“Gareth Thorne,” I said. “He tried to break the back door with a crowbar.”

Cho spoke into his shoulder radio, calling for backup to perimeter the woods.

“He didn’t get inside?” Cho asked.

“No,” I said. “The security glass held. I have the entire incident on high-definition video.”

“Let me see it,” he said.

I led him into the kitchen, where Clara was now sitting at the table, her shoulders hunched.

I unlocked my phone and played the recorded clip for Cho.

The footage was incredibly clear.

Gareth’s face was fully visible under the floodlights, every line of panic etched into his features.

The audio played his desperate demand for the drive and his final, panicked mutter before he fled.

“This is solid,” Cho said, watching the loop a second time. “We have him for attempted burglary and felony trespassing.”

“He mentioned someone else,” I pointed out. “He said, ‘She’s going to kill me.'”

“Eleanor Thorne,” Cho said, nodding slowly. “We know who pulls the strings.”

His radio crackled.

“Unit Four, we have a suspect in custody near the creek bed. Matching the description. He’s wet, muddy, and not resisting.”