid my taxes all these years Sophie. One police officer, for a crime of this magnitude! I ask you.’
She put a hand on his arm. ‘Calm down. He was very good and he did say he’ll get forensics to come out to look for, whatever it is they look for.’
‘Clues perhaps?’ Alasdair said sarcastically.
Sophie fixed him with a glare. ‘I don’t think having an attitude with me will help the situation, do you?’ He said nothing and sat down knowing that he was in danger of getting the sharp end of her tongue, ‘I’ll get us a cup of tea,’ she said, ‘in fact maybe a nice stiff drink would be better. This is all very upsetting knowing someone was in our home.’
Chapter Nine
‘So here you are?’ Emma jerked her head up, startled by the unexpected voice, but it was Abigail standing over her, smiling, ‘May I sit down?’
Emma quickly wiped away the tears that had been running down her cheeks. ‘Erm … yeah, if you want to.’ Emma shuffled along to the end of the bench and Abigail sat down, and placed the plastic box she had been carrying on her lap, ‘I thought I’d take an early lunch too and I saw you over here and thought we might have lunch together. We’ve never done that, but it’s quite nice to have someone to have lunch with, don’t you think?’
Emma looked at her, bewildered. ‘I suppose so, although I don’t have anything with me, I just needed some fresh air.’
‘I have more sandwiches than I need, here, take one of mine. They’re just ham salad but I made them myself, none of the shop bought things that you can get. I always find those so expensive, don’t you? And how they get away with calling that stuff ham is beyond me, you’d think the EU would have something to say; they seem to have something to say on everything else, don’t they?’ Abigail thought Emma might refuse her hospitality, but she picked up a sandwich and thanked her and then started to eat it,
as Abigail did likewise. The sun was shining down through the trees, and the warmth hit them both, as they just sat and gazed out over the grass with the statue of Rob Roy standing over them, his sword held aloft. Emma glanced towards Abigail, who had her face turned up to the sun and her eyes closed, enjoying the heat on her face. Hesitantly she said, ‘I’ve left my husband. This morning I packed my bag and just left.’
Abigail opened her eyes and then put the lid on her lunchbox. ‘Can I ask why?’
‘Cheating. I found out he was cheating on me, yet again, and I couldn’t take it any more. Now I don’t know what to do as I’ve got nowhere to go. I feel so stupid, I’m going to have to go back home tonight, unpack my bag and then start again and he’ll have won, again. It’s like I’m stuck there.’
‘Don’t you have any family or friends you could go to?’
Emma sighed. ‘No, my family were against this from the start and I took John’s side and didn’t keep in contact with them, and much the same story with my friends. I thought he would be the only one I needed, but it turns out that was a load of crap. Stupid.’
Abigail turned to face her. ‘No Emma, not stupid. Maybe unwise but then none of us know everything, we all have to live and learn. I’m sure your family would understand though, wouldn’t they?’
‘I don’t know, I said some horrible things and it’s been so long. I can’t go to them now after that. I’ll just need to bear it, it’s my bed and I’ll need to lie in it.’
‘You could do that, but then how many other women will also be lying in that bed when you’re not there?’ Emma looked at Abigail, tears again running down her face. Abigail put a hand over hers, ‘I’ve not had the experience you’ve had. I was married for forty years to a wonderful man and I miss him like mad. There’s no reason you shouldn’t have that as well, and if you start again now you could, my goodness you’re so young. I’ve not met this John, but one thing I know is you never realise the damage people like him are doing to you until it’s too late. They’re like lead poisoning Emma, you don’t notice it happening but they slowly kill you and by the time you discover it, then it’s too late.’ Emma rested her elbow on the arm of the bench and put her head in her hand, and Abigail could see her shaking, holding back the emotions going on inside her.
‘I’ll need to try and find someplace to go, maybe there’s a women’s refuge or something I can go to until I can sort myself out.’
Abigail thought for a moment. ‘I think they’re usually for women who’ve been abused. Might be difficult to get into one of those, but I do have another suggestion.’ Emma looked over at her hopefully. ‘You could come and stay with me. I’ve plenty of room and there’s just me so it would be nice to have the company.’
Emma shook her head. ‘No, I couldn’t, it’s too much. I couldn’t just come and stay with you, you don’t even really know me.’
‘No, but we’d soon change that, and you’d get to know me as well. You never know, you might find me to be terrible to live with!’ Emma said nothing, but Abigail could see in her eyes she was torn trying to decide what to do, ‘Come on, even if it’s only for tonight, at least it gives you time to think what you’re going to do.’
Emma nodded and smiled. ‘Thank you.’
Abigail stood up before she could say any more. ‘No need to thank me, it’ll be good. Now, I don’t think you’re in any state to work the rest of today so I’m going to fetch your holdall and we’ll go and get you settled in. Miss Stewart can manage for the rest of the day, which will do her good!’
Chapter Ten
Emma laid her holdall on the bed in Abigail’s spare room and sat down next to it, looking around and taking in the décor. It was a reasonable size, like most rooms in Victorian houses, and had been decorated with green and white large-print wallpaper on one wall, which also had a black cast-iron fireplace and mahogany surround. The curtains were carefully picked to complement the wallpaper, as were the covers on the bed. Emma noted that the bed was a queen size and there was no duvet, but it was dressed with sheets and a heavy bedspread. The debate would rage on for ever and a day about which was better, but at this time, Emma just recalled that this was what she had when she was young, when things were good and easy, and the memory comforted her. There was a light knock on the door, and Abigail’s voice drifted through, ‘Emma, I’ve got the kettle on if you like, I thought a nice cup of tea might be in order?’
‘That would be great, thank you. I’ll be down in a moment.’ Emma stood up and looked out of the window to the front of the house, the street outside lined with trees, and the similar properties over the road. This is how life should be, she thought, maybe there is hope for me yet if I can get my act together. Well, maybe.
As Emma walked into the lounge, with its large bay window and traditional furniture, Abigail was setting down a tray on the coffee table with a pot of tea, two mugs and two custard tarts. She sat down on the couch as Abigail took what was her usual chair at the side of the fire, and poured them each a mug of tea. Abigail handed Emma her mug and a plate with a tart. ‘Sorry it’s not the proper teacups, I just find these much easier and I find them more comforting. A bit more homely, I always think tea cups are for formal occasions.’
‘That’s fine, did you make the tarts yourself?’
‘I did, an old recipe of my mother’s which I find still hasn’t been bettered. Where do your parents stay?’ Although Abigail was a tactful and thoughtful person, there were times when it was better to just ask. People were sometimes a little taken aback, but you could waste an awful lot of time skirting around things.
Emma sipped her tea, looking out of the window. ‘Glasgow. At least that’s where they were the last time I was in touch with them. It’s been a while.’
‘What brought you through here?’
Emma shifted a little in her seat and her face flushed slightly. ‘John worked here when I met him and I moved in with him after we were married. My mum said it was a mistake and I would regret it and things seemed to escalate from there. We had a big bust up and, well, the rest is history.’
Abigail sat back in her chair. ‘Quite. But the question really is what you choose to do with the future?’
‘I’m not sure how many choices I have at the moment to be honest. I’ve no money behind me, and I’m not sure where I go from here.’
‘Nonsense!’ The sudden rise in Abigail’s tone of voice startled Emma, ‘You’ve got it all to play for now, and today could be the most important day of your life. You shouldn’t underestimate what you’ve done today – you’ve decided that you’re not going to let someone else dictate the course of your life and you’ve taken back control. As far as I can see, the future could be whatever you want to make it.’
Emma put her mug down and walked over to the window, standing with her back to Abigail. ‘It doesn’t feel like it. I mean I don’t know where I can go, what I can do with my life …’
‘These are all things that can be worked out later my dear, for now you just need to take some time and sort yourself out and, without trying to sound too Oprah, find out who you are again. You’re most welcome to stay here as long as you want. I’ve plenty of room and it’s very handy for work as well, and you’d be helping me out too.’ Emma turned around as Abigail had risen from her chair and picked up a photograph from the sideboard and handed it to her. It was a photograph of a young woman in her wedding dress, and next to her was a handsome man in a three-piece suit, both beaming at the camera. ‘That’s my Arthur and me on our wedding day, fourteenth of August nineteen sixty four. I was nineteen and he was twenty-two and we both just knew when we met that we were meant to be together, we could just feel it. We were married for over forty years, until he died of a heart attack last year. It’s like losing a piece of yourself when you lose someone after that long together, but you have to try to pick up the pieces and go on as best you can. Maybe we’re both heading down similar roads.’
Emma put the photograph back on the sideboard. �
��Maybe.’
They sat back down in their seats and sipped their tea for a moment, before Abigail laid her head back on her chair, gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling.
‘I remember my mother telling me of one of the mottos they had during the war, since things were in short supply you couldn’t just replace clothes or household things. You had to “make do and mend”, and maybe that’s what we need to do now. Things might not be the same for either of us, for different reasons, but we must make do and mend.’ She smiled thoughtfully and tea was drunk in silent contemplation.
Chapter Eleven
The forensic team came earlier than expected and Alasdair watched as they dusted the back door and then in and around the study to check for fingerprints. ‘Don’t you normally wear blue paper suits for your work?’ he asked. The lead member of the forensic team kept working. ‘Not for this type of job, sir.’
Alasdair had calmed down quite a bit by now and was secretly enjoying the fact that he had a forensic team on his case. ‘I see you’re like the American’s on the television then, they never wear the blue suits at all when they visit a crime scene. I’ve seen them on CSI wherever and they just go in and solve crimes straightaway. Not like they do on Lewis or Morse, where they always have the blue suits on. Are we less careful over here and need to take extra precautions?’ The forensics man stood up and faced Alasdair.
‘Those programmes are full of nonsense,’ he said gruffly. ‘We do the job right and when we need to we put on the blue suits. It’s standard procedure. I’m surprised most of the people in those shows aren’t in prison what with the amount of forensics they must leave behind them! Big bouncy hair and sporty training shoes, lovely to find traces of those but not if they belong to you. Now if you don’t mind sir, we won’t be too much longer.’ Alasdair retreated to the lounge and waited for them to finish.