Page 7

Chapter 7

Tobias

Saturday mornings are supposed to be quiet. Long cups of coffee, maybe catching up on paperwork at home instead of the office, the occasional phone call from Tim checking if I'll be coming to Sunday dinner. The normalcy of it all borders on sacred.

So, when my phone rings at seven forty two AM with Holly's name on the screen, I know instantly that my sacred Saturday is shot to hell.

"What happened?" I answer, already standing from my Lazy-Boy, fully alert.

"Break-in at Treasures of Time, the antique shop on Elm." Holly's voice is tight. "It's bad, Tobias. John had the ambulance called for both of the Hendersons."

I'm in my closet before she finishes speaking, pulling on pants while jamming the phone on speaker. "Fuck, how bad?"

"Not sure yet. John found them unconscious. Mr. Henderson regained consciousness in the ambulance, said something about four men in ski masks."

I grabbed my badge and weapon from the bedside safe as she continued.

"John's already there. He called to have you notified. Reynolds shift just started, he's heading over now. Should I call anyone else in?"

"No, let me get there first. I'm ten minutes out. Oh and Holly, make a note for call ins. Any more break-ins I want the deputies to report in twos."

Nine minutes later, I pulled up to Treasures of Time, a quaint Victorian building that housed the Hendersons' antique business for over thirty years. The blue and red lights from my truck reflect off the morning dew that coats the surrounding storefronts. Yellow crime scene tape stretches across the ornate doorway, creating a jarring contrast to the carefully curated window display of vintage jewelry and delicate teacups.

John meets me at the perimeter. Circles under his eyes suggest he's had a long shift.

"Bad night?" I asked.

"No, you know how it is with a new baby. I'm not getting a ton of sleep." He nods toward the entrance. "You ready? Prepare yourself. It's not pretty."

The bell above the door still chimes cheerfully as we enter, the sound grotesquely inappropriate given the devastation inside. The place has been thoroughly trashed. Display cases shattered, antique furniture overturned and broken, porcelain figurines smashed to dust. But it's the blood spatters on the vintage Persian rug that catch my eye, dark stains spreading across delicate fibers that have survived a century only to be violated in minutes.

"What the hell," I mutter, carefully stepping around the glass.

"Exactly what I thought." John points to an untouched glass case containing several expensive watches. "They didn't take the Rolexes, the silver collection, or the rare coins. As far as we can tell from Mr. Henderson's initial statement before they took him to the hospital, the only thing missing is a matching necklace and bracelet set from the nineteen twenties. Art Deco style, diamonds and sapphires. Mr. Henderson said one took a fancy to it and had him get it out. The guy put it in his pocket. Then cold cocked him with the side of his gun."

"Damn, What was the value of the set?"

"He said around five thousand, but there are pieces still here worth ten times that. All left untouched." John shakes his head. "Mrs. Henderson walked in on them. They'd already knocked out her husband. When she started screaming, they beat her too. A couple walking their dog heard the commotion and called it in."

A sick feeling settles in my stomach. This isn't a simple smash-and-grab. It's calculated. Vicious. Personal, somehow. Just like the bakery.

"This wasn't a robbery. This was rage."

"Four men in masks, all dressed in black. Same M.O. as the bakery. No prints, no fibers we can identify yet." John flips through his notepad. "Henderson said they were organized, communicated with hand signals. Not your typical tweaker gang looking for a score."

I crouch down to examine a shattered display case. "Cameras?"

"That's the thing. They had a system, but..." John points to the ceiling where wires dangle uselessly. "Pros. They took out the security system first. Knew exactly where it was."

"Any exterior cameras on neighboring buildings?" I stand, scanning the shop, trying to find some logic in the chaos.

"Working on it. Most places around here are small businesses. Security's not always a priority."

The thought of Ruth's flower shop just a few blocks away sends a jolt of fear through me. No way in hell am I letting this happen to her.

"Time frame?" I ask, forcing my mind back to the crime scene.

"Best guess, around seven, maybe six thirty. Mr. Henderson arrives first and opens at eight. He's an early riser, comes in to do the books while it's quiet."

Forensics arrives, Erin Maithis, the head of the forensics department for the three counties, and another guy, methodically start setting up their equipment. Erin nods in my direction before issuing directives in a low voice.

Erin comes to where John and I are standing nearby, "Fellas," she nods.

"Erin, how goes it?" John asked.

"Peachy. We're about half done gathering from the warehouse. What a fucking forensics nightmare that place is." She shook her head, "those bastards should be shot. Also, had two unaccompanied dead on scenes, over in Valley View. We had to process those sites. The bakery and now this. Talk about job security. Still it's better than being in LA handling gang killings."

"Yeah," is all I can say. I'd rather there weren't any crimes. There's a reason I didn't go to work in the big city. I like the quiet stability of a small town. Or at least I did before I knew about Michael and now these break-ins.

I listen to John give Erin the breakdown about this case. Then step outside where I spot Calvin Nelson, the elderly man who runs the hardware store two doors down talking to Deputy Sang. My phone rang, seeing it was Holly I answered.

"Mrs. Henderson's in surgery," she started. "They broke her knee. Donna said her mom was scheduled for a replacement in two weeks. Mr. Henderson is in ICU with three broken ribs and a bruised lung. The doctor said give him a couple hours to get some rest then you can talk to him."

"Thanks, Holly. Hey, Erin Maithis said they had two dead on scene in Valley View. Can you do some snooping and see what the scoop is on them?"

"Sure, you just curious or think it's connected to something?" Holly asked in her, 'I know you're up to something' voice.

"Curious. Given who we know escaped, it's good to be curious about everything. Get my meaning?"

"Without a doubt," Holly hung up.

The morning creeps toward noon as we process the scene. Every fragment of evidence is cataloged, every potential witness interviewed. The picture that emerges is frustratingly incomplete—four men, all in black, with ski masks and gloves. No distinguishing features, no vehicle spotted. They appeared like ghosts and vanished the same way, leaving destruction and pain in their wake.

My phone rings as I'm examining a footprint outside the back entrance. It's the hospital.

"Sheriff Trenton."

"Sheriff, this is Dr. Langley at County General. I have Elmer Henderson here. He woke up insisting to speak with you. Says it's important."

"I'll be right there."

At the hospital, I find Elmer in the ICU, propped up in bed, his weathered face a patchwork of bruises, one eye swollen shut. Despite his injuries, he reaches for my hand with surprising strength.

"Sheriff," his voice is raspy, painful. "Sit," he points to the nearby chair. "Four of them. Came in through the back." His breath catches, and he winces. "I was about to do paperwork."

"Take your time."

"They didn't say a word. Not one word. Just started smashing things." His good eye fills with tears. "Last thing I remember was seeing them at the jewelry case. One had me take a setout of the case." Elmer grimaces. "The sapphire set. Art Deco, nineteen twenties. That's all they took. He put them into his pocket before he gave me the shiner."

"Any idea why they'd want that specific piece?"

"None. It's valuable, but certainly not our most expensive item." He hesitates. "Sheriff, I don't think they came for the set. They went straight to destroying the place. I think the set just caught his attention." He takes a labored breath. "They didn't even try the safe."

"Mr. Henderson, can you think of anyone who might want to hurt you or your wife? Any disputes, angry customers, former employees?"

He shakes his head slowly. "We've been in business thirty-five years. Never had an enemy in the world."

A nurse appears in the doorway. "Mr. Henderson, Mrs. Henderson is out of surgery. Doctor says she's stable. Your daughter's with her."

Relief washes over Elmer's battered face. "Thank God."

"I'll let you rest," I stand, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'll be back to talk to Mrs. Henderson, tomorrow."

Back in my truck, my phone rings announcing my son, Tim.

"Hey, Dad. Just heard about the robbery, are you still good for dinner tonight? Dianna's making her chili. She says she can have a bowl ready if you just want to do a drive by."

For a moment, I considered taking him up on the drive by offer. There's too much to do, too many pieces to this puzzle that don't fit. But sometimes the best way to handle a situation like this is to take a break from it.

"Yeah, I'll be there. Might be a little late."

"Good, looking forward to it. Oh, and Dad? Dianna invited her friend Janice. You remember her from the Christmas party? Blonde, works at the hospital?"

I bite back a groan. Another setup. "Tim, I'm not in the mood. Now's not a good–"

"Just dinner, Dad. No pressure." He chuckles. "But since you brought it up, it wouldn't hurt you to consider dating."

"Yes, son it would."

An image of Ruth flashes unbidden in my mind—her copper hair catching the light, her laugh, the feel of her pressed against me. I push it away forcefully.

"No date and no talk of dating, deal?"

"Fine. See you tonight."

Driving back to the station, my thoughts oscillate between the break-ins and Ruth. Two seemingly unrelated threads that keep tangling in my mind. Two break-ins in less than a week. Both knew when the owners would be there. Both took nothing of financial gain. Seems destruction was the only goal.

I park in my reserved spot outside the station, staring at the building without really seeing it. I need to see Ruth about her security system, if she even has one. The thought of seeing her again—being close enough to smell her tropical scent, to see the hurt in her eyes from our last encounter—sends equal waves of anticipation and dread through me.

Maybe, I'll send one of the deputies to have that conversation instead.