She’d seen him occasionally since he moved in three months earlier.
They’d never spoken at any length. Indeed, she couldn’t remember speaking to any of the other residents for more than three or four minutes at a time ever since she’d taken up residence in the block.
Everyone above, below and around her could be dead in their beds for all she knew. The residents didn’t socialise much.
There were two couples about her own age on the floor below who she’d seen together sometimes but, apart from that, contact was limited to polite nods of recognition or perfunctory bouts of conversation in the lifts.
That was the way in London.
And that was the way Cath liked it.
She did manage a warm smile at her fellow lift traveller and received a similar gesture in return, aware of his gaze lingering on her legs, tightly clad in denim.
‘I hate shopping’ the man said, nodding towards the two bulging carriers she’d put down on the floor.
‘Me too,’ Cath said, jabbing button one.
The lift doors slid shut.
‘My girlfriend does all my shopping for me’ the man said, a little too smugly for Cath’s liking.
She glanced at him again, saw him looking at her more intently.
When he noticed she was aware of his admiring glances at her legs and buttocks he did little to disguise the fact: merely smiled to himself.
‘Are you married?’ he asked.
She shook her head.
‘I’m getting married soon,’ the man told her.
‘Isn’t your girlfriend lucky?’ Cath said, sarcastically.
As the lift bumped to a halt, she picked up her shopping and stepped out.
‘See you around’ he said as the doors slid shut.
‘Not if I see you first’ she whispered under her breath.
Jesus, what a creep.
She reached the door to her flat and put down one of the shopping bags, fumbling in her pocket for her keys.
As she did she leaned against the front door.
It swung open.
Cath stepped back, shocked, her heart suddenly thumping heavily against her chest.
She put down the other shopping bag and stood at the doorway, ears straining to catch any sound from within.
Cath inspected the lock, noticed some small scratches on it. The metal was scored in several places.
She took a step inside.
Go and get help. Go now. Bang on the next-door flat.
She hesitated a moment, then moved another step into the hall.
‘Oh God’ she murmured under her breath.
The pictures which had hung on the wall lay scattered across the carpet. The glass in the frames of two of them was shattered.
A small ornamental table and the plant which it held had also been overturned.
Glass crunched beneath her feet as she advanced towards the sitting room.
What if the intruder was still inside?
She stood motionless.
Get out now.
The flat was silent. She moved on, into the sitting room.
As she looked around, one word flickered in her mind.
Devastation.
Anything that could be broken, had been.
The three-piece suite had been overturned, ornaments had been knocked from their places, some shattered
against walls. Pictures had been ripped from the walls and destroyed.
Her desk had also been overturned, the PC with it. Paper was scattered over the carpet. A vase of flowers which had stood on the coffee table lay in a dozen pieces close by, the flowers strewn over the floor.
Bookcases had been knocked over, their contents spilled wantonly.
Her mind reeling, she walked through into the kitchen.
Drawers had been pulled out, cutlery and broken crockery lay everywhere. Even the clock which hung on the wall had been pulled down and hurled across the room: it was lying in the sink.
Cupboards had been pulled open, the door of one ripped from its hinges by the ferocity of the intrusion.
She took a step backward, back into the living room, then beyond to her bedroom.
More damage.
The bedclothes had been pulled off, bedside cabinets overturned. The wardrobes stood open, and her clothes had been scattered over the bed and floor.
Coat-hangers had been pulled from the wardrobe and hurled across the room. One had struck the radio alarm clock, cracking the plastic window that covered the flashing red digits.
Cath could feel her head spinning, and for a second she thought she would faint, but the feeling passed and she sucked in several deep breaths, trying to regain her composure, moving back into the living room to find the phone.
She glanced around the room again, stepping over the printer of the PC which had been tossed to one side.
The printer.
Why hadn’t they taken the printer?
Cath reached for the phone, and looked around her as she pressed three nines.
Why hadn’t they taken the computer itself?
She frowned.
The stereo was still in position in one corner of the room.
Untouched.
Why hadn’t they taken it?
The video was still there.
Untouched.
So was the television.
Cath swallowed hard.
By the time the voice on the other end of the phone asked her which service she required, her heart had slowed its mad thumping.
She announced that she needed the police, gave her name and address, then put down the phone.
Video untouched. TV untouched. Stack system untouched.
She went back into the kitchen.
The ghetto blaster was still there.
Untouched.
What kind of burglars were these?
The flat had been ransacked but, as far as she could tell, little, if
anything, had been taken.
Cath returned to the sitting room and it was then, as she glanced around, she noticed that there was something missing.
Seventy-four
When she heard the knock on the door, Cath had looked anxiously at Phillip Cross.
The photographer had remained by her side for a moment, slowly getting up to answer it.
Cath glanced at her watch.
11.23 p.m.
Despite Cross’s presence she felt suddenly afraid.
Burglars aren’t going to knock, are they?
She ran a hand through her hair and sucked in a breath.
The last policeman had left the flat more than four hours ago. She’d called Cross and he’d come to the flat immediately. Together they’d cleared up the mess left by the intruders although there were still traces of the aluminium and carbon powders on various surfaces dusted by the police fingerprint man.
She shivered involuntarily as she saw the profusion of prints, but even as a layman she knew that most of the smudges were smooth.
Now she pulled her legs more tightly beneath her, listening to voices in the hallway.
A moment later Cross walked back in.
‘Someone to see you’ he said.
DI James Talbot followed him in, looking briefly at Cath, then glancing around the room.
‘Doesn’t look like they did that much damage’ said the DI.
Cath regarded him silently for a moment. ‘What do you want?’ she said, finally.
‘I heard about what happened here, I thought I’d come and have a look for myself.’
‘If you’ve come to gloat you’re a bit late’ she said, acidly. ‘We’ve cleaned up the mess.’
‘Who do you think it was?’ the DI asked, sitting down uninvited.
Cath shrugged. ‘Burglars.’
‘And yet nothing valuable was stolen?’
‘You’re supposed to be the detective, Talbot. You tell me who did it.’
‘Someone with a grudge. Someone who doesn’t like you. Mind you, that narrows down the suspects to about half a million, doesn’t it?’
‘If that was all you came here to say, you can go now’ she told him, getting to her feet.