Three police cars are parked outside Sky Preston’s block of flats. Precisely what she was not in the mood for.
It had been a typical day for a model; early morning start leading into a long day. Her driver had been a crude, rude, smelly boy. He was a terrible driver who enjoyed revving the engine loudly at every opportunity. Easy to tell it wasn’t his car.
After Sky had busted a gut to get to be on time, the makeup ladies were late, the hair stylist was even later. When she finally arrived, the stylist took her own sweet time doing everything and then decided it was wrong. Fiddle diddled around. Couldn’t make up her mind. Couldn’t get it right and redid everything at least five times. So, exasperating. Now to arrive home and find police on her doorstep was the last thing Sky needed.
#
“ID please,” demanded the policewoman blocking the entrance. Sky fumbled through her handbag until she found her Passport.
The policewoman scrutinised it closely. “Thank you. I am Policewoman Constable Seagrave. And you live in flat 10?” she posed. Sky nodded.
“I regret to inform you, today thieves systematically broke into every flat in this block. Every apartment has been burgled. Even worse, they have laiciously trashed or vandalised every flat. I further regret to inform you, your flat has been the most badly vandalised. Sky, we have a grief counsellor on hand for you. Let me say I am very sorry to be the one to break the bad news to you.”
“And now let me introduce you to Jane Wilson.” Another policewoman stepped forward. “Jane is the Grief Counsellor,” said Constable Seagrave. “I’m sorry we meet under such circumstances,” said Jane offering her hand to a stunned, silent Sky.
#
Both policewomen accompany Sky to inspect the crime scene. They hold open the door of flat 10 and shepherd her inside.
It is a distressing sight of manmade mayhem. Little containers of cosmetics some lids askew, others missing lids altogether, lay open on every flat surface and ledge. Shoes of all styles scattered higgledy piggledy across the floor. Wardrobe doors open, drawers ajar. Clothes flung over chair backs. More clothes dropped on the floor, interspersed with ripped open handbags. More clothes hanging half crookedly on coat hangers. Empty coat hangers randomly scattered everywhere.
“I’m sorry you have to see this,” utters Policewoman Wilson taking Sky by the arm, “has anything immediately obvious to you been stolen?”
Sky slowly takes in the shocking scene of devastation before saying, “Well, no. This is how I left it this morning. I was in a rush.”
It had been a typical day for a model; early morning start leading into a long day. Her driver had been a crude, rude, smelly boy. He was a terrible driver who enjoyed revving the engine loudly at every opportunity. Easy to tell it wasn’t his car.
After Sky had busted a gut to get to be on time, the makeup ladies were late, the hair stylist was even later. When she finally arrived, the stylist took her own sweet time doing everything and then decided it was wrong. Fiddle diddled around. Couldn’t make up her mind. Couldn’t get it right and redid everything at least five times. So, exasperating. Now to arrive home and find police on her doorstep was the last thing Sky needed.
#
“ID please,” demanded the policewoman blocking the entrance. Sky fumbled through her handbag until she found her Passport.
The policewoman scrutinised it closely. “Thank you. I am Policewoman Constable Seagrave. And you live in flat 10?” she posed. Sky nodded.
“I regret to inform you, today thieves systematically broke into every flat in this block. Every apartment has been burgled. Even worse, they have laiciously trashed or vandalised every flat. I further regret to inform you, your flat has been the most badly vandalised. Sky, we have a grief counsellor on hand for you. Let me say I am very sorry to be the one to break the bad news to you.”
“And now let me introduce you to Jane Wilson.” Another policewoman stepped forward. “Jane is the Grief Counsellor,” said Constable Seagrave. “I’m sorry we meet under such circumstances,” said Jane offering her hand to a stunned, silent Sky.
#
Both policewomen accompany Sky to inspect the crime scene. They hold open the door of flat 10 and shepherd her inside.
It is a distressing sight of manmade mayhem. Little containers of cosmetics some lids askew, others missing lids altogether, lay open on every flat surface and ledge. Shoes of all styles scattered higgledy piggledy across the floor. Wardrobe doors open, drawers ajar. Clothes flung over chair backs. More clothes dropped on the floor, interspersed with ripped open handbags. More clothes hanging half crookedly on coat hangers. Empty coat hangers randomly scattered everywhere.
“I’m sorry you have to see this,” utters Policewoman Wilson taking Sky by the arm, “has anything immediately obvious to you been stolen?”
Sky slowly takes in the shocking scene of devastation before saying, “Well, no. This is how I left it this morning. I was in a rush.”
