For a brief moment, so brief watching eyes would have doubted what they saw, a slim black shadow wavered against the window frame then slithered down the white brick wall and was lost in the darkness of surrounding shrubbery. For another moment a lace curtain billowed from the opening before the window gently slid down to meet the sill. The soft shadow against the wall retracted into the nearby hibiscus bush then emerged, its slender form moving swiftly along the path and through the open gate.

 

Along the footpath the figure ran. Eyes alert behind the balaclava, it kept close to the trees growing by the gutter's edge until it reached the second tree from the corner; there it detached a bicycle from the darkness of the tree trunk. The figure patted the pouch secured around its waist beneath the dark jumper, then mounted the bicycle and swiftly pedalled away, hearing in the distance the measured clip-clop of the milkman's horse as it made its early morning rounds. Five minutes later the bicycle was carefully replaced against the shed from whence it was borrowed. The figure continued its journey on foot.

 

 

Inspector Keith Saunders stood to one side of the room and treated his eyes on his lush surroundings. The thick carpet beneath his shiny black leather shoes, their soles uncomfortably thin, was peach coloured to tone in with walls painted two shades lighter. The leather couch was cream, its width and depth inviting, assuring absolute comfort, as did the matching chairs.

 

'Well?'

 

Saunders turned his interest back to the owner of the voice, a heavy-set man with skin, reddened from years of exposure to the outdoors. The man's wife well fleshed but still attractive and also bearing signs of long hours in the sun, stood to one side of the room and near to a chrome auto-tray. 'You've no alarm system connected, Mr. Harris?' Saunders asked.

 

'No. Not yet anyway.' Harris's red features grew rosier with embarrassment. 'Only been here three weeks, you know.'

 

Saunders nodded sympathetically. He could see from the corner of his eye the smirk that flitted across the face of his constable standing by the window and taking notes.

 

'I've read about gangs of crooks in Melbourne,' George Harris said, 'but they mostly hold up banks and steal payrolls. Besides,' he added, perhaps aware of sounding gauche, 'it's pretty quiet here, and who'd know us anyway?'

 

'I doubt if it was a gang, sir.' Keith Saunders smiled, trying to reassure Mrs. Harris who gripped her hands tightly together, a worried look on her pretty face. 'From what we've seen, it's been a one-man job. Probably thought he'd try his luck in the neighbourhood and you were the unfortunate choice.'

 

'Mmph.' George Harris gave a muffled snort. 'We've worked hard all our lives, Inspector.' Hurt and anger in his eyes. 'We built our property up from nothing. Thought we'd retire somewhere nice, you know,' he looked up from beneath woolly brows, 'away from the rougher parts of the city.'

 

 

Keith Saunders knew. Kew was one of the "nicer" parts of Melbourne. Mostly well-to-do, law-abiding people inhabited the houses set on spacious blocks of land in tree-lined streets. It also made it of great interest to thieves.

 

Saunders and his constable took their leave of the Harris'. Once outside, Saunders stepped off the front pathway and on to the lawn to again peer down at the faint outline of a footprint below the window. He tugged gently at a leaf of the hibiscus bush growing next to it. 'Well, sonny,' he said to his constable, 'what do you make of it all?'

 

'Couple 'a Bush Bunnies, I'd say, sir.' He tucked his notebook into his top pocket. 'No burglar alarm in this day and age. It is the nineteen twenties after all. And those windows are a breeze to open.'

 

'Yes. Well, sadly they'll have to learn not to be too trusting anymore. It's not the same as living in the country. But what I meant,' Saunders cast an irritated glance at his junior, 'was what can you tell me about the robbery? The thief to be more exact.'

 

Constable Clive Sturge bit the inside of his lower lip and slid a fast peek at his boss. Keith Saunders was a man just past forty. Tall and slim of build his features lean. His black hair and olive skin combined with eyes of dark grey that could turn to a chilling shade of slate when angry or upset beyond a certain point. Sturge had seen an exhibition of the inspector's wrath only once before but the tone of voice now prompted him not to push his luck.

 

'Sir, I...uh,' he stuttered.

 

'Well?'

 

'Somebody knew the Harris' had no alarm, or just got lucky?'

 

Saunders stifled a sigh. He was aware of Sturge's nervousness, but recalled the smirk on the young man's face at George Harris' embarrassment at not yet having connected his burglar alarm. 'Learn to use your eyes, Sturge,' he snapped and climbed into the car and sat waiting for his constable to sort himself out behind the steering wheel. 'The footprint,' he gave in, 'was barely visible and not very large, so it was most likely made by a small person. Secondly, this was stuck to a leaf on that shrub by the window.' He opened the fingers of one hand to show a small ball of white fluff. 'Ten bob to a penny it's cat fur and the Harris' haven't got a cat.'

 

'Plenty of cats in the neighbourhood, sir. Could've come from any one of 'em.' The old boy was clutching at straws, or fur, Sturge snickered softly inside himself.

 

'Ah, perhaps, but I found this on the curtain in the house.' He unfolded his handkerchief to reveal another, much smaller collection of white fur. 'What do you think, Sturge?' He waited, enjoying the young man's discomfort.

 

'I'm afraid I don't know what to make of it.' Sturge felt himself going red, from the roots of his slicked down blond hair clear down to his chest.

 

'A woman, Sturge. A woman.' Saunders sat silent, letting his offsider stew for another two blocks before saying. 'Small, light imprint on the lawn. Cat fur, a fluffy white cat, usually a lady's pet wouldn't you say? Therefore,' he went on, 'I think we're looking for a woman.' He leaned back, a small smile tugging the ends of his mouth, but his mind was still busy. Was the Harris robbery just sheer chance, or had had the thief known who and where to target? And if so how?

 

 

There had been a spate of similar burglaries these last few months. The victims were all much of an age, and most were recently retired. It was all too similar for coincidence, Saunders thought. The robberies were well executed, leaving no clue behind and it looked as though Harris' was another of the same ilk. Someone, somehow was obtaining information, but from where? He wrinkled his forehead, trying to think. They had checked all the usual places, seeking some link between the victims, but no light had been shed. Only two of those robbed had used the same doctor, and they had been unable to find any further links, but he was certain someone was being very clever. He rolled the ball of fluff between his fingers. The thief had finally made a mistake and provided him with his first clue. He was certain he was searching for a woman.

 

 

Lucy Armitage checked the perfection of her scarlet lips and smoothed her silken cap of blonde hair. She then did up the two gold buttons which pulled her brown overcoat into a neat drape across her hips. She patted the imitation fur collar into place and picked up her handbag. 'Goodnight, Mr. Carley.' She stood in the open doorway of the inner office.

 

'Goodnight, Lucy.' Victor Carley, looking heavier and broader than he really was in his pinstriped suit raised his head and acknowledged his secretary. 'Be a brave girl now.' He smiled at her attractive face and laughed as she twisted her red lips into a moue.

 

Out on the street, Lucy walked to the corner and waited for her tram. The late afternoon sun was definitely cooler than it had been last week, and she snuggled the collar of her coat a little closer to her ears while she waited for the tram which would take her to her dental appointment.

 

'Sylvia Watson.' Lucy smiled at the receptionist as she gave the false name and watched the girl's blunt fingertip run down the list.

 

'Watson. Yes, it's here,' the girl said. 'Take a seat Miss Watson. Shan't keep you waiting long.'

 

Lucy, well aware that her teeth were in perfect condition, was back in the reception area after only a few brief moments. Still, she held one finger to the corner of her mouth as she made her way to the door marked, 'Ladies.' Once inside the rest room she snibbed the door and turned the tap over the washbasin full on to cover any sound. Carefully she opened the heavy iron-framed window and peered downwards. She saw to her satisfaction, the drainpipe ran past the window where she stood on the first floor, then angled down to the ground. Next she examined the window catch, gently easing the lever up and down before pulling the window shut and resting the latch tongue lightly back in its groove.

 

 

It was dark outside and Keith Saunders should have gone to his home long ago. Clive Sturge had hurried off, Saunders catching a glimpse of him from his window, putting an arm about the shoulders of a dark haired girl waiting outside the police station. Vaguely Saunders surmised an evening at the pictures or perhaps dancing at the Trocadero before his mind swung abruptly back to the irritating puzzle of the burglaries.

 

Saunders' theory of a woman had seen Sturge and another constable sorting through the names of female employees of places already checked, and one question Saunders was insistent they ask was whether any of these women possessed a cat, and if so, what colour was this moggy? Still they had come up with nothing.

 

 

The night was black. Low clouds threatened rain and wind gusted uncomfortably along the street, gathering leaves and discarded bits of paper and twisting them into miniature willi-willies as they went.

 

Moving from the slightly deeper shadow of the building Lucy looked up to make certain she stood directly below the bathroom window of the dental surgery. Raising one black clad arm she brushed her gloved fingers across the brick wall feeling for the fishing line she'd left dangling from the window latch earlier in the day. Contact made she twisted the line around her hand and pulled slowly but firmly, still peering through the gloom at the outline of the window above. She felt the latch ease from its groove, and stepped backwards and a little to one side, still straining on the fishing line, until she felt the movement of the window as it swung outwards.

 

With little effort, Lucy snaked her way up the drainpipe, and pushing the window wide, eased herself over its edge and into the bathroom. She tiptoed into the reception area of the dental practice and skirting the desk, made her way to the heavy wooden filing cabinet against the far wall. Balaclava rolled up to her forehead and a pencil thin torch between her lips, Lucy began flicking through the files, pausing only when she found an appropriate address to copy into a thin notebook.

 

'Cock sparrow.'

 

'What?' Saunders, disturbed from deep thought, glanced at Clive Sturge. 'Oh, yes. He is a bit.' He smiled at Sturge's comparison of Major Jeremy Wilkes, Retired. The major was a small man, barely past Saunders' shoulder in height. His upper lip carried a monstrous moustache that seemed to pull at the flesh of his face, causing his pale eyes to water within their red-rimmed sockets.

 

'Not good enough,' he'd snapped at Saunders, and thrust his puny chest out in anger. 'You chappies down there seem to be treating the place more as a rest home than a police station.'

 

'Please. I assure you Major Wilkes, that everything ...'

 

'Bah. Not everything at all, else you'd have caught the wretch by now. You've had months to do your homework, and you're still pussyfooting around. I'll see your superior about this.' Wilkes' sallow cheeks flamed red and Sturge felt a mild tremor of alarm as he observed his boss' own cheeks deepen colour beneath the olive skin and his eyes become the slate grey that behoved ill for somebody.

 

'You are at liberty to do as you wish, Major.' Saunders' tone was brittle. 'I feel I should inform you, however, that the Chief Inspector is kept up to date on these burglaries and our enquiries into them.' He breathed deeply, controlling an urge to gather this scrawny little man by his scraggy neck and shake him. The man had every right to be upset at being robbed, but to infer that the police were doing less than their best to catch the thief rankled badly. 'We'll see ourselves out,' he announced. With an abrupt nod, he turned to his constable, again stationed by the window through which the robber had gained entry. They left the major standing in his lavish bedroom now bereft of most of his wife's jewels and quite a few of his own valuables, and with the thin black wires of his burglar alarm neatly severed and dangling uselessly by the wall.

 

'Should complete his day nicely,' Sturge commented as he steered the car out into the traffic. 'Looks like he'd just been to the dentist as well. Did you see that wad of cotton wool in his mouth? All bloody.' He shuddered at the thought.

 

'Pfft.' Saunders slouched down in his seat. He had developed a thumping headache, had missed his lunch, and needed a cup of tea with plenty of sugar. He would avail himself of something stronger when his shift ended.

 

'Little present for you.' Sturge could not keep the smugness from his voice as he held one hand out to the inspector. Saunders took the small black book and at Sturge's nod let it fall open. There, in the crease of the page, and barely visible but for a faint glint in the light, lay a blonde hair. 'Looks like you were right, Sir.' Sturge grinned. 'I found it on the velvet curtain in the bedroom, and Mrs. Wilkes isn't blonde. Seems if we are after a woman, it's a blonde one.'

 

For hours, Saunders mulled over his two clues. White cat fur and a blonde hair. Now his thief had made two mistakes. They always made errors, eventually, but how long could he wait until his mystery lady made one big enough for him to pin her down?

 

'Sturge. Sturge.' Saunders jerked upright, his hand reaching for the telephone book while he called for his constable. 'Find out what dentist Wilkes visited and see if they've had anything unusual happen lately. Go on.' He glared at Sturge's puzzled look.

 

'But sir, we know these people nearly all have different dentists, insurance companies, doctors and so on.'

 

'Just do it.' The eyes turned slate-grey and Sturge bolted. 'Clever. Oh very clever.' Saunders rubbed his hands down the front of his sleeveless pullover as he spoke, dislodging biscuit crumbs then flicked a fingernail at the papers on his desk.

 

Pleased with the results of Sturge's enquiries, Saunders sent him scouring more of the same plus previously reported burgled businesses. Almost all reported having discovered an unlatched window or something not quite right with their filing system at one time or another. Seeing nothing missing, it was put down to absent-mindedness and not reported.

 

'That's how it was done.' Saunders shook his head in admiration. 'One here and one there. Nothing obvious to connect them. Now, Sturge,' he said rising from his chair, 'let us begin to find a name for our lady-friend. We'll begin with the good major's dentist and see just who, in the blonde female line, visited them shortly before they found their unlocked window.'

 

'Nothing. Not a sausage,' Saunders fumed to his desktop. They had visited the dental surgery and obtained the names and addresses of two blonde ladies who had seen the dentist on the day in question. One had checked out as fifty years old and rather corpulent. Definitely not the type to fit through a small window on the first floor, they thought. The second, a Miss Sylvia Watson, was untraceable. Her address was given as out of town and she had paid cash for the consultation. Other enquiries came to a similar end. A name that was untraceable and an address that did not exist. They were stuck again.

 

Frustrated and fed-up with it all, Saunders grabbed his hat and coat and left the building. He emerged into the cold evening air to see Sturge, some yards ahead of him, placing an arm about the shoulders of a blonde wearing a brown overcoat. 'Casanova,' Saunders murmured to himself, then put thoughts of Sturge and work from his mind and headed for home, his fireside and a glass or two of beer while he read the paper and listened to the news on his wireless before having his tea.

 

'Sir, I'd like you to meet my friend.' Clive Sturge introduced his companion to Saunders as they milled around the foyer before going in to dinner. The Policemen's Annual Christmas Dinner saw everyone bring wives and girlfriends. Except Saunders. He offered no explanations, simply turned up alone, as he had done for years.

 

Sturge's companion was a "looker", Saunders had to admit. She was dressed in a snug fitting black gown with a high neckline that dipped dangerously low at the back. Her scarlet mouth was full and inviting and her green eyes sparkled at him as she patted her sleek blonde hair into place.

 

'How do you do.' Saunders shook hands with her and they stood a trifle awkwardly, making small talk until they would be called into the dining room. 'Excuse me.' Saunders placed his fingers on her arm close to the elbow and plucked a small piece of white fluff from the dark fabric of her dress.

 

'Oh dear, that's Blanche,' the woman said to Saunders. 'She always makes a fuss if she knows I'm going out.'

 

'Yes?' Saunders raised his brows in query.

 

'Blanche is my cat.' Lucy Armitage smiled at him.

 

 

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