Хилари Боннер - The Cruellest Game

PC Bickerton asked if I wanted a cup of tea. He was being quite sympathetic. I thanked him but declined. I reckoned he’d only want to load it with sugar.

‘A glass of water,’ he persisted.

I shook my head. I didn’t feel I could swallow anything. Not even water. Anyway, I wondered, looking down at the floor covered in pieces of china and glass, whether it would be possible to find an unbroken glass or mug anywhere among the terrible mess.

PC Bickerton lifted another chair from the floor and stood it upright opposite me. ‘Do you think anything has been taken from the house this time?’ he asked.

‘It’s hard to tell,’ I said, glancing around me at what was left of my home.

‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ he agreed. ‘In any case, burglars do trash places, but I’ve never seen anything like this. Never.’

‘So what do you think?’

‘I don’t know what to think, Mrs Anderson,’ he said. ‘Are you aware of anyone with a grudge against you or your husband?’

‘No,’ I said, realizing as I spoke that as I hadn’t even known my husband’s real name until three weeks ago, I might not be in a position to say who could have a grudge against him. But I didn’t want to involve the police in that side of my life. Not yet, anyway.

There was a crunching noise as PC Jacobs, who had been making his own examination of the house while PC Bickerton seemed to have been delegated to looking after me, appeared in the kitchen, striding confidently over the mess on the floor in his heavy police-issue boots. I wondered vaguely about the wisdom of trampling in such a fashion on what was presumably evidence. But I supposed he knew what he was doing.

‘I wonder if you’d mind coming upstairs with me again to your son’s room, Mrs Anderson?’ he asked. In spite of his courtesy I was aware somehow that he did not seem anything like as sympathetic as PC Bickerton.

‘Of course,’ I said.

I stood up, and followed him upstairs, PC Bickerton behind me. The old prints and paintings which lined the walls of the staircase and landing, mostly gathered by Robbie and me at car boot sales and the like, had been torn down, their glass and even, in some cases, their frames, smashed.

Once that alone would have been enough to reduce me to tears. Now the trashing of my home seemed to be just another in the series of blows I was enduring, and I had no tears left.

PC Jacobs led the way into Robbie’s room and pointed to an object lying on the floor, curiously intact amidst the dreadful mess of his smashed belongings.

It was Robbie’s camcorder. I was surprised I’d failed to notice it when I’d first entered his room earlier. But I suppose I just hadn’t been functioning properly. The two officers presumably hadn’t noticed it, either, first time round, and they also knew about the missing camcorder. But then, they’d probably been concentrating on my reactions, not to mention making sure I didn’t collapse in a heap. Or else the camcorder hadn’t been there earlier. Perhaps PC Jacobs had planted it.

I realized, as the thought presented itself, that this was beyond paranoid. It made absolutely no sense for me now to be the victim of a police set-up, on top of everything else. That was pure fantasy land. Worthy of Robert himself, I reflected wryly.

I glanced at PC Jacobs. He nodded sagely.

‘Do you recognize that camera, Mrs Anderson?’ he asked.

I agreed that I did, and confirmed that it was Robbie’s.

‘The one you told us was definitely missing?’ he enquired.

I affirmed that it was.

‘Stolen by the intruder you thought was in your house last week?’ he persisted.

I found a bit of spirit.

‘I didn’t think there was an intruder,’ I said. ‘There was an intruder. And Robbie’s camcorder was taken. It must have been. This is the first time I’ve seen it since before that night. And what about my iPod? That’s still missing.’

‘Is it, Mrs Anderson?’ Jacobs asked, continuing to speak without giving me chance to reply. ‘An iPod is rather a small object. Don’t you think it may turn up?’

Suddenly I felt totally defeated.

‘I have no idea,’ I said.

‘Neither have I, Mrs Anderson,’ he replied. PC Jacobs sounded sad more than anything else. He tugged at the collar of his uniform shirt as if it were causing him discomfort.

We made our way back to the kitchen. My head was in a total daze. PC Bickerton hovered, and PC Jacobs said he would check the outbuildings.

After a bit Jacobs returned holding by the blade a large axe, the one we used to chop our firewood.

‘I think we’d better get this off to forensics,’ he said, looking straight at me.

Suddenly I was furious. And it gave me my fight back. This idiot now seemed to think I had trashed my own house. And he wasn’t making much of a secret of it.

‘Are you accusing me of something here?’ I demanded as forcefully as I could manage.

Jacobs backed off a little. ‘Certainly not, madam,’ he said. ‘Just pursuing our inquiries.’

‘Do you really think I would do this to my own home?’ I asked, throwing both my arms in the air, gesturing towards the wreckage all around me. ‘Do you really think anyone would? Do you?’

PC Jacobs shrugged. ‘I think you’ve been under a great deal of stress, Mrs Anderson...’ he began.

‘Not that hoary old chestnut again,’ I interrupted. ‘I can’t believe that’s all you can come up with.’

PC Jacobs glanced pointedly down at the axe he was holding. My axe.

‘If you’re going to look for my fingerprints on that, of course you’re going to find them, you bloody fool,’ I stormed at him. ‘My husband is away from home more than half the time. Who do you think chops the wood round here?’

I suppose swearing at a police officer is never an especially good idea. PC Jacobs told me stonily that he would overlook my expletives under the circumstances. I knew I had been pretty stupid, however it’s quite bad enough having your home destroyed without being accused of doing it yourself. As near as dammit, anyway.

Particularly after what I’d already been through.

I remained silent as he left the house. I didn’t really trust myself to speak to the man.

‘But you do really have to get help, Mrs Anderson,’ he told me, over his shoulder, for what felt like the umpteenth time.

PC Bickerton held back a little. I didn’t think he was quite so certain that I was mad enough to have wrecked the place.

‘If you call the station tomorrow, they’ll give you a crime number,’ he said.

I looked at him blankly.

‘Also, we will be checking your property for fingerprints, Mrs Anderson, and asking to take yours for purposes of elimination,’ he went on. ‘But as nobody has been hurt it’s not top priority—’

‘So when is it likely to happen?’ I interrupted.

‘Could be two to three weeks. Possibly more—’

‘And what exactly will be the point of it then?’ I interrupted again.

He shrugged. I noticed he was carrying at arm’s length a transparent plastic evidence bag with a dark brown substance in it which I suspected had been removed from my sitting room, presumably as a DNA sample. They were going to do some checking, then, it seemed.

‘Don’t you also need a DNA sample from me for the purposes of elimination?’ I went on.

‘Well, yes, perhaps you could pop into the station sometime. I’ll get someone to call you with an appointment.’

‘As long as you’re taking me seriously.’

PC Bickerton shuffled his feet.

‘Look, are you sure you want to stay here tonight, Mrs Anderson?’ he asked.

I nodded. ‘Yes. Anyway, I have nowhere else to go.’