This is an account from a typical day of a typical police officer serving in the UK. For the sake of his blushes we’ll call him George, he may not be a saint but it’s as good a name as any to use as get closer to St George’s day when we’ll be soberly celebrating the patron saint of England.
It's fair to say that George has been to a few burglaries. They range from 'tidy - you - would - never -know - anyone - had - been – in - the - house' affairs, to complete devastation where you have to console the home owner after they have discovered a leaving present from the burglar in their bed. How the minds of the common criminal / scumbag works never ceases to amaze ...
Anyway, George was called to report a burglary where the guy had returned from working abroad to find his house had been broken into via the back window. The window had been jemmied open and there were a number of footprints on the windowsill etc. 'Lovely', he thought. ‘Some evidence’ and called in scenes of crimes (SOCO) whilst he 'preserved' the scene (it's what we do in the UK, SOCO's are the experts – the equivalent of Gil Grissom and co, while the wooden tops or bobbies, do the scene preservation and initial investigation).
The SOCO turned up and George gave him a guided tour of what had been a relatively tidy search, a few books opened, tables moved. A computer, jewellry and other stuff had been taken, as well as a substantial amount of cash. The SOCO managed to lift some fingerprints and footprint impressions so not a complete waste of time for him. Hey, you never know right? Anyway George then got back to taking details from the victim.
"So just to confirm sir, you had £20,000 in a plastic bag tucked away behind the kitchen cupboard?"
"Yes officer"
"Do you have any other money in the house"
"Yes officer"
"Have you checked it?"
"Yes officer, its still there"
"When was the last time you saw the money?"
"Before I went away, in January"
"January? Does anyone else know you have this kind of money stashed away?"
"No officer, nobody"
"Who else lives here?"
"Nobody, oh only my son every now and then. He's in the army but stays here when he’s on leave"
"Does he know about your money?"
"No officer, but he wouldn't take it, he's my son"
"Right. But you've already told me he has sold your motorcycle without your permission whilst you have been working in South America. Does your son have money problems?"
"Officer he’s my son, he wouldn’t do such a thing. I help him pay his debts, he only has to ask"
"Right …"
He’s waiting for SOCO results and George is willing to bet that all of the fingerprints on the jars etc that had to be moved to get to the money belong to the son. You can imagine it now - son comes home, gets hungry, starts looking around for food, finds a mysterious plastic bag at the back of the cupboard. Ho, ho, ho … is it Christmas?
For the record the son went back to his unit early before Dad arrived home and Dad is finding it hard to contact him on his mobile phone. CSI he isn’t, but George reckons he might just've cracked this case for detectives in CID. It’s surprising how people generally still find it almost impossible to believe the worst of their closest relatives, especially parents of their children, despite the most overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
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