Pseudocrime

He had a suspect.  No evidence yet but he was sure that he knew who it was, it was just a matter of proof and he knew that that would only be possible if he caught her red handed.  So he waited.  She’d be back.

It was the quiet that had first tipped him off.  He’d heard it before, and it always meant trouble, less like the calm before the storm, more like that moment of complete silence at a demolition just before the building crumbles in on itself and all that is left is a pile of rubble.  A worrying lack of noise then, but not enough to get him out of bed.  It had been a rough night, and that was just his throat, these late nights and early mornings were not agreeing with him, but he knew it was what he had signed up for, and that it would not last forever.  Would it?