The Flyleaf Killer
noises seem to have stopped.’
    Bennett scribbled briefly, and cleared his throat. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘As you probably know, we’ve already checked next door, front and back.’ (Daphne looked at him suspiciously: he seemed not to notice.) ‘All doors and windows are secure and there’s no sign of a break-in. We also checked the garden. Did you notice anyone hanging about?’
    ‘No, it’s too dark. With all the shrubs, I couldn’t see beyond the fence anyway, even in daylight.’
Why the inquisition?
She felt a flush of indignation. ‘But
somebody
was there, make no mistake—and it wasn’t an animal, either!’
    Silent until now, PC Edmunds decided to ‘pour oil on troubled waters’.
    ‘Nobody doubts you, Mrs Frasier,’ he intervened, reassuringly. ‘You make an excellent witness. What we
are
saying is that nobody’s about now and nothing appears to have been disturbed. There’s nothing more we can do, as I’m sure you appreciate.’
    What does he mean?
‘I hope you don’t think I’ve wasted your time,’ Daphne countered.
    ‘Not at all,’ Bennett said, ‘you were right to call, and if you hear or see anything else unusual, please ring again. Rest assured, whoever was prowling has gone – probably legged it before we got here.’ Sliding his pencil into the spine, Bennett returned his notebook to his breast pocket. ‘Play safe. Make sure your doors and windows are locked, and try to get a good night’s sleep.’
    Daphne couldn’t shake off a singularly uneasy feeling and sought to delay their departure.
    ‘Would you like a cup of tea before you go? It wouldn’t take a minute.’
    Bennett shook his head. ‘No, thank you. That’s very kind, but we’re still on duty and with considerable ground still to cover. Good night, Mrs Frasier.’
    Turning, he started towards the road, closely followed by PC Edmunds.
    ‘Good night—and thank you,’ Daphne called.
    They heard the door close, a rattle of bolts, and the rasp of a key in the lock. Bennett slid behind the wheel and closed the door. Edmunds reached for the microphone.
    ‘Zebra Two—receiving?’
    ‘Zebra Two, go ahead.’ (The unmistakable voice of the station Duty Sergeant.)
    ‘Nothing to report figures one-one Rodene, Sarge. No sign of break-in, all doors and windows secure. Nobody hanging about, nothing apparently disturbed.’
    ‘Roger. What about the neighbour?’
    ‘Confirms she didn’t actually see anything, says noises stopped right after she phoned.’
    ‘OK, carry on with your patrol. Keep an eye for anything suspicious—nip back once in a while, and make a further inspection in daylight before you knock off.’
    ‘Roger, Sarge, will do. Zebra Two, out.’
    Edmunds replaced the microphone. Bennett returned the notebook to his pocket and started the engine.
    7.40 a.m. Nearing the end of an otherwise uneventful shift, the officers returned to Rodene Close. They checked the doors and windows again. Everything seemed secure.
    ‘Waste of bloody time,’ Edmunds muttered, and headed for the gate.
    Ever cautious, Bennett touched his sleeve. ‘Hang on. We’d best check the garden…’ (he yawned) ‘…in case somebody’s nicked the roses.’
    Edmunds reacted ungraciously by thumbing his nose, but nevertheless accompanied his fellow officer to the patio. Bennett glanced down the garden, suddenly alert. He took three paces and spun on his heel to confront his colleague.
    ‘Hey, Sam, look!’ he exclaimed. ‘Someone
was
here last night, look at the grass. See those marks in the dew? Footprints—and neither of us strayed from the path.’
    Edmund’s eyes followed his colleague’s finger. ‘Crikey, you’re right!’ he exclaimed.
    ‘Look, over there on the ground as well.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘Over by the bushes—rhododendrons, or whatever.’ He moved forward. ‘Come on, let’s take a closer look.’
    He turned, side-stepped the washing-line and was about to cross the lawn, only to be restrained by his

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