Evening was falling. A green SUV with "Military Police" stenciled on the door idled at a snow-covered intersection of a forest road leading toward the state capital. There were three men inside. Two non-commissioned officers, Miller and Thompson, sat in the back, while the driver, a young private, dozed behind the wheel. The engine was running, and the heater kept the cabin cozy. When a truck with military plates appeared on the road, the two officers reluctantly climbed out. The frost had sharpened as night approached, and though the document check took only a few minutes, the men were chilled to the bone.
The truck rolled on, and the officers returned to the SUV, knocking the snow from their boots. Their leather jackets and trousers had soaked up the biting cold, and now even the blast of the heater couldn't seem to warm them. Thompson, the senior officer, looked sympathetically at his shivering partner and tapped the driver on the shoulder. "Let's head to the Last Stop." After a U-turn at the crossroads, the green SUV headed toward the training range.
***
The "Last Stop" was a small roadside diner on the edge of a large village, officially named "The Willow." It stayed open from dawn until the early hours, offering patrons unlimited servings of hot stew, beer, and whiskey. The officers had dubbed it the Last Stop because it was their favorite haunt whenever they were heading to the range or returning to the base. Leaving the car in the lot, the three men walked inside. The small dining area was thick with smoke and heavy with heat. Ordering their usual round of whiskey, stew, and salad, they took a corner table. While waiting for the food, Miller and the driver lit cigarettes, and Thompson headed to the restroom. Three young men sitting at a nearby table got up and followed him out.
Officer Thompson was found lying on the ground near the outhouse, his left arm tucked awkwardly beneath him. His cap lay nearby, and a dark stain of blood was spreading across the snow around his head. His holster dangled open and empty; the service pistol was gone. When he eventually came to at the base infirmary, he explained that three men had cornered him as he stepped outside. Without a word, one of them had struck him from behind with something heavy. He remembered nothing else. The JAG office opened a criminal investigation into the robbery of Officer Victor Thompson and the theft of his sidearm, but the case went cold. The pistol had vanished.
***
An armored car crew was making its usual rounds through the shopping district. The March sun had turned the snow into a gray, slushy mess, and the driver, Mike, had soaked his feet. When the van pulled up in front of "The Spring" grocery store, Mike's partner, Steve, went inside alone to collect the cash. Usually, the pickup took no more than three minutes. The store clerks knew the schedule and always had the deposits ready. This time, Steve was taking too long. Sensing something was wrong, Mike chambered a round in his rifle and stepped into the store. In the doorway, he collided with a terrified clerk in a white apron. "They killed your partner!" she gasped, leaning against the wall to let him pass. Steve was lying face down on the dirty tile floor. A massive wound gaped on his head, blood pooling on the linoleum. The money bag was gone. The paramedics and police arrived almost simultaneously. Steve was bandaged and rushed to the hospital while the detectives began their investigation.
The robbery had occurred on March 3rd, around three in the afternoon. The store had been crowded, yet no one could give a clear description of the attackers. There were two of them, both wearing identical brown jackets and knit caps. One had struck the guard with some kind of metal rod and grabbed the bag. The second had fired a shot into the ceiling, after which they vaulted over the counter and vanished through the back storage room. The service door leading to the alley was standing wide open. It appeared the criminals had run into the yard, climbed the fence into the neighboring property, and disappeared. A K-9 unit arrived, but after leading the handler through the back lot to the main road, the dog began to whine. The scent ended there. Clearly, a getaway car had been waiting. A canvas of the local residents turned up nothing; no one had noticed a car idling on the street.
After suffering a traumatic brain injury, the guard, Steve Miller, was left permanently disabled. Mike was let go from the security firm, and the file on the stolen forty-two thousand dollars was moved to the archives.
***
The second robbery, which took place on June 20th, was even more brazen and bloody. This time, the target was a furniture showroom. Just like the first time, one guard was struck over the head with a blunt, heavy object; he died instantly from the impact. The second guard was shot at point-blank range. Again, there were two attackers. However, the assault was so swift that none of the witnesses could recall any identifying features. The District Attorney's office opened a homicide and robbery investigation, assigning the case to Lead Investigator Tim Zachary. After pulling the cold files on the grocery store robbery, Zachary began meticulously comparing the facts of both cases.
The nature of the head wounds in both robberies was identical. Furthermore, the bullet recovered from the ceiling of the grocery store and the one extracted from the guard at the furniture showroom had been fired from the same weapon. On the day of the second hit, a shipment of popular furniture had just arrived, and business had been booming. The robbers walked away with sixty-five thousand dollars. As before, they exited through the store's service entrance. Zachary noted that in both instances, the criminals knew the layout perfectly and moved through the back rooms with confidence. Moreover, in the furniture store hit, they knew exactly which day would have the highest cash intake. It looked like an inside job. Zachary spent the next three days buried in the personnel files of both businesses.
***
Zachary's first stop was "The Spring." The owner laid out the staff roster and twelve personnel files on the table. The store was relatively small, with eight clerks working twelve-hour shifts. Besides the sales staff, there was a head accountant, a logistics manager, and a driver. After noting the names, Zachary headed to the furniture store, but the entire way there, he had the nagging feeling he was missing something vital.
The furniture store's roster looked very similar: director, accountant, logistics, drivers, and sales reps. After reading the document twice, Zachary realized what was missing from the grocery store list. There were no warehouse workers or loaders listed. A store that moved tons of product every day couldn't function without someone to move the crates. The next day, he returned to "The Spring." The owner was out, so he spoke to the head accountant, who turned out to be the owner's wife. She explained that they did have loaders—two men—but they were hired on short-term verbal contracts. "You know how that crowd is," she said. "Drifting types. We have to replace them almost every month." Zachary saw through the ruse. To avoid payroll taxes, the store paid them under the table in cash. It suited both parties: the desperate got work, and the owner saved money. It was a labor violation, but Zachary let it slide; he had bigger fish to fry.
Comparing the names of the temporary workers from both locations, Zachary didn't find a match. There were no duplicate names on the rosters. Yet, he was certain the answer was there. The robbers knew the layouts and the security procedures too well to be strangers.
***
For a month now, Anthony Reed had been enjoying a life of leisure. He'd never been one for hard work, but this was different. Now he had money. Lots of it. And Anthony spent it without a second thought. Walking past "The Spring," he decided to pop in. He had worked there for a few months as a stock boy and liked chatting with the young clerks, who remembered him fondly. Generous by nature, he had often bought them flowers or treated them to champagne and candy after hours. He was polite and didn't harass them like the other workers, which the girls appreciated. The store was quiet, and the girls gathered around the counter. Anthony bought a box of expensive chocolates and set it before them. As they snacked, they filled him in on the local gossip. In their small world, there was only one big story: the investigator who had been coming around asking about the March robbery. The news made Anthony uneasy. After a few more minutes of small talk, he excused himself and drove to the furniture store.
He found his former coworkers in the smoking area out back. Before he could even say hello, they started rambling about how two guards had been killed a week ago and how a high-profile investigator from the DA's office was scrutinizing everyone on the payroll. "They called in Pete yesterday," one said. "Asked about you, too." Anthony nervously finished his cigarette and left, claiming he had an errand to run. The payphone near the store was broken, so he walked three blocks until he found a working one. Nicholas was home. They agreed to meet, and Anthony headed over.
At Nicholas's place, Anthony found their third friend, Raymond. Raymond had recently bought a used import at an auction and had stopped by to take Nicholas for a spin. The three of them went for a drive. In the car, Anthony told them what he'd heard at the stores. Raymond drove in silence, his eyes fixed on the road. Nicholas tried to laugh off Anthony's fears. They stopped at a café for coffee, and afterward, Raymond dropped them both off. As a parting word, Nicholas suggested Anthony think about heading out of state for a while—maybe go up to Canada or disappear into the Midwest. They agreed to meet at Nicholas's the next morning. Early the next day, after telling his grandfather he was leaving for a bit, Anthony went to buy a bus ticket.
***
A search crew for the local agricultural board discovered the body in a treeline. They had been out checking fields for pests when a flock of crows circling a birch tree caught their eye. Upon closer inspection, they found a corpse. After chasing off the birds and covering the body with branches, they called the police.
the young man had been shot in the back of the head. The medical examiner concluded it was an execution, and death had occurred two days prior. He had been shot at point-blank range; the hair around the wound was singed. There were no personal belongings or ID found with the body. After the forensics team finished their work, the body was sent to the morgue, and a photo of the deceased was published in the local paper.
One of the clerks from "The Spring" recognized Anthony. At first, she hesitated—the cold, still face in the photo looked nothing like the vibrant, laughing Anthony she knew. She took the paper to work, where the older women immediately confirmed it was him. Three days later, the police picked up Anthony's two friends, who claimed they had simply dropped him off at the station for a midnight bus. They denied any involvement in his death. However, a search of Raymond's apartment turned up a "slungshot"—a length of rubber hose filled with lead. At Nicholas's place, hidden inside the toilet tank, detectives found a M1911 pistol wrapped tightly in plastic. It was the weapon stolen from Officer Thompson the previous winter. Three rounds were missing from the magazine. Ballistics confirmed that the shots fired at the grocery store, the furniture showroom, and the back of Anthony Reed's head had all come from that gun. Under the weight of the evidence, the pair began to talk.
The Superior Court sentenced Nicholas Miller and Raymond Lewis to life without the possibility of parole. The state Supreme Court upheld the verdict.
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