please.'
'I'd love some!' I respond enthusiastically. James Sabine throws a death wish in my direction.
Sebastian Whatshisgob exits from the sitting room, loudly yelling, 'Anton! More tea!' Anton presumably and hopefully is the butler. James Sabine immediately goes into a rugby-like huddle with Matt and starts talking in low, urgent tones. I switch seats, get out my notebook and put a serious ear to the ground (not literally) in an effort to overhear their conversation. I catch various words, including 'time', 'entry' and 'interview', but nothing even vaguely resembling a sentence. They finally break apart and I jump in posthaste.
'What's so interesting about this burglary then?' I ask.
Detective Sergeant Sabine looks distractedly over at me. 'It's just so …' I wait with bated breath and pen poised because this is going to be the opening episode of my diary and I really, really hope it's going to be good.
'… organised.'
Organised?
Organised
? He's making it sound like an outing of the Bristol Male Voice Choir. And I should hope they were organised; they're professional criminals, for pity's sake. This is hardly a scoop. I can see the headline now: THEY WERE ORGANISED! What does that mean? That they remembered to bring all their tools? I try not to sound disappointed as I look from one officer to the other.
'What do you mean? Organised?' But James Sabine is already writing in his notepad and ignores me. Matt, probably feeling a smidgen of contrition for his superior officer's attitude, steps in.
He asks, 'May I, sir?', looking at Detective Sergeant Sabine, who glances up and nods his consent before switching his attention back to his notes. Matt turns to me.
'Truth be told that I've never seen anything like it. The burglar knew exactly how to disable the alarm system. And it was a really sophisticated one too, as you can imagine. He then knew the exact place to enter the house. The interior was scarcely disturbed; it was almost as though he understood precisely what he wanted to take and where to find it. And he only took the best stuff – by-passed the video and stereo and went straight for the jugular.'
'And what was that?' I ask, on the edge of my seat.
'Antiques.'
'Antiques?'I say disbelievingly.
Matt nods emphatically. 'Antiques.'
'Antiques?' I say again.
'For God's sake!' explodes James Sabine, his head whipping up from his notebook, 'which syllable don't you get?' I glare at him and then return my gaze to Matt and raise my eyebrows encouragingly, unwilling to say the a-word again. Matt, thankfully, responds.
'Things like porcelain, silver, clocks and other knick-knacks. All extremely valuable according to Mr Forquar-White.'
'So, the thief knew all about antiques?' I ask disbelievingly.
'It doesn't take a genius to come to that conclusion,' James Sabine interjects wearily.
I am desperate to ask about the implications of this but am interrupted by Sebastian Forquar-White coming back into the room, followed by a loaded tea tray carried by Anton the butler.
'Sorry I was so long, had to take a phone call. The insurance people rang me back.' He sits down on the opposite sofa. James Sabine, after thanking Anton for his cup of tea, turns to him. 'When did you first notice anything was missing?'
'Anton, here, went into the dining room, where all of the collectables are kept, to dust this morning. He immediately told me and I raised the alarm.'
'When did you last see any of the missing items?' Detective Sergeant Sabine looks at Anton.
'Yesterday, sir.'
'Were you woken in the night by anything?'
Both of them shake their heads.
'Is the alarm system always activated when you go to bed?'
'Always,' growls Sebastian F-W.
'Have you seen anyone suspicious hanging around?'
'No.'
'I'll dispatch uniform to question the neighbours, if that's all right with you, sir.' Mr Forquar-White nods his agreement to this. 'Can we see the point of entry please?'
'Certainly, certainly,' he responds. We all replace our
'I'd love some!' I respond enthusiastically. James Sabine throws a death wish in my direction.
Sebastian Whatshisgob exits from the sitting room, loudly yelling, 'Anton! More tea!' Anton presumably and hopefully is the butler. James Sabine immediately goes into a rugby-like huddle with Matt and starts talking in low, urgent tones. I switch seats, get out my notebook and put a serious ear to the ground (not literally) in an effort to overhear their conversation. I catch various words, including 'time', 'entry' and 'interview', but nothing even vaguely resembling a sentence. They finally break apart and I jump in posthaste.
'What's so interesting about this burglary then?' I ask.
Detective Sergeant Sabine looks distractedly over at me. 'It's just so …' I wait with bated breath and pen poised because this is going to be the opening episode of my diary and I really, really hope it's going to be good.
'… organised.'
Organised?
Organised
? He's making it sound like an outing of the Bristol Male Voice Choir. And I should hope they were organised; they're professional criminals, for pity's sake. This is hardly a scoop. I can see the headline now: THEY WERE ORGANISED! What does that mean? That they remembered to bring all their tools? I try not to sound disappointed as I look from one officer to the other.
'What do you mean? Organised?' But James Sabine is already writing in his notepad and ignores me. Matt, probably feeling a smidgen of contrition for his superior officer's attitude, steps in.
He asks, 'May I, sir?', looking at Detective Sergeant Sabine, who glances up and nods his consent before switching his attention back to his notes. Matt turns to me.
'Truth be told that I've never seen anything like it. The burglar knew exactly how to disable the alarm system. And it was a really sophisticated one too, as you can imagine. He then knew the exact place to enter the house. The interior was scarcely disturbed; it was almost as though he understood precisely what he wanted to take and where to find it. And he only took the best stuff – by-passed the video and stereo and went straight for the jugular.'
'And what was that?' I ask, on the edge of my seat.
'Antiques.'
'Antiques?'I say disbelievingly.
Matt nods emphatically. 'Antiques.'
'Antiques?' I say again.
'For God's sake!' explodes James Sabine, his head whipping up from his notebook, 'which syllable don't you get?' I glare at him and then return my gaze to Matt and raise my eyebrows encouragingly, unwilling to say the a-word again. Matt, thankfully, responds.
'Things like porcelain, silver, clocks and other knick-knacks. All extremely valuable according to Mr Forquar-White.'
'So, the thief knew all about antiques?' I ask disbelievingly.
'It doesn't take a genius to come to that conclusion,' James Sabine interjects wearily.
I am desperate to ask about the implications of this but am interrupted by Sebastian Forquar-White coming back into the room, followed by a loaded tea tray carried by Anton the butler.
'Sorry I was so long, had to take a phone call. The insurance people rang me back.' He sits down on the opposite sofa. James Sabine, after thanking Anton for his cup of tea, turns to him. 'When did you first notice anything was missing?'
'Anton, here, went into the dining room, where all of the collectables are kept, to dust this morning. He immediately told me and I raised the alarm.'
'When did you last see any of the missing items?' Detective Sergeant Sabine looks at Anton.
'Yesterday, sir.'
'Were you woken in the night by anything?'
Both of them shake their heads.
'Is the alarm system always activated when you go to bed?'
'Always,' growls Sebastian F-W.
'Have you seen anyone suspicious hanging around?'
'No.'
'I'll dispatch uniform to question the neighbours, if that's all right with you, sir.' Mr Forquar-White nods his agreement to this. 'Can we see the point of entry please?'
'Certainly, certainly,' he responds. We all replace our
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