"Seriously?"
"He's used the words 'citizen's duty' four times. And he may have mentioned a reward." In the background, he heard Eugene's reedy voice: "Is that the Chief? Tell him I have references."
The drug dealer and his lawyer could wait. Might do Jenks good to cool his heels for a while, remember that Hope Landing wasn't Sacramento where he could snap his fingers and get immediate service.
"Tell Jenks and his lawyer I'll be there when I'm there. Where did Eugene find this watch?"
"Near the maintenance hangars at the airport. Says it's engraved and everything."
Something about that location pinged Cory's instincts, though he couldn't say why. The airport had been seeing a lot of activity lately—too much activity.
"I'll swing by and take his statement."
Graceline chuckled. "Big city crime wave, Chief. Lost jewelry."
Cory found Eugene Holcomb waiting by the airport's public entrance, practically vibrating with nervous energy. The retired accountant clutched a Ziploc bag like it contained nuclear material, his thin frame bundled in a parka two sizes too big.
"Chief Fraser. Thank goodness." Eugene's words tumbled out in a rush. "I didn't touch it—well, I touched it to pick it up, but then I put it in this bag—is that tampering with evidence? I watch those crime shows, and they're always talking about chain of custody?—"
"You did fine, Eugene." Cory fought to keep his expression neutral. "Show me what you found."
Eugene produced the bag with the reverence of someone handling the Holy Grail. Inside lay a Breitling Navitimer, its steel catching the winter light. Easily eight grand, maybe more.
"See? Engraved." Eugene pointed through the plastic. "'J.S.' with a date. Someone's missing this. Someone important."
Cory dutifully photographed the watch, the location where Eugene found it, and took down the man's rambling statement that included unnecessary details about his morning walk, the weather conditions, and his late wife's opinion on expensive jewelry.
"So..." Eugene shifted from foot to foot. "Is there like a finder's fee? Not that I'm asking. But if someone offers..."
"We'll post it on the department's found property page, Eugene."
"What if they can't prove it's theirs? How long before?—"
"Ninety days. Then you can claim it if no one comes forward."
Eugene's eyes lit up before he caught himself. "Not that I would. Unless nobody claims it. Then it would be wasteful not to..."
Cory kept his sigh internal. "I'll file the report, Eugene. You did the right thing turning it in."
"Of course. Civic duty. Though if they wanted to express gratitude in a monetary fashion?—"
"Eugene."
"Right. Yes. Well. I'll just... be going then."
Cory watched the older man scurry away before returning to his cruiser. He sealed the watch in an evidence bag and made his notes. J.S. Could be anyone—John Sullivan, Joe Smith, James Sanderson. Probably some investment banker who flew his Cessna on weekends and liked flashy accessories.
Still, finding it near the maintenance hangars nagged at him. That area saw restricted access, mostly just mechanics and aircraft owners. He made a note to check if any pilots had reported it missing.
As he drove back to the station, his thoughts drifted inevitably back to Izzy Reyes. The way she'd stood up to him, protecting her team even though she had to know Axel was guilty. That fierce loyalty, misguided as it was, stirred something in him he didn't want to examine too closely.
He told himself the tightness in his chest was just frustration. Knight Tactical had become a huge part of this small community really quickly, volunteering at church and community functions with regularity.
Until Axel Reinhardt started going rogue. Inside, Cory sympathized, but as police chief, he’d meant what he told Izzy. If he caught the guy, there’d be consequences. Ugly ones.
She had to understand that.
And he had to stop caring. But beneath Izzy's bravado, he'd seen exhaustion. Single mom, a demanding career, raising a little girl while her team deployed to Alaska...
