“Please don’t. I appreciate the gesture, but I’d rather not draw unnecessary attention.”
“Of course, sir,” one says.
I reach out and shake their hands, which surprises them, but they’re letting me in here when they could just as fast tell me to fuck off. It is a crime scene. Someone broke into the house through a back entry point. The tenets were away on holiday when it happened. It’s a rental, and the owners have several properties they manage.
“Thank you for letting me view the home today. Was anything taken?” I question.
“Not that the residents are reporting, Your Highness,” the other officer states.
My brows knit. “Has anyone else entered the home?”
“Just the crime investigation unit, the homeowner, and residents, who were escorted by us, and we made sure nothing was touched. The residents are, as you can imagine, anxious to return home. We haven’t told them of your involvement, and after your visit today, we’re going to allow them to return.”
“Right then.” Who breaks into a home, likely knowing that the occupants are away, and takes nothing? “Shall we go in?”
They nod and lead me up the front steps to unlock the door for me. It’s a quaint home from the outside, but the inside is a different experience and immediately raises new questions. The furnishings are high-end, and the electronics, including the large television, are top of the line. The lounge leads into a kitchen that would make Margarite, our chef, jealous.
On and on it goes. A home gym with state-of-the-art equipment, an office with monitors and computers that must cost a fortune. I open drawers and closets and anything I can think of. They don’t stop me.
“This is quite the home to steal nothing from,” I state.
“Yes, sir. We can’t figure it out either. Neither can the residents.”
“What do they do for a living?”
“Software engineers, I believe. They’re two brothers.”
Hmm. Okay. Gabe throws me a dubious look.
“And you’re positive the fingerprints match the person in your database?”
“Yes,” the first officer tells me. “It was double-checked.”
“But they don’t belong to the homeowner or tenants?”
He glances at his partner but shakes his head. “No. The fingerprints in question weren’t discovered in the house. They came from a back fence leading to the home of the people who called in the break-in.”
Weird. So she likely put on gloves before entering.
“How did she get in?”
“Through the back door,” Officer Two answers. “She picked the lock.”
No alarm. No cameras.
I continue on, visually scouring the home as I head upstairs. There are three bedrooms, but only two are being used as a place to sleep. The third bedroom has a sofa, but that’s it. Or at least that’s how it appears until you open the closet.
“Did the police or tenants come in here at all?”
The officer who came upstairs with me clears his throat. “Um, no, sir, we didn’t. It's a practically empty room, and neither the homeowners nor the tenants came in here.”
My head twists over my shoulder to him. “The tenants who had their home broken into didn’t come into this room and open the closet to check on their safe after someone broke into their home?”
He looks almost sheepish. “No. They didn’t.”
I turn back to the professional-looking safe that’s sitting ajar. She cracked it. There are no markings on it or evidence of forcible entry. “Fascinating.” I can’t see what’s inside. “Perhaps you should dust for fingerprints?”
“Yes. Smart. Let me go get the kit. I’ll be right back.”
