Feeling Violated

Somewhere On The Coast In New England

I entered our home with my gun drawn and turned on the lights. 

Everything was disturbed. 

The dishes in the kitchen were pushed out of the cabinets onto the floor. 

Every cupboard is emptied. 

The refrigerator and the freezer's contents were dumped onto the floor with open doors. Any can or jar with a screw top was open.

The top of the kitchen table, which also serves as my office, had nothing on it. 

My laptop and neat stacks of papers were all over the floor. It looked like whoever did this was a bit slower and deliberate with my documents. Instead of pushing the stacks to the ground, they were separated and placed on the ground.

This tells me each page was either read or scanned. There was no way to know if my computer was broken into. The screen was not cracked, and it's not hard to imagine someone may have inserted a thumb drive and cracked the nut open. 

I don't print much, but the papers contained invoices to my clients, bills for the household, and a receipt for an engagement ring I bought for someone special. 

It's possible some pro was able to crack my computer and thumb drive its contents.

I'll have to assume they did.

So, this was no burglary for drug money. By the way, this is the second time in three years a case has caused my house to be turned over,

Thumb Drive, oh yeah...

I went out on the deck to the far side, reached over the railing, and ran my hand over the thumb drive still taped in place. 

I still had the contents of Gerry Tanner's computer.

I looked down at the ground under the deck, where the money was buried, and it was undisturbed. 

Were they looking for evidence from Tanner's computer, my computer, the money from the underground compound, or something else?

I went back inside, stopped before Eve, and held her close. 

She was crying, and I told her, "What happened here tonight may happen again, and it was a good excuse to buy some new dishes and glassware." I suggested Fiestaware because nachos look good on it." Eve did not even chuckle. 

I held her close, kissed a few tears, and told her, "This was nothing." 

She said, "We are shot at, our house gets searched, and I get interrogated by the F.B.I., and you say this was nothing." 

She pushed me away from her, and then she started singing "Shoop Doobie Doobie." 

Then she started laughing and sweeping up the glass.

I continued looking at a professional scumbag's work. The T.V. was not disturbed, but the sofa cushions were removed and cut open. There was .26 cents of change on the uncushioned sofa. I guess he was not looking for money.

In the bedroom, everything was removed from every drawer. Each one was pulled out and dumped. It looked like he dumped each drawer on top of the bureau and slid everything onto the floor in one pile by the corner. 

The mattress was crooked from the box spring, so they looked under it. The house was so new, and no dust monsters were under the bed yet.

All of our clothing was removed from the closet but left on hangers. I guess each item was patted down but left on the hangers. 

This suggests our "guest" was looking for something small.

I went into the bathroom, and each bottle of Eve's potions and lotions was opened and left open.

While trying to figure out who and what, I realized something was missing—my backpack with the two security cameras and ground sensors.

I double-checked each room, and my backpack was gone. I started thinking about what was in the pack. A pair of gloves, The cameras, the two sensors, some dog treats for Tango, a drooly tennis ball, a phone charger, and a multi-tool used to cut, drive screws, and clip toenails.  

They wanted their cameras back, and they were looking for something else.

Judging by the food still in Tango's bowl, they must have come in the morning after Eve and I left for the day.

Tango was no help when I asked him, "Boy, who did this?"

Stratham New Hampshire

Ron Strier went home and walked into his kitchen. He had just received a call from Allston, and he needed to speak with Sophie. He went down the hall to the girl's room.   They would soon be going back to college.

He knocked on the door, and the volume of some awful music was lowered. Strier was told he could come in.

This always amazed him, but an 18-year-old girl is due a lot of legal privacy, even if it is his home.

"Hey, Sophie, I need to speak with you." "Meg, you can hear this as well."  I'll meet you in the kitchen, please.

Strier was concerned, and it was right to clue Meg in since the two were always together.

When the two young girls entered the kitchen, Ron had already popped a beer.

TXT EVE: Are you settled with Fiesta Ware or will you accept my judgement? TXT ALLSTON: This is a trap right? TXT EVE: Absolutely!

Sophie, I got a call from Allston today. He wanted me to tell you that someone broke into his house today and ripped it apart and that whoever did it may be looking for information from your father's computer.

He wants you to be aware and to please be careful.

He also asked me to let you know that "his girlfriend Eve got called into the F.B.I. office in Chelsea, and they asked if Allston was able to recover family photos from your Dad's computer?"

He suggested that you stay close to home here.

Sophie looked at Ron and said, "No problem, Mr. Strier. Is this ever going to end?"

Boston General Hospital

Natalie was now set up in a room for VIP stays at the hospital. Access to the room was controllable, and since word got out that one of the stars from Stanley's Girls was here, people tried to get into the hospital to take a peek.  

The tabloids were eager for photos of Natalie in the hospital, but she was not ready.  

She would live thanks to the team of flying paramedics and then the trauma team at the hospital. 

The cuts and stab wounds were all in places that clothing would cover, except for one short gash on her cheek.  The plastic surgeons looked at it today and told her "That she would still be beautiful and her wound would leave a small character mark.

She was up and taking short walks in the hospital halls while always thanking her caregivers for getting her through this horrible mess.

Yesterday, her ex-husband called and told her he was "very sorry that this happened to her."  All the anger she felt toward him since the divorce was gone, at least for this phone call, and Natalie believed that he would not do this to her or pay someone to do this to her.

She could not stop thinking about the man in the parking lot and his familiarity, but something kept her from focussing too much on him.

She knew she would get to the answer and started thinking about how to proceed.

As to when she would be cleared to leave, the best guess was a week more and then a regimen of therapy.

All things will be revealed, she thought as she looked out the window and viewed the sky over Cambridge.