44 Scotland Street

she should not touch anything until that happened. So she stood there, her heart pounding within her, wondering what had happened. Why had the alarm not gone off? Why was the office door ajar? It suggested that the intruder had managed to get in through that small opening and had then been disturbed, perhaps by the sounding of the signal on the control box. That would have made a perfectly audible sound, even if the main part of the alarm, the siren, had failed to go off.

The Lothian and Borders Police Art Squad 79

Or perhaps Matthew had come in last night for some reason, set the alarm improperly, and then left the door ajar; he was the only other person with a key, as far as Pat knew.

But then if he had done this, why would he have forced the window?

It suddenly occurred to Pat that a break-in could be quite convenient for Matthew. He was having difficulty in selling any of his paintings; perhaps it would be easier to arrange an insurance claim.

31. The Lothian and Borders Police Art Squad A few minutes later, as promised by the calm voice on the telephone, a police car drew up outside the gallery and two uniformed officers, generously equipped with radios, handcuffs, and commodious pockets, emerged. Pat went to the front door and opened it to them.

“An art gallery?” asked one of the policemen, the younger one, as they came in.

“Well it’s not a supermarket,” said the older one. “Pretty obvious.”

Pat saw the younger policeman look down at the floor. He had been embarrassed by the put-down, but said nothing.

She showed the two men the alarm control unit, which was still flashing mutely.

“Can’t have worked properly,” said the younger policeman.

“Pretty obvious,” said the older one.

Pat said nothing. Perhaps it was the end of a long shift for them and they needed their sleep. But even if that were the case, she did not think that the young man deserved this humiliation.

She led them through to the back room and pointed at the fragments of wood on the floor. The younger policeman bent down and picked up one of the splinters.

“From the window,” he said.

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The Lothian and Borders Police Art Squad The older policeman looked at Pat, who met his gaze briefly, and then he turned away. He peered at the window glass and shook his head.

“No prints there,” he said. “Nothing. I should think that whoever it was who wanted in was disturbed by something.

It happens all the time. These people start an entry and then something gets the wind up them and they’re offsky.”

“Offsky?” Pat asked.

“Yes,” said the policeman. “Offsky. And there’s not much we can do, although I can probably tell you who did this. All we can suggest is that you get your alarm seen to. And get a new catch – a more secure one – and put it on this window at the back. That’s about it.”

Pat listened in astonishment. “But how do you know who did it?” she asked.

The older policeman looked at her patiently. Then he raised his wrist and tapped his watch. “I retire in six hours’ time,” he said. “Thirty-six years of service. In that time, I’ve seen everything

– everything. Horrible things. Sad things. And in my time in the Art Squad, aesthetically disturbing things. And after all that time I’ve reached one conclusion. The same people do the same things all the time. That’s how people behave. House-breakers break into houses. Others break into shops. It’s no mystery. I can take you right now to the houses of the house-breakers in this city.

I can take you to their actual doors and we can knock on them and see if they’re at home. We know exactly who they are –

exactly. And we know where they live. We know all that. And so if you think I’m picking on anybody, then let me tell you this. This was probably done by a man called Jimmy Clarke

– James Wallace Clarke, to be precise. He’s the person who steals paintings in this city. That’s what he does. But of course we can’t prove it.”

Pat looked at the younger policeman, who returned her glance impassively.

“It must be frustrating for you,” she said.

The older policeman smiled. “Not really,” he said. “You get used to it. But my colleague here has it all in front of him. I’m Akrasia: The Essential Problem

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offsky this afternoon. My wife and I have bought a bed-and-breakfast in Prestonpans. That’s us fixed up.”

The younger policeman raised an eyebrow. “Will anybody want to stay in Prestonpans?”

“It gets visitors,” said the older policeman curtly.

“Why?”

The question was not answered, and they moved back into the main gallery. The older policeman walked about, looking at the paintings, leaving the younger man by Pat’s side.

“My name’s Chris,” said the policeman, his voice lowered.

Pat nodded. “Mine’s Pat.”