by Tom Bale
There was a heavy silence. Jen was determined to say nothing more, understanding that this was one of the techniques they employed, in the hope of drawing out a contradiction, an indiscretion.
After a few seconds, Reed took them back to the point when the car had gone, and Jen had to decide what to do. ‘You say you tried the neighbouring houses? What about across the street, or further along?’
‘The flats opposite are side-on to the road, so I wasn’t sure if anyone there would know the man. Leaving the set of keys with any old stranger didn’t feel right.’
‘But you’re a stranger to him,’ Reed said. ‘That’s what you’ve just told us.’
‘I am. But I know that I’m an honest person. Someone along the road might have gone in there and stolen. . .’ She trailed off, aware that she was painting herself into a corner. These police officers had no more reason to believe in her trustworthiness than Jen did in any of the man’s neighbours.
Reed looked dubious. ‘I’m still not sure why you had to go inside the house.’
‘Like I said, if I’d put the keys through the letterbox and they were the only set, he’d have had to get a locksmith out. I didn’t have a pen and paper on me.’
‘But you live just up the street?’ Howard chipped in.
‘There wasn’t time to go back. I did what I thought was the best thing at that moment. If I’d had any idea I would end up here. . .’
Reed grunted. ‘After pinning this note to the door—’
‘Taped,’ Jen corrected him. ‘I used some of the packing tape in the. . . the room full of artwork.’
‘Okay, you taped the note. And did you lock the front door after you?’
‘I didn’t have to use the key. The door locked when I shut it.’
‘Ah, right. I’m with you.’ Reed nodded, as though this detail was significant in some way. ‘So, the artwork. . . what did you make of it?’
Jen frowned. ‘I don’t see what that has to do with anything.’
‘Humour us,’ he suggested, with a cheeky grin.
‘Well, I thought it looked wonderful. Beautiful craftsmanship, and some really interesting subject matter.’
‘Valuable?’ Howard asked.
‘I would think so.’ She felt a rush of heat to her face as she saw where they were leading. ‘I didn’t take anything, I wouldn’t dream of—’
She broke off, not just because Reed was now opening that folder of his, but because she recalled how she had been tempted, just for a second; tempted to take something that wasn’t hers.
Wetting his thumb, the detective constable slid out two sheets of paper. Howard, as ever, was looking directly at Jen, her expression now regretful.
‘We’ve been given a very different account,’ she said. ‘The allegation from the tenant at number 14 is that you entered the house without his permission and caused damage to that artwork, which has a total retail value of approximately seven thousand pounds.’
As she finished off, Reed turned the papers over. There were two A4 photographs: one a wide shot of the room, the other a close-up of the dining table. In both, it was clear to see that practically every single piece had been destroyed. Someone had gone on the rampage, snapping and smashing and stamping until all that remained was a heap of unrecognisable fragments.
Jen gaped at the images. ‘That wasn’t me. W-why would I do that?’
Howard regarded her sadly, while Reed shrugged, and said, ‘You tell us.’
9
Jen swallowed. She was experiencing another dislocation, looking across at herself, stammering and trembling with the shock.
‘No. This is just. . . crazy. The room wasn’t like this when I left it.’
‘And yet you locked the door behind you,’ Reed reminded her. ‘That’s what you’ve just told us.’
Feeling like she’d been tricked, Jen said, ‘Other people might have keys. You said he’s a tenant – what about the landlord?’
‘She’s in Spain.’
‘Okay. A letting agent, then?’
Howard tutted. ‘It’s not impossible, but given that you’ve admitted going inside this morning, you’ll appreciate that we have to treat you as the likeliest suspect.’
‘You asked how we identified you.’ Reed took a silver disc from the folder and slotted it into the DVD player. ‘Well, the tenant had some concerns about a recent houseguest, so he took the precaution of setting up a hidden camera. We’d like you to take a look at this.’
Still stunned by the sight of the damage, Jen said nothing as the TV was switched on, and a small video file was played on the DVD.
The camera had been positioned in the hall, probably somewhere above the front door. There was a time code in the bottom right-hand corner of the image, beginning at 09:36. The top corner of the door swung into sight, and then Jen appeared, only her head and shoulders visible as she leaned over. Putting her bag down, she realised.
Viewed like this, her actions looked horribly suspicious. She was like a pantomime burglar, peeking into the living room, then creeping along the hall and out of sight. After a few seconds she reappeared, hesitated outside the dining room and knocked first – she recalled her sinister vision of the room being occupied – before opening the door.
The camera caught only a sliver of her on the threshold, but it was enough to show that she had paused before entering the room. In reality she’d been taken aback by the sight of the artwork, but to these detectives it might look as though she was preparing to attack.
‘This doesn’t mean anything. I’ve freely admitted that I went into the house.’ She indicated the TV screen. ‘Does it show me leaving? Because I was in there for hardly any time at all. It wasn’t long enough to do all that damage.’
‘I’m not so sure about that.’ Reed pressed fast forward and the image remained the same, though the numbers sped up. Jen waited, expecting to see herself emerge within a matter of seconds, but nothing happened.
She glanced at the detective, who watched impassively. A moment later he jabbed at the remote, and Jen saw herself crossing the hall. Reed hit pause again.
‘You were actually in there nearly four minutes,’ he said. ‘More than enough time to smash up a load of fragile ornaments.’
‘But I didn’t.’ The words emerged as a weary groan. ‘I’m not a vandal.’ She gestured again at the screen. ‘Are there any other cameras? Anything in the storeroom?’
‘Nope. Just this.’
‘It makes no difference, then. It doesn’t show me damaging anything.’
‘True. But it shows you entering the room and staying inside for four minutes.’
‘And I’ve explained why!’ It was the first time she’d raised her voice, and she saw the detectives look at her with a new interest. ‘I had to find a pen and paper, and then I was writing the note.’
‘Yes,’ said Howard drily. ‘The note.’
‘I stuck it to the door,’ Jen insisted, fired up by the scepticism in the detective’s tone. ‘If he’s been home today, he’ll have seen the note.’
‘That isn’t what he told us,’ Reed said. ‘Nothing about a note. Nothing about dropping any keys.’
‘Maybe he didn’t realise?’
Howard shook her head. ‘He says he was given two sets when he took out the rental. One for his girlfriend, which is what he’s using now. . .’ A glance at her colleague, who dealt the next blow:
‘And the set he reported missing, yesterday afternoon.’
‘Yesterday?’ Jen repeated, dumbly.
‘They vanished while he was at the gym, sometime around 4 p.m. on Sunday.’
Howard added, ‘The Skyway gym, to be precise.’
‘Hold on.’ Once again, Jen’s voice was too thick with emotion to risk saying anything more. She turned away from them, covering her face with her hands. It was the worst sort of body language, but she didn’t care about that right now. She had to create at least the illusion of privacy for a moment, until she could absorb the impact of this new and terri
ble shock.
‘Sure you wouldn’t like something to drink?’ Howard asked softly.
‘Please. Some water would be good.’
Reed fetched a Styrofoam cup of water and both officers waited patiently while Jen took a few sips. Then she wiped her face with her hands and took a large, calming breath.
‘You’re saying he notified the police that he’d lost his keys?’
‘Yesterday afternoon,’ Reed confirmed, glancing at his computer screen. ‘He phoned John Street station at. . . 17:47.’
‘But he can’t have. Or it can’t be the same set of keys.’ Jen paused, determined not to sound distraught. ‘He dropped them on the grass, I swear to you. I ran after the car as it was driving away, but they didn’t notice.’ She gasped, remembering something. ‘A delivery driver saw me, standing in the middle of the road.’
‘Any details?’ Howard asked. ‘Do you know which company?’
Jen tried to picture the van’s livery, but got nothing. Desperate to find a flaw, something she could dispute, she said, ‘If he genuinely lost his keys, why didn’t he get the locks changed?’
Reed suppressed a snort. ‘We’re talking about less than a day later. Plus it’s a rented property.’
‘These things have to be done via the agents,’ Howard pointed out.
‘I know that. I rent myself. But if I was in that position, I wouldn’t go out and leave the house unattended.’
Reed said, ‘He thought it was a low risk, because when the keys went missing there wasn’t anything to identify his address.’
‘Though I daresay the staff at the Skyway have access to the membership records?’ Howard phrased it as a question, but Jen could see from her face that she already knew the answer. Yes, they did.
‘I wasn’t working yesterday, so I couldn’t have accessed the system.’
But you popped in during the afternoon, a voice in her head spoke up. It was just for a few minutes, returning an Xbox game that one of her colleagues had lent to Charlie. And the centre’s CCTV had probably picked her up.
She breathed loudly through her nose, and in a new spirit of defiance, she thought: I’m not telling them that. They can go to hell.
In a slow, deliberate voice, Reed said, ‘The tenant’s name is a Mr Alex Wilson. Can I ask you again whether Mr Wilson is known to you?’
‘I’ve told you. Only by sight.’
‘A nodding acquaintance?’ asked Howard. ‘Nothing more than that.’
‘Exactly.’ Jen let out a frustrated sigh. ‘Why, has he claimed that he knows me?’
‘Is there any reason why he should?’
Jen shook her head, determined to let them answer her question for once. Reed stared at his screen for a few seconds.
‘He’s denying that he knows you to speak to. When he discovered the damage, he reviewed the footage from his camera and realised he’d seen you walking past in the mornings. He also thought he knew you from the Skyway. He checked their website and found a picture of you on the page for the climbing centre.’
‘So, if we’re both saying the same thing, why do you keep asking if I know him?’
‘An action like this,’ Reed said, ‘we’ve got to wonder if it isn’t a domestic issue.’
‘You’re not serious?’
Howard ignored the sarcasm. ‘Do you know Mr Wilson’s girlfriend?’
‘I didn’t realise he had one. There was a woman driving the car he got into this morning, but I didn’t see her clearly. I’ve never seen anyone come out of the house.’
‘And you’re not in a relationship with him? You’ve never been in a relationship with him at any time in the past?’
‘No. This is farcical. I mean, even if I had, I’m not in the habit of destroying people’s property.’
Howard pursed her lips, while Reed leaned over to study the photographs once more. He said, ‘This is serious stuff, Jen. The value of the damaged artwork means that a conviction could result in a prison sentence. Right now, the evidence against you is looking pretty persuasive.’
‘And that’s just for the criminal damage,’ Howard added. ‘There’s also an allegation of theft. Mr Wilson reported the loss of one of the pieces, worth approximately four hundred pounds.’
Reed consulted the computer. ‘A figurine of the, uh, Celtic goddess, it says here. Elen of the Ways.’
‘What?’ Jen’s exclamation was instinctive, but she knew at once that she’d given something away. Elen was the broken piece of artwork that she’d noticed in the waste bin. The one she’d picked up and admired, and been tempted to—
She felt a rush of heat to her face. Reed was leaning forward over his desk. ‘Anything you can tell us about that?’
Jen shook her head, lips clamped together like a child sworn to silence. A knock on the door brought some welcome respite.
Howard was closest, but it was Reed who stood up – a consequence of his lower rank, presumably. He opened the door in such a way that Jen couldn’t see who was outside. After a murmur of conversation, something was handed over and the door closed.
Jen took a deep breath, preparing to fight off whatever ludicrous accusation was coming next, but then Reed turned and placed an evidence bag on the desk. Through the clear plastic she could see the figurine: the horned goddess, Elen.
‘You’re aware that a search was being carried out at your home,’ Reed said. ‘Well, what I’m showing you now is Exhibit WAF/2. It was found this evening, hidden in a chest of drawers in your bedroom.’
10
With a better atmosphere between them, Russell went outside and did some more painting, taking it slowly this time, partly to avoid the witch’s company while there was any danger of her getting amorous. He’d sorted himself out three times today, and things down there were feeling a little. . . chafed.
Kelly had talked of going to the gym, but after fretting so much about the curtain she ended up taking it down and soaking it in various solutions to remove the paint. She was making another attempt when the doorbell rang.
‘I’ll go,’ she called, as though it were some great hardship.
‘Thanks!’ he had to call back, or else she’d take offence. She was a woman who required constant praise, along with confirmation that she was the one who worked hardest, who took on the biggest chores and responsibilities and who suffered and sacrificed and achieved far more than he did.
Which was undoubtedly true, but how bloody tiresome to keep bringing it up?
He ran the roller out to arm’s length, then placed it carefully in the tray and took a step towards the back door. A visitor at this time of the evening was an anomaly.
Leaning into the kitchen, he listened hard and made out Kelly’s voice, an exclamation of surprise and then something downbeat: a denial. The other voice was female, too; sounded quite serious, but also young.
Russell liked young.
Intrigued, he stepped inside and heard the witch saying, ‘. . . here all day. You ought to speak to him.’
A little flare of panic: the police? Why?
But he had it under control at once.
This wasn’t about him. It couldn’t be.
He waited until the summons came, then shouted ‘Okay!’ and made a couple of stamping noises on the kitchen floor. He noticed a blob of paint on the back of his hand and swiped it across his cheek, then mussed his hair for extra effect: man at work.
He was sweating lightly, which was about right. Heart beating fast, from excitement, but also a reaction to the danger. Encounters with the police were best avoided; he imagined it was a job where you developed an instinct for deviance, so there was always a slight chance they’d ‘see’ something in him, demand to come in and search, seize the computers—
Stop it. He smiled but it felt too wide, so he toned it down, only to crank it back up when he set eyes on the cop.
She was on her own, slim and dark, couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. That ugly shapeless uniform, of course, but his expert gaze lingered on
her chest, then the face: a bit narrow, the nose too long, but good blowjob lips.
And flinty blue eyes, running an appraisal of their own.
With a goofy grin, he said, ‘Sorry. Painting the house.’
‘Oh God, you’re still covered in it.’ Kelly’s exasperation had a comical edge that was purely for the cop’s benefit. We’re both acting, he thought, in our different ways.
‘How can I help? What’s happened?’
‘I was explaining to your wife, there was a break-in along the street, around nine thirty this morning. I wondered if you might have seen anything?’ She was holding a clipboard, a pen poised above it.
‘Nine thirty?’ He pretended to think. ‘No, I was out in the back garden by then. I didn’t hear anything suspicious, either – no windows breaking or anything like that.’
‘The, uh, intruder may have had keys.’
‘Oh, I see.’
He thought it best not to show too much interest, but Kelly said, ‘That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it? How did he get hold of the keys?’
‘The suspect is female, actually. How she gained possession of the keys is something we’re trying to find out.’
The witch reacted with: ‘Very fishy,’ so Russell felt brave enough to raise his eyebrows and grimace. ‘Uh oh. Relationship gone wrong, maybe?’
‘That’s a possibility, I suppose. But you’re sure you didn’t see anything this morning?’
‘Not a thing.’ He’d eased in front of Kelly, so she couldn’t see his flirtatious smile. ‘Sorry I can’t be of more help to you.’
‘That’s fine.’ The cop didn’t seem to notice the smile. ‘I’ll let you get back to your painting.’
When they closed the door, Kelly headed straight to the lounge window. She wouldn’t see much, Russell knew. He was three inches taller than her, and even he had to lean and stretch for a full view of number 14.
‘Did they take our details?’ he asked.
‘Only the basics. Why?’
‘No reason.’
‘I wonder what it’s all about,’ she said, still on tiptoe. ‘Sounds to me like they know who she is.’