He never entered a single house. Never touched a door. Never looked back. The truth hit like ice water. It came together slowly. Not all at once. That was the worst part. Back at my desk, I spread the reports out again—not looking for a suspect this time, but for overlap.
Times. Streets. Witness statements that mentioned movement instead of theft. Someone walking. Someone seen, then gone. Someone remembered only because they were there when nothing else made sense.