Running for his Life

Tommy is frozen in the center of the room. His eyes are staring straight ahead, not sure if what he's seeing is real. It can't be. It just can't be.

Darting across the room, he reaches into the safe and pulls out a stack of cash. Using his cell for a light, he inspects the color, the text, and then the watermark. It's either real or a damn good imitation. Putting it into his backpack, he grabs more. This should cover Jen's aftercare. He thinks as he continues to clear the safe. Tommy finds two rectangular objects in the far corner when he reaches in again. He starts to grab them when he discovers white powder scattered all around. This is profit from drugs. He glances in his knapsack and then at the drugs. He first recalls his friend that died from morphine-laced drugs. He then pictures his sickly wife in her bed. I have to do this for Jen. Shoving the bricks in his backpack, Tommy zips it up. I wonder what other goodies they have up here. He thinks, walking into the dark unknown.

A putrid smell overpowers him the further he goes. Gagging, he covers his face with his arm. What smells so bad? He looks over to find two lifeless figures on the floor. Blood and brain matter is splattered everywhere. He then finds a young man lying in a puddle of reddish-brown liquid. He has dog bites across his body, and a bullet wound in the center of his back. Tommy hears a noise in the shadows. The killer is still here. Frightened, he races down the stairs.

He's almost to the door when he sees the beast pacing across the porch. I'll have to go out the back and circle around. He then imagines the dog chasing after him. I might get bitten if I do. Tommy glances at the dog again. I either take a chance with him or what's upstairs. He starts to step out back when he sees a larger dog in the entryway.

Startled, the dog springs to his feet.

Tommy slams the door closed. Maybe there's a door off the kitchen. He runs through the hall to find a mudroom off the main house. "Thank God." Pulling the sliding door open, he runs across the yard.

Hearing barking behind him, Tommy glances back to find the canines are a few feet away. "You're not going to make dog stew out of me." Tommy picks up his pace. He's almost to the fence when he hears sirens in the distance.

"Someone called the cops." Leaping over the fence, he makes his way down the drive. Looking back, he finds the dogs hurtling the chain-linked barrier. Hopping in his car, Tommy searches for his keys. He hears a rhythmic tapping beside him. He turns to find the dog is trying to bite through the glass. "You're a determined son of a bitch. I'll give you that." Tommy starts to shove his key in the ignition. The second dog thumps on the driver's side door. Tommy jumps, the keys fly from his hand, landing on the passenger floor. "Please let me get out of here, please let me get out of here," he begs, tossing the styrofoam boxes every which way in search of his keys.

The sirens are getting closer. The dogs continue to claw at the glass. Tommy frantically digs through the empties.

A cold object touches his hand. He scoops it up. "Finally." Throwing his keys in the ignition, he peels out of the drive. I need to make it to the highway before the cops get here, he thinks. Shifting the car into fifth, he pushes the pedal down more. I'm almost there. He makes a hard right fishtailing onto the highway. That was close. Tommy hears a horn blaring behind him. He looks back to find diesel barreling his way.

***

Pulling up to the Jenson's house, Rachel looks around. It's another Victorian in an established neighborhood, just like Kirk had said. She then recalls the differences. The robber happened early morning, and the safe wasn't touched. How can someone rob this place in broad daylight and not be noticed? It's just not possible. She thinks as she eyes the row of houses on either side of the street.

Rachel continues to gaze around the peaceful neighborhood waiting for someone to answer. A petite young woman opens the door a few minutes later, a feather duster in hand.

"Can I help you," she asks.

"My name is Sergeant Webb. I'm with the Berryville PD. I'm doing a follow-up on the robbery." She takes a notebook from her pocket and flips it open.

"That was such a terrible thing to happen to them, especially after everything they've done for this community."

A curious expression crosses Rachel's face. "What do you mean?"

"They've helped dozens of charities. They've also helped individual families who are facing difficult times. I'm surprised you haven't heard about all their contributions."

Rachel glances up from her notebook. "I can't say I have."

"Mrs. Jenson is always helping out at the soup kitchens, the local food banks, shelters, and such. Mr. Jenson has restored several of the older buildings around the square." He also helped renovate some of the historical landmarks and a few of the older homes."

"That's very kind of them."

"The Jenson's are very generous people, always giving back to the community."

"Is either of them at home?"

"No, they won't be home until late this afternoon."

Rachel quickly scans her notes. "You're the one who discovered the robbery, correct?"

"Yes, I reported for work like I do every day and found the house in shambles, a few collectibles missing."

"Mr. and Mrs. Jenson were already gone?"

"Yes, they leave about half an hour before I arrive, and they don't return until late afternoon, early evening. Sometimes they don't come home until after I leave."

"You wouldn't happen to know where they go, would you."

"They do so much in a day it's hard to keep track. I have their cell in case of an emergency. Would you like me to get it for you?"

"No, just have them call me when they return." She hands the maid her card.

The housekeeper glances at it smile, and says, "I sure will, Sergeant Webb."

"Thank you." Rachel walks back to her car, thinking about what the maid had said. I wonder if any of the other victims do charitable work.

She pulls her cell phone from her pocket and punches in a number. "Jerry, it's Rachel. I think I might've found a connection."

***.

Finishing all of her interviews, Rachel heads back to the station. She wants to compare notes with Kirk, see if Jerry has followed up on her hunch. She finds the detective pounding away on his computer when she walks over to their cubical.

"Did you find anything, Jerry?" Rachel plops down at her desk.

"You're right about a couple of things, sergeant. Pulling a piece of paper in front of him, he continues. "All the victims have helped out at the local charities at some point, but they've all worked at different locations. So I think our robber is involved in several charities, and he uses these organizations to choose his victims."

"Do you have anyone of interest?"

"Not yet, but I'm still looking."

"How about my hunch with Mr. Langston?"

"The police have been called out to their home on several occasions in the past couple of years, but she claims he never touched her, which is often the case."

"It's why fourteen percent of homicides are domestic violence-related."

Jerry nods.

"Why didn't the responding officers step in?"

"They claim they didn't see anything to warrant an arrest."

"Keep working on the charities; see what you can find."

They look up to see the captain rushing over to their desks. "There's been another robbery out on the old farm road, only this time. The victims are dead."