Hot Storage (11 page)

   “I’m sorry,” I told John, on my way through the office. “I must have left it upstairs. I’ll be right back.”

   Once more up the stairs I hurried through the apartment checking my desk, the table and the counters, the only places I ever lay down work related documents. The DVD’s were missing.

   Back downstairs I looked at John and shrugged. “No idea. Something is weird,” I said. “I am not careless with company records. They’re missing. The last two months are gone and I have no idea where.”

   “Who else has access to this office,” John asked. “Could someone take them?”

   “I suppose, but why? As for keys I have my keys. Steve, the weekend guy, has a set for the front door and the overlocks. Burke doesn’t have keys. He comes in when the office is open.”

   “Burke?”

   “Detective Burke. Agent Burke. Whatever he is, he’s on the task force. He’s the undercover guy here. Declan Burke.”

   “Oh, right. I forgot. So the only door keys are yours and this Steve’s?”

   I thought about it. “The owners have keys. They must have.”

   John pulled a small spiral notebook from his shirt pocket. “The Murphy’s,” he said. “All of them?” He took a pen from the cup on the counter and turned to a new page.

   “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never asked. I’m assuming at least one of them has keys. They own the place. What if I took a flyer? Was in a wreck or something. There must be another set. At least one.”

   John put the pen back. “There could be more?”

   I nodded. “I’ve only been here a couple of years. Who knows? The previous managers could still have keys. I never asked if they changed the locks. Could even be a former employee if they didn’t change them out.”

   John frowned and put the notebook back in his pocket. “So a lot of people have access to this office.”

   Put like that it sounded sloppy, like anyone could wander in when no one was around. “I hate to say it, but yeah, I guess so.”

   “How about customers? Could they go back there?”

   “They could I guess but I don’t leave them here alone. If I’m showing a unit or cleaning on the lot or whatever, I lock the doors.” I held up the small plastic sign with the Velcro back that read ‘Manager Outside, Please Wait’ in tall, black letters. “This goes on the front door and I lock it. Even when I go get the mail.”

   “You left me here, unattended,” he reminded me.

   I felt my cheeks flush. “You don’t count.” I rolled my eyes and sighed. “That didn’t come out right. You know what I mean. You’re a cop.”

   “I got it,” he smiled. “Is there anyone else you leave here?”

   “I don’t think so.”

   “How about Burke?”

   “Possible,” I said. “He uses the back door, to get to the tools and the cart. I may have left it unlocked during the day. It’s an unmarked door and most customers don’t even know it’s there. It opens into the garage.”

  “Burke could come in through the garage, to here, in the office. Is that right?”

   I nodded again. “He could. But he’s a cop, too.”

   “How about when you close? Can the garage be opened? From the outside?”

   “No. There’s an automatic door opener we use to open it. From the inside there’s a button to lift the door but not from the outside.”

   “Okay. Then if you were outside without an opener how would you get in the garage?”

   “Come through here, either the back or the front, go into the garage and push the door lift from inside.”

   “Well, that’s no help,” he smiled. “I’ll go search the Sheriff’s department. There’s one room up there the task force is using as a base of operations. Someone may have misplaced it, or borrowed it and forgot to bring it back. I’ll check with them. In the meantime, do you think you could ask about the keys?”

   “I intend to. Truthfully, I doubt they know. I’ve found Mrs. Murphy’s keys half a dozen times. She lays them on the ground, or the roof of her car and drives off and the keys fall off.”

   “They’re separate from her car keys? She could leave them and not know it?”

  “And does. Half a dozen times at least. I’ve found them.”

  “They could leave them around the house, too. Even around the Gem.”

  I nodded. The security blanket was moth eaten at best.

   John thought for a few minutes, his brow furrowing. “Do you have the authority to change the locks? The ones to the front and back doors?”

   “I suppose. We have an open account at the hardware store in Monarch. I charge whatever I need for repairs around here. I turn in the charge slips with the end of month report.”

   “You might want to do that,” John said. “Personally? I think you should at least change the locks on the apartment. With that many keys floating around, better safe than sorry.”

   “I’ll do that,” I said. “Tonight. I don’t think I’d sleep well now.”

   “Tell you what,” John said, “how about I pick up the lock and a pizza and bring it over after work.”

   “If you let me pay for the lock, you have a deal.”

   “Fair enough,” he smiled. “In the meantime I’m going to check with the rest of the team, see if anyone remembers that file, maybe moved it or borrowed it. I’ll see you tonight. Office closes at five?”

   “Yes it does. And I need time for a shower.”

   “We’ll make it six then. That work?”

   “Perfect,” I said with my own smile.

   John doubled patted the counter again and left.

   I went to the back office for one more look around. The idea of someone being in here bothered me. Deposits I took upstairs with me. We kept a hundred dollars on hand in the office to make change or use for petty cash. Hardly worth a break in. The most expensive items in the office were the software programs and those were useless to almost everyone.

   I decided to ask Papa Murphy about changing the locks rather than do it without authorization although I couldn’t see a reason they would object. After all, it was their property. I’d think they would want it secure. As for the customers, they had keys for their own locks, unless they were overlocked and the overlock key was a master key.

   I could see why the Murphy men had keys to the office. They had trouble with managers in the past. They explained that when they hired me. Various times one or the other had to run the office. They needed keys. Mrs. Murphy never worked in the office. Her keys should be the ones for the units she occupied.

   Changing the locks would require four duplicates – one for each of the Murphy men and one for Steve on weekends. Four extra keys. Was it worth it? That would have to be up to Papa Murphy. As for my apartment? Papa would need a key, he owned the place. The others? Nada. If they needed in my apartment they could make an appointment.

  Now I was faced with the fact that someone had taken those DVD’s from the back office, my office, the one off limits to Steve. They weren’t hidden, they were kept in a cabinet in the back along with the recorder. Who was in here? I made a note to ask Steve on Saturday if any of the owners had been in on the weekend.

  There was nothing I could do now, this afternoon, so I went back to work. At five I backed up the day’s receipts, printed the deposit, and backed up all the camera’s. While the computers did their jobs I used the cameras to check the lot, looking to see if anyone was still on the property. Customers had access to the facility until seven although the office closed at five. I always checked to see who was out there before I went home.

   In checking the property I noticed Burke’s motor home in space 29. Which brought back Patrick’s complaint. I had left a message on Burke’s cell phone. I tried again and again it went to voice mail. I left another request to move. On a whim I wrote up a quick note, got the cart and drove out to tape the note to the door of the motor home. If something had happened to Burke’s phone, he surely would see this the next time he was here.

   John was punctual and we spent an enjoyable evening. After we ate John changed the lock on the front door and presented me with a pair of keys when he was finished. We chatted easily without mentioning the missing files.

  Tuesday morning I opened the office as usual. No messages from Burke. I still had to get that motor home moved. I left another message on his voice mail, got the cart and went out to check his motor home. My note was still attached to the door. The tape looked undisturbed.

   Headed back for the office I saw Patrick’s truck. I only met him recently but I had spent a lot of hours watching him pack, repack and unload his mother’s units. Several times I had observed him laughing with her. Once he picked her up and swung her around in a circle while she squealed, her hands on his broad shoulders. My memories of him on camera were a whole lot warmer than the cold, abrupt man I met.

   I changed direction and headed for his truck, wondering which Patrick was present today. I pulled the cart up close to the door and hailed him. He materialized from the gloom like a ghost and drifted to the door.

   “I wanted to let you know I didn’t forget about your motor home. I’ve left messages for the owner to move his. He appears to be out of town. I’ll keep after him.”

   “Why is he there?”

   “I’m sorry about that. My records show that space empty. I wasn’t aware you used it.”

   “I’ve always used it,” he replied.

   “You haven’t used it since I’ve been here,” I said, annoyed at this attitude. “My customer list says the space is vacant.”

   “I’m not a customer,” he snapped back. “I’m the owner. I own that space and I want it.”

   “I understand that, Mr. Murphy, and I am doing all I can do to get it ready for you.”

   “Patrick. My dad is Mr. Murphy.”

   “Well, Patrick, I am still doing all I can do to get that motor home moved. I will mark the space as occupied as soon as I do.”

   “Who owns that motor home? Maybe I know him.”

   “I doubt you’d know him,” I said and was interrupted.

   “How long have you lived here?”

   “Almost two years,” I answered and again was stopped from saying more.

   “I’ve been here thirty. This is one of several businesses we own. I’d be willing to bet I know more people here than you do.”

   “Yes, sir, I’m sure you do. We’ve had an incident here,” and again I was cut off.

   “I know about the drugs. So is this guy a suspect? Is the law watching him or something?”

   I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He is the law. He’s with the CCID. He’s watching the property.”

   “Is he paying for that space?”

   “No, sir.”

   “Then he moves. Out if necessary. We run this business for profit. If he’s staying he’s paying.”

  My temper was on the rise and I was fighting to keep it in check. I couldn’t afford to cross another boss if I wanted to keep my job. The big question was did I want to keep my job.

   “Yes, sir,” I said between gritted teeth. “I’ll see to it.”

   “And I’m not ‘sir’.”

   “Of course, Patrick,” I said, managing to make the name sound venomous.

   He stood for a minute looking me up and down with those cold eyes before turning his back and disappearing back into the unit. The interior darkness swallowed him.

   I started the cart and went back to the office, sure the camera would show smoke coming out of my ears. If Burke didn’t answer my calls by tonight I was going to have the motor home towed and the cost of that would come from my own pocket. The last time I was going to have a run in with a boss. Too many bosses. While I liked and admired Papa Murphy he had failed to teach his sons courtesy. After the Paul incident, then this, I was going to print out my resume. Tonight.

   I left yet another message on Burke’s voice mail and rooted around for Agent Miller’s card. I dialed that number and got another machine. Technology. I wondered if the task force played golf all day and checked their messages once a week.

   The next day I looked up the number for a towing company and made an appointment for the afternoon which set my mood for the day. Still no Burke. This guy had gone from being a semi-permanent fixture to a pale memory in just a few weeks. What’s with this guy? From easy companion and outrageous flirt to missing in action. That thought brought me up. I hoped he was all right.

   I had no idea what Burke did when he wasn’t here. There were several times he was absent for a few days, never this long. A sniggle of guilt nested in the back of my mind, right beside the memory of the two dead men found alongside the freeway. I sent up a silent prayer Burke wasn’t going to be found the same way.

   Thursday the tow truck came and moved the motor home and fifty bucks from my checking account to his. The new space was only two over so Burke could find it if he showed up. I didn’t bother to notify Patrick his space was clear but I did take that space off the rentals list so I didn’t make the same mistake again.

   The rest of the day was routine and I was happy to see it. After the drama of the past few days it was nice to sit in the office and crunch numbers. Randy came in and spent an hour updating me on the state of the nation. Things slowly slid down the slope into normal.