2. Home Sweet Home

"Bit of a stiff lot," Terry said. "Though the wine . that was certainly good."

"Just people with different interests, Terry."

She looked at him as he drove the short way back to their house, just a mile further down river from the Edwards.

"Opera? English bloody history? Religion?"

He glanced at her as he drove.

"Not exactly a night for having a laugh or two."

Claire opted not to respond.

These days, she and her husband moved in different orbits.

And that was okay with her.

He doesn't have to know about my life, she thought.

Nor me about his.

The one area they did come together is when they discussed their son, Oliver.

Currently away at Oxford - where it seemed the boy was always short of money and always having difficulty with his flatmates.

And when he came home?

Well, then Terry seemed to make himself scarce rather than deal with the son who spent the visits mainly watching telly, hanging with friends, and playing those noisy video games on the big screen.

Claire also tried not to be around much during those weeks.

How did he even get into Oxford? Claire often wondered.

Could Terry have had something to do with that .? Surely you couldn't buy your way into a place like Oxford?

Hard to tell with Terry.

"Money talks, doll," he used to say when they were first married.

Doll.

Thank god he didn't call her that now. She looked at her husband again.

Terry had been drinking, but he seemed steady behind the wheel of the big Porsche Cayenne, slowing as they came to Coutts Lane, the road that led down to the river, where their house was the last - and the largest - of the new places there.

So shiny and modern, but that was Terry's taste. She would have preferred a proper Cotswold cottage; all honey stone and old-fashioned flowers.

Still, you couldn't fault the setting, right by the river.

Set back from the others, hidden by a copse of trees in front, high shrubs on both sides.

Nice sense of privacy.

Would be good to slip into their giant bed, read for a bit.

Terry didn't seem interested in pushing things there as well.

Which also suited her just fine.

And then, with a sharp turn, they came to the short gravel driveway to their home.

And immediately Claire saw that something was very wrong.

*

Terry pulled the 4WD right up to the front steps, braking hard.

"Bloody hell!" he said, popping open his door and bolting out.

The front door was open!

They had left a light on in the porch and one in the hallway. But now, lights were on all over the house, the whole place lit up like it was on display.

Claire hurried to follow her husband.

"Terry - what's happened?"

He stood at the entrance.

And she had the same thought that she guessed he had. Whoever had done this . might still be inside.

He turned to her.

His tone, his look, almost accusing. "Looks like someone broke into the house, Claire."

"But what about the alarm system? How could-"

But she was left talking to the air as Terry, fists bunched up, barrelled into the house.

And Claire felt she had no choice but to follow.

*

So follow she did.

As Terry went first into the living room.

She looked at the upturned chairs, pricey items from Harrod's 'classic' line, designed to look like genuine eighteenth century but instead brand new.

And the sofa, a claw-footed item that matched the chairs, had its cushions pulled off, tossed around the room.

The photos on the mantelpieces, wedding pictures, Oliver as a baby, and then other benchmarks . his gap year in Thailand with friends, pictures of him moving into his room at Oxford.

All had been bulldozed to the floor.

Why? she thought.

Why would someone do that?

"The damn TV's still here! Least they didn't get that."

Terry spun around and started walking to a small study, which also served as his home office.

"God, damn it!" he said.

"What is it?"

Again he turned to her. "My bloody MacBook! Gone! You'd better check for yours."

Claire nodded and started walking to the kitchen. A small room to the side provided a little office - her hideaway as she thought about it.

A place to write emails, shop online, do all that stuff - away from the noise of the massive TV and its speakers, the screams of the football fans.

It was her private place.

And luckily her MacBook - albeit a smaller one - was still there.

Terry appeared by her elbow.

"They must have missed that," he said. "Though I don't see how the hell they could."

"Please, Terry. Language."

"We've been burgled and all you can go on about is my 'language'?"

She watched him shake his head.

"What an idiot!" And then he turned away from her.

"Where are you going?" she asked, as he raced past her.

"Upstairs. See what else they nicked; what else the bastards have trashed."

And Claire - wondering the very same thing - hurried to catch up with him.

*

In the master bedroom, the mattress had been yanked off the bed base. The base itself had been upturned as if someone was checking under the bed, or even inside the base itself.

Claire took that in - but then quickly went over to her dresser. She opened the top right drawer that held her locked jewellery chest.

She pulled it open.

"My things, Terry. They're gone."

Claire didn't have a lot of expensive jewellery. She just wasn't someone who liked showy things; not like Terry and his Porsche.

But she had a gold necklace with diamonds encrusted in the neck. Earrings too, gold and silver, and an assortment of expensive rings and broaches.

All good jewellery - just not a lot of it.

Much of it obligatory gifts from Terry who - she felt - didn't show any imagination when a big event had to be celebrated.

"Gone, hmm?" he said.

Then he turned and walked into their over-sized walk-in wardrobe that ran the full length of one wall.

There are things in there, she thought.

And leaving the dresser drawer open, she followed.

"Looks like they left my gun," he said, standing at the wardrobe's entrance. "Maybe they missed it, maybe they were rushing."

She watched him reach into his pocket for a key to unlock the grey gun cabinet that was mounted on a steel frame at the back of the wardrobe.

He flicked open the cabinet door.

Inside she could see the gun, with its polished wood and metal scrollwork.

So pretty - like the work of an Indian silversmith.

But she hated the gun. And hated the fact that Terry kept it here in the wardrobe.

At least it was on his side. The half devoted to his boring collection of grey and tan slacks, brightly coloured collared shirts, various shoes, brown, black, all smartly polished.

All looked untouched. Maybe the burglars hadn't been in here .

Claire turned to her side of the wardrobe and pushed at the sliding doors.

Slowly.

This was all so strange.

To see their home this way.

To think . people did this while they were sipping wine, eating Helen's delicious food.

Terry turned and headed back downstairs. She waited until she heard him banging and clattering down in the kitchen, then turned to inspect the other side of the wardrobe.

*

It took Alan Rivers only minutes to drive to their house.

Claire always liked him - though she had heard grumblings that he wasn't the sharpest policeman into the world.

Still, he seemed nice.

He looked properly concerned.

He had pulled out a pad to write down the details of what they had seen upon coming home.

"And you haven't checked for other stolen items? Made an inventory?"

Terry answered for them both.

"No. I mean, we've seen enough. Figured you might want to get cracking on the case."

Alan nodded.

"Computer. Jewellery. But they missed your laptop, right Mrs. Goodman?"

She nodded.

"And valuable silverware?"

"I haven't checked that," she said quietly.

"Right. We'll need as compete a list as you can. So will your insurer. You have theft insurance, I assume?"

"Damn right we have!" Terry said.

Knowing Terry, Claire guessed that whatever list he generated would have more than a few non-existent items on it.

"So Alan, how did they do all this and not trigger my alarm?"

The officer didn't immediately answer.

Instead he walked to the front door.

He opened the keypad just to the left as you entered the home.

"Operates by code, right?"

"Yup."

Another nod from Alan.

"And you two . are you the only people who know that...