‘This is pretty,’ he said.‘We just rent it.’‘Don’t make it less nice.’Parking the car, Robert could see the broken windows. But there was no sign anyone had come into the garage. Leaving Duval to wait outside, he went and checked the coach house, but it too was undisturbed.He climbed the garage stairs with Duval behind him, and unlocked the door to its small apartment. All seemed in order: the television sat untouched in a corner, with the CD player beside it – they would have been priorities for any thief.‘Who lives here?’ asked Duval.‘It awaits my mother-in-law. She’s supposed to come visit this fall.’‘Don’t want her in the house?’ asked Duval with a sly grin.‘We haven’t really got the room,’ he said, then laughed in acknowledgement of the truth.After measuring the broken windows, they drove to a hardware store in the nearest town. It was a small poky place, too near the industrial Indiana belt to be a country town, too poor to be charming. They bought glass panes cut to order, a tin of putty, and a putty knife.
