The search for intruders downstairs took longer than White had anticipated. Lucy insisted upon accompanying them and gave then a brief tour of the ground floor as the checked the windows in every room and no fewer than seven doors. Honestly, what was the point of having seven doors to a house. Three, perhaps. Three was an acceptable number, A front door for weddings and funerals, a back door for everyday and a side door for the summer. Not seven. He'd never seen such a potential for burglary.
“Have you ever been burgled, Mr Waterman?”
“No. Not recently, anyway. There was a time when we had a couple of lads from the steelworks break in because they were convinced I was a drug baron or somesuch but we all had a good laugh about it over a small whiskey and a pit of scorpions.”
“A figure of speech. Suffice to say, I convinced them I had neither secret fortune nor hoard of class A drugs and they went their merry way.”
“What happened to them?”
“One opened a small garage to which I send my car for regular services and the other became the director of Twilight.”
“That's the fellow, yes. He must have gone to college or done a home study course to get that job because he was thick as two short planks when I met him.”
“He certainly isn't now. We tried to see him yesterday about the recent spate of cryogenic awakenings but he only gave us a minute or two.” White watched the householder's face for signs of alarm at the mention of cryogenics but he saw only confusion.
“Cryogenic awakenings? That's a real thing?”
“We believe so, sir, yes.”
“Dog help us from a newly revived Walt Disney.”