Witch Hunt

Chapter Thirty-Four




I had it in my mind that when I got home, I would write this one straight down – before the memory faded and I lost the keenness of grief.

Perhaps it was a good thing that I didn’t. The feelings might have swamped me and taken me down. And I was about to need more courage than ever before.

When I got home, there was a police car parked in the drive.

‘You’ve had a break-in,’ said the man who identified himself as Constable Wheatley. He was in the outer hallway of the block when he met me and efficiently took me by the arm to my apartment. ‘You were lucky we were in the area. An anonymous caller reported a man climbing down your balcony.’

‘Anonymous.’ It sounded like a question though I had only repeated the officer’s word as my brain woke up and tried to take in the news.

Constable Wheatley inclined his head back to the main door. ‘I would suspect it to be a concerned commuter on their way home. Didn’t leave their name. “Number withheld”. No one does these days. Don’t want to get involved.’

Someone took quite a risk then. ‘At this time? In the early evening?’

Wheatley agreed. ‘It’s bold, I’ll give you that. But if it’s kids, they just don’t seem to care these days. They know we can’t do much to them. But we’ll get Fingerprints on to it. See what they turn up.’

We were nearing the top of the stairs. My front door was open. It appeared still intact. I always thought burglars kicked their way in.

‘I’ve just come from the train,’ I murmured absently.

The policeman huffed himself upwards. As we reached my landing he asked, ‘You? On that last one? That would have been close. We arrived twenty minutes ago. Reckon they were disturbed before they went on to do the second floor. If you’d got the earlier train you might have come face to face.’ He stepped up to the front door and let me go in first. ‘Count yourself lucky, you’ve had a very narrow escape.’

I didn’t feel lucky as I pushed open the door and surveyed the damage.

The place had been trashed.

Officer Wheatley told me it looked like the kitchen had been left until last. The window at the back was still open and a cold draught coursed through the flat. I made to go and close it but a female officer who had come in from the lounge urged me to leave it alone. She’d close it herself as she had rubber gloves on and there might be evidence on the handle.

Some of the drawers from my old Welsh dresser were smashed on the floor, their contents spread over the lino. A bottle of red wine had been knocked from a shelf and had shattered on the kitchen worktop. It was still dripping over my white shiny cupboards, fanning out into a bloody red pool on the floor.

I rubbed my chin and blew out loudly. The female officer took it as a sign of distress. ‘Yes, nasty feeling isn’t it? Feels like a violation. But we’ve made sure the place is secure. They’ve scarpered, but I’m afraid there’s worse to come. Let’s secure that window for you. Would you mind walking Officer Wheatley through your home and let him know what’s missing please?’

I followed Officer Wheatley to the bedroom. It was a bit of a shock. My sheets had been ripped to shreds. ‘What’s that all about?’ I asked him.

‘Dunno. Don’t take it personally. It’s probably drugs.’

I didn’t think much had been taken, apart from my jewellery box. That, apparently, was par for the course. I didn’t have much of worth in there anyway. The scumbags been through my wardrobe and scattered a lot of my clothes across the room, the hallway and the living room. And the latter was the room they’d saved for their best work.

The TV had been hurled across the glass top table. It hadn’t smashed but it had been cracked and would have to be got rid of. The innards of my lovely comfy sofa frothed over the carpet. Even the cushions had been slashed open. In the far corner someone had prised apart the filing cabinet. The policeman told me that the scratches on the side indicated a wrench had probably been used.

‘Don’t suppose you have something like that in the

flat?’

‘Don’t think so. There may be some tools in the loft.’

My eye glanced over the scattered papers of my research. That would take a while to sort. On the map over the mantelpiece someone had written ‘Desist’ in red scrawls. What the hell was that? A warning or an order? I pointed to it. ‘Desist?’

The policeman was saying something but I was still reeling. I made an effort to tune in. ‘Wasn’t sure if that was yours. You didn’t write it then?’

I shook my head.

‘Can I ask what line of work you’re in, Ms Asquith?’

When I told him I was a journalist his demeanour changed. ‘And what are you looking into at the moment?’

I spoke slowly, trying to process the logic of it all. ‘I’m exploring the witch hunts of the seventeenth century …’

‘Nothing current that might have got someone’s back up?’

‘Not really.’

‘Nothing anyone might want you to stop investigating? Or “desist” as it says?’

‘No. I can’t think of anything.’

Constable Wheatley nodded and looked up. ‘Well, that’ll be kids then. It’s probably the name of a computer game or a film or such … I wouldn’t give it much thought.’

I nodded at him, trying to look very much like I believed him, but there was a nugget of intense unease growing in my stomach. ‘Desist.’ That was an old-fashioned word. Why would kids spray that? Why not some sweary insult? But maybe Wheatley was right – it could be slang or some youth culture reference I had no idea about.

‘There’s obviously criminal damage here,’ he was saying, gesturing to the telly and the table. ‘There shouldn’t be a problem sorting that out with your insurance. We’ll brush it for prints and then you can chuck it. Do you know what’s missing from the rest of the room?’

I did a quick inventory and realised there wasn’t much – an old PlayStation, the DVD player, an assortment of DVDs, the stereo, CDs. I sent up a silent prayer of thanks that I had made the last minute decision to take my laptop to London with me and routinely kept all my bankcards on my person.

‘They didn’t get downstairs,’ Wheatley was saying. ‘Your front door wasn’t breached but the balcony window was open. We think that’s the point of entry.’

I looked at it. ‘I usually lock it before I go out.’

‘Sadly, there’s all kinds of contraptions you can purchase these days if you want to break in. Where there’s a will …’

I surveyed the mess. ‘What shall I do?’

The policeman put his notebook away and coughed. ‘Clear up. Report it to your insurance company. You’ll get a crime reference number.’

‘Yes, but will I be safe?’

‘I doubt they’ll be back. Kids like this tend to be opportunistic. They’ve got nothing else to grab here, have they? Is there anything else missing?’

I looked around once more. ‘I don’t think so.’

The constable went in to join his partner in the kitchen and shortly after that the fingerprinters arrived.

It wasn’t till later that night, as I was cleaning up the lounge, I realised that my file on the witch hunts was gone.

Just after eleven that night the doorbell rang. The tall outline of a uniformed body was visible through the dappled glass of the main front door. When I drew back the bolts and opened it I was both shocked and relieved to see Joe standing there on the doorstep. For a moment neither of us spoke, his brown eyes looked as shy as a deer’s. Then he said, ‘I thought you might want some company.’

It wasn’t like I fell into his arms and swooned or anything like that. Almost the opposite really. Though we talk about it now with some sense of humour, at the time it felt the most subdued but also the most natural thing in the world, though intense and slightly painful too. See, I did need some company and, in my heart of hearts, I think I had always wanted that companion to be Joe – I had just been clouded with so many other things I couldn’t see it. But it’s not what you’re thinking either. There was no great passionate revelation or an untumbling of our feelings, followed by mind-blowing sex. All that happened was that I took his hand and led him upstairs and then we went to bed. He in his t-shirt and boxers, and me in my pj’s. And neither sets of clothes got ripped off or anything like that. He just lay next to me and I rested my head on his chest. We were both knackered and I was still in shock, I think. And Joe understood that. And thus was I able to sleep, knowing that he was there, next to me, taking comfort from his physical presence and strength.

In the morning we had an early breakfast and then he got off to work. And though we didn’t mention anything, I think we both had an understanding that something was starting over again.

When he kissed me goodbye he said, ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.’

‘I won’t,’ I told him and smiled.

He ran a finger over my cheek and ruffled the side of my hair. ‘I’m off tomorrow for two days training at Hendon. Would you mind not buggering off with someone else this time please?’

It made me laugh and that in turn lightened the mood so I said, ‘If there’s any buggering off to do I’ll be sure to take you with me.’

How funny that I said that then.

Like I knew.