Giles winces at an old memory, accompanied by a phantom pain in his head. "A heavy enough statue could certainly do the job," he says, with certainty that speaks of experience.

He moves to take a look around the gallery, a proper look at the "artwork". He spies an empty plinth that might hold the culprit, but he also spies something else. Giles notices that few of the others are eyeing them suspiciously. He tries to think. There's still something that's missing, something they're not...doing, in order to move on.

He comes up with the catcall from earlier - that had definitely been significant, a piece of direct interference on par with other "encouragement" he's had to deal with so far to play along.

Giles sighs. "So, you've never really worked with police before, Miss Jones?"