Who Lives In An Empty House
Pim thought for three days.
He had — by the end of the third day — four possibilities, written carefully in his small notebook.
*1. A criminal hiding from something.*
*2. A homeless person who has — for some reason — chosen this house. Maybe somebody who used to know Mrs Vogel.*
*3. A relative who has been quietly looking after the house, perhaps without telling the cousins.*
*4. Something else.*
He thought about which of these to take to which adult.
If it was a criminal, the right answer was to tell the police. If it was a homeless person, the right answer was — Pim thought — somewhere between trickier and more delicate. The police might still be the right answer. But, also, possibly not. He had read enough about how — in some countries, in some moments — police arriving at empty houses with quiet people in them did not always end well. He did not, particularly, want to be the cause of that.
He decided to start with the third possibility. He went, on a Saturday morning, to the village's small estate agency. He asked the woman behind the desk, very politely:
"Hello. I am sorry. Could you tell me — has anyone been given a key to look after Mrs Vogel's house at number 14?"
The woman blinked.
"Number 14? No. No one. The cousins are still in dispute. We have been holding the keys for two years. We have not given anyone access. Why are you asking?"
Pim — who had decided