My nose just about level with the window frame. I shone the torch around. There were plenty of dirty cobwebs, but no broken glass, no splintered wood. If Piano Teeth had considered breaking in this way, he must have thought better of it. As I inspected the frame more closely, I discovered that the window was actually screwed shut from the inside. It would have been impossible to force it open without tools, and perhaps he hadn’t brought his breaking-and-entering kit with him. Or he was a coward, too scared to break in, just like I was.

I heard voices and hastily flicked off the torch. Some late-night revellers were carousing down Sun Street, crossing that end of the alleyway. A drunken voice suggested that bugger the police tape, they should take a shortcut. Time I was gone. I jumped down off the crate, knocking over the beer bottles and sending them rolling, clinking noisily across the cobbles. ‘Shit!’ I cursed in a whisper.

‘Somebody’s down there,’ the drunken voice announced loudly.

‘Prob’ly a cat,’ someone else suggested.

I didn’t wait to hear the rest of the conversation. I dashed down the alley, back the way I’d come, not stopping to put the tape back in place. I ran down Shadow Lane, slowing my pace as I turned the corner, and began walking home, shoulders hunched against the falling raindrops.

Now, what could Piano Teeth have wanted so desperately that he was prepared to break into a crime scene to get it? To remove evidence of his having been there? It was a bit late for that. The police knew he’d been in Nick’s because I’d told them I’d seen him. I didn’t know his real name, but Paul did: Albert something. Assuming they’d been able to track him down, they would already have interviewed him.

The sensible thing to do, of course, would be for me to ring the police as soon as I got home and tell them what I’d just seen. But would they be interested? After all, I hadn’t really caught him trying to break in, and there was no real evidence he’d tried. An upturned beer crate didn’t count for much. I could just imagine what the police would say. It was dark, could I be sure the man I’d seen was really him, what was I doing there anyway? No. If I wanted to know what Piano Teeth was up to, I was going to have to ask him myself.

CHAPTER TWENTY

‘Of course I remember you, Juno!’ Tom Smithson shook me warmly by the hand. ‘You came to that auction viewing with Paul and poor old Nick.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Awful business!’

‘The police have been in touch, then?’ I asked.

‘Yes. Please sit down. Sit down.’