The Incident (Chase Barnes Series Book 1) (4 page)

              I was always jealous of Lindsey’s job.  She got to go on weekly field trips as a way to expose inner- city kids to a variety of community activities and was home by three every afternoon.  She even admitted how spoiled she was with her job.  Aside from the three o’ clock quitting time and more vacation time than a retired banker, Lindsey got off much easier than a public school teacher.  On average from year to year Lindsey usually had about seven students in her class as opposed to some of her cohorts in other schools that have ten times that many.  However, she said there were a number of times it felt like a hundred and seven kids due to some of their extreme behaviors.  She rarely had to take work home with her where others hunkered down on the weekends with stacks of papers to grade.  Don’t even get me started on the fact that she was allowed to wear jeans and sneakers to work every day due to the potential outbursts of fights and runners she may have to deal with during her day.  I guess with my newfound form of employment, I’d be wearing the same attire.

              “Don’t they have case managers and DYFS to look into that sort of stuff?” I asked.   The pork chops on the range- top grill began to sizzle.  I’ve learned so much about the teaching profession from Lindsey and the stories she’s told me over the years.  And one important thing I’ve learned from Lindsey and from my own years as a cop was that the Division of Youth and Family Services can be worthless.

              “We do but the kids’ case manager is a floozy and DYFS is worth shit.  DYFS has gone to the house a few times but have come up empty.  Say they don’t have enough to build a case.  I’m afraid this kid is involved in some bad stuff and may wind up dead.”

             
Stay calm, Chase.  She’s talking about Esteban.  Not Jake.  On second thought, I don’t think I can take this job either.  Yes, you can, damn it.   You’re gonna do it because you owe it to Jake.  That’s the least you can do.

             
There wasn’t much left to say, out loud anyway.  I knew I’d eventually convince myself that I was going to take the case once she told me to do it as a favor to her.  It would give me something real to do for the first time in months and I was thrilled. 

              “Fine, I’ll do it.  But you know these favors and pro bono gigs aren’t going to make us any money.”

Eight

I treated my latest session Tuesday morning with Dr. Sharper as I usually do.  Count down the minutes from the time I walk in and sit in her moderately comfortable chair and listen to her ramble until when the bell chimes.  At least that’s how the first ten minutes slugged by.  It wasn’t until she asked me about my latest updates about returning to work that I actually felt she was more beneficial to me than an excuse to get out of the house.

              Dr. Karen Sharper was forced upon me by the department as they do with all of their job- related incidents that result in gun- involved casualties.  Fitzgerald told me my case was on the severe end since I had taken this case so personally and it began to affect my work production. 

              “What has Captain Fitzgerald told you?” she asked me even though I knew Dr. Sharper knew the whole run down of my conversation with Fitzgerald.  I tried to read her expression to see just how much she already knew but I was smart enough to see through her game but I played along.  What else did I have to do?

              “You know damn well what he said because it’s probably
you
that told him to say it.”

              “I don’t think that’s very fair.  I will tell you that I’ve spoken to Captain Fitzgerald a few times since we’ve begun our sessions, predominately to provide him with a brief update on your progress and it was
he
who approached
me
with the idea,” Sharper said.

              I knew she just wanted to hear my own interpretation of what transpired from the meeting so I gave in.

              “He said he and the chief think I’m not completely suitable to return to my beat so they suggested that I create my own private investigation business.  Fitz said they’d throw me a few simple cases to get started and I’d have their full support when needed.”

              “How did you react to that?” she asked. 

             
How do you think I reacted, bitch?

             
“I was not happy about it.  Frankly, I was surprised that I wouldn’t be allowed to return to work,” I said. 

             
Did you have anything to do with it?

              “This is because you wouldn’t sign my release form and let me go back to work, isn’t it?” I added.  I was steaming.

              “What about that surprised you?”  She scribbled something on her pad and clearly ignored my last question.  But I could tell it got to her.

              “What do you mean?  Everything
surprised
me.  Really knocked me on my ass,” I replied.  I enjoyed cursing in front of Dr. Sharper because she hated it.  It made me feel good.  I continued, “I don’t know what surprised me more, the fact that I wasn’t returning to the department or the fact that I have to build my own business from scratch.” 

Or the fact that you’re a spiteful bitch and are doing this to me on purpose.

“Have you been continuing with your journal writing?” she asked.

“Sort of,” I said.  Sharper sat and stared at me, expecting me to elaborate.  So I continued, “It started out as a scribble pad for just words and phrases but then I sort of got into it and managed to get my whole story on paper.”  I sat back.

“Well, that’s great.  How did it make you feel to reveal the story, even if it was only to yourself on a piece of paper?” she asked.

I started to return a smart quip but quickly hesitated because it was actually an interesting question.  A question that I really wasn’t sure how to answer.  I shrugged and said that I didn’t know.  Sharper waited for more but I didn’t want to give her anything.  I felt like we were having a staring contest because her eyes were burning holes through my face.

“I’m not sure, really,” I finally said, giving in once again.  “I felt my anxiety sky rocket and I was really light- headed when I got to the part about Jake dying.  That was the hardest part.”

It just dawned on me that I was actually having a conversation for the first time and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.  We were six months in to my weekly therapy sessions and I still acted as resistant and defiant as I did the first day we met.

              I spent the rest of the hour- long session filling Dr. Sharper in on my first potential case.  I talked about Esteban Machado and what little I knew of him.  Lindsey had given me some further background information on Esteban, none of which was pretty.  I cut Dr. Sharper off before she attempted to analyze Esteban and his shitty- ass home life. 

              The timer had gone off.

             
Wow!  Time’s up already!

             
I hesitated before I got up to leave figuring Sharper would have some last minute words of wisdom for me.  But since she sat in silence studying the paperwork on her lap, I rose.

              Without looking at me she said, “And Chase, this isn’t my doing.”

              “Yeah,” was all I said.

              Was she talking about it being my fault or was someone else involved in keeping me out of the force?  Right now, I didn’t care.

             
I left Sharper’s office and headed over to Lindsey’s school.  She sent me a text telling me that she was able to get the principal to agree to my investigative duties.  I was to report to Mr. Glen Garvey’s office after my ‘prior appointment.’  My new career was underway. 

On my drive across town, I began to feel a jolt of electricity flow through my bloodstream.  Something I hadn’t felt in six months.  Maybe it was the fact that I might not have to abide by my department- issued requirement to meet with Sharper any longer.  I wasn’t returning to the job I necessarily wanted but I was still returning to
a
job.  Which to me meant that I could be done with Dr. Sharper and her wishy- washy witchcraft.     Maybe it was that I had an opportunity to see Lindsey during the day.  Maybe it was the fact that I was starting to get back to work, in some fashion.  It might have been one or it might have been none.  Either way I knew I was starting to feel alive.

             
You’re alive but Jake isn’t. 

My conscience screamed at me on a regular basis but it’d become easier to shake it off rather than let it linger and ruin who I was as a person.  I’ve always been one to wrestle with my conscience more often than most, but it usually pertained to my inability to make my own decisions.  I often asked myself questions and used my mind’s voice to rationally talk things through before becoming impulsive. 

I wish I relied more on my conscience the night Jake died.

NINe

The Right Step School was a one- story building set in the middle of a rural neighborhood.  It once was a veterinarian’s office.  The front office was still designed as a receptionist’s desk, with the high- top counter, and a sliding glass window in front.  There were only seven classrooms that were once used to treat everything from cats and dogs to iguanas and snakes.  I remember Lindsey telling me it took a full year to rid the building of the various pet odors. 

              I parked around back and found Lindsey waiting for me in the front office.  I had sent her a text when I was on my way.  A long line of school buses and vans were lined along the back of the building, prepared for dismissal.  The main entrance was on the side.  When I saw Lindsey I gave her a casual hug, appropriate enough for the work place.  She marched me down the hallway, passing an empty staff lounge, and we made a right turn to get to Principal Garvey’s office.  Adjacent to the principal’s office was a nursing station that was occupied by two students, one lying on a cot and another receiving some sort of medical attention from an elderly woman in cartoon scrubs. 

              Glen Garvey was probably in his early fifties and a husky penguin of a man.  He couldn’t have been more than five- six, five- seven and weighed entirely too much for such a stout body frame to carry.  His office, like all principal’s offices, was entirely too large for one person to occupy.  The L- shaped mahogany desk and his plush leather chair made Glen Garvey look like a Lego character placed in furniture fit for a real adult. 
              Lindsey introduced us, even though I’d met him on a number of occasions, and I shook Garvey’s stumpy, marshmallow-y hand.  Pleasantries were exchanged and we sat at a small oblong conference table set at the front of the office near the door.  On the table was a wilting potted plant and two binders stacked on top of each other.  The plant was pushed off to the end of the table but the permanent dirt ring told me that the center of the table was home.  Lindsey pointed me to a chair and I sat.  The office had a strange odor but I couldn’t quite place the stench.  I think it was a cross between old Chinese food and a gym locker.  And Lindsey wondered why some of the kids in her class that she’s had over the years referred to him as Gravy rather than Garvey. 

              I spent the first few minutes giving Garvey the rundown on my experiences as a cop and as a private investigator, most of which, of course, I embellished. 

              “So tell me about Esteban,” I finally said to get the ball rolling.

              “Ok, here it is.  Esteban is a twelve- year old boy.  Lives in Paterson,” Garvey began.  I took notes.

              “Both parents home?” I asked.

              “Yes, and then some,” Garvey said.  He continued, “Esteban’s mother works nights at the CVS in town and we’re not quite sure what the father does.  There’s also a grandmother, we think a couple of cousins and Esteban’s older and younger siblings.  It’s quite the family dynamic.”  A regular family gathering, I thought but didn’t say or write down.

              “I’ll say,” I said just to be saying something.  Then I thought of a question.  “Why don’t you know what the father does?”