KATE
No, nothing’s gone, I tell the officers again, we’ve checked all over.
Yes, I’m absolutely sure … No, I didn’t actually see anyone, but I knew he was there. I felt him – yes, through the door – and I heard footsteps.
The look between them is less veiled this time. The second officer, the one with the pad, has already stopped taking notes.
It’s all going wrong.
I stayed in my room until the birds started to sing and the sky lightened. I couldn’t bring myself to unlock my door until I heard the engine and looked out of the window to see my sister’s neat red car pull up. As ever she was early, thank goodness. I rushed down to them, barefoot on the gravel and hugged her, surprising us both.
‘Your poor feet, Kate!’ said Charlotte, shutting the door of her car in the drive; Dad was getting out the other side, moving stiffly after the journey. ‘These stones … and they trash your car if you’re not careful.’
‘They’re fine. I’m fine. I’m so glad you’re here.’ They followed me in, talking about their drive – they’d made good time, coming early to avoid the rush hour. There isn’t really a rush hour out here, we all knew that, but I was touched that they’d come so quickly – and relieved.
I didn’t want to scare them, but once in the kitchen I turned round. ‘There was an intruder in the night; someone broke in. No, really don’t panic’ – as they started to ask questions – ‘I’m OK.’
Dad called the police immediately, 999, as Charlotte got me to tell her everything; then we started looking through the house together, the three of us moving in a tight little group. Sophie’s room was what I was most worried about, but it was untouched. The rest of the house seemed fine too.
‘I don’t think anything’s gone,’ I kept saying, braced for a nasty surprise – drawers wrenched open; wires spilling from a wall where a TV had been ripped away; clothes and belongings strewn across the floor. Then I realised – I was remembering my dream the other night, searching through my ransacked house. But there was nothing wrong now. Everything seemed to be in its place.
I started to feel more and more uneasy.
The two officers arrived, uniformed in a patrol car; the man I recognised from last time, when I saw someone in the garden: the younger guy, with a round open face. I made sure to take in their names, this time – stay in control. He’s PC Kaur; his colleague, PC Sweet, is compact and businesslike, her face carefully made up.
It’s far too late, of course, for them to do anything, that much was soon obvious. I think that it must have happened about 2.30 a.m., I told them, but I didn’t even think to check my alarm clock until later, when I took a break from my spot by the window to go over to the green digits and commit it to memory: 3:21.
It falls to Kaur to say it, as we’re all gathered in the kitchen.
‘Mrs Harlow, how could someone have got in? There’s no sign of forced entry. You said it yourself, there are two locks on the front door, and you unlocked them both as you went out.’
I’ve been thinking this myself. As they’ve been looking inside and outside, checking the doors and windows, I’ve quietly checked something too, while Dad and Charlotte were putting on the kettle.
It’s best if I show them. ‘Come and look at this,’ I say. ‘We can go out the back door.’
We all file out through the utility room; the officers then my family at the back. For a second it reminds me of something from my old life: a hostess guiding her guests out into the garden. What’s happened to me?
Outside, I lead them around the side of the house and reach for the brick, hidden under a bush. Little things move, suddenly exposed to the bright light, wiggling back into the dark soil. The keys are still there: the Yale and the heavier one, for the deadlock.
‘I checked a bit earlier,’ I explain now, ‘and saw them. I’d totally forgotten they were there. We used to leave them out for Sophie, my daughter, when she came home from school and I wasn’t in. And when she – when she left, well, I suppose no one ever moved them.’ It’s so safe round here anyway. Who’d ever find them? Then, when it was just me, they’d never crossed my mind.
There’s a cough from behind me. ‘And these are the back door keys?’ says PC Kaur.
‘No, the front door.’
Sweet now, her tone impressively neutral: ‘Mrs Harlow, are you suggesting that someone used these keys, let themselves in round the front, and then put them back?’
‘I don’t think burglars behave like that, love,’ says Dad.
‘I know they don’t,’ I say, calmly. ‘But it’s the only thing I can think of. And you know, even if I did put the chain on at night—’
‘Kate!’ Dad, of course.
‘… I know, I should, and maybe I did, I don’t remember; anyway, the chain’s so long, you can just reach a hand round and slip it off. I’ll show you if you like.’ I look at the faces in front of me: the officers blank, professional; my family pinched with worry.
I fill in the silence. ‘I mean, I will get a new one of course; I’d better change the locks too.’
‘That’d be a – good idea,’ says Kaur. ‘Now, have you thought about where you’ll stay tonight, if you feel nervous again? Because there was the other night too, wasn’t there.’ He’s being too nice.
‘Not yet. I mean, I’ve my family’ – I gesture in their direction – ‘but what’s going to happen now?’
A thought rises: do they know about the calls from the phone box? Would Nicholls have shared that information?
‘Well, we’ve looked around, all over now,’ says the woman, Sweet, ‘there’s no signs of entry, nothing’s been taken, as you say. If that does change, of course, let us know.’
‘But aren’t you going to dust the keys for prints?’ I turn to Kaur. ‘And after that person in my garden, when you came, the other night …’
‘I don’t think that will be necessary, in this case, Mrs Harlow,’ says Kaur. ‘We’ll file a report, of course. So if you do find anything’s gone, you’ll have a crime reference number, and you can report that to your insurer.’
Sweet starts talking again. It might be wise if I stayed with friends and family, perhaps tonight. Just for a night or two until I feel more … myself. Dad and Charlotte are chipping in now, and of course I can stay with them, maybe for a while; perhaps that would be best. I’ve stopped talking.
The two officers don’t stick around long after that. I’m sure by now. They know. They know about the phone calls. I’ve shown up in a database, or someone’s mentioned it. Something.
And they don’t believe me about last night.