The Police

Patricia heard the gunshot from next door. The one thing she dreaded most. She was too afraid to move from her workroom, but equally terrified for her friend. Picking up her phone, she dialled the police. Waiting those few seconds for them to answer was agony.

She relayed to them what she’d heard, then, from a position of safety, she peered out her front window in time to see two men running down the road in the half-light of dusk. Their features were indistinct. Only their hurried actions marked them as suspicious. She told the police what she’d seen, and hung up.

Walking to her front door, phone in hand, she paused before opening the door. She was mortally afraid of what she was about to find at Sarah’s.

With sirens wailing in the distance, Patricia walked the few paces to the Old Curiosity Shop, and stepped across the threshold. She fancied she could smell the black powder from the gunshot.

The shop looked the same; a couple of piles had disappeared, but essentially it was the same shop, minus her friend.

‘Sarah? Sarah, are you here?’

Nothing.

Making sure she didn’t touch anything, Patricia made her way down the narrow aisle to the counter, and looked over. This part of the shop was not the same. A mass of splintered wood decorated the array of tiny wooden drawers behind the counter. Of Sarah, there was no sign.

She was still standing there in shock when the police arrived. She mutely pointed to the splintered wood behind the counter, where it was immediately evident a powerful gunshot had caused the damage.

The police checked the premises for any sign of Sarah or the gunmen, before the officer in charge took Patricia upstairs to question her further.

‘When did you last see your friend?’

‘About two or three hours ago. We had a coffee together downstairs, with a rep from Christie’s Auctions. He went off with some stuff Sarah was sending to auction, then I left.’

He scribbled in his notebook.

‘And the men you saw running away – are you sure they came out of this shop?’

‘I’m pretty sure they did. That’s what I told the police on the phone. It looked like they’d just run out of here, after I heard the gunshot.’

‘And your friend wasn’t with them?’ he probed.

‘No. Is her van still out at the back?’ she asked, hopeful that Sarah had driven off somewhere.

One of the officers disappeared downstairs to check, appearing moments later to advise that the van was still parked behind the shop.

Patricia’s heart sank further.

That left one scenario, a scenario she was hardly about to share with the police.

‘What happens now?’

‘The crime scene team are on their way, but without Miss Lester here, or any visible sign of a struggle, there’s not much they’ll be able to do. Do you have a set of keys by any chance, to lock up?’

Patricia nodded. The keys were still in her pocket.

‘I can’t leave you up here by yourself, I’m sure you understand,’ the uniformed officer muttered apologetically as he stood up from the couch.

‘Sure, of course. I’ll be next door until you need me to lock up,’ she replied.

She found it oddly hilarious. She wasn’t allowed to stay in the flat by herself, yet the guy knew she had a set of keys, so could let herself in anytime she liked.

That’s the bureaucrat way, she reasoned, as she followed him downstairs.

She watched the technicians on the floor behind the counter for a while as they photographed the splintered wood, took measurements, and bagged a misshapen bullet from the wall. The officer in charge was across the road talking to the bakery staff, leaving two other policemen chatting outside of the shop, filling in time until the technicians finished.

On the counter was the manila folder Sarah had pulled out of the travelling trunk, the word ‘Family’ written in black ink in the centre. Curiosity overtook her, and Patricia picked it up. Hugging it to her chest, she left the shop, and scurried next door before any of the men could see she’d taken something with her. She fled to her workroom and, looking furtively over her shoulder, slid the folder under her design books.

Less than an hour later, the officer in charge knocked on her door, and asked her to lock up the Old Curiosity Shop.

‘This is the place where the couple went missing right?’ he asked, as he waited for her to lock up.

Patricia paused, before turning the key in the final lock.

‘Yes, both Sarah’s parents are missing.’

‘And now she appears to be too,’ he added.

‘Then you should be out looking for her,’ Patricia retorted, uncharacteristically sharp for her.

Pocketing the shop keys, she spun on her heels and went back to her shop.

Locking the police, and the evening, outside.