Robbing the Clueless

     I read a lot of detective novels. So I probably should have noticed something awry upon seeing the veranda door open when arriving home from church on Christmas Eve. Instead, I closed the door, leaving my fingerprints all over it and accepting Johanna's explanation that she had seen Lucas go out that way. Like the rest of the family, I was eager for Swedish meatballs, mashed potatoes, and opening presents. We set dinner on the table, built a fire, and were preparing to exchange gifts when Johanna arrived from the computer roomn with the announcement that the window was open and there was a chair in front of it. My first thought was that Lucas had opened it, planning to come through as Tompte with the gifts, which he had been hoarding in pillowcases up in his bedroom. As it turned out, the window was not merely open, but broken off its frame. Dad and Eric set about repairing it (putting their fingerprints all over it), while the wheels in my brain slogged their way through the molasses surrounding them. Finally, I said,
     "I think we should call the police."
    We decided that was a good idea, and then thought to check the veranda. Finding the slider open, we closed it, nicely leaving finger prints all over that one, too. Then I ambled on over to the house of our 80ish neighbor, to ask him to help us call the police because we thought we had been robbed. Eric and Dad continued to destroy evidence at the computer room window as M. Laubacher (a native Swiss who, most providentially for us, spent some of his youth in New York and feels warmy toward Americans) explained that he would have to call from our phone, or the police would not come. I led him up to the master bedroom, which inexplicably houses the only phone jack in the house. I felt a pang of embarassment as I glanced at the mess on the bed. Too bad I hadn't cleaned it all up before we left for church . . . . Wait a minute, I didn't leave the drawers to my bedside table on the bed, nor all those empty jewelry boxes. Holy Cow, I think we've been robbed! In all embarassing honesty, it wasn't until that moment that I realized what had happened. Up until then, I still cherished the lingering belief that one of the kids had broken the window and had just been afraid to own up. None of the kids, however, would make off with my jewelry.
     M. Laubacher reached the police, who told him they would be over in a couple of hours. They couldn't come right away, they explained, because -- no kidding -- they had at least a two-hour backlog of robberies. This, apparently, is some people's idea of last-minute Christmas shopping. The policeman also told M. Laubacher to remind us not to touch anything . . . else.
     Since we seemed to have a little time before the police arrived, we decided to open Christmas gifts, which were all intact, possibly thanks to the fact that they had been up in Luc's room and not under the tree. At 10 p.m., right when he was expected, the Police Investigator showed up at the door. If there's anything worse than being robbed on Christmas Eve, it has to be spending the holiday investigating robberies, but our officer was very nice about the whole thing, let the kids watch him, and even found a footprint which had escaped our bumbling. He patiently explained the deal with robbery in Geneva, which is that there are about 20-40 home burglaries a day, more on the holidays, and more if you are a foreigner. The theives -- the group that hit our home, anyway -- want only jewelry and cash. They don't have networks to dispose of computers and other electronics, which was good news for us. The officer told us that we could install an alarm system if we wanted to, but the police would never be able to make it to the house in time to catch the theives, who only stay inside for a few minutes. He added that, while the police often catch the perpetrators, the courts immediately release them (he couldn't explain why this was the case). M. Laubacher, who came over for a few minutes to make sure everything was okay, added the helpful information that our house has been robbed four or five times over the years, that his house is one of only two in the neighborhood that had not been robbed (yet), and that he and his wife leave some cash both downstairs and in the bedroom whenever they go out, in hopes robbers will just grab that and leave. It was all highly educational, and at least made us feel that we were not alone.
     A few of the pieces of jewelry that the burglars burgled had sentimental value for me, and having one's house robbed can hardly be described as holiday fun. On the whole, however, I feel most sorry for the inspector, who spent his holiday dealing with incomptetent crime victims . . . and the theives, who made off with two drawersfull of costume jewelry for their Christmas gift.