Page 23 of The Love Letter
‘’Course you can. You can say she lost touch with the family years ago, that she may have remarried since and you’re not sure what surname she might go under now.’
‘Good one. Okay, I’ll do that as soon as I can.’
‘Fancy a brandy?’
Joanna checked her watch. ‘No. I’d better be on my way home.’
‘Want me to spin you down the hill?’
‘I’ll be fine, thanks. It’s a dry night and the walk will help work off my massive supper.’ She placed the letter and the programme back in their envelopes and stuffed them into her rucksack. Then she stood up and headed for the door. ‘Another culinary triumph, Simon. And thanks for the advice.’
‘Anytime. But just watch yourself, Jo. You never know what you might have stumbled across by accident.’
‘I doubt my little old lady’s tea chests contain the prototype to a nuclear bomb that could start World War Three, but I will,’ she laughed as she kissed Simon on the cheek. ‘Night.’
Twenty minutes later, feeling better for the brisk walk down to Crouch End, Joanna put the key into the lock of her front door. Closing the door, she groped along the wall for the light switch, and flicked it on. She walked into the sitting room and let out a gasp of horror.
The room had been ransacked – there was no other word for it. Her floor-to-ceiling bookshelf had been tipped forwards and hundreds of books were scattered across the floor. The lime-green sofa had been knifed, the material covering both frame and cushions violently ripped to pieces. Plant pots were overturned, the soil spilling out onto the floor, and her collection of old Wedgwood plates smashed in the fireplace.
Choking back a sob, Joanna ran through to the bedroom to find a similar scene. Her mattress had been ripped apart and flung aside, the divan underneath slashed and ruined, her clothes torn from the cupboards and drawers. In the bathroom, her pills and potions and make-up had been opened and flung into the bath, forming a colourful, congealing mess that any modern artist might have been proud of. The floor of the kitchen was a sea of milk, orange juice and broken crockery.
Joanna ran back to the sitting room, huge, guttural sobs emanating from somewhere inside her. She reached for the telephone and discovered the wire had been wrenched out of the wall. Shaking violently, she searched through the wreckage to discover where she had left her rucksack and found it still in the hall by the door. Delving inside, she pulled out her mobile phone and, with fingers that shook so hard she dialled the wrong number three times, she finally reached Simon.
He found her standing in the hall ten minutes later, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably.
‘Jo, I’m so sorry.’ He pulled her to him, but she was too hysterical to be comforted.
‘Go in there!’ she shouted. ‘See what the bastards have done! They’ve destroyed everything,everything! There’s nothing left, nothing!’
Simon stepped into the sitting room and took in the devastation, before moving into the bedroom, bathroom and kitchen. ‘Jesus,’ he muttered under his breath, stepping over the detritus to return to Joanna in the hall. ‘Have you called the police like I told you to?’
Joanna nodded and sank down onto the heap of Matthew’s clothes that had spilt out of one of the slashed black bin bags in a corner of the hall.
‘Did you notice whether they’ve actually taken anything? Your TV, for instance?’ he asked gently.
‘No, not really.’
‘I’ll go check.’
Simon was back a few minutes later. ‘They’ve taken the TV, video, your computer and printer . . . the lot.’
Joanna shook her head in despair as they both saw the blue lights of a police car flashing through the glazed panel in the front door.
Simon stepped past her to open the door and went out to greet the police on the path outside. ‘Hello, officer. I’m Simon Warburton.’ He dug in his pocket and produced an identity card.
‘That kind of a job, is it, sir?’ the officer asked.
‘No, I’m a friend of the victim and she is . . . er . . . unaware of my position,’ he whispered.
‘Righto, sir. I get your drift.’
‘I just wanted a word before you go in. This was a most frenzied and violent attack. The lady was out at the time, thank God, but I would suggest that you take this seriously and do as much as you can to find the culprit, or culprits, as the case may be.’
‘Of course, sir. Lead the way, then.’
An hour later, after Joanna had been temporarily calmed by the brandy Simon had brought from his flat, and had given as clear a statement to the police as her dazed brain would elicit, Simon suggested he take her to his place for what was left of the night.
‘Best to leave the clearing up till the morning, I reckon, love,’ said the police officer.
