Nora Campbell set her key in the ignition and turned over the engine without any conscious thought at all. Her mind was circling back towards her son, and what rationale he could possibly have for lying about acquiring a hoodie used in a crime after that crime had already taken place. She automatically set her car into reverse, backed from Coulter's car, and was on her way towards the warehouses while her mind played through the details of the general store robbery. What crucial detail was she missing?
The engine's hum and the road's soft vibrations felt relaxing on her hands. She then reached for a compartment on her center console that had long been empty but now housed the pack of cigarettes she stashed there this morning. She deftly removed one and pressed it towards the car's cigarette lighter, waiting a few seconds as it began to glow red-hot. She then brought it back to her lips and took a long drag, running through possible explanations in her mind.
First theory: Parker and his friends were the first group of masked bandits to arrive after Valerie Delacroix. Support for that theory: the group size was right, and one being black would fit for Jackson Trent. Undermining facts: Valerie claims to have shot one of the intruders, but the boys are all okay; none have ever acted out like this previously; all six of the boys are confirmed to have been at Trade-in Tom's just after the robbery… why not run away?
She took another drag and ashed it against the tray in the door. She then replayed her conversation last night with her son, trying to peel it apart for any kind of clue. Finding none, she continued her mental interrogation of the facts.
Second theory: Parker wasn't at the scene, but he knew whomever was and is helping to cover it up. Support for that theory: Parker trying to buy the hoodie used at the crime after the fact… maybe the robber abandoned it at Trade-in Tom's. Parker, fearing forensic evidence undoing his friend, purchased the hoodie and then discarded it. Undermining facts: Tom said that he saw no foul play related to that hoodie, believing it accounted for up until the boys bought it. Which, itself, is problematic, because that timeline overlaps with the robbery, where we know the hoodie was seen. In fact, the curious case of the impossible timeline leads us to
Third theory: The duplicate garment. Somehow, there are two nearly-identical ratty hoodies that both wound up very close to each other in both location and time. An unknown robber used one to take items from an active crime scene, and then, shortly after, Parker and his friends buy its twin just up the road. Support for that theory: it's the only way to accept Tom's testimony at face value and also respect the timeline of events. It also fits in better with how I know Parker—and his friends—act. Undermining evidence: it's all a little convenient, fact-wise, to ascribe it to perfect coincidence. The shopkeeper's description was very specific, and Tom's own description of the hoodie was nearly a perfect match.
She frowned, not liking the taste of that particular theory either. She hated that catch-all bandage for sloppy detective work, the willfully-worn blindfold to patterns that was the all-encompassing label of 'coincidence.' It felt lazy. It felt like giving up. Nora felt too invested to shrug her shoulders and call it dumb chance… but at the same time, she dragged her feet in bringing these latest developments to the Chief. Clyde Pemberton was a fine man and a good cop, but he was the kind of person who believed in the sanctity of the office nearly to a fault. He'd have Nora recuse herself from the case due to potential personal involvement, and Nora didn't want anyone else at the department managing her son. That is, not until the picture was just a little bit clearer.
Shaking her head free of all three unsatisfactory theories, Nora looked up at the looming, blackened husk of the Coffee Street Warehouses. Fire crews had taken hours to fully subdue the blaze, leaving the warehouse a mausoleum of ashes and melted electonics. The place still stank of burned plastic, a scent that unfortunately was already winding its way into Nora's car as she parked near the structure's front. The business owner milled about, pulling at his hair, while an entourage of followers stayed close at his heel. One of them held a clipboard and was glancing back and forth between document and building. Some insurance agent, perhaps?
Nora didn't much want to get into any conversations with the owner right now, so she did her best to seem busy as she stepped out of her squad car. She waved at the owner across the lot and he waved back cordially before turning again to the men he spoke with. Good, she thought. Looks like he wants to talk about as much as I do right now.
The air hanging over the place held the weight of a graveyard's, lending a disquieting stillness that fit the gloomy clouds overhead. In a way, perhaps it was a graveyard: instead of loved ones, it was melted television sets being laid to rest, and instead of teary-eyed family members looking on, it was a group of stoic men with clipboards that oversaw the burial. For a moment, Nora watched the pacing owner. Could this be an insurance fraud thing? Overstating the value of lost goods? Her gut said no, but she added a note to her book just in case: Follow up on building insurance. As far as she knew, the fire department's team was still investigating possible causes of the fire… in fact, there might just be a crew inside there right now, poking around. Nora figured she'd wait for their report before chasing that thread.
For now, Nora was operating under two assumptions. First, that the boxes they'd found by the river were stolen from here the night of the fire. That one was relatively safe, all things considered. The second assumption, and the one that was just a little more tenuous, was that the theif was also the nondescript teen seen fleeing the burning building without boxes. For those two pieces to click together, the boxes had to have been hidden nearby and returned to later. Nora surveyed the scene around her, looking for where might be an appealing choice. The warehouse complex was surrounded by a chain-link fence which seemed to be intact throughout its entire length. Barbed wire ran along the top of the fence in twisted tangles, making climbing the fence seem an unappealing option. Climbing back out to escape with bulky boxes? There was simply no way. What if the thief chucked them over the fence first? Well, since electronics were likely the stolen goods, that wouldn't be a logical choice either… hard to pawn off radios that are dented to hell and won't turn on.
Nora began to walk the length of the fence, looking closely at the barbed wire as she did. Perhaps it had been cut somewhere along its length, and then carefully twisted back together? If the work was done well, it might have slipped past their first check of the perimeter. After all, at that point, they were only surveying details of the scene, not actively seeking out a point of entry for a would-be arsonist-theif. Her meticulous observation payed off after twenty minutes of close scrutiny. With a smile, she stepped in towards her prize: hanging from the barbed wire waved a small torn strip of blue denim no larger than a leaf.
Though she couldn't put a specific time on it, the strip seemed relatively clean, meaning it likely hadn't been here for all that long. Its presence meant that someone had tried climbing the fence before, and people climbing barbed-wire fences rarely held good intent. She returned to the owner and asked if he'd had any known instances of theft or vandalism on the property in the months leading up to the fire. When he answered no, Nora smiled. Got ya, she thought.
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Returning to the hanging strip, Nora carefully removed it with a gloved hand and placed it in a baggie. Evidence would want to get their hands on it and see what they can find, especially looking out for any blood samples that might have accompanied the snagged piece of clothing. After all, barbed wire wasn't known for its gentle touch. Nora then hung a small strip of police tape from the barb that had formerly held the denim strip, marking its place. She then walked back to the guarded entrance gate and stepped outside the perimeter, walking its length around the outside until she saw the strip of police tape. She removed her book from her pocket and thought.
OK, so, I've got the boxes. I decided to climb over barbed wire to enter and, presumably, exit. That would shred up my clothing and skin, but I don't seem to have any other choice. Maybe I laid something down over the barbed wire before I climbed it? Either way, I must have picked off most of the strips of clothing that get torn off by the wires… did I miss one in the dark? Nora looked at the ground near the fence and the nearby wire and confirmed that no other strips of cloth were there to be discovered.
So, I now have to toss the boxes over the fence to this side before I can climb over. Do I have an accomplice here to catch them? Nora bent down, surveying the ground. The dirt was dry and flat, offering no clear footprints or tracks. A branch lay broken nearby, but whether that was because a person had stepped on it, a box had landed on it, or it had simply broken on its fall to the ground was impossible to say. Too much time had passed, the wind carrying leaves and twigs and obscuring whatever might have transpired here two nights previous.
At this point, Nora frowned. The accomplice angle hadn't been something she considered before, primarily because they only had eyewitnesses reporting one fleeing teen and an accomplice hadn't been operationally necessary until the tossing over the fence became likely. Stashing the boxes and then returning to claim them felt needlessly convoluted when a second party could have simply carried them off in a different direction. She pulled out her notebook. Check nearby homes and businesses. Anyone see person carrying boxes away from warehouse? Anyone see boxes being loaded or unloaded into vehicle around same time? Then, anyways, to sate her curiosity, Nora began to journey into the woods that stood just beyond the fence.
She trudged through the carpet of leaves and twigs, eyes searching for anything out-of-place. I'm a thief, and I don't have an accomplice. I know police might search the woods for me, so I walk as far as I can, but I'm eventually spotted near the warehouse around the time the fire is reported. So, either I deposit the boxes here and then go back over the chain link fence to start the fire, which is nondesirable, or I started it indoors with the confidence it'd eventually grow to burn the whole place down.
A squirrel scrambled past along the ground, fleeing from Nora's footfalls. She watched it run as it darted into a mound of leaves that immediately seemed out of place. Around her, the leaves were flat along the ground, more-or-less evenly spread in a thin layer. Here, they were massed together, almost as though raked into place. She approached and poked at it with her flashlight until the squirrel scurried out and began to climb a nearby tree. Nora then examined the pile. Was this used to cover something? She felt a little like a child seeing patterns in clouds, but she couldn't shake the suspicion. A lump of leaves in a forest should hardly raise any suspicion, but something about the mound's placement felt off. There was nothing else like it around her, and it was situated against a tree such that someone walking from the warehouse might have missed it. Nora only saw it herself because of the fleeing squirrel. So, pushing back the sensation of being ridiculous in following her suspicion, she put on gloves and began to spread the leaves about, looking for anything that might have been covered by the mound. Finding nothing, she shrugged and took a handful of leaves, scrutinizing them. Some had a few splotches of dark on their side. Nora couldn't tell if it was blood or mud, but she placed it in a plastic bag. If our guy leapt the barbed-wire fence, he probably was bleeding from the hands or arms… maybe we'll luck out and have a blood sample somewhere on these. Or maybe they'll find some cardboard fragments? Nora clumped even more leaves into the bag and then zipped it up, tucking it away.
At that moment, her radio crackled with Coulter's flat voice. "Nora? Radio check, can you hear me?"
"I'm reading you loud and clear. Go ahead."
"Just got back from chatting with pawn brokers… heard word from two separate shops that a stranger was trying to sell off a dozen radios the same type as the ones housed at Coffee Street. Want me to pursue? Over."
"That's an affirmative, try and track the guy down and find out where he got the radios from. Check receipts and store records if it's resale," she added.
"Roger so far," Coulter said, waiting.
"I might have found some evidence relating to the fire… a strip of denim cloth. Taking it in to forensics. Think the suspect climbed over barbed wire. If you find the radio salesman, check his arms and hands for scratch marks, over."
"Wilco. Anything else?"
"That'll be all. Thanks, Coulter…. Over and out."
She sighed and turned around, deciding that it was more important to get the cloth strip to Forensics than it was to chase out a miracle clue deep in the woods. Just for the hell of it, she switched her flashlight on and walked with it trained along the ground, hoping it would cause any out-of-place metal objects to shine. A weapon, a can of paint thinner, anything related would be nice right about now, she thought, eyes scanning the floor. Half-way back to the warehouse, she stopped. A small object glowed at the base of a tree, alone. Its surroundings seemed undisturbed, but there it sat, shiny clean in the dirty woods. She picked up the small battery using a handkerchief and examined it. It was AA, and, like the denim, it seemed far too impeccably clean to have been in the woods for very long. Were you stolen? she asked the battery, rotating it around to look for anything strange. Finding nothing odd beyond its position in the woods, she placed it in yet another evidence bag and continued her sweep, eyes scanning the floor until they settled on the base of the chain link fence where police tape hung, swaying gently in the breeze.
Nora walked over to the warehouse owner before she got back into her car. He was sitting alone now on the curb, his back to the ruins of his warehouse.
"I'm sorry to bother you again, but I've just got one more question for you right now."
He looked up at Nora and nodded his head. "Go ahead, officer."
"Do you recognize this brand of battery?" Nora asked, proffering the evidence bag with the lone battery inside.
The man frowned at the bag. "Yeah, we store and sell those in the warehouse. Stored, sold, I guess."
"My partner would've asked you about certain ID numbers on boxes we found. Could these batteries have been in those boxes?"
"Yes, it's in the right department. You think thieves did this, all to get some batteries? If you're gonna steal from my warehouse, you could do a hell of a lot better," he said.
"We're not ruling anything out yet," Nora replied. "Crows sometimes like to pick up shiny objects… could be as simple as a battery that came loose during shipping was nabbed by a bird. Either way, thanks for your cooperation so far. We'll contact you if anything comes up." Nora began to walk to her car.
"If they think it's arson," the man shouted after her, "they won't give me a dime. The insurance companies, that is."
Nora turned, noticing the deep worry lines now on the man's face. "I'm not gonna tell you how to do your job, miss. But if you guys are saying arson… just please, be damn sure it's arson first."
"When the fire department finishes its report, you'll be one of the first to hear. Best of luck in the recovery," Nora said, turning back to her car.
"What recovery?" he asked as she shut the door and slotted the key. She wasn't sure how to comfort the man, nor did she think it was her responsibility to do, but she did feel a pang of sadness for him. She watched him get up and begin to shuffle towards his own car. She let her mind pushed him out as new questions began to swirl. Why might a thief want a box of batteries? They weren't all that valuable, especially compared to other goods housed in the same warehouse. Do people even resell batteries? And why would batteries be something worth burning down a warehouse to hide?