NINETEEN
Erin glanced around the floor of the office—books all over. Photographs of Nathan with his father. Awards. Newt with Dwayne years before he died in the SAR incident. “I wish we had time to look. This could be our last chance, at least for a while.”
“Let’s go welcome the police.” He gestured for her to follow and they stepped carefully around the ransacked office, down the hallway, and into the living room.
Erin followed Nathan out onto the porch as a cruiser pulled up to the drive, and two patrol officers—one stocky and in his midforties and the other looked all of fifteen—jumped out and rushed up to the yard, their weapons drawn.
Nathan stepped off the porch. “Hello! We called you. I’m Nathan Campbell, and this is Dr. Erin Larson. This is my father’s house.”
Nathan produced his identification in addition to his law enforcement credentials. The officers put away their weapons. Erin stepped from the porch and approached them.
“I’m Officer Lincoln,” the stocky, older officer said. “And this is Officer Cruise.”
“My father’s in the hospital in Montana,” Nathan said. “I came out here to check on the house, and we found it ransacked and the intruder still inside. He was in the office, looking through my dad’s things. When he saw me, he attacked me, then jumped out the window and fled on foot through the adjoining yards.”
Officer Lincoln wrote in his notepad. “Can you give me a description of the man you claim was inside the house and attacked you?”
Nathan described the man in detail. “And I gave him a bloody nose.”
“I’ll secure the scene.” Officer Cruise swiveled on his heels, then marched toward the home.
“Good,” Nathan said. “You guys will call in your forensics unit to get prints and search for evidence, right?”
“I don’t know how things are done in Montana, but here in the city, a break-in is a low priority.” Lincoln snapped his notebook shut.
Erin couldn’t tell if the words were meant as an insult to Nathan, who worked law enforcement for a low-crime region in the country, or maybe she was being too sensitive, feeling defensive on Nathan’s behalf.
“I don’t think you understand,” Nathan said. “My father is Detective Newt Campbell of the Gifford PD. You might know him. He was shot while visiting me in Montana. This break-in could be related to his shooting.”
Officer Lincoln nodded and might have responded, but his attention was drawn to another cruiser pulling up to the curb. Out stepped two men, one of them in plain clothes, though a badge hung around his neck. A detective.
Erin distanced herself from the growing contingency of law enforcement and stood back on the edge of the lawn, taking in the picture. Absorbing everything about the house and the neighborhood. A few neighbors and passersby had slowed or stood nearby to watch. She didn’t see the redheaded intruder among them. Was he watching them from somewhere else—behind a bush or a window somewhere—right now? Perhaps the police had not taken an interest in Newt’s home before, but now they certainly would.
Erin glanced at their rental car across the street and noticed a thirtysomething man in a Red Sox cap walking on the sidewalk. He turned around and walked back again. Nothing unusual about that until the third time. Maybe he was simply watching the unfolding scene regarding a neighborhood home—a cop’s home.
She returned her attention to the house, where still-in-high-school Officer Cruise had finished securing yellow crime scene tape, cordoning off the house. It certainly looked like they were making the house break-in a priority. Nathan stepped away from the officers and started toward her, his expression grim.
He approached and stood next to her, his frustration palpable.
“Well, what now?” she asked.
“I have a feeling I should expect to hear from Henry, and he’s not going to be happy. My presence here at the home is going to go to the top, and Dad’s boss will probably call mine.”
“But like you said, you were here to check on your dad’s home, nothing more.”
“Yeah. True. But nobody is going to fully buy that story now. Remember what I told you—Henry assured Dad’s boss, Lieutenant Sullivan, that no one would dig into it. I’m not exactly sure what he was referring to, but here I am, digging.”
He shifted his gaze to look across the street. She followed and spotted the same man walking back and forth. “That guy. He’s been watching us and pacing. He isn’t the guy you fought in the house, is he?” Maybe his hair was red under the cap.
“No. He’s probably just a curious neighbor. If he’s so curious, he might have seen something.”
Nathan crossed the street, and Erin joined him. They passed the rental car and walked toward the man. When he saw them heading his way, he immediately turned to walk in the opposite direction, changing up his pattern a bit. That told her something.
Nathan picked up his pace at the sidewalk. “Hey! Hey, buddy. Can I talk to you?”
The man took off, sprinting down the sidewalk, and raced around the corner at the intersection.
“Go after him!” Erin slowed. She was a runner, but not a sprinter. Her bum ankle wouldn’t stand the stress of chasing after the guy.