the first step

The shop was closed, and in much the same state it must have been when Mr.

Judas arrived there this morning.

“Good day, Sirs.” Officer Janford addressed myself and Simon. He was a rigid

looking fellow, but behind that blank façade was a sharp wit and a keen mind.

I’d once played him at Poker and had received such a beating that I hadn’t

suggest we play since. “Awful weather we’ve been having. Glad the rain has

stopped.”

He stood a step in front of the store door, but he moved aside at our approach,

intuiting our intentions. By this point, all of the men on the force knew to let us

go about our business, and a good deal of them had been rewarded for doing

so. Not just on the job, but in their personal lives too. Sometimes they didn’t

wish their colleagues to know that something had happened to them, and so

they bought the mysteries to us.

I too was glad the rain had stopped, I couldn’t abide the stuff, and it would do

no good to have all the clues – if there had been any and they were still

remaining – washed away by it.

“And a good day to you as well,” Simon replied, cordially. “Anything happens

since you were posted?”

“No, Sir.”

“Nobody lurking around?”

“No, Sir.”

Leaving Simon to question the officer, I turned my attention instead to the

store:

Glass littered the pavement outside of General News and Goods, tiny pieces

collected into tiny glass mountains that glittered under dull daylight. The

window had been smashed rather unevenly, and several large jagged pieces still

clung to the frame that they had been embedded in for at least the last five years.

Behind that frosted glass, one could now see the store in the entirety, if one

was willing to view it from the middle of the window. It appeared, beyond that

ruined window, that everything was exactly as it should have been. The store

was dark, lit only by the dim day, but there were no signs that anything else had

been done to steal from, or vandalize, the store.

But it didn’t seem as welcoming as before, perhaps because there was nobody

stood behind the counter and the lights were off.

Finishing his conversation, Simon examined everything closely, kneeling down

by the window and peering closely at the door, jiggling the lock, and running a

finger down the untarnished wood.

“Let’s go in then.” He finally said, moving aside so that Mr. Judas could open the

door. “Make sure nobody else enters Officer Janford.”

“Aye, Sir.” He gave a little salute.

Mr. Judas took the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door with a

satisfying clunk, but not without some effort.

“Always a little stiff after the rain. Winter is especially bad.” He told us.

Following him into the store, we took a closer look around, but the results were

much the same as from outside. Perhaps a can of fizzy had been taken from the

glass fridge, or somebody had grabbed a pack of crisps on his way out, but

otherwise, it was (besides the broken window) neat, tidy, and clean. No muddy

footprints, and only a small amount of water on the floor inside the window.

From out here in the main part of the store, it was impossible to see the safe,

let alone divine if it was open, seeing as how it was stored in the back room!

This stank of an inside job, and it must have occurred to Simon too, because he

enquired, lightly, if Craig had his own set of keys to the store.

We knew he did, of course, or he wouldn’t have been able to open and close

the shop.

I believe that Simon had intended it to sound like a routine question, of very

little consequence, but Mr. Judas bristled, taking it the way it was actually

meant.

“No look here,” he towered above us, “Craig didn’t do it. He was in the hospital

all night. I saw him there, you understand,

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