Chapter 34: DEPUTY WORK
The call comes at 9 AM. Another robbery. Same pattern as the previous two.
"Morton's Hardware," dispatch says. "Owner just arrived. Back office was hit overnight."
I grab my keys. "On my way."
Siobhan meets me at the scene. She's already interviewing the owner—Mr. Morton, sixty-something, shaking hands, trying to understand how someone got into his locked store.
"Cash from the safe," he says. "About eight hundred. They knew exactly where it was. Didn't touch anything else."
I examine the back office. No forced entry on the door. Lock picked, professionally. The safe sits open—combination lock, not damaged. Either the thief cracked it or knew the code.
My Criminal Instinct pulses. Faint. Familiar. Someone with criminal intent was here. Recently. But not violent intent. Just... opportunistic.
"Third business this month," Siobhan says, joining me. "Same MO. Cash only. Professional entry. No violence."
"Pattern," I agree.
She pulls out her notes. "First hit was Chen's Market. Two weeks ago. Six hundred taken. Second was the bakery on Fifth. Four hundred. Now this."
I study the safe. "How many people know your combination?" I ask Morton.
"Just me and my manager. Jerry. He's been with me ten years."
"Anyone else have keys to the store?"
"Cleaning crew. And the delivery drivers for restocking."
"Which company?"
"Stoltz Delivery. They handle inventory for half the businesses in town."
Siobhan and I exchange glances. Stoltz Delivery.
"Mr. Morton," I say, "could you give us a list of everyone who's had access to your office in the last month?"
"Sure. But why—"
"Just being thorough."
Back at the station, we pull files on the previous robberies. Chen's Market and the bakery both use Stoltz Delivery. Both had similar MOs—cash from safes, no forced entry, professional execution.
"Inside job," Siobhan says. "Someone with access to multiple businesses."
I run employee records for Stoltz Delivery. Cross-reference against the three hit businesses. One name appears consistently.
Danny Kozak. Delivery driver. Twenty-six. Two priors for petty theft, both as a juvenile. Clean record since eighteen.
My Criminal Instinct confirms it. Not evidence—just recognition. The same opportunistic energy from Morton's office matches what I'd expect from Kozak's record.
"We need more than instinct," Siobhan says when I suggest him.
"So we build a case. Old-fashioned way."
We spend the next two days on surveillance. Kozak's routes, his schedule, his habits. He's good—careful, professional. Never takes anything while observed. Never shows tells.
But on the third day, Siobhan catches something. "He's adding stops. Off his official route. Businesses that weren't on the delivery schedule."
"Casing targets," I say.
"Yeah." She reviews footage. "There. Gordon's Pharmacy. He went in with a delivery, came out empty-handed. That's not on his route today."
Gordon's Pharmacy. Gordon Hopewell's business.
My stomach tightens. If Kozak hits Gordon's pharmacy, he'll encounter Carrie. She helps there sometimes.
"We move now," I say. "Tonight."
Siobhan doesn't question the urgency. Just nods.
We set up surveillance near Gordon's Pharmacy at closing time. Kozak's van is parked three blocks away. Waiting.
"How do you want to play this?" Siobhan asks.
"Let him break in. Catch him in the act. Clean arrest."
She checks her weapon. "You sure? He might run."
"He won't get far."
At 11 PM, Kozak approaches the pharmacy. He's dressed in black, carrying a small pack. Moves professionally—checking angles, avoiding cameras.
He picks the back door lock. Enters. My Criminal Instinct confirms his presence inside. Targeting the office. The safe.
We wait three minutes. Let him commit fully.
Then we enter. Quiet. Professional.
Kozak is at the safe, working the combination. He's gotten it open. Cash in his hands.
"Police," I say. "Hands where I can see them."
He freezes. Turns slowly. Sees us. Weapon.
For a second, I think he'll run. My Violence Mastery reads the possibility. Tracks his muscle tension. Predicts the movement.
But he doesn't. Just raises his hands. Defeated. Tired.
"Okay," he says. "Okay. You got me."
The arrest is clean. No violence. No complications. Siobhan reads him his rights while I secure the evidence. Cash from the safe. Lockpicks in his pack. Everything documented.
At the station, Kozak confesses. All three robberies. And two others we didn't know about. Five businesses total. Nearly three thousand dollars stolen.
"Why Gordon's?" I ask during booking.
"Pharmacy has good cash flow. And the owner—he's distracted lately. Wife's been stressed. Easy target."
I think about Carrie. About the war she's fighting that Gordon doesn't know about. About how that stress radiates to everyone around her.
"You picked the wrong town," I say.
Kozak almost laughs. "Yeah. I'm figuring that out."
We finish the paperwork. The arrest is solid. State prosecutor will handle it from here. Straightforward case. Clean resolution.
Siobhan leans against my desk. "Good work, partner."
The word hits differently than when Lucas uses it. Partner. A clean one. One who doesn't know all my secrets. One who works with the deputy, not the wolf.
"Couldn't have done it without you," I say.
She smiles. Actually smiles. Rare. Genuine.
"Yes, you could have. But I'm glad you didn't have to."
We clock out. Walk to the parking lot together. The night is cool. Clear. Stars visible.
"You know what I realized?" she says. "This is the first case we solved without anyone dying."
She's right. Bank robbery—shootout. The assault—twenty-three dead. Even small calls have had violence.
But this? Traditional detective work. Surveillance. Evidence. Clean arrest.
"Feels good," I admit.
"Yeah." She unlocks her car. Pauses. "Ben? Whatever else you are, whatever I saw during that assault—you're also a good cop. Don't forget that."
She drives away before I can respond.
I sit in my patrol car. Thinking.
Good cop. The phrase sits uncomfortably. I'm a criminal wearing a badge. A monster pretending to be human. A wolf hunting in sheep's territory.
But tonight, I solved a crime. Protected businesses. Put a thief in jail. Did the job the badge is supposed to mean.
And it felt... right. Normal. Clean.
I drive home wondering if I could live like this. Just a deputy. Just a cop.
The question follows me into sleep.
The answer doesn't come.
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