One carried a flashlight.
The other knelt beside a utility box.
I pressed the intercom.
“Who is there?”
Both figures jerked upright.
One turned toward the camera.
His face was partly hidden beneath a hood.
“Maintenance,” he shouted.
I stared at the screen.
“Maintenance from where?”
No answer.
Then the taller figure moved toward the security camera.
The image shook.
Went sideways.
And disappeared.
My heart hammered.
I called the sheriff’s department.
While waiting, I locked every door and turned on the exterior floodlights.
A second camera showed the figures running toward a white utility truck parked beyond the service road.
The truck pulled away just as the deputy arrived.
The deputy’s name was Aaron Mercer.
He was in his forties, with a steady voice and the tired eyes of someone who had seen enough human foolishness to recognize it quickly.
I showed him the footage.
He watched twice.
