know. And when they hadn’t found what they’d wanted in plain sight, they’d started ripping things apart. Even his telly had been torn apart. Why? What could anyone possibly find inside a telly? Or a dvd player for that matter? Or stereo speakers? And how could they have done it all in the hour and a half he’d been out, down at the police station?
A sudden feeling of terror hit him as he realised one thing more. They must have been watching him, waiting for him to leave. It was paranoia of course, but he knew it had to be true. There just wouldn’t have been the chance otherwise for someone to simply break in and know he wasn’t at home. So someone had watched him, seen him leave, and taken the opportunity to break in. But who? Why? He didn’t have much to steal and he didn’t know any secrets. He didn’t even have any enemies as far as he knew.
Except that now he did. He had people who wanted to kill him, and more who wanted to rob him blind. That was as good a definition of enemy as he knew.
In time, as he stared at the mess that had once been his home, Rufus realised that there was one more thing he had to do as a law-abiding citizen. And also as someone who at least wanted to be able to claim insurance for his losses. He had to call the police. And that meant the inspector. Again.
Detective Chief Inspector Barns would never believe him, he knew that. He would grill him for hours, again, thinking he was the guilty party, and then he would grill him some more, certain he would confess to something. And when he got nothing, he would start again.
It was all Rufus could do just to keep from breaking down about then.
Was there no end to his suffering?
Chapter Five.
“Inspector Barns.” Far from being surprised that the inspector had come Rufus was only taken aback by the fact that it had taken him so long to get there. The other officers had been there for nearly a couple of hours, taking photos and fingerprinting everything in sight. Somehow Rufus was sure that they’d find nothing. These people had worn gloves. After all, while it might look like the work of kids, he was certain that the person or persons who had done this were professionals. Kids stole things, cash, electronics and anything they could sell. They hit and ran. Whoever had done this had very thoroughly searched the place, though what they thought they would find he couldn’t begin to guess.
“Should you be sitting there?” The inspector had a point, maybe even a good one. Sitting down in the middle of his house, a place that had now become a crime scene, sipping at a cup of coffee, was probably not that professional. But he was sore and he couldn’t stand forever, and the other officers had cleared this particular section of the lounge for him. He told the inspector as much and wasn’t that surprised when he turned to glare at the other officers. Allowing the suspect into his own crime scene. It just wasn’t done. Not on his watch. But at least he didn’t protest too loudly. He had other fish to fry. The accusations were coming. Of that much Rufus was sure.
“So want to tell me about it?” Of course what he really wanted was for Rufus to confess to something. Rufus knew it, the other officers knew it, and in all likelihood the little blue biro he was chewing on knew it.
“I went down to the station to collect my stuff from the car. I came back to this.” It was a simple story. Another chapter in an ongoing tragedy. In the end there wasn’t a lot else to say.
The inspector stared at him strangely, possibly wondering if he was being insolent. Police didn’t like that. But he stuck to his questions instead of getting upset.
“Anyone else staying in the house? Any special friends? Family?” It was the way that he added the last so carefully that told Rufus that the inspector had been doing some checking. But then he’d expected that. And what he’d
A sudden feeling of terror hit him as he realised one thing more. They must have been watching him, waiting for him to leave. It was paranoia of course, but he knew it had to be true. There just wouldn’t have been the chance otherwise for someone to simply break in and know he wasn’t at home. So someone had watched him, seen him leave, and taken the opportunity to break in. But who? Why? He didn’t have much to steal and he didn’t know any secrets. He didn’t even have any enemies as far as he knew.
Except that now he did. He had people who wanted to kill him, and more who wanted to rob him blind. That was as good a definition of enemy as he knew.
In time, as he stared at the mess that had once been his home, Rufus realised that there was one more thing he had to do as a law-abiding citizen. And also as someone who at least wanted to be able to claim insurance for his losses. He had to call the police. And that meant the inspector. Again.
Detective Chief Inspector Barns would never believe him, he knew that. He would grill him for hours, again, thinking he was the guilty party, and then he would grill him some more, certain he would confess to something. And when he got nothing, he would start again.
It was all Rufus could do just to keep from breaking down about then.
Was there no end to his suffering?
Chapter Five.
“Inspector Barns.” Far from being surprised that the inspector had come Rufus was only taken aback by the fact that it had taken him so long to get there. The other officers had been there for nearly a couple of hours, taking photos and fingerprinting everything in sight. Somehow Rufus was sure that they’d find nothing. These people had worn gloves. After all, while it might look like the work of kids, he was certain that the person or persons who had done this were professionals. Kids stole things, cash, electronics and anything they could sell. They hit and ran. Whoever had done this had very thoroughly searched the place, though what they thought they would find he couldn’t begin to guess.
“Should you be sitting there?” The inspector had a point, maybe even a good one. Sitting down in the middle of his house, a place that had now become a crime scene, sipping at a cup of coffee, was probably not that professional. But he was sore and he couldn’t stand forever, and the other officers had cleared this particular section of the lounge for him. He told the inspector as much and wasn’t that surprised when he turned to glare at the other officers. Allowing the suspect into his own crime scene. It just wasn’t done. Not on his watch. But at least he didn’t protest too loudly. He had other fish to fry. The accusations were coming. Of that much Rufus was sure.
“So want to tell me about it?” Of course what he really wanted was for Rufus to confess to something. Rufus knew it, the other officers knew it, and in all likelihood the little blue biro he was chewing on knew it.
“I went down to the station to collect my stuff from the car. I came back to this.” It was a simple story. Another chapter in an ongoing tragedy. In the end there wasn’t a lot else to say.
The inspector stared at him strangely, possibly wondering if he was being insolent. Police didn’t like that. But he stuck to his questions instead of getting upset.
“Anyone else staying in the house? Any special friends? Family?” It was the way that he added the last so carefully that told Rufus that the inspector had been doing some checking. But then he’d expected that. And what he’d
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