Page 75 of Rules

"I brought them along, fresh eyes might see something," I say, all business.

"Good idea," she says. "Mr. Peterson said he arrived at approximately eight forty-five to open the shop. As he was unlocking the front door, three men in black with ski masks rushed him from behind. He didn't recall hearing the van pull up. The men forced him inside, tied him to a chair with zip ties, then proceeded to smash all the display cases."

"The safe?" I ask.

Brooklyn shakes her head. "They never asked for it. Never demanded money or the high-value pieces in the back. Just systematically destroyed the front of the store, then left."

"How long were they here?"

"In and out in three minutes on the dot, according to the security footage."

Law raises an eyebrow. "You've seen the footage already?"

Brooklyn nods. "Peterson installed a new system after the last three break-ins. We've got them entering, moving through the shop, and leaving. Not that it helps much, the same standard ski masks, all in black, generic build. But the timestamp shows just slightly over three minutes total."

"That's... efficient," Law comments.

"Too efficient," I mutter. "They didn't harm Mr. Peterson?"

"No, which is out of the norm for these guys." Brooklyn shifts her head, pointing inside.

Law and I enter the shop, where an older man sits on a chair, wrists wearing the red stripes from the zip ties, a deputy finishing up his statement.

"Mr. Peterson," I step forward, "I'm sorry this happened to you."

James Peterson looks up, his weathered face pale. "Sheriff. I don't understand. They didn't take anything. Not the diamonds, not the Rolexes. Nothing. Not even anything from the safe. They just... destroyed the place. And why aren't I on my way to the hospital? By all the others, I should be. How come they spared me?"

I surveyed the damage. Shattered glass everywhere, display cases splintered, inventory scattered across the floor. It's destruction, pure destruction.

"Can you think of anyone who might want to harm your business? Any threats, disputes?"

Peterson shakes his head. "None. We've been here forty-two years. I know most people in this town by name."

"Did the men say anything? Make any demands?"

"Not a word," Peterson's hands shake slightly. "They worked in complete silence. It was both compelling and unnerving. I could tell they had a mission to destroy as much as they could in the time they had. One of the men must have had an alarm set. Because, as soon as it went off they immediately stopped whatthey were doing and they all ran to the door." He shakes his head, "the guy there," he points to the corner. "He was holding a diamond necklace when the alarm went off, he just dropped it. Damndest thing I've ever seen."

Law circles the shop slowly, his experienced eyes scanning for details others might miss. He pauses at one of the shattered cases, crouching down to examine something.

"Mind if I look at that security footage?" he asks Brooklyn.

She leads us to a small office in the back where a laptop displays a grainy black-and-white feed. She queues up the morning's recording.

The footage shows exactly what I expected: three men in black, faces obscured by masks, moving with military precision through the shop. Two secure Peterson then join the other destroying everything in sight. There's something almost ritualistic about it, each man focusing on their assigned area, working systematically.

Ferris appears in the doorway. "Found something interesting. Come take a look."

Back in the main shop, he points to a section of the floor behind one of the shattered cases. "Notice anything?"

I crouch down, examining the area. There, almost hidden among the glass shards, sits a single brass shell casing.

"Nine millimeter," I observe. "But there were no shots fired."

"Exactly," Ferris says. "So, why is there a casing?"

We all look from the casing to each other. I bend and bag the evidence carefully. "Could have fallen from a pocket. Or..."

"Or it was deliberately left," Law finishes my thought.

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