“Can you believe this, Jon? The recklessness, the sheer vandalism. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, my good man.”
“It certainly is a mess, Schlock. Do you have any hunches?”
“I have a hunch that whoever did this, really hated glass.”
“How astute of you, sir.”
I gave him a glare. “I’ll have none of your lip, Jon. I need to concentrate.”
Together we paced through the shattered glass, lying along the concrete like the sand it had originally been blasted from.
“I think this will be beyond any business that offers glass repair, Schlock,” Jon whispered.
We’d been called to the scene an hour earlier, after a vandal had smashed all of the glass in the shopping centre’s plaza. Glass windows, doors, balustrades. All gone. I kept my eyes on the ground, looking for the weapon. It was there, buried beneath three layers of smashed glass. A crowbar, dented now, far beyond repair, much as the snow-like sheet of glass.
Careful not to cut myself, I reached down and took the weapon, inspecting it closely. “Get this to forensics,” I said, passing it to Jon. “This was no mere act of vandalism. It’s borderline terrorism. He will strike again. All glass balustrades near Melbourne are in danger.”
“Egads, Schlock, are you sure?”
“Certain. Inform all the local shops. We have a glass smashing bandit on the loose.”
In the window of a shop, I spotted a crushed box of Wheat Biscuits.
“And I’m afraid it’s cereal.”
Jon didn’t say anything at first. He stepped closer and saw the box. “Did you just make a pun? This is very serious.”
“Why of course it’s serious. I said it’s cereal.”
“You mean serial?”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you said cereal, like the breakfast food.”
I gave him a confused look. “How can you tell the difference?”
Jon shrugged. “I guess I just know you well enough. You’re allowed to have hunches. Why can’t I?”
“Fair enough,” I said. “Still, we have a glass smashing bandit to catch. Let’s get moving.”