'Only a minor drawing.' He bobbed his head. 'But very nice of its kind - the only thing of substantial value in the house. The only thing I'd take. Only not to get rid of.
Probably too difficult to hock anyway ... not rich enough for the hot market, but still easily traceable. Not worth the risk, in fact.'
Her surprise had adjusted itself. There was no reason why a copper shouldn't know his art, and no reason why Colonel Butler shouldn't collect, with his money. It was no more surprising - rather, much less surprising - than Robbie's obsession with fairy stories.
Her nails dug into her palms. Why, just since yesterday, was she continually thinking of Robbie?
'Was anything taken?'
'So far as we can make out ... three christening mugs - modern silver. One carriage clock, gilt. One transistor radio, plastic ... Just small stuff, like the other places.'
'The other places?'
'Didn't they tell you - no? This is one of three. The other two down the road, over Sandford way - ' He pointed ' - same sort of jobs: all done between eight and nine-thirty this morning, when the kids were being taken to school. Then the mothers went on to do a bit of shopping ... here it was the housekeeper ... and when they came home the back door had been forced. The other two places chummy found some cash - not much - and a bit of costume jewellery in one.9 He shook his head. 'He didn't do very well for himself at all.'
'I see.' Frances exhibited relief which was only partly feigned. In fact the department's resident break-in artist, if there was such a person, seemed to have done quite nicely at short notice. 'So it looks like a local job, then?'
He nodded. 'That's what the DI thinks, and I can see no reason to disagree.'
'Nobody saw anything?'
'Not a thing, so far. Each of the houses backs on to woods - he almost certainly came in that way, specially here, with the long drive. Plenty of cover at the back, and it's only half a mile from the side road to Winslow. Most likely a local boy with local knowledge.
So ... nothing to worry you, Mrs Fitzgibbon.'
She smiled at him. 'I think you're right, Mr Geddes.' To one smile add a small sigh and a pinch of resignation. 'But I shall have to go over the place all the same.'
He cocked his head interrogatively, not quite frowning. 'Is that really necessary, in the circumstances?'
'Probably not, in the circumstances. But Colonel Butler is engaged in extremely sensitive work and we haven't been able to contact him yet. So ... he's entitled to the full treatment.'
There wasn't much he could say to that, still less object to. Every service looked after its own vulnerable next- of-kin, and their service particularly, as a matter of security as well as routine commonsense enlightenment. And when something was actually amiss the job couldn't be skimped, he should know that.
All the same, there was no percentage in seeming to teach him to suck eggs, a woman who did that in a man's world only encouraged chauvinism. A little calculated femininity paid better dividends.
She spread the smile. 'Besides, the Colonel's by way of being my boss most of the time. When he sees my signature on the release he'll talk to his housekeeper, and if I haven't impressed her with my devotion to duty I shall be cast into the outer darkness.'
'Ah! That does make a difference - I take your point, of course.' The corner of his mouth twitched. 'I didn't know that you were ... acquainted with the lady.'
Frances regarded him curiously. 'I'm not.'
'You're not? Ah ... well, then - ' he gestured towards the house ' - I'd better not keep you from your duty, Mrs Fitzgibbon.'
He hadn't produced any of the reactions she'd expected, thought Frances as she walked beside him to the iron-studded mock-Tudor door in the mock-Tudor porch. In fact, except for the momentary twitch, he hadn't produced any reactions at all, expected or unexpected.
The heavy door was ajar, opening for her at the touch of his fingers on it. Beyond it, the entrance hall was high and spacious, with a great carved oak staircase dominating it, and gloomy in the November overcast except for the high-gloss polish of the parquet floor and the stair treads, which reflected a daylight hardly apparent outside. Frances corrected her first impression: not so much mock Tudor as Hollywood Tudor, art imitating art.
All it needed for an echo of
Frances stood her ground as Nannie - it could only be Nannie - advanced toward her. It struck her as odd that she should feel she was holding her ground, but that was how she felt.
Then, as her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, she knew that it wasn't odd at all, her instinct had simply been ten paces ahead of her eyesight.
Nannie wasn't much above average height, and she wasn't fat either, but she was ...
solid. Her battleship-grey twin-set matched the colour of her hair, and her hair matched the colour of her eyes. A large nose dominated her face: she levelled the nose at Frances and stared down it with all the friendliness of a gamekeeper come upon a poacher in the covert.
Frances opened her mouth in the hope that the right words would come out of it.
'I have absolutely nothing to say to you,' said Nannie pre-emptively. The grey eyes flicked up and down Frances once, then nose and eyes swung towards Detective-Sergeant Geddes. 'You gave me to understand, constable, that you would not tell the local newspaper anything about this.'
'Yes, Mrs Hooker -'
