Jack settled into his chair and watched Mark pull up a file on his laptop. He opened a manila folder and slid it across to Jack.
“Let's start with what we've got open,” Mark said. “Nothing's on fire, but we've got a few things that need attention.”
Jack scanned the first page. A robbery at Henderson's Pawn and Collectibles. Someone had smashed the front window three nights ago, grabbed items from the display case, and vanished.
“Owner's name is Gerald Putnam,” Mark said. “Twenty-two years in business, never had an incident before. Whoever did this knew what was in that case… three handguns, an antique watch, and jewelry from a recent estate sale.”
Jack nodded. “Not random.”
“Exactly.” Mark pulled another file. “We've also got a domestic abuse call with a child involved. Dad's in custody on distribution charges… had enough drugs on the coffee table to make it stick. And a storage unit break-in on Route 13. Stolen motorcycle.”
They spent the morning working through the details. Mark walked Jack through each case with a thoroughness Jack respected, explaining his thinking without being condescending and laying out his reasoning like a seasoned navigator charting a route.
Jack listened more than he talked, absorbing the rhythm of how Mark worked. The man read people the way Jack had learned to read the sea… quietly, patiently, watching for the small shifts that told you something bigger was happening beneath the surface.
They had the deputy reports for each case, providing the information needed to start the investigations.
By noon, they grabbed sandwiches and ate at their desks. Mark mentioned they'd head to the pawn shop that afternoon to interview Gerald Putnam to get a full account of what was taken and see if he could narrow down who might have known what was in that case.
“Could be a customer,” Mark said. “Could be someone who works nearby and saw him arrange the display.”
The afternoon interview with Gerald was brief but productive. The stocky, sixty-something shop owner walked them through the night of the robbery, showed them his meticulous ledger of estate sale items, and described a man who'd come in a week before asking detailed questions about the guns but didn't buy anything.
“Didn't look like the usual crowd,” Gerald said.
Jack made notes while Mark asked follow-up questions about the man's appearance and timing. By the time they left, they had a description and a timeline to work with.
Back at the station, Jack spent the last hour updating case files and organizing his notes. The room had thinned out as the afternoon wore on, with detectives heading home or out on calls. The light now coming through the windows casts a few shadows.
Mark shut down his laptop and stood, stretching his shoulders. “That's a solid first day. You did good work today, Hudson.”
Jack looked up. “Thanks. I appreciate the partnership, Mark. Seriously.”
Mark nodded once, grabbed his jacket, and headed out.
Jack finished his notes and walked toward his dad's office. The door was open, light spilling into the hallway. He knocked on the doorframe.
Colt looked up from behind his desk, reading glasses perched on his nose. He pulled them off. “How'd it go?”
Jack leaned against the doorframe. “It went well. Mark's a good partner. Patient. Thorough. I learned a lot just watching him work.”
Colt nodded slowly, that quiet, steady assessment settling over his features.
“You know,” Jack said, his voice quieter than he'd intended, “I always wanted to do this. Ever since I was a kid, following you around this building, watching you work.” He paused. “I thought about it when I was at the Academy, when I was on ships, every time I was somewhere that wasn't here. I wanted to be like you.”
Colt's expression shifted, just barely. Something moved behind his eyes that he would never put into words.
“But I also knew I had to go out and make my own way first,” Jack continued. “Do the thing I was supposed to do. Prove to myself that I could.” He met his dad's gaze and held it. “Now I'm here. And I'm glad to be here, Dad. Following in your footsteps.”
The office was quiet for a long moment. His dad stood and walked around his desk. He stopped in front of Jack and put his hand on the back of Jack's neck, squeezing once, firm and warm.
“Welcome home, son,” he said.
Jack nodded, not trusting his voice. Colt released him with a pat on the shoulder, and Jack pushed off the doorframe and headed toward the parking lot.
Outside, the cool evening air carried the faint salt tang of the bay. Jack stood by his SUV for a moment, keys in hand, and breathed it in—the familiar smell of home.
He climbed into his vehicle and sat for a moment before starting the engine. Tomorrow, he and Mark would dig deeper into the pawn shop case, follow up on leads, and keep working. Tomorrow was another day at work, and then it would be time to let Rachel know he was back.
