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By Root 821 0

or had it? It was perfectly possible to go through the motions of a familiar action and not remember that one had done it. But Pat was sure that she had not attended to the alarm this morning. She had come in, opened the letter, and then walked over to Matthew’s desk, where she now stood. The control box was on the other side of the gallery, near the light switch, and she had definitely not been over there. Had the alarm been set? Pat tried to remember who had been last to leave the gallery last night. It was not Matthew. He had gone off to meet his father shortly after four and she had stayed at work until five. She remembered leaving the gallery and when she had done so, because she had been concerned about being in time for Domenica’s invitation.

She glanced towards the control box, across the semi-darkened gallery. Two small red lights blinked regular pulses back at her. That was different. Normally, when she came in a single 78

Things Happen at the Gallery

red light flashed until the code was keyed in. Now there were two.

Pat looked about her. The gallery had a large expanse of glass at the front, and this gave out onto the street. There were people on the pavement, traffic on the road. The door was only a few feet away. But even so, she felt suddenly uneasy, and now she saw that the door that led to the room at the back was ajar. She closed that door – always – before she left. She would not have left it open like that, as the alarm system depended on its being closed. Now she felt frightened, and she ran across the room to switch on the lights. Then, with the gallery bathed in light, each of the larger pictures illuminated by their spotlights, she found the courage to walk over to the inner office door and tentatively push it open.

The intruder had managed to raise the lower panel of the back window about eighteen inches. The glass was not broken, but the catch had been forced and there were splinters of wood on the floor – she saw those immediately.

She stood in the doorway, quite still, her feelings confused. There was a feeling of intrusion, almost of violation. They had been burgled at home once, and she remembered how dirtied she had felt at the thought that somebody had come into their house and just been there, just been physically present and uninvited. She had spoken to her father about it, and he had simply nodded and said: Yes, that’s how it feels. She stepped back from the doorway and walked calmly to Matthew’s desk, where she picked up the telephone and dialled the emergency code. A comforting voice told her that the police would arrive within minutes and that she should not touch anything until that happened. So she stood there, her heart pounding within her, wondering what had happened. Why had the alarm not gone off? Why was the office door ajar? It suggested that the intruder had managed to get in through that small opening and had then been disturbed, perhaps by the sounding of the signal on the control box. That would have made a perfectly audible sound, even if the main part of the alarm, the siren, had failed to go off.

The Lothian and Borders Police Art Squad

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Or perhaps Matthew had come in last night for some reason, set the alarm improperly, and then left the door ajar; he was the only other person with a key, as far as Pat knew. But then if he had done this, why would he have forced the window?

It suddenly occurred to Pat that a break-in could be quite convenient for Matthew. He was having difficulty in selling any of his paintings; perhaps it would be easier to arrange an insurance claim.

31. The Lothian and Borders Police Art Squad A few minutes later, as promised by the calm voice on the telephone, a police car drew up outside the gallery and two uniformed officers, generously equipped with radios, handcuffs, and commodious pockets, emerged. Pat went to the front door and opened it to them.

“An art gallery?” asked one of the policemen, the younger one, as they came in.

“Well it’s not a supermarket,” said the older one. “Pretty obvious.”

Pat saw the younger policeman look