by G. K. Parks
“No problem.”
While he was gone, I wandered down the row of units, but every occupied one was locked. I’d have no way of knowing which unit belonged to the thieves, if my assumption was correct. There had to be a way to figure it out. Returning to the van, I peered at the fence, hoping to spot some surveillance cameras, but there weren’t any.
The guy returned with the new set of keys. “Here ya go.”
“Do you have security cameras?”
“At the front gate.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
That wouldn’t help either. I could always set up my own security cameras. However, this place was vast. I’d have to do it strategically, and that would require the thieves to return to the unit.
I thought about the facility’s records and computer system, but just because Knox’s collection was stolen two weeks ago, that didn’t mean the thieves hadn’t been doing this for a while and already had the unit set up. My best bet of figuring this out would be tracking down who rented the van on the dates in question. Since it was linked to the unit rentals, I’d figure out which unit, pop it open, and look around. This shouldn’t be that hard. If it wasn’t a registered unit but instead one Lenmere saved for its holdings, that would lead me back to questioning the people at Pauley’s and possibly paying Mr. Lenmere a visit.
“What are your hours? I want to make sure I get the van back to you before you close.”
“We close at nine and open at eight.”
I took the keys from him and opened the van door. “Any idea who rented this last?”
“Why? Now what’s wrong?” Obviously, his patience had waned.
“Nothing, I was just curious. A buddy of mine recommended this place. He rented a van last Saturday. I thought it’d be funny if it was the same one.”
“I don’t know who rented it. I just type up the paperwork. It all blends together.”
“Could you check?”
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “That’s private. Why does it even matter?”
“You’re right. It doesn’t.” I’d just have to find out on my own.
* * *
The interior of the van proved useless. No GPS, no tracking system, and the front and rear had been cleaned. The only usable prints I found inside matched me. The rest weren’t in the system or had been smudged beyond use.
“Are you sure there’s nothing in the back?” I asked.
Amir Karam stepped out of the van and pulled off his gloves. “Trace amounts of cocaine and gunpowder residue. Neither means much on its own, and it’s not enough to establish anything.”
“I take it there isn’t any forensic science mojo that could magically tell me if this transported valuable sports memorabilia in the last two weeks.”
“You’d be correct.”
“What about technological means to tell me where the van has been?”
Amir blew out a breath. “This is old school. The system is computerized, but it doesn’t have any of the usual suspects. It doesn’t even have roadside assistance or satellite radio.”
“How would you treat this if it had been part of a federal investigation?”
“I’d sweep the van, like we just did, and possibly take tire treads to compare to crime scenes or run the dirt to see if there was something odd about it, but that’s only if it connected to an out of the ordinary crime scene.”
“That’s not gonna help us any.”
“No kidding.” Amir looked around the top level of the public parking garage. “It’s probably for the best. This isn’t the ideal workspace either.”
“I’m working on it.”
He nodded and closed the doors. “I have one other suggestion.”
“What’s that?”
“Stick a tracker on the van. If your thief uses it to make another delivery to the pawn shop, you’ll know about it.”
“Already done.” When I returned the van to the rental place, I’d make sure to stick trackers on the other vans too. Then all I’d have to do is keep my eye on them until the pawn shop received another delivery.
I opened the driver’s side door and climbed in.
“Mr. Cross,” Amir said, “are you sure you need someone with my skills? This isn’t exactly the type of thing most private investigators need. I’m sure you’re more than capable of pulling and running prints, and I don’t see a private security firm needing much more than that.”
“I will one of these days. For now, I could use some help when it comes to your other area of expertise. A team broke into Trey Knox’s house. I’ve dug through his online activities and habits, but I didn’t see any red flags. I’m guessing the thieves targeted him some other way. They knew precisely how to disarm the security system and when Knox would be out. I need to identify them.”
“Do you think they’re renting a unit from this storage facility to hold their ill-gotten gains in between pawning the merchandise?”
“Basically, or the pawn shop is using the storage facility to hold hot merchandise until it cools down enough to sell. Either way, I have to figure out the connection and who’s responsible. Can you find the overlap?”
He considered the facts. “I’ll need exact times and dates. I can’t make any promises. It’ll be slow going. Molasses slow.”
“I appreciate anything you can do.”
“I’ll ping cell phone data and compare it to traffic cams and surveillance footage I find, but given hardware limitations and lack of staff, you’re more likely to find these guys through other means.”
“Get started on it anyway.”
“Fine, but I’ll tell you now, this is a waste of my time.”
“Humor me.”
Sixteen
After sticking a padlock on my empty storage unit and tagging the other rental vans, I drove around the city. Procrastinating, that’s what my mother would call this. Lazy is what my father would say. There was always more work to do at the office, but Justin assured me he had it handled. I trusted him. Come to think of it, he was one of the few people on the planet who held that honor. Though, given the givens, it might have been a curse.
During one of my drive-bys, I noticed Pauley’s Pawn was rather crowded, but I didn’t spot any delivery vans. They hadn’t called about the ring or any of the other stolen memorabilia, so I decided to wait. Appearing too eager might tip them off.
Instead, I went by Trey Knox’s place of business. He was in a meeting, but his assistant didn’t mind letting me wait. She had a pretty smile and toned legs. Every few minutes, she’d look up from her computer screen and grin at me. I found myself grinning back.
When Knox’s door opened and a harried-looking man in an Armani suit stepped out, barking a few final words to Knox, I climbed to my feet. His assistant held up a finger that I should wait a moment. She knocked gently on his doorjamb and asked if he had a few moments to spare.
“Send him in,” I heard Knox say.
She stepped back and nearly bumped into me in the process. “He can see you now, Mr. Cross.”
“Thanks.” I sidestepped, allowing her to pass, before entering Knox’s office and pulling the door closed behind me. “Sorry to intrude.”
Knox tidied his desk, shoving files into drawers and pens into a cup on his desk. “It’s not a problem. Did you find my stuff?” He tapped a few folders harshly on the desktop until they were uniform in height.
“I’m meeting with a fence tonight. I also set up surveillance on the vehicle I believe the thieves might be using. As soon as the suspect is en route to sell your items, I will intercept.”
“Excellent.” Knox leaned back. “So what are we talking? A day? Two days? A week?”
“I don’t know. Aspects of this case don’t make much sense to me. The thieves are probably professionals and must have researched you. I’m still curious who would have that kind of access or intimate knowledge of your comings and goings.” I glanced behind me. In between the waiting and grinning, I’d asked
Knox’s assistant about his schedule, but she’d only offered me available appointment times. She never told me where he’d be or when he’d be there.
“I told you, Lucien, the only thing I care about is getting my stuff back. I don’t care who took it. I just want it. The ring is the most important thing. If that’s the only item you can recover, I can accept that.”
“I didn’t realize you were such a defeatist. After getting back that World Series pennant, I figured you’d be more optimistic than this.”
He stopped shuffling the papers around long enough to stare up at me. “I’m not. I’m just accepting reality.”
“There are other rings.” I studied him. “I could get you a replacement in a matter of days.”
“I want mine.”
“Okay. I’ll do my best.” Now wasn’t the time to press him on the issue, but I had to know. “Did you ever notice a silver SUV following you around?”
“A silver SUV?”
“Uh-huh.”
He made a face and shook his head. “Nah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yep.” He hit the intercom button. “Margaret, tell Stone I’m on my way.” He grabbed the stack of files. “I’m sorry, but I have to prepare a pitch. Thank you for keeping me updated on the situation. If there’s anything else I can do, call or text. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” He lowered his voice to a whisper once he was beside me and put his hand on my shoulder and mouth near my ear. “I don’t want anyone around here to know I was the victim of a burglary. I’m sure you can understand that.”
“No problem.”
“Great.” He shook my hand, and I resisted the urge to wipe the sweat from his palm onto my pants leg. “We’ll talk again soon.”
“You can count on it.” I gave Margaret a goodbye grin with a wink, found the nearest men’s room, and washed my hands. Trey Knox was nervous. I just had no idea why. So I decided it was time to check out the scene of the crime.
Since Knox lived in a gated community, it was difficult to get in without issue, but I found a way. A nice suit and luxury car could get a person into plenty of places, and when that failed, bribery often worked. The neighborhood was nice. Quiet. His house didn’t look that different from any of the others. Small, multi-story, and expensive, with a postage stamp sized yard that was maintained by the HOA or whatever governing body ran the place.
The dismantled security system had been reinstalled. I knew the code from our earlier interviews, so I let myself in. Knox hadn’t been smart enough to change the code, but since the thieves hadn’t entered it, changing it wouldn’t have made a difference.
The motion sensors outside must have picked up on my presence, but by disarming the system, I doubted Knox would be alerted. If he was, the doorbell camera would have shown it was me. He’d call to find out what I was doing. While I waited to see if he received an alert, I wandered around inside.
It was clean. Getting in and out without using one of the doors would be difficult but not impossible. However, it would be detectable. Perhaps, that’s why the thieves dismantled the system and raised one of the windows. It was easier than breaking the glass and triggering the alarm.
Could this be an inside job? That theory had lingered around the back of my mind since the beginning. But Knox didn’t have the ring insured, and that’s the only item he had repeatedly insisted I recover. Did he point me to that just to distract me from something else?
I checked his home office and safe. He didn’t have a computer here. His laptop was with him. The rest of his computer equipment had allegedly been stolen. Surely, if he used it for work, he’d have to tell someone what happened. So why the secrecy when I showed up at his place of business?
Entering in the code to his safe, yet another thing he’d disclosed to me, I pulled the lever to find it nearly empty. Inside were important documents, bills of sale, letters of authenticity, and policy information. No cash. No jewels. Nothing tangible that could be sold.
Most of the walls, shelves, and display cases remained bare. A few knickknacks remained, but they didn’t have much value. They appeared to be the kinds of items one would find on the wall of a sports bar. Unsigned team photos, sports equipment, and a few ruddy balls.
The police had already checked everything inside. They dusted for prints and checked for trace evidence and found nothing. They may have missed something, but I knew I wouldn’t find it, whatever it might be.
Moving on, I performed a quick search of the rest of the house, focusing mainly on his bedroom and bathroom. Aside from finding a fedora with a silk rose on top of his dresser, which struck me as odd, nothing else was of any interest. Knox hadn’t lied. He didn’t entertain guests, female or otherwise, and if he did, he made sure they didn’t leave a single article of clothing or toothbrush behind.
Unsure why I wasted a good portion of the afternoon snooping around my client’s house, I reset his alarm system and returned to my car. Sitting inside, I surveyed the area, but I didn’t spot any silver SUVs. A white Escalade idled on the corner. Had I seen it before? When I pulled out, I kept an eye on it, but it didn’t pursue. I chalked it up to paranoia and decided the only way to combat it was by having a few stiff drinks and some dinner.
My favorite steakhouse required reservations, but since I knew the owner, I got a table in the back. I didn’t dawdle. When I finished eating, I left a hefty tip, my thoughts on Jade. We’d come here several times on dates. She liked the silver and white table linens, the candlelight, and the understated flower arrangements on each table.
“Stop it, Cross.” Shaking my head in the hopes of knocking the melancholia from my mind, I returned to my car. 8:23. I had three and a half hours to kill. Pushing the potential consequences aside, I drove to the only bar I knew where no one would flirt with me.
“What’ll it be?” a barmaid I didn’t recognize asked.
I stared at the bottles behind her. “Do you have any Hendricks?”
“Oh, hell no,” a gruff voice from the other end of the bar snapped. The bar owner shooed her away with the wave of both of his hands. Crossing his arms, he leaned back against the counter and stared down at me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Hey, Jim. Nice to see you.” Icicles clung to my words.
“What are you doing in my bar?” Jim Harrelson, retired cop, asked.
“I’m just trying to get a drink.”
“And every other establishment and store in this city suddenly ran out of liquor?”
“It’s possible.”
“The hell it is.” He grabbed a glass from beneath the bar and poured the clear liquor into it. Shoving it toward me, he said, “Drink up and get out of here.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“This is a cop bar. I’ll probably get arrested for drinking and driving if I just drink this and leave.”
“You’re not drunk. That won’t make you drunk.”
“I don’t know.” I stared down at the glass, carefully wrapping one hand around it and giving it a gentle swirl. “This stuff could probably double as lighter fluid.”
Jim let out an exaggerated sigh. “Are you in trouble?”
“No.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
“My face doesn’t say a damn thing.”
“The last time you came around here, you were tailing a cop.” Jim leaned over, resting his forearms on the bar in front of me. “And you nearly got yourself killed because of it. Your pops and I go way back. I don’t want you getting into any more trouble, especially on my watch.”
“You’re not in charge of me.”
“Are you sixteen?”
I glared at him and knocked back the cheap gin in one gulp. “Give me a beer. If I drink any more of that shit, my insides will corrode.”
He grabbed a pint glass and filled it from the nearest tap. I didn’t specify what I wanted, but I never had a problem with the beer at KC’s, just the liquor and clientele. Jim cont
inued to stare at me while I sipped the beer.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
He frowned and wiped the bar in front of me, as if I needed constant supervision. “What you don’t realize, kid, is I know you. I watched you grow up. This is Uncle Jim you’re talking to. Remember? You came here tonight itching for a fight.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“But you’re miserable.”
“So are ninety-five percent of the people who drink alone at bars. What’s your point?”
“When you’re miserable, you get self-destructive. You do it all the time. Over and over.”
“I do not.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
I snorted derisively. “How is drinking at a bar self-destructive? I already told you I have no intention of drinking and driving.”
“Whatever you say.”
Now he was pissing me off, but I shut up. He could think what he wanted. It didn’t matter to me.
“Lucien, you can’t fool me. You came to this bar because you want to punish yourself. Maybe your pops, too.” He sighed. “Don’t pick a fight. The last thing I need is to have to mop your blood and teeth off the floor. The cops in here will kill you.”
“One of them already tried.” Glaring at him, I wrapped both hands around the glass and stared at it until he went away. I came here to be alone, not to be bothered. This was a mistake.
“Hey,” a man with a wrinkled, untucked shirt took a seat on the stool beside mine, “have you made any progress?”
It took me a moment before I realized the man speaking was Joe Gallo. “Have you?”
“Is that why you came here?” He sipped his mojito. “Did Rostokowski tell you I like to come here after shift?”
“No.”
“Oh,” Gallo nodded a few times to himself, “Jimmy and your pops were partners, right? You must come here all the time.”
“Have you ever seen me here before?”
“Well, no.”
“That’s right.”
Gallo turned to me and grinned. “See?” He pointed a finger in my face, his cheeks slightly flushed. “I knew you came here to talk to me. This is about as off-the-record as we can get, yeah?” He glanced behind us. “All right, let’s get a booth so we can talk in private. I’ll give you an update on our progress and you can ask me whatever it is you came here to ask me.”