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A second MPD car had arrived on scene.
I hustled over to the cop waving traffic around our collision and pulled out my credentials. “We need immediate transport to a crime scene.”
He looked at me like I was crazy. “I ain’t a fucking taxi service.”
I shoved my creds in his face. “If you don’t want to drive, give me the keys. We have an active kidnapping and homicide investigation. Trust me, you don’t want me to kick this upstairs.”
He pointed to the nearest car. “Okay, already. Get in.” He put up a hand to stop the traffic. “Jimmy, take over for me here,” he yelled to another uniform.
I waved Kelly over. We piled into the car, and with lights and siren, we were at her place quickly.
She was still shivering when we exited the patrol car.
I flashed my creds at the cop guarding the door. “This is her house.”
I didn’t see any sign of forced entry at the front door.
Kelly gasped as she took in the sight. Each of the rooms downstairs had been thoroughly tossed in an apparent search.
Yolanda took Kelly into a hug as they consoled each other.
“I’m going to talk to whoever is in charge,” I told them as I headed upstairs.
A guy in a suit, obviously a detective, was surveying the damage in the bedrooms.
I introduced myself, and we traded cards.
“What’s the Bureau’s interest in this?” Detective Capra asked.
“Were providing protection for the lady that owns this place.”
“Kelly Benson?”
“Yeah?”
“If this is federal protection, you guys suck at it.”
I held my anger in check. “I’m protecting her, not her stuff. And she’s safe.”
“Well, her stuff took one hell of a beating. I’ve only seen three others like this in the last year.”
I understood exactly where he was going with this. “Yeah?”
“Does she have a load of jewelry or something, ’cuz this ain’t local kids. I can tell you that. They were after somethin’ specific.”
My interpretation matched his. “I don’t know.” Everything was tossed around, all the drawers emptied. It was a search for specific valuables.
“The last two I saw like this, the crew—and based on video, there’s three of them—got away with real hauls. A ton of jewelry, expensive watches and shit on one, and the other family had fucking gold bars hidden in the house. On the third one, the victim clammed up, and we never found out what they took. Your lady had something they wanted.”
“Any idea how they target the places?”
“Not yet. I’ll need to talk to your lady to see if we can find overlap—the same hairdresser, you know the drill.”
I knew it well. We often had to go into excruciating detail to find the links between the victims. “She’s pretty shook up. Tomorrow okay?”
He huffed. “Sure. And call me when she tells you what she was hiding.”
I ignored the sarcasm. “How’d they get in?”
