The Incident (Chase Barnes Series Book 1) (29 page)

Klein instantly pushed himself to the front of my brain.  I wanted to become a blood- sucking leech on the soul of his corrupted inner being.  I wanted to see that more of his movements and habits were outside of being a scumbag principal during school hours. Klein clearly went other places than his house and I think I’d eradicated everything I was going to from there.  I wanted to see where else he ventured.  I decided to make Fitzgerald wait for me for a change and chose to sit on Treasure Island Storage for a while.  I wanted to check the steady flow of traffic.  The types of people that rented these kinds of storage units.  Possibly check out the type of security system this place might have.  And, most of all, hope that by some dumb luck that I’d see a pack of teenaged boys running wildly and freely from one of them.  Escaping from captivity and hoping for a second chance at normalcy.  Fat chance, I thought, since such luck never works in my favor. I tossed the newspaper on the passenger seat and hit the road.

              My iPod was rocking a song by the Moody Blues and was gently putting me to sleep but I had to power through because a big pet peeve of mine is when people skip through a song after listening to half of it- especially on
my
iPod.  When I got to Treasure Island I found a spot directly across the street, not knowing if it was a legal spot or not.  Either way, I didn’t care.  My spot gave me the best vantage point of the entrance and exit to the parking lot as well as the main entrance to the building.  The red brick building wasn’t much to look at since it casually blended in with the rest of the bland façade of the concrete nation called Paterson.  If it weren’t for the large Treasure Island Storage sign plastered to the corner of the building I would have missed it. 

              The music was cranking out some of my favorite classic rock songs at a steady pace with an occasional rap song sprinkled in the mix.  I picked up the newspaper to continue to peruse while searching for anything of interest emanating from the storage facility.  I quickly threw it back on the passenger seat after realizing that a guy reading a newspaper behind the wheel of his car during the middle of the day was pretty creepy.  No green Explorer.  No dark colored van.  No suspicious or shady characters looking over their shoulders.

About an hour had gone by with nothing gained aside from an elevated level of boredom.  Suddenly, I saw a red sports car I knew I’d seen before.  The creep behind the wheel, Klein.  What the hell was he doing here?  Was he here the entire time?  Did he come in after I parked and missed him come in with a casual glace down to the newspaper?  The light turned green and he pulled out of the lot and into traffic. 

It was time to follow him.  I didn’t know a thing about tailing someone but I knew I had to keep my distance and blend in with the rest of the world.  Not to stick out like a sore thumb.  Don’t get spotted by the person you’re supposed to be tailing.  My flesh- toned SUV helped with that.  Klein was a couple hundred feet ahead of me and I saw him make lefts and rights to get out of Paterson, presumably to hit the highway somewhere. 

              Keeping my eyes on the road and on Klein, I thought about the storage units that were purchased by Klein a couple of weeks ago.  Treasure Island Storage.  Is that where he kept his surplus of drugs?  Possibly.  Is that where he conducted business from?  Could be.  Is that what he had set up as his makeshift prison, holding the young boys captive?  I was pretty certain.  I had no idea and no time now to check it out because I was hot on Klein’s trail. 

              Just as suspected, Klein hit the ramp for Route 80, heading west.  I followed and fell in about six cars behind Klein’s.  The traffic was extremely light so he was still plenty visible with the distance I chose to keep.  We cruised at a steady seventy miles per hour until Klein zipped off the highway, taking the exit ramp for Route 287 South.  Where the hell was Klein going?  I could do nothing but follow and hopefully find the answer to my questions.  It wasn’t until I saw Klein’s cherry red Mercedes zip off the highway for Exit 57, which was for Skyline Drive, that I knew Klein was heading home.

SEVENTY SIX

Ringwood is a town without a highway running through it or a single sidewalk lining the streets and one newly installed street light directing traffic.  Klein blew through the windy lane of Skyline Drive up and over the mountain.  Did he make the tail?  Could he see that I was following him?  I didn’t think so because there were still two cars in between us and Klein had no idea what I drove.  That and even if he did see me, he seemed like the type of guy that wasn’t too keen on remembering names and faces too well. 

              I watched Klein ease his fancy car into his sloping driveway.  He gingerly exited the car and didn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry.  I glided past the house and watched Klein enter the side garage door and quickly close it behind him.  By the time I looped the car around at the end of the block to park across the street and up a few houses waiting for his return, Klein was back in his car, reversing it out of the driveway.  That was quick, I thought. 

              Maybe it was a pee break.  Whatever he needed, Klein certainly knew where it was.  I fell in behind him again as we zig- zagged our way out of the neighborhood and back onto Skyline Drive.  We were heading back the way we came.  What the hell could Klein have needed or done so quickly that was important enough to make a twenty- five minute drive in each direction? 

              “What the fuck is the guy’s deal?” I asked to myself.  Traffic was still light enough to make it back down 287 and Route 80 in about fifteen minutes.  Now I questioned why Klein was heading back
into
Paterson?  This guy didn’t make any sense to me.  But I guess that was part of my job.  To investigate, make sense of things, and find the answer to questions. 

              I could see Klein about a hundred feet in front of me, clear enough to see that he was fiddling with something on the passenger seat while he drove.  Kids of all ages lined the streets and clogged the intersections up and down Main Street, which caused traffic to slow and congestion to build.  Luckily, Klein was still in my sight. 

              Was he headed to school on a Sunday?  I don’t know.  I definitely knew that wasn’t the case when I saw Klein cruise by the school and the parking area.  Where ever Klein was going didn’t stop him from beeping the horn and acknowledging people he knew as they walked by.  Always the consummate politician. 

              Still having no idea what Klein has been up to or where the hell he was going, the best thing I could do was keep the tail.  Once he past the school and the parking area, Klein made a left.  Down the road from School 5 Klein pulled into a lot that belonged to Treasure Island Storage. 

SEVENTY SEVEN

C’mon, Cowboy!  Go be a fucking hero!

              My heart pounded and my mind swirled like a tornado.  Did Klein just really lead me back to the mysterious storage units that he’d purchased?  I wanted to play this right and not jump to too many conclusions.  Maybe Klein had just purchased the storage units for what they were truly supposed to be used for and it was just dumb luck that he’d purchased the units around the same time Esteban had gone missing.  What were the odds?  I began to think it was a possibility but quickly tossed that thought out.

              I watched Klein step out of his car and enter the front of the building.  We were on the corner of Slater and Grand Streets.  I saw there was an open lawn area on the opposite far corner so I parked the Santa Fe down the block and jogged to hide behind a tree in the lawn area across the street.  I remembered to take my gun with me.  I adjusted myself to have a solid vantage point of the front entrance.  As I sat to watch the next few minutes, my phone buzzed.

              It was Fitzgerald.

              “Yeah,” I said, not taking my eyes off the front entrance as I saw Klein enter the building. 

              “What happened?  I’ve been waiting for you to come by?” he said.

              “Yeah, I decided to keep eyes on Klein and I got him right now at the storage units,” I said.  I filled in Fitzgerald on my latest developments, keeping it abbreviated and short.  My answers to his follow- up questions were clipped because I was still pissed at him for not telling me about Millburn’s decision to kick me out of the department.  I was speaking the way Jake used to give me short heated answers when I grilled him on his behavior or his whereabouts.  He asked if I wanted him to send over some back up but I declined his offer since there wasn’t anything to back up.  At least not yet.

              “Ok, keep me in the loop,” he said then I ended the call. 

              As soon I put my phone back in my pocket, it buzzed again.  It was Jamal.

              “Hey,” I said.  I apparently forgot the proper greeting for Jamal.

              “What’s good?” Jamal replied.  “I got time for you now.”

              What the hell were the odds?  When I was ready for Jamal this morning he was busy and now he was ready for me and I had to tell him it wasn’t a good time.  As much as I wanted to get Jamal and Klein together it just wasn’t the right time. 

              “I hate to say it, but now Is not a good time for me.  I’m kinda in the middle of something.”  I heard him sigh in frustration.  “My bad, but I’ll have to get back to you in about an hour.”

              “All right, then,” Jamal said.

              Just as I hung up I heard what sounded like a gunshot.

SEVENTY EIGHT

I exited the lawn area across the street and my cover behind the lone tree in the center vanished.  I trotted from the tree and across the open lawn to behind the hood of my car.  I could still hear the echo of the gunshot that came from somewhere inside Treasure Island Storage. 

             
I paused in the middle of the street to shake out the nonsense rattling around in my head, not caring about the cars zipping by around me.  Not only did I have to get into the building, I had to get into the right storage unit that was keeping Esteban and the rest of the boys hostage.  Once across the street, I jogged around the entire perimeter of the facility.  Casing the joint, as they say. 

              There were several entrances, one on each side of the building, which I assumed allowed customers easier access to their units.  I saw Klein’s car parked at the northeast corner of the building, which was just outside one of the entrances.  Peering through the glass doors before I decided to enter showed me nothing but my own reflection.  The mirrored glass made me realized how weathered I looked and how I needed to hit the gym more often.  Strange thoughts at strange times.

              When I finally entered through the doors I casually walked the cement corridor like I belonged.  I was wondering if Klein would even recognize me if we happened to cross paths.  I had my keys in my hand as if I were fumbling for the right one to open a lock to my storage unit.  Every so often I’d find a door to a unit open and exposed with people knee deep in boxes rummaging through forgotten memories.  Most doors, however, were drawn closed. 

              “May I help you, sir?” a voice sounded from behind.  The echo of the voice bouncing off the cement floors and walls made it sound generic, almost robotic.  Sounded like the auto tune that some rappers use to ruin their songs.  I slowed my pace but kept walking.  I was afraid that if I turned around I’d find Klein barreling down on me with a gun aimed at my face.  Luckily, I paced past an open storage unit and the person inside had place a full- length mirror at the edge of the unit.  I peeked enough of a glance to notice that it wasn’t Klein and there was no gun. 

              “I wondered if you’d be able to give me a tour of your facility.  I’m looking into purchasing some storage space and this must be the third or fourth place I’ve checked out today.”

              “Name’s Jerry Finch, the manager of this here place.  We got all sorts of units.  What size is that you’re looking for?”  He held out a hand and I shook it.

              “Hello, Jerry.  My name’s Chase.  I’m not exactly sure how much I’ll need.  My grandmother recently passed on and her house is full of old things that we have nowhere to put,” I replied.  I contemplated giving him a false name but realized it wouldn’t make a difference any which way.

              “Why not just an estate sale, then?” Jerry asked.

              “My mother’s not ready to part with the items.  Some things will be part of an estate sale but there are still so many things left from her childhood that she just can’t let go,” I said.

              He nodded his understanding, hearing this story dozens of times a day, and said, “Right this way then.”

SEVENTY NINE

I hoped to get a tour of the entire facility, which would get me closer to where Esteban and the other boys might be.  Busting into the place like a vigilante out for blood just wasn’t part of my investigative repertoire.  Plus I didn’t want to kick the hornet’s nest too early.  The facility was five stories tall and offered a wide variety of unit sizes.  While we walked the first floor, Jerry gave me the sales pitch.

              “We offer state- of- the art units of all different sizes.  We have five- by- fives, five- by- tens, five- by- fifteens, ten- by- tens, ten- by- fifteens, ten- by- twenties, and ten- by- twenty- fives.  All, of course, depending on how much space you require.  For example a five- by- five would be just for some boxes and small pieces of furniture where something like a ten- by- fifteen would be enough to hold everything from a three- bedroom house or a full- sized apartment,” he said.

              I didn’t want to sound too disinterested so I nodded and made a few sounds of minimal interest.  “I’m not exactly sure what my mother will be looking for.  She asked me to check out a few places that offer the best for our money,” I said.

              Jerry said, “We offer a list of special features, such as password- controlled gates, climate controls individualized to each and every unit, around- the- clock surveillance, moving supplies to help you pack up your possessions and, as far as payment, we offer month- to- month leasing.”

              “That all sounds great,” I said as we entered a corner stairwell to climb to the next floor.  While I was attempting to keep an ear on Jerry’s talking, I tried to keep my other ear out for anything that sounded like screams, shouts, or cries for help.  Or more gunshots.  I didn’t want to say anything to Jerry about it because I wasn’t even sold on the fact that it was even a gunshot. 

              We browsed all of the floors and Jerry pointed out the units that were currently or about to become available for rent.  I tried to slow my pace and push an ear towards each unit but couldn’t hear anything.  For all Jerry knew, I just walked with an awkward limp.  We came back down to the first floor and approached the front desk where Jerry attempted to get me to fill out the rental papers right then and there.  I think he was under the impression that I was ready to rent.  “So what size will it be, Chase?” he said.  He held an application form in his hands, ready to pass it off with a pen.

              “I appreciate your time, Mr. Finch but I don’t know exactly.  I’m thinking nothing more than a five- by- ten.  Say, is there a basement to this place?”

I watched him ponder my strange question.  “Sure, there’s a basement but it doesn’t occupy any public storage units.  It’s sort of a storage area for the storage area.  If you catch my drift,” he answered then laughed.

“Can I take some of this information with me and get back to you another day?”

              “Sure, sure,” he replied.   I made a gesture as if I were exiting out the front doors and paused like I was studying the rental papers Jerry had given me.  When I heard the door to his office close behind me, I pushed the door open to make like I was leaving then bolted back down the hall towards the way I’d originally come in. 

EIGHTY

I figured if this place had a basement it seemed like the perfect place for Klein to hold his prisoners captive.  Jerry seemed like the type of guy that could be easily influenced with a little grease in his palms.  Klein certainly seemed to have enough grease to pay off a guy like Jerry Finch.  Maybe the receipt for the purchased units was a cover.  I found the basement door but it was locked tight. “BASEMENT” was stenciled in black paint in the center of the gray metal door.  Obvious.  The handle didn’t budge and the door didn’t even have any bit of leeway to it, which told me there might be a deadbolt activated on the other side.  Maybe Klein has the key and locked it from the inside.  Maybe I was simply over exaggerating and blowing this whole thing out of proportion and Jerry was right all along.  The basement was sort of a storage area for the storage area.  Was I being too over analytical? 

              Suddenly, I heard footsteps.  I turned and saw Jerry Finch approaching. 

              “Is there something else I can do for you, Chase?” he called out from the opposite end of the hall.  I moved away from the basement door and made like I was reaching for the exit door.   Suddenly, I thought of something Jerry Finch had mentioned earlier on our tour.  Twenty- four- seven surveillance.

              “Could you tell me more about your surveillance systems?” I asked.

              He looked puzzled but I couldn’t tell if it was based on the randomness of my question or trying to recall whether or not he told me already. 

              “Sure, sure,” he finally said.  “We have a security camera above each entry and exit point in the building as well as strategically selected areas in and around the facility.  I don’t know if I mentioned it earlier but we also have PIN- number access to enter the electronic gate system on the exterior of the facility.  This is to monitor who enters and exits and their time schedules.”

              I found this all to be fascinating.  “How long does the surveillance footage save on the database and what kind of loop does it run on?” I asked. 

              Once again, Jerry seemed puzzled.  “I’d have to say, Chase, that not many people ask about our surveillance system in such detail.  May I ask why?”

              I continued my improvisation.  “Well, I had a storage unit in New York, where I went to school, and it was broken into several times.  Can’t ever be too cautious, you know” I said. 

              Jerry understood and led me back to his office where he had a multi- screen panel against the far wall.  The six screens were on a continuous rotation through the dozen or so cameras stationed in and around various locations throughout the building.  Jerry told me the cameras continuously run and are on a twenty- four hour loop but the data is saved for up to three months.  I tried to act surprised and impressed at the information I was apparently learning. 

              I spent about ten minutes listening to Jerry go on and on about how he’s trying to expand the security system to over two dozen cameras and an increased database to six months’ worth of saved footage.  My phone buzzed in my pocket but I let it go. 

              It was time to go in for the kill.

              “Mr. Finch, let me be bluntly honest with you.  I’m really not interested in purchasing a storage unit.  I am interested in locating a missing boy that I have reason to believe is being held captive in one of your units.”

EIGHTY ONE

I received the look that I expected from Jerry Finch.  A blank, astonished look with a little twist of insulted craziness.  I held his eyes for as long as he’d let me, which wasn’t very long at all. 

              “A missing boy?  Here?  I don’t see how that’s possible.  What makes you think that he’s here?”

              I stared at him.

              “Oh, you mean that boy that’s been on the news?  Sad, what’s happened to him,” he added.

              “Why would you say that, Mr. Finch?  What’s happened to him?  If you know something you must tell me right away.”  I took a casual step towards him, not wanting to appear intimidating or threatening. 

              Another blank stare, followed by: “Oh, no, no, no.  I don’t know what’s happened to him.  I- I- I just mean that he’s run away or was taken or whatever the police think’s happened to him.  I don’t know anything more than that.  Honest.”  I had to stop him before he tripped over any more of his words and fell flat on his face.  

              I again stepped in closer to Finch to apply just a little bit more pressure.  “A lot of people consider me to be a patient man but not when it comes to missing kids,” I said through gritted teeth.  “Now, I’m only going to ask you once more.  What do you know about a missing boy?  Esteban Machado’s his name.  Where is he?”  I even surprised myself once I finished my words.  I had no idea I had any more gritty toughness left inside of me.  I thought it had all withered away like a dandelion in the Arizona sun.  My adrenaline was on fire and my confidence was beginning to ripple through my bloodstream.  Ever since the incident with Jake I felt less and less like of a man and now it was all flooding my systems.