Molly Brown by B. A. Morton Page B

on what had initially bugged him about this whole situation, but found he was once again distracted by the books.
    H e wished Lizzie were with him: she had a mind for puzzles and details that was far superior to his. As she wasn’t, he pulled out his notebook and pencil and began to sketch the layout of the room and the location of the contents.
    He was no artist , but by drawing a simple grid, he was able to plot the items fairly accurately. There were twelve piles of books, each stack of varying height, containing a random number of books. If this had been Joe’s room he could have easily explained the layout by adding some racing track to the top of the stacks and letting the cars free-wheel to negotiate the twists and turns. He doubted little Molly Brown spent her time playing with cars. He jotted down the numbers; perhaps Lizzie could puzzle it out.
    He picked up the top book from the nearest column. Molly had run out of cardboard and glitter. The bookmark was a simple folded scrap of newspaper and Connell found that incredibly sad. He added it to the one in his pocket and turned to leave, pausing when he became aware of movement just outside the apartment door.
    Someone had stopped outside. The handle turned and the door opened with a slight jolt that revealed that whoever it was shared Connell’s skills of illegal entry.
    Connell crossed the hall, slipped into Lydia’s room , and positioned himself behind the open door. Holding his breath, he kept watch through the gap between the door and the frame. He half-expected kids, Terry and his buddy’s perhaps, who’d heard the property was empty and ripe for a little burglary.
    But it wasn’t kids who came quietly into the hall.
    The man was taller than Connell and bone thin. He wore a dark suit on his gaunt frame and his shoulders were slightly stooped in the posture that very tall individuals often adopt to assist their anonymity. He paused just inside the door and gently closed it behind him.
    Connell let out a slow measured breath, raising his brows in alarm when the man cocked his head in a reptilian manner and scented the air. Oh shit, this guy was some kind of serious freak and he was blocking the only exit. Not for the first time that day, Connell wished he’d gotten treatment for his little gun problem , and instead of it being locked in the car, he had the aforementioned weapon safely secured in his sweaty palm.
    The man turned away, presumably content that nothing threatening lurked in the shadows , and Connell accepted that the guy’s lizard senses were probably on the money. Connell certainly didn’t feel threatening, his intimidation factor having already hit zero. In fact, if anything, he felt a mite unnerved. He watched from the doubtful safety of the door as the man crossed into the living room and began to go through the various scraps of family life. Systematically he scanned the contents of every drawer and cupboard, and turned over the various pots and dishes scattered around the place, in his search for ... something. Connell was puzzled; this wasn’t a random burglary.
    He crept forward as far as he dared in an attempt to see and understand what was going on. When the man rolled back the fireside rug and lifted a loose board, Connell’s curiosity overcame his natural instinct for survival , and he left Lydia’s room, moved carefully along the hall, and flattening himself against the outside of the living room wall, he watched through the crack in the door.
    The guy lifted out a collection of paper s and envelopes with torn edges which were gathered together with a rubber band. He sifted through them with the ease of a man who knew exactly what he expected to find. He gave a tight smile when he found it and slipped the envelope into his pocket before returning the remaining papers and rolling back the rug.
    He stood and gave a last glance around the room before turning and heading for the door.
    Connell would have had every chance to duck