Story code: ST-001527
Part 2: The Blind Spot
Toby stared at the glossy printout resting on the granite island, the crisscrossed silver duct tape on the Civic’s bumper mocking him under the bright kitchen pendants. Helen tapped her lacquered fingernails against the stone, a rhythmic staccato that matched the frantic hammering in his chest.
“Well?” Helen demanded, her voice sharp enough to cut through his rising panic. “The staple gun, Toby. We need to get this posted at the clubhouse before the evening dog walkers go out. Maximum exposure.”
“Right,” Toby managed to croak, his throat tight and dry. “Basement workbench. I’ll grab it.”
He turned and pushed through the swinging door, leaving his mother to tally her stack of blank checks. The moment he was out of her sight, he broke into a frantic jog down the hallway, pulling his phone from his black canvas apron. He hit the top of the basement stairs and took them two at a time, plunging into the cool, damp air of the lower level.
His basement room was a sprawling, unfinished space that smelled of sawdust and old laundry. It was his only refuge from Helen’s suffocating world upstairs, a sanctuary built of cheap IKEA furniture and exposed floor joists. Now, it felt like a concrete box closing in on him.
He unlocked his phone and opened the encrypted messaging app. His thumbs flew across the cracked screen, typing out a desperate warning to Leo. *They have a picture of your car. My mom hired private security. Do not come to the neighborhood. Ditch the Honda.*
He hit send. A tiny circle appeared next to the text, spinning endlessly. The Wi-Fi signal in the basement was notoriously weak, blocked by the heavy concrete foundation and the radiant floor heating above. Toby cursed under his breath, holding the phone high over his head, pacing toward the small egress window that looked out onto the rear service alley.
Before the message could push through, the heavy door at the top of the stairs creaked open.
“Toby? Are you dawdling?” Helen’s voice echoed down the wooden steps. But it wasn’t just her heels clicking on the treads. Toby heard the distinct, heavy thud of work boots following close behind her.
Toby shoved the phone deep into his apron pocket and lunged toward his wooden workbench.
“I’m getting it!” Toby called out, grabbing the heavy-duty yellow staple gun. He turned just as Helen reached the bottom of the stairs, followed by a broad-shouldered man in a tactical fleece jacket and khaki cargo pants.
The man had close-cropped gray hair and eyes that swept the basement with clinical precision, taking in the unmade bed, the laundry pile, and finally, Toby.
“Toby, this is Mr. Vance,” Helen said, her tone brimming with pride. “He’s the lead investigator from the firm we just retained. I was telling him about the blind spot in the HOA security grid.”
Vance offered a stiff nod. “Your mother mentioned this room has an egress window facing the rear access alley. The association cameras only cover the main streets. If our guy is slipping in unseen, that alley is his back door.”
Toby’s blood ran cold. “It’s just a window,” he said, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears. “It’s mostly covered by the iron grate.”
Vance stepped past Helen, invading Toby’s personal space. The investigator walked straight toward the egress window above the workbench. Toby stood frozen, his heart slamming against his ribs. Sitting on the corner of the workbench, mere inches from Vance’s left hand, was a roll of industrial-strength aluminum tape-the exact same tape Toby had taken from an old construction site, the same tape he had used to patch Leo’s bumper three hours ago. The unique, matte-silver finish was unmistakable.
If Vance looked down, if he connected the tape on the bench to the tape in the Ring camera photo, it was over.
Toby shifted his weight, feigning a clumsy stumble against the bench. His elbow caught the heavy roll of tape, knocking it backward into an open red toolbox. It landed with a dull, metallic clatter, instantly hidden from view.
Vance paused, looking at Toby. The ex-cop’s eyes narrowed slightly, processing the awkward movement. “You okay there, son?”
“Fine,” Toby said, holding up the yellow staple gun like a shield. “Just clumsy. Found the stapler.”
Vance turned his attention back to the window, peering out through the grate into the fading afternoon light. “Perfect sightline,” Vance muttered, more to himself than to Helen. He turned back to face them. “Mrs. Hayes, with your permission, I’d like to set up a temporary monitoring station right here. A stationary low-light camera on a tripod, feeding directly to a laptop on this desk. If the Civic creeps down that alley, we’ll have a high-definition read on his plates and a clear shot of his face.”
“Oh, I think that’s a brilliant idea,” Helen beamed, entirely oblivious to the color draining from Toby’s face. “Toby doesn’t mind. Do you, Toby? It’s for the safety of the community.”
“I-I live down here,” Toby stammered, gripping the staple gun until his knuckles turned white. “You’re going to put a command post in my bedroom?”
“It’s only for a few nights,” Helen dismissed him with a wave of her manicured hand. “Don’t be selfish. Mr. Vance’s team is going to rotate shifts. You can sleep on the couch in the media room upstairs.”
Vance unclipped a heavy two-way radio from his belt. “We won’t be in your way,” he said smoothly, though his sharp gaze lingered on Toby’s pale, sweating face. “Matter of fact, since you spend so much time down here, maybe you can help us out. You hear any rattling engines lately? The muffler on that Honda was shot to hell. Sounds like a lawnmower.”
“No,” Toby lied, the single syllable tasting like ash. “Nothing.”
“Keep your ears open,” Vance advised, setting a heavy black Pelican case down on Toby’s bed. He popped the latches, revealing a sleek laptop and a tangle of optical cables. “We’re casting a wide net, but these low-level guys are creatures of habit. If he was here two nights ago, he’s got regular clientele inside the gates. He’ll be back.”
In Toby’s apron pocket, his phone vibrated. A single, sharp buzz.
The signal had finally caught. The message from Leo had gone through, or Leo was replying. Toby didn’t dare pull the phone out with Vance standing three feet away, actively booting up a surveillance laptop on his mattress.
The phone vibrated again. And then a third time. Successive, urgent buzzing that felt like an electric shock against Toby’s thigh.
Vance paused his typing and glanced down at Toby’s pocket. “Popular guy.”
“Just group texts,” Toby mumbled, slowly backing away toward the stairs. “I should go give this staple gun to the neighbors.”
Before Toby could take another step, Vance’s two-way radio crackled to life with a burst of static.
“Vance, this is Perimeter Two,” a gruff voice echoed from the speaker on the ex-cop’s belt. “We just got an automated ping from the plate scanner at the east gate visitor lane. It’s a partial match on a rusted sedan.”
Vance snatched the radio, his entire demeanor shifting into a predatory stance. “Copy that. Do you have eyes on?”
“Negative,” the voice replied. “The vehicle slipped through right behind a landscaping truck. It’s inside the subdivision.”
Toby stopped breathing. The basement walls seemed to tilt inward. He reached into his pocket, his trembling fingers blindly pressing the side button of his phone to wake the screen. He angled it just enough to read the lock screen notifications through the canvas fabric.
Three messages from Leo.
*Got your text.*
*Too late bro. Already inside the gates.*
*Pulling into your alley now. Come to the window.*
Vance looked up from the radio, his eyes snapping directly to the egress window above the workbench. The ex-cop’s hand dropped instinctively to the heavy tactical flashlight on his belt.
“Did you hear that?” Vance whispered, his voice deadly quiet. “Something just crunched the gravel in the alley.”