AN: Thank you for reading Cat & Mouse. I post updates regarding this fic - and others - on my tumblr (anybodihearme).

Cat & Mouse

Part One

Chapter 1: Nine to Five

By: anybodihearme

Originally Uploaded: Thursday, August 6, 2015

Edited: Friday, April 5, 2019

"Hey," someone called from behind me. I turned around and placed my goggles onto my head. "Chief wants to know if you finished the blood samples," Detective Marx said as he stood in the doorway to my lab.

"Good evening, Detective Marx," I said, turning back around and continuing to work. "I am almost done with the samples. I'm working on them as we speak." I pulled the goggles back down over my eyes.

"Chief wants them tonight," he stated. I heard the sound of his footsteps as he walked into my lab, approaching me from behind

"And he will get them tonight," I assured him. I heard Detective Marx began to fiddle with the beakers, test tubes, and other equipment in my lab, that for one, he does not know how to properly handle. "Please be careful," I asked. "That equipment is very fragile and sensitive," I called over my shoulder.

A warm hand wrapped itself around my waist, pulling me back and against a chest that was more familiar to me than I would like to admit.

"Just like you," Detective Marx whispered into my ear. He wrapped his other arm around me, ensnaring me between his arms, his body, and the table. I took a deep breath and turned around.

"I need to do my work," I said looking up at him. "So if you'll please..." I gestured my head towards the door. He gave me a small smirk and let his hands drop. He took a step back and crossed his arms leaning against the table.

"You always have to do your work." His brown eyes stared me down. I nodded my head as I gathered the blood samples and began to tag the vials and the bags. I turned around and walked over to the file cabinet against the far wall and pulled out my inventory log.

"You also have work to do, Detective."let out a low chuckle and turned for the door. I scribbled across the pad and placed the log back in the cabinet, locking it shut. Detective Marx stopped at the entry of the doorway. He turned his head, looking at me.

"See you around," He called and left. I wiped my forehead and let out a breath that I didn't realize I was holding in.

I could never understand why people insist on making things difficult after a breakup. It was mutual, clean, and right. The edging that he likes to do is plain childish in my opinion. But, then again, he was never the mature one.

I shook my head and walked back towards the counter, placing labels on the blood samples.

I will admit that the separation was my fault.

It was completely all on me. I was unable to handle it. No, I don't have a problem with my sexuality or who I am as a person, even though I don't walk around every day screaming to the high heavens that I am gay. Before the relationship initiated I was eyeballing Detective Marx every moment I could spare. I would leave my lab just to glance at him sitting at his desk, making ridiculous faces at his computer screen or paperwork. My heart would throb every time he left out on patrol. I craved him. I was the one who made the first move. The relationship had everything that one would kill for. We worked through our disagreements; it had humor, communication, emotional support, intimacy, compassion, and goals. We were what some people would call a power couple.

I soon realized, however, why it is extremely unhealthy and stupid for one to have a romantic relationship with one of their coworkers.

I lost my interest.

It wasn't your typical loss in interest like when your sex life, for example, is boring and you need to spice it up. It was more like I woke up one Tuesday morning and I had no interest in continuing the relationship. A random Tuesday at that, not even a Monday. All the feelings that I had suddenly disappeared into thin air. I wasn't fond of the memories we created together. It even took me a few minutes to remember our anniversary. If that isn't bad, then I don't know what is. I didn't even have the common decency to call Marx and tell him we needed to talk. I sent him a text message that said, "It's over." I flipped my phone close and rolled over in my bed and went back to sleep; not giving it a second thought.

I didn't care.

The few weeks after the split were annoying.

He sent me a thousand emails, text messages, and voicemails begging if we could talk and rekindle the spark we once had. Literally rekindle. Who talks like that anymore? This is not One Tree Hill.

I told him I would think about it just to get him to back off.

He did.

I didn't think about it.

I don't know how long he will wait and lie under this impression that I am actually considering getting back together with him. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. No need to worry right now.

I placed the blood samples in two boxes, spacing them into even intervals and sealing them. I picked up another clipboard, making sure the case numbers was correct on the boxes. Finishing that, I slipped the clipboard into one of my coat pockets.

I picked up the boxes and left my lab.

I walked through the halls heading towards the Chief's office. I don't know what is so important about these blood samples but he's been hounding me about getting them done this week. Usually when I finish blood samples, I send them to another department for further tagging but this time the Chief wanted me to bring them directly to him. It must be an important case or something. As of right now, I just want to get these samples to the Chief so I can go home. Being here all-day and staring at these off white walls can make depression alluring.

I stopped in front of the Chief's office and knocked on the door. A callus "enter" echoed from within the room.

I twisted the doorknob and walked in.

"Excuse me, Chief," I called. "I have the blood samples that you requested." Chief was sitting behind his desk, looking down at a stack of files. White hair covered his entire head. He was in his late forties but don't let his age fool you. I was surprised when I learned that he was the Chief. I always wondered how someone of his age is still able to work in the line of duty but the stories the fellow officers told quickly made me change my mind. Without looking up, he ushered me into the office with his hand.

"All of the samples are complete?" He asked.

"Every single one." I sat the box of blood samples down on his desk. He sat the files he was looking at aside and sat up in his chair. He eyed the samples as if they contained the all the answers to the universe. He leaned back in his chair and for the first time looked up at me. If looks could kill. A small shiver went through my body.

"Do you have the report on these blood samples with you?" He questioned. I reached down into my coat pocket and pulled out the clipboard. "Good." I outstretched my hand to give him the clipboard but he raised his hand, stopping me. "I wouldn't be able to understand a word in that thing. No need to give it to me yet." He shook his head. "I have a few questions to ask you." He inclined.

"What can I do for you?" I hope this isn't some stupid game of, 'Lets See How Much My Employee Knows About His Job.' I simply don't have the patience for it. I crossed my arms and leaned my weight on my left foot. He could at least offer me a seat if I'm going to be in here for a long time. I have more work to do.

"When you sent the samples through the system did you get any matches?" That's an odd question. I untucked the clipboard from arms and flipped through the report.

"Yes; twenty-three matches, and seven possible matches," I stated, nodding my head.

"Possible?" He asked, tilting his head.

"The blood was able to be partially matched to seven cases; however, there wasn't enough evidence collected from those cases to make a complete match." Chief nodded his head, understanding.

"Can you determine who the blood came from?" He asked.

"The tests showed that the blood came from a healthy male whose blood type is O-Negative with no life threatening diseases, " I started as I looked through the report and my own personal notes.

"That's all you were able to conclude?" Chief asked.

"I was able to produce a few hypotheses about the owner of the blood but those are just hypothesis, nothing concrete and scientifically justifiable." Chief sat up straight in his chair and leaned forward in excitement. I swore I his eyes light up just the tiniest amount. "I was able to predict that the owner of the blood has green eyes and red hair."

"How?" He demanded.

"By splitting up the blood and extracting the DNA through various tests, I was able to draw some conclusions about his physical attributes." I stated. "It's still just a mere prediction..." I trailed off.

"How much of a possibility are you correct?" He asked.

"Roughly 62%." I nodded my head and closed the report. "But this is just a hypothesis. Barely circumstantial." The Chief let out a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, looking out the window. He waved his hand, silently asking for the clipboard. I slid the board across the table and he picked it up. The Chief pulled a pen out of his breast pocket and signed the report. He slid the board back across the table.

"This is most amount of information we have ever been able to collect for this case," He stated matter-of-factly. I'm usually not interested in the cases I am assigned play out after I finish the forensics but this one has peaked my interest. It was simple science. Anyone who worked on any of the previous cases that were matched to this one should have been able to draw the connections.

Let alone someone with a biology degree.

"If you do not mind me asking what is this particular case about?" I asked. Chief humped his shoulders before taking a sip of his coffee. After a few years of working here, I am able to say that the stereotypes about cops, doughnuts, and coffee are true.

Chief sat his coffee down on one of the files.

I cringed on the inside.

"For the past seven years the department has been trying to catch a thief that has been able to miraculously slip out of our hands countless of times. He's robbed everything from a bank to a newspaper stand." The Chief ran his hands through his hair, tousling the streaked hair here and there. "From our calculations, he has been able to rack up in the millions with the amount of property he has stolen. But, with the amount of evidence we have against him, it's surprising that we haven't been able to catch him. Let alone say how he looks… until now." Chief grinned from ear to ear. "Before we were only able to distinguish that he was a male. Countless officers have given different descriptions of how he looked; each one contradicting the next." Chief shook his head. "With what you told me there's no doubt that we finally have a description to go off of." He said.

Seven years?

That's a long time chasing someone with no leads. Who was working the case before I was assigned to it? I was recently transferred to a new department, abandoning my old cases, and forced to rework old ones.

This is not a coincidence.

"Is this why I was transferred?" I asked.

Chief's grin grew wider.

"Exactly," He stated in a way that made ma anticipate what he was going to say next. "The previous person we had on the case was useless. I don't know why I kept him around for as long as I did." He rolled his eyes. "I caught wind that you were remarkable at what you do so I asked to have you transferred here so you can work this case. I wanted to see if what they said about you is true." He paused, dramatically. "And you are."

"I do an honest days work."

I worked my ass off in college to be where I am today. I'm not complaining but I'm glad people are starting to notice my work ethic. I smiled.

"Is it safe to assume that I am going to be assigned only to this case?" I asked. I already knew the answer. I figured it out after I started working the case. I only received cases that I was able to make connections between each and every one.

"It is safe," He assured me. Chief stood and walked over to his file cabinet that sat next to the door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. He flipped one of the keys up and pushed it into the cabinet unlocking it. He pulled out a huge bundle of files rubber banned and clipped together. He slammed the cabinet closed and walked over to me handing me the files.

The Red Bandit.

The file was red and torn in various places, obviously from being handled by many people. A giant rubber band encircled the entire file to keep the papers from the inside spilling over and out onto the floor. Clips hung from the file to keep the papers on the inside separated and somewhat organized. Coffee mug stains decorated the cover along with different numbers written and stamped on it.

I took off the sole rubber band and clips to open the gigantic file, trying my hardest not to let the contents spill out onto the floor. Inside the file had numerous photos, police logs, witness statements, and evidence. All of it for him. I will admit the file was impressive along with the amount of work this man has been able to accomplish and I mean that in a lighthearted way. He's been able to cause many problems for the department just because he was able to escape countless of times.

"How come we were never able to catch him?" By "we" I mean the police. I like the safe confines of my lab.

"It may sound shocking but we have never been able to attach an effective MO to him or predict his next moves. Along with his physical capabilities he is almost impossible to catch. I've had several officers stand in that spot and tell me that he has disappeared into thin air," he grumbled.

"If I am understanding correctly, by having me on this case, you think we will be able to catch him?" I questioned despite the overwhelming feeling I had regarding what the Chief was most likely to say.

"I don't think," he began, locking eyes with me. "I know," he said confidently. "The department calls him the 'Red Bandit' because he wears a red bandanna to cover his face. That's why we can never get an accurate description of how he looks." He walked back to his desk and sat down. "I want you to familiarize yourself with this case so you'll be on the same page as everyone else." He pointed to the file I was holding. "I heard that you're a very smart kid and that you have strengths in multiple areas. Many of your colleagues even say you're a borderline genius. So far, I agree with them." He leaned back kicking his feet up on the desk.

I looked down at the file in my hands. Homework. The one thing I truly hate about my work, even though I only have a few things, is taking work home with me. There needs to be a separation between the two like church and state. I groaned inwardly as I looked back up at chief.

"Thank you," I said unceremoniously. "I will do my best work to help catch him."

"One more thing," He said taking another sip of the coffee. "That case file is extremely important. It contains almost everything we know about him that isn't already digitally recorded. This is my own personal copy because I hate computers. I cannot express how important it is," he stressed.

It was more like a read between the lines type of situation: Do not lose this file.

"I understand Chief." He took another sip of his coffee.

"That is all. If you have any questions about anything that is in that file don't hesitate to ask me. Tomorrow after you do your daily morning routine, report to my office. I want you to meet the head detective on this case because you two will be working close together."

"Will do, Sir," I said. Chief looked me in the eye then at the file and back to me again. He nodded his head and waved me off. I turned on my heels and walked out of his office, closing the door behind me. A quick glance at my watch told me it was eight o'clock. There will never be a day that I will leave this office at the time I'm suppose to. Is that too much to ask for? I walked back to my office and placed the file on my desk along with the clipboard. I shrugged off my coat and hung it on the coat rack. I grabbed the clipboard and walked over to the scanner that sat in the corner of my lab.

Ever since the department was reformed, the big bosses demanded that all files be digitally recorded. It's not too much of a hassle but it is time consuming, even if the machine does all the work for you. Lying all of the papers across the scanner I closed the lid and punched in a few numbers. The machine roared to life and began scanning. This is going to take a while.

I walked back to my desk, flopping down in my chair. My eyes drifted back to the file that I sat down on my desk earlier. Can it really be that hard to catch a criminal? I grabbed the file and opened it up to the first section. There was barely anything in the description portion, only that the criminal was a male who was roughly 6'2" and muscular. No wonder why he was able to elude the police, he was tall and well built.

Flipping through the file, there were pictures of him but only brief shots. Either the picture only captured half of his body or it was so distorted it could have been anyone. Relying on the public's help option is out the window. There was no decent picture to go off of to give the public a description of who he is.

My eyes scanned through the file searching for anything remotely interesting. Each section was filled with a different case, all having one thing in common: the Red Bandit. His rap sheet was long. If he's ever caught, he's looking at years in federal. The file contained everything from petty theft to grand theft auto.

Who would want to live a life like this?

Always on the run, constantly looking over their shoulders, no home to go back too, no friends, family…

It has to be a lonely life.

Who are you?

The scanner made an obnoxious noise alerting me that it was done.

I shook my head and closed the file. I stalked back towards the machine, returning the files to my clipboard. I sent the scanned files to my computer. Tossing the clipboard on the table, I turned my computer on to sort through the files.

Technology.

I love it and hate it at the same time.

I laughed to myself. I created a new file in my computer by dropping all the files in there and running it through a few programs. Satisfied with my work I locked the file and turned off my computer.

I grabbed my fall coat off of the coat rack and slipped it on. Twisting my scarf around my neck, I put my hat on and grabbed my messenger bag. I picked the file up off of my desk and slipped it into my bag. Grabbing my one and only key ring, I locked my lab up and left. I nodded at a few officers as I made my way down the hall. Detective Marx winked at me as I walked through patrol.

Annoying.

I rolled my eyes at him, not bothering to say goodnight.

After the break up, I came to the conclusion that his only goal in life is to torment me.

"Good night Mr. Vincent." I turned my head and waved to Mrs. Bennet, an elderly woman. She was one of the few women I met when I started to work here. Everyday she sits behind the administration desk with her rimmed glasses, drinking tea. She's always happy and polite to others.

She smiled back at me and I left the building.

The wind blew leaves all around my feet, making fall's presence known. I pulled the collar of my coat up and around my neck. I hate the cold. I walked down the street towards the subway, carefully maneuvering myself around the crowd to avoid contact. At this time the streets are packed as everyone is bustling home from their busy days at work. I turn the corner and pick up the pace, hurrying to catch the last train.

In all honesty I'd rather take the train home than drive. Traffic in the city is horrendous. It's practically suicide trying to fight through the traffic to make it home at a decent hour, let alone to work on time.

The subway is much faster.

A man much taller than myself brushed up against me rather harshly making me lose my footing and tumble forward. He turned around and glared at me. The nerve of some people. I shook my head and righted myself and kept walking. Chief's warning rang in my ears and my hand shot down to my bag. It's not like anyone knows I have the file except the Chief. However, I don't want to test the waters just yet. My hand brushed the side of my bag feeling for the outline of the file. My hand brushed against one of the clips in the file and I smiled. Safe and sound. I worry too much.

I raced down the stairs into the subway, jumping onto the train.

The doors closed behind me with a silent whoosh and the train speed away down the tracks. I leaned against the door and breathed in deeply. Running is not my forte. Out of all my years in school, anything to do with physical endurance was my archenemy. I wiped my hand across my forehead, removing any evidence of perspiration. The trains automated system announced the next stop and I moved away from the door by grabbing onto one of the poles for support. The doors opened and passengers loaded and exited the train, shoving and rushing each other.

Such impatience some people posses.

The doors closed shut and the train lurched forward again. My eyes wandered around the train reading ads along the top of the cart. I turned my head and my eyes fell upon a group of teenagers: three boys. It was easy to tell that the three boys were close friends by the way they spoke and joked with one another.

The three boys stood in the corner of the train joking and laughing.

The first boy was beyond average height. He loomed over his other two friends and often had to lean down to hear what the other two said correctly. He was dressed in a simple jacket, t-shirt, and jeans. He held a comic book in his hand that detailed pictures of aliens and spaceships. He seemed like he had a big heart. The way he smiled at his friends just illuminated the warmth and love he had for the two. It was obvious that he was listening to what the two were saying. He often had to interject and ask the second one what certain words meant and to clarify that what he heard was indeed the right thing.

The second was patient with the first one. He would smile grandly and go off on a tangent about what the word meant and how to correctly use it. Compared to the other two he was around average height, nothing too spectacular. He wore a beanie on his head along with glasses that concealed most of his face. He held a chemistry textbook in his hand that was in pristine condition. A bag was tossed across his torsos obviously holding many books. He was dressed in a soft sweater vest that was tailored to his the build of his body. I approve of his attire. Throughout the conversation he would turn and chastise the third friend for something he said clearly becoming irritated with his presence.

The last one was under average height. It was obvious that he didn't care how he looked or the way he made others feel. His jeans were practically falling off of his body along with a t-shirt three times too big for the boy. The material of his clothes was already sporting a few holes here and there. He didn't have anything with him except a wallet that was chained to one of the loops of his jeans. He would retort his friends by rolling his eyes and waving them off. Such impenitence he possesses.

Oddly I found myself watching the group of friends smiling.

They reminded me of my childhood friends and I when we were younger.

If I was given the opportunity to go back in time and relive those days, I wouldn't.

My childhood wasn't my golden days like most. It was a long rocky road of cliffs and walls that I wasn't able to climb or avoid. I don't miss it at all. Peach Creek wasn't the worst or the best town to grow up in. Everyone knows who you are and who your parents are. Before you were able to make a name for yourself the community had already labeled you and categorized you into a circle.

I would often dream of leaving the town and never returning.

After I left the small town of Peach Creek for college, I considered moving back and giving the town one more chance. I soon realized my faults and decided that the small town life wasn't for me. I will admit that the small town life has its pros and cons; however, I only experienced the cons.

Running home everyday from school to dodge the wrath of others.

Throwing myself into lockers to disappear in a moments notice.

Being at the beck and call of my friends.

Locking myself in my room to avoid the outside world.

The lack of parental guidance.

Being labeled as a freak and outcast.

Then there was my sexuality.

It was no secret that I was gay.

When people would ask, I wouldn't deny it nor confirm it. I would walk down the halls of Peach Creek High and endure the snickers, stares, and taunting from everyone. The only people I confided in regarding the truth of my sexuality were my two childhood friends: Ed and Eddy.

Ed was more than accepting when I confessed to him. The truth of the situation, however, put a strain between Eddy's and I friendship, if you could even call it that.

He understood who I was to a certain extent.

He accepted me for who I was but he couldn't accept my sexuality.

Our friendship eventually became strained and anxious. Our usual sleepovers and movie dates ceased to exist. Our late night phone calls and get-rich-quick schemes stopped occurring. Eventually, our friendship dwindled down to a simple "hello" when we were in each other's presence. Ed was perplexed by the way our friendship turned out but he remained both of our friends. He loved us both and couldn't bear the thought of losing us both.

I could not and would not make him choose sides.

If I did then what type of friend would I be?

I got accustomed to being the social outcast.

Even in my own home I was an outcast. My parents worked prestigious jobs which resulted in them rarely returning home. If I were lucky, I would see them once every two weeks.

After I was born, mother refused to become a stay-at-home mom or cut back her hours to accommodate her child. She would preach about how she didn't go to college to waste her money and intelligence on being a housewife. Father couldn't agree more with her. After I was old enough to fend for myself, mother and father would leave sticky notes around the house requesting me to do chores. Along with the sticky notes, father would leave an envelope with money on the counter for me to use for whatever I wanted.

In time, this was our only means of communication.

Hours alone in solitude was all that I grown to know over time. In my teen years, I would imagine how it would feel to leave the wretched town of Peach Creek. It was constantly on my mind. How wonderful it would feel to finally leave the town where I was considered nothing more than an outcast. The want for freedom was so poisonous that I could practically taste it. Nothing compared to the pure bliss I felt when I held my diploma in my hand.

The emotions that ran through my body electrified me.

This small flimsy piece of paper that I held in my hand was my ticket to freedom. I didn't even hesitate to pack my bags and leave the same day. I didn't even bother to say goodbye to mother and father. I left them a note on one of their precious sticky notes and locked the door behind me.

The click the door made as it caught in the frame was music to my ears.

The train came to another jolting stop and I exited the cart. I looked back at the three friends that remained on the cart and smiled. Only if they knew what the world has in store for them. At that age, everything seems to be so pure until you step out of your domain and see it for what it really is.

Fate is kind to no one.

I was dealt a bad hand and I was forced to play it everyday.

I turned and walked up the stairs, leaving the bitter memories behind me.

The streets grew colder from the short span of time I was on the train. I picked up the pace and walked quickly towards my apartment building. Thank the heavens that my apartment is only a quick five-minute walk from the station. I rounded the corner and breathed a sigh of relief when my building came into view.

A three-story building sat nestled in the middle of a block surrounded by trees that hid it from prying eyes. I climbed the stairs and unlocked the first set of doors, stepping into the building. I practically whimpered at the warmth the building bestowed upon me. I quickly unlocked my mailbox and pulled the mail out and closed it shut. I walked up the narrow three flights of stairs to the top floor.

When I first came to look at the apartment, I was told that all of the apartments were for rent but when I got here, only the apartment on the third floor was for rent. I think it was a scam if you ask me. It was quite annoying learning how narrow the walk to the third floor was but now I've grown to appreciate it.

The building only had three tenants; one for each apartment.

I never met the man on the first floor and I tend to keep it that way. I have tea with the elderly woman on the second floor, Mrs. Smith. We instantly hit it off. She widowed her late husband and lives alone. She was kind enough to make me dinner when I first moved in. She always keeps an eye on me. When I fell ill with the flu she came over and stayed with me. She made me the best chicken noodle soup I have ever ate in my life.

Such a kind soul.

I jingled my key in the door to get it to catch the tumblers in order to unlock the door. I really need to call my landlord and talk to him about my door, again. It seemed that I fought with it to get into my apartment more times than I have actually been in my apartment. I gave the key a rough shove and the door open.

Record time.

I smiled and stepped into my apartment. I kicked my shoes off and undid my tie as I walked down the hallway. I flicked on lights here and there on my way to my bedroom. I tossed my tie, coat, and messenger bag on my bed. I strolled into the kitchen, looking for something to eat, before I dive headfirst into my work.

I live in a medium size apartment on the north side of the city, nothing too fancy.

It was the first apartment I looked at and instantly fell in love. It was a simple two bedroom, one bath, kitchen, and living room. The second bedroom, however, I personally use as a home office. It was just the perfect size for me. What really sold the place was the balcony that was attached to the bedroom.

It looked out over the city and the river.

When I came to look at the apartment it was well late into the evening and the sun was already setting. When I opened the door to the bedroom, my heart immediately started to ache. The sight before me was grand. The sun was softly kissing the earth. Colors I never seen before danced across the sky and took my breath away. The city below me looked as if it was ablaze off set by the silence that held the air. The sight before me ensnared me. I was captivated. One look simply wasn't enough.

Realizing that I wasn't really hungry I settled for a simple cup of coffee. Black my favorite. I carried my cup of coffee back to my room and slumped into my bed. I looked over at my messenger bag, groaning. I'm going to be up all night reading these files. I reached over and pulled the red folder out of my bag and set it on my lap. My fingers traced the worn design of the folder.

You sure have caused a lot of trouble for the station.

I opened the file.

What makes you so special?

Case Number: 12-78-96785.

March 12.

Victim: Josh Midford, 28 (Midford and Co.).

Witness: Sophia Knight (22).

Josh Midford stated that after leaving his store Sunday night around 11 P.M. he was alerted by a neighbor, Sophia Knight (22), that his store was broken into. After alerting the authorities he rushed back to the store to discover it was broken into. After the arrival of authorities and a thorough inspection of the store, Josh Midford, concluded that nothing of value was stolen.

Knight, neighbor of Midford, stated that after leaving work she spotted that the light in the store was turned off. Every evening when she would return home the light would always be on so people can see into the store at night (to deter delinquency). After approaching the store window she saw a shadow move from within the building. The shadow turned and seemed to realize that it was discovered and ran. She quickly ran to Josh Midford's home and alerted him of what happened.

Evidence: None.

Status: Open.

I glanced over the police report another three times.

I reread it, annotated it, and even cross-referenced it.

I couldn't fathom why someone would break into a building with no intention of foul play. People don't just break the law just to simply do it. I turned the page of the file and found notes concerning the history of the store. Apparently Josh Midford is the current successor of his late grandfather's automotive company. Telling from the file itself, the shop is only a local one. Customers of the shop come for simple car repairs for a fraction of the price of high end ones.

What would someone want from a mechanic shop?

If all of the cases in this file are related to the Red Bandit, then how is this one related?

Nothing in this report shows any evidence that relates to the bandit. After the investigation was conducted, no evidence was retrieved can even be attempted to be related it to the suspect in question. The witness statements are the only pieces of evidence that someone can go off of. How did Chief relate this to him?

I shook my head and turned to the next case file.

Case Number: 17-74-00921.

October 11.

Victim: Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Witness: None.

Director Ashley Benson alerted authorities of multiple pieces of artwork missing from the museum. After an investigation, it was concluded that seven pieces of artwork were missing, all worth different values and fabricated by different artist. Video surveillance from the museum was unable to be recovered due to tampering and lack of evidence. The night security guards on duty reported that they didn't hear or see any absurd noises in the museum. It is inconclusive as to who stole the merchandise or how they were able to.

Evidence: None.

States: Open.

Art theft?

This is something I can understand rather than a simple store break in.

Art from various time periods can be extremely valuable on the black market, especially seven of this quality. The art stolen from the museum ranges from the Renaissance Era, Romanticism Era, and the Modern Era, all containing valuable art. The museum estimated that the net worth of the art stolen can range anywhere from fifty thousand dollars to seven million depending on the buyers.

My mouth went dry.

Art this valuable can't be stolen and not raise a red flag. No matter where this art travels people have to understand that this art carries its own target. I remember when this incident happened. I read it in the morning paper. Everyone around the city was talking about the robbery. After hearing the name of the pieces so many times I can name each and every piece that was stolen. Art like this just doesn't simply disappear.

It has to resurface eventually.

This is no simple robbery.

I'm fairly informed about the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It happens to be one of my favorite places to visit when I have free time. After spending many hours exploring the building and being marveled by the exquisite talent portrayed in the artwork, I am able to conclude that this is no simple robbery. This establishment has one of the most pristine security system and renowned security company at their disposal. Every corner you turn in the establishment there is a guard present. At night security is doubled. Alongside an up-to-date security system that is rigged to go off when any motion is detected. It is nearly impossible for someone to break into this building without being noticed or setting of an alarm.

Scanning through the file there is no inclination of security footage. Was the footage cut before the initial robbery?

Gears began turning in my head.

Even if the footage was cut before the robbery someone couldn't be able to do this on his or her own. He has to be working with someone; this is not a one-man job. Even during the robbery someone has to monitor the cameras from another end to make sure they stayed offline. It's physically impossible for someone to be two places at once.

He's working with a team.

Case Number: 17-77-25430.

November 20.

Victim: Metropolitan Commercial Bank.

Witness: Jackson Bond, Olivia Manson, Nicole Taft.

Jackson Bond, bank teller, stated that upon closing the bank for the evening he was returning to the teller line to drop the remaining drawers for the evening after locking the doors to the bank. After securing the doors, he was hailed by a man that ushered him away from the doors. He reported that the man wore a red bandanna around his lower face, only having his eyes exposed. The man escorted him behind the teller line and into the workroom. After entering the workroom he discovered his coworker, Olivia Manson, was bound by her hands and feet in a chair with her mouth taped. Sitting beside her was the bank's security guard, Nicole Taft, and she was also bounded to a chair. The man then instructed him to open the bank's vault and no one would get hurt. Bond stated that he at first he refused to open the vault not believing what the man said. The man then pulled a knife out of his pocket and held it to Manson's throat. Bond quickly turned around and unlocked the vault giving the man access to the bank. The man then lunged forward and stuck Bond resulting in him becoming unconscious.

Olivia Manson, bank teller, stated that she was entering the workroom to do inventory when a man grabbed her from behind. He quickly tied her hands and pushed her down into a chair. She attempted to scream but was faulted when he placed a piece of tape across her mouth. The man motioned with his hands to be quiet by making a shushing gesture with his hands. She stated that the man wore a red bandanna across his face hiding his identity. The rest of his attire consisted of a black baseball cap that covered his hair, black long sleeve sweater, black pants, and black shoes. After he secured her to the chair he hid behind the door. Soon after the bank's security guard, Nicole Taft, entered the room. Immediately reacting to the situation she reached for her walkie-talkie to alert the authorities. Before she could speak into the phone the man stepped from behind the door and broke the walkie-talkie in his hands. He quickly subdued her and tied her to the chair also. The man then disappeared from the room. He returned soon after with Jackson Bond. He instructed Bond to open the vault but he refused. The man then stepped behind her chair and held a knife to her throat instructing him to open the vault one more time. Bond then turned and opened the vault for the man. After the doors opened the man stepped forward and knocked him out. The man turned and looked at Manson and Taft before slipping into the vault. After for about an hour she stated that the authorities showed up. She informed investigators that the man must still be inside the vault because he never walked out. After inspecting the vault the man was nowhere to be found.

Nicole Taft, security guard, stated that she was entering the workroom when she spotted Olivia Manson tied to a chair. Quickly assessing the situation she reached for her walkie-talkie to alert the authorities of a possible bank robbery in process. Before she was able to radio in the situation she was attacked from behind. She turned and was face to face with a man. He reached and broke the walkie-talkie. He the subdued her and tied her to a chair alongside Manson. Taft reported that he did hold a knife to Manson's throat to persuade Jackson Bond to open the vault. She also confirmed that once he entered the vault he never exited.

Suspects: Red Bandit.

Evidence: Witness statements and security footage. Note: Security footage has been altered. Multiple pieces of video are missing from the original tapes.

Status: Open.

Reading through the file made my skin recoil.

How can someone be so callous?

Threatening someone's life for the sake of money.

Does he have no morals?

I fumed with anger. This is unreasonable. I cannot measure why someone can be so malicious.

Does another life mean nothing?

I took a deep breath to calm myself. My exhale felt as if I was breathing fire.

Thousands of dollars were stolen from the bank without a trace. The witnesses stated that after he went into the vault he never came out. Looking at the schematics of the bank there is only way into the vault and that is through the vault door.

How does someone disappear into thin air?

There has to be another exit that isn't recorded on the schematic. I wasn't even factoring in that each pack of money contains a dye pack. Simply trying to separate the bills from the dye pack will make it bust.

The further I thought into the break in the more flaws I discovered.

The video surveillance doesn't even have a record of how he slipped into the bank. His point of entry has to be his point of exit. Maybe that's why there is no record of how he entered or exited. His tactic of throwing the police off of his trial is superlative. Comparing this break in with the museum's, it's easy to conclude that he didn't pull this off by himself either. He has to be working with a team.

It's no wonder why he is able to elude police due to so many pieces of evidence missing. Without the video footage, there's too many holes in the story to piece everything together. Simple hypothesizes won't work.

Why does this case have evidence tying the bandit to this case and not the previous ones?

Flipping through the remaining files gave me a migraine. Nothing in this file makes sense. Everything I read contradicts each other or goes against the laws of nature. I am a man of a science. I can't ignore the irregularities that exist within this file. It seems as if every page you turn there's a silent mock made against science. Mocking at the fact that there is something even science can't explain.

It made my head explode.

Am I sane enough to aid in this case?

Majority of the cases in this file lacks evidence that connects it directly to the Red Bandit.

So, how did these cases make their way into this file?

It is impressive how he has been able to elude the police and pull off many of the heist that he has done.

But how?

He has to be working with a team is the logical explanation.

After hours of reading through the file, I have more questions than answers or explanations. Considering all of the impossibilities the file presented, it made me want to withdrawal, although I am not a man that shudders away from a challenge.

I groaned.

This is not going to be easy. Maybe I have been handed the case to test my superb capabilities. I humped my shoulders.

I ran my fingers over the worn file.