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“For the love of God, Ainsley, get in the fucking house!”
He sounds like he’s about to have a breakdown. It’s tempting to stay outside, do a little dance, and see him snap, but I choose the high road and step inside with Freya instead. Casper follows us a minute later. He locks the back door and pulls his phone out of his pocket before he walks into the living room.
“He’s calling the cops,” Freya says.
“To tell them what?”
“They might get prints from the top of the fence,” she replies. “Five break-ins and no leads. It’d be worth a try.”
Surely a robber would wear gloves. They must be doing so if the cops haven’t found anything on them yet. Weird thing is that the break-ins have been made via the side doors of the houses, off the laundry rooms, and during the early hours. It doesn’t make sense for them to come around the back here knowing this street has rows of identical houses on both sides, and the doors off the garden are full panes of glass.
“Do you really think it could be the thieves? There’s a lot of students living here. How many streakers have we seen running down the road after one too many drunken dares?”
“They go down the middle of the road, not the back of houses,” Freya says. “Casper’s freaked enough to call the cops. I really think you should go home for the Easter break.”
“I’ll make sure everything is locked.”
“I guess with the guys next door, whoever this is will see cars in the drive and move on. Our house is attached to theirs. We’re low risk.”
I don’t dare remind her that over the break, Casper, Marvin, and Reggie will be gone. She doesn’t need to stress, and I know I’ll be all right. The houses targeted had all been burgled while the residents were out or away.
These people want to steal, not murder.
CHAPTEREIGHT
The cops did want to take prints, much to Casper’s satisfaction.
We sat back and watched them work for what felt like hours while they dusted for prints, took photos, and wrote down our statements. We hadn’t touched anything out there, so we hadn’t disturbed the scene.
I’m not sure if they’ll find anything, though I guess we’ll find out soon enough.
Casper sits on the sofa with his ankle resting on his knee, smug as hell, flirting and smiling with a pretty female cop.
Freya is shaken, while I’m not sure what to think.
One morning, we found a road traffic cone in our garden after some drunk threw it over the fence the night before. It really could be something as innocent as someone fence hopping along the road.
The burglar knows the layout of our house already. This street hasn’t changed—no extensions or anything to any of the buildings—in years. It’s maintained for students.
I’m calling it: animal or prank.
“Will you two be okay tonight?” Casper asks. The smugness switches to concern as Freya shows the cops out. It’s time for him to leave, too.
“Of course,” I say. “It was probably some drunk student. My money is on Jeremy from number five. When he’s drunk, he’ll do anything for a tenner.”
I’m not exaggerating. He still has a slight scar on his eyebrow from when he tried to surf on top of a slow-moving car and he hit his face on a tree branch.
My words have had little effect on Casper, though, given the steely gaze and tight jaw.
“Freya, would you like me to stay?” he asks her.
Only asking Freya. Nice.
I glance in the mirror behind the sofa.
Nope, I’m not invisible.
“Um…” she hums, her attention moving to me.
