The case of Miss Fraser (1)

The case of Miss Fraser (1)

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“This one’s for you,” sergeant Barstow shouted. I looked out a window of the Ashfordly police station and saw an elderly woman walking toward the entrance. As she came into the building, sergeant Barstow vanished through the back door. I wondered why.
Now the woman was standing across the counter, wholesale designer handbags, smiling sweetly.
“Good morning, fake designer bags, madam.”
“Good morning, “she said pleasantly. “You’re new, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Madam, police Constable Rhea.”
“It’s a bout that man who’s been annoying me, wholesale replica designer handbags.” she began earnestly. “I’ve been here about him before. Jackson is his name.”
“Could I have your name and address, please?” it was always wise to begin like this.
“Miss Fraser. Josephine Fraser. I live at 43 prince terrace. I’m a retired office worker. Now, can you please do something about Jackson?”
“What’s he done, Miss Fraser?”
“Done? He’s sprinkled blue laundry powder all over my staircase again. He does things like that all the time. He must be stopped.”
“How did he get in?”
“I just don’t know,” a sad look appeared on her face, replica Louis Vuitton handbags, “but he gets in all the same. I can’t keep him out.”
“Where does he live?”
“Next door, Number 41,” said she. “What an awful neighbor!”
“I’ll go and see later this morning and warn him off, Miss Fraser.”
“I would be most grateful.” With that she left.
Half an hour later I walked to prince Terrace. Miss Fraser’s NO.43 was smart and cleans with a glass-fronted door and neat curtain. NO.41 was in a bad state of repair. I walked up the path and knocked. “Anyone in?” is shouted.
No reply. I knocked again and entered. The place was deserted; there was no furniture, wholesale coach handbags and it was damp and rotten. I wondered if the evil Jackson was a tramp, sleeping in the place. Anyway, it seemed he had left, possibly because of Miss Fraser’s threatened police action. I decided to visit her.

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