point. Damn his little detecting skills.
I swiftly change the subject by snapping, 'So, why are you being called out to this? Surely detectives don't normally investigate plain old burglaries?'
'The uniformed officer at the scene seems to think this one is a specialist. So he has called me in.' He gets out a notebook from his jacket pocket and studies it. After a few minutes of silence, I try to fish for some personal details and ask, 'So, how does your future wife feel about your job?'
'None of your business,' he says without looking up.
'How about your family? Do they worry about you?'
'None of your business. Turn here.' He points and we pull up to our address. I snap on the handbrake. 'Will you always stay on active duty?' ;
He looks over at me. 'Well …' he says hesitantly. I fish into my bag for my notepad. 'The Chief said something interesting to me the other day.' I poise my pen. Goody! A quote! 'Do you want me to write it down for you?' he offers politely.
He takes the pad from me, writes a sentence and then gets out of the car, dropping the pad on the seat as he goes. It says: 'CURIOSITY KILLED THE CRIME CORRESPONDENT'.
I sigh to myself. This is going to be harder than I thought.
Minutes later we crunch up a path to the given address. It is an impressive Georgian house and I'm not surprised it's been burgled. If I were a burglar then this would be my first port of call. The path is carefully gravelled and the lawn is attentively manicured. Not a blade of grass out of place. There are steps up to the smart navy door and on each step a topiary tree stands to attention. James Sabine pulls the bell. We wait for a few moments and then the door is answered by a butler. Both Detective Sergeant Sabine and I almost jump back off the step in surprise. I didn't know anyone-had butlers anymore.
'Yeeesss?'
James Sabine flips up his ID. 'I'm Detective Sergeant Sabine and this is Holly Colshannon. She is with me for observation
only
.' Point taken. Again.
We follow the butler into the house and as James Sabine walks ahead of me I notice something rather colourful is stuck to his arse. I peer closer and my suspicions are confirmed. Yes, it is the wrapper of a strawberry-flavoured chewy sweet and I think I can probably guess how it got there. I wince. Do I leave it for everyone to see? Or do I casually drop it into conversation? 'By the way, Detective, a sweet wrapper seems to be attached to your behind Or do I even have a go at removing it myself? A fairly easy decision to make. Leave it there.
We are shown into a large, chintzy drawing room, complete with requisite grand piano. The tall windows, so typical of the Regency houses of Bristol, are draped with vast lengths of material. A uniformed officer is already sitting down, a notepad in one hand, cup and saucer in the other. He stands as we enter the room. Another man, sitting opposite him, also rises.
'Good morning, sir.'
'Morning Matt.' James Sabine turns to the stranger and outstretches a hand.
'Good morning, sir. I'm Detective Sergeant James Sabine and this is Holly Colshannon. She is here for observation only.' Blimey. How many times is he going to say it? Message received loud and clear.
'Sebastian Forquar-White. How do you do?' says the stranger in the plummiest voice I have ever heard. I mean, where do these people get their accents from? Really? He is dressed in a tweed suit. His slightly protruding stomach stretches the buttons of his waistcoat and his jowls flap around his Paisley bow tie. He has an enormous, flamboyant, handlebar moustache.
James Sabine and he shake hands and then Sebastian turns to me and shakes mine as well. I murmur a gracious, 'How do you do?' James glares at me.
'Really, the whole thing is most distressing. Most distressing indeed. Some of the items had been in the family for centuries. Do sit down. Would you like some tea?' Jowls flapping in agitation, Sebastian Forquar-Whatsit looks from Detective Sergeant Sabine to me.
'Yes,
I swiftly change the subject by snapping, 'So, why are you being called out to this? Surely detectives don't normally investigate plain old burglaries?'
'The uniformed officer at the scene seems to think this one is a specialist. So he has called me in.' He gets out a notebook from his jacket pocket and studies it. After a few minutes of silence, I try to fish for some personal details and ask, 'So, how does your future wife feel about your job?'
'None of your business,' he says without looking up.
'How about your family? Do they worry about you?'
'None of your business. Turn here.' He points and we pull up to our address. I snap on the handbrake. 'Will you always stay on active duty?' ;
He looks over at me. 'Well …' he says hesitantly. I fish into my bag for my notepad. 'The Chief said something interesting to me the other day.' I poise my pen. Goody! A quote! 'Do you want me to write it down for you?' he offers politely.
He takes the pad from me, writes a sentence and then gets out of the car, dropping the pad on the seat as he goes. It says: 'CURIOSITY KILLED THE CRIME CORRESPONDENT'.
I sigh to myself. This is going to be harder than I thought.
Minutes later we crunch up a path to the given address. It is an impressive Georgian house and I'm not surprised it's been burgled. If I were a burglar then this would be my first port of call. The path is carefully gravelled and the lawn is attentively manicured. Not a blade of grass out of place. There are steps up to the smart navy door and on each step a topiary tree stands to attention. James Sabine pulls the bell. We wait for a few moments and then the door is answered by a butler. Both Detective Sergeant Sabine and I almost jump back off the step in surprise. I didn't know anyone-had butlers anymore.
'Yeeesss?'
James Sabine flips up his ID. 'I'm Detective Sergeant Sabine and this is Holly Colshannon. She is with me for observation
only
.' Point taken. Again.
We follow the butler into the house and as James Sabine walks ahead of me I notice something rather colourful is stuck to his arse. I peer closer and my suspicions are confirmed. Yes, it is the wrapper of a strawberry-flavoured chewy sweet and I think I can probably guess how it got there. I wince. Do I leave it for everyone to see? Or do I casually drop it into conversation? 'By the way, Detective, a sweet wrapper seems to be attached to your behind Or do I even have a go at removing it myself? A fairly easy decision to make. Leave it there.
We are shown into a large, chintzy drawing room, complete with requisite grand piano. The tall windows, so typical of the Regency houses of Bristol, are draped with vast lengths of material. A uniformed officer is already sitting down, a notepad in one hand, cup and saucer in the other. He stands as we enter the room. Another man, sitting opposite him, also rises.
'Good morning, sir.'
'Morning Matt.' James Sabine turns to the stranger and outstretches a hand.
'Good morning, sir. I'm Detective Sergeant James Sabine and this is Holly Colshannon. She is here for observation only.' Blimey. How many times is he going to say it? Message received loud and clear.
'Sebastian Forquar-White. How do you do?' says the stranger in the plummiest voice I have ever heard. I mean, where do these people get their accents from? Really? He is dressed in a tweed suit. His slightly protruding stomach stretches the buttons of his waistcoat and his jowls flap around his Paisley bow tie. He has an enormous, flamboyant, handlebar moustache.
James Sabine and he shake hands and then Sebastian turns to me and shakes mine as well. I murmur a gracious, 'How do you do?' James glares at me.
'Really, the whole thing is most distressing. Most distressing indeed. Some of the items had been in the family for centuries. Do sit down. Would you like some tea?' Jowls flapping in agitation, Sebastian Forquar-Whatsit looks from Detective Sergeant Sabine to me.
'Yes,
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