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“I checked. No one’s inside.” He studied her for a long moment, and Julia realized he’d dismissed her as a nervous woman. A scaredy-cat. “You want to show me why you thought someone might be in the house?”
“Yes,” she said, leading the officer back into the house.
She explained the magazine that wasn’t aligned with the others. The book turned the wrong way it its holder. The bookend pulled away from the books. “And the kitchen light was on. I always turn it off before I leave.”
Officer Daley’s cool gaze held steady. “Anyone else live here? Or have a key to the house?”
“No one,” she said firmly.
“Anyone break in before this?” he asked.
“No.” Julia swallowed. Daley didn’t believe someone had been in her house. “That’s why I live in Ballard. It’s a safe neighborhood.”
“Anything missing?” he asked.
Julia shook her head. “Not that I noticed. But I didn’t take the time to look carefully. As soon as I realized someone had been here, I ran outside and called 911. I didn’t look for missing stuff.”
“Smart,” he said immediately. “You want to check the rest of the house? See if anything else was disturbed?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Julia said. Daley followed as she hurried toward the small third bedroom she used as an office. She stood in the doorway, her gaze scanning the room.
“Someone moved those.” She nodded toward the papers gathered into an untidy pile next to her mouse pad. “They were neat when I left this morning.”
Her gaze swept the rest of the room. One file cabinet drawer wasn’t completely latched. There was a tiny space between the drawer and the cabinet. “Someone looked through my files. That drawer was completely closed when I left the house this morning.”
Daley’s gaze lingered on the tiny, barely visible gap in the drawer for a long moment, then he turned to study her. “Anything missing in here?”
“I’d have to go through all my files to know.”
He took a deep breath. Studied her for a moment, then stared at the desk. “Not a lot of evidence of an intruder,” he finally said. He nodded at her closed laptop. “Someone breaks into a house? First thing they grab is a computer. Small and easy to carry. But yours is still there.” He jerked his head toward the living room. “So’s the television.”
“I know how I left my house this morning.” Julia wrapped her arms around her waist and dug her fingers into her sides. This police officer was dismissing her concerns because nothing had been taken. “Some of my things are out of place now.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” the police officer said. “Nothing’s missing. There’s no damage. Just things you said were out of place.” He shrugged. “Not sure what more I can do.”
His slight emphasis on you said told Julia he didn’t believe anyone had been in her house. But she knew she was right.
She also knew he’d dig in his heels if she challenged him. “I’d feel more comfortable if you’d call the evidence techs so they can check for fingerprints,” she said, making sure her voice was polite. Even. Non-confrontational. “Can you do that?”
He sighed. Fingered his radio. She kept her gaze on him, trying to look respectful. Finally he plucked his radio from his shirt and said, “I’ll give them a call. See if anyone’s free.”
They had been, and the techs arrived fifteen minutes later. They took prints from the areas that had been disturbed, plus both the doorknobs. Then they took Julia’s prints. “To rule your prints out,” the younger woman said.
As soon as the techs were out of the house, Daley headed for the front door. “Someone will call you if we get a hit on the prints,” he said, his tone of voice making it clear he was certain the only prints would belong to her.
“Thank you, Officer,” she’d said, trying to sound grateful rather than angry.
He hadn’t listened when she’d explained that she was a chef. That everything in a restaurant kitchen had to be in the right place. If you needed something while you were cooking, you couldn’t waste time searching for it. There was a reason the knives were arranged on the magnetic wall strips in a specific order. There was a reason the pots and pans were kept in specific places.
There was a reason for the way everything was done in her kitchen, and the habit had spilled over to the way she arranged her house. Which was why she’d known immediately she’d had an intruder.
She stood in the door, watching Daley sitting in his car, scribbling in a notebook. After five minutes, he started his car and pulled away from the curb without looking back. Based on his reactions, she assumed he’d written her off as a nut case and would put no further effort into the investigation.
Maybe the intruder had left fingerprints.
Rolling her shoulders, she headed into the kitchen and grabbed the bag holding that evening’s pasta special, baked ziti. She dumped it on a plate and shoved it into her microwave. She’d lost her appetite, but knew she needed to eat.
Five minutes later, she shoveled in the pasta as she sorted through her mail. Nothing but bills. She glanced toward her office, and her fingers tightened around her fork. Daley had been right about one thing, at least. Why hadn’t the intruder taken her computer? It was small. Easy to carry. Valuable.
