The lead officer was a thickset man in his 50s, gray at the temples, a pale scar running along one side of his jaw. His eyes were flat and cold, the kind of cold that came from a man used to being obeyed without question. Sergeant Dale Hutchkins, Milport Police Department, he said. We received a call about suspicious activity at this address. Norah straightened up.
Suspicious activity. Two women breaking into an empty house, Hutchkins said. His voice carried an authority that expected no push back. Neighbor saw you forcing the door. Vivien held up the ring of keys still in her hand, letting the fading light catch the metal.
We didn't force anything. This is our house. Hutchkins laughed short and humorless. Your house, right? He turned his head slightly, not taking his eyes off the sisters.
Fan out. Don't let them back inside. The three officers behind him spread across the yard, taking up positions like they'd done this a hundred times before. The youngest lean, maybe mid-20s, moved toward the porch railing, his eyes darting nervously between the sisters and his sergeant. A stocky officer moved toward the driveway, arms loose at his sides, chest out.
The third older, more careful in his movements, hung back near the sidewalk, watching more than acting. Pierce, cover the porch side. Hutchkins barked. Boyd, driveway. Doyle, you've got the walk.
That gave the sisters all three names at once. Officer Danny Pierce, young and uncertain. Officer Marcus Boyd, thick through the shoulders and clearly enjoying himself. Officer Walt Doyle, gray already creeping into his hair, moving like a man who'd worked this job a long time and had learned somewhere along the way not to trust his own gut anymore. Sir, they've got keys, Pierce said quietly.
Maybe we should Pierce. Shut your mouth, Hutchkins snapped without turning around. Keys don't prove ownership. Burglars carry tools, too. Something hot rose in Norah's chest.
Burglars. We grew up in this house. Our families owned this property for almost 30 years. Prove it, Hutchkins said. Vivien gestured toward the open front door behind them.
The deeds inside, so is every tax record, every utility bill, family photographs going back decades. I can show you everything right now. Nobody goes inside until I say so, Hutchkins said, his voice hardening. You two are coming down here now. Why, Norah?