Bad Magic by A. M. Stirling

Author:A. M. Stirling [Stirling, A. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wombach Press
Published: 2019-09-30T16:00:00+00:00

14

The police were already at the house; a van and an unmarked Ford saloon parked by the steps that led up to the front door. Amanda must have been listening for Richard’s car; she was waiting for him when he stepped into the hall.

“Come and have a look at the scene of the crime, Dickie.”

She grabbed his hand, and led him into the dining room. There was a chill in the air and the curtains billowed in the breeze. A uniformed policeman was examining the lock on the French windows. One of the panes had been smashed out and jagged glass stuck out around the edges of the frame. More broken glass was scattered over the parquet floor. It crunched under Richard’s foot as he stepped forward for a better look. The officer swirled black powder over the paintwork with a brush, leaving a trail of oily marks across the surface.

“Fingerprints,” the policeman said, looking up at Richard. “They jemmied the gate to the back lane. And then smashed the glass. Small pane, single glazed. Easypeasy.”

“We must have left the key in the lock,” said Amanda. “Whoever it was just reached in and used it to open the door.”

“The insurance people are going to love that,” said Richard, staring at the fingerprints. “Is that lot any use?”

“Can’t tell,” said the policeman. “I’ll have to take yours. For elimination purposes, obviously.”

“Obviously,” said Richard, going over to stare at the dark patch of wallpaper where the Verelst had hung.

“I’m not used to putting the alarm on before I go to bed,” said Amanda. “It’s upsetting, isn’t it?”

“It was a wonderful painting, you know,” he said, turning to face her, but he couldn’t read her expression. “I just hope we see it again.”

They went into the sitting room. A young woman in a navy trouser suit, her red hair tied up in a ponytail, was sitting on the sofa with a notebook in her hand. Richard supposed she was a detective interviewing his grandmother. Jane sat on the edge of her chair looking down at a tissue in her hands, and pulling at it obsessively.

“Nana,” said Richard.

“Oh, darling,” she said, taking his hand. “This is such a terrible thing. We were asleep in our beds. Anything could have happened to us.”

He squeezed her hand and kissed her on the cheek. The detective was looking at him expectantly.

“I’m DS Walsh,” she said. “We’re just trying to find out what’s been taken.”

“Nana, have you checked to see what they took?”

“Is that all you care about?” said Jane. “Don’t you care what might have happened to us?”

“Our handbags have gone,” said Amanda. “And with them all our credit cards and the keys to the house.”

Walsh told them that the handbags had been found in the back lane.

“Empty, of course,” she said.

“I don’t understand,” said Amanda. “The TV, the computer, things like that, they’re still here. Isn’t that what they’d normally take?”

“They might come back,” said Jane. “They have the keys now. They can just let themselves in whenever they want to.

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