Authors: Rebecca Forster
“Yeah, we got it.” Archer tapped his temple. “Is there anything in the unit?”
“Hey, I don’t stick my nose in,” he objected. “Besides, not my job. Trucks are in and out of here all day. He rented that space like 8 years ago.”
“Seven,” Liz corrected.
“What?”
“Seven years ago.”
“Seven, six, eight. All I know is the bill gets paid every month, and that makes me happy ‘cause I don’t have to make those reminder calls. Hate those damn calls.”
“How does he pay?” Liz asked.
“Check.”
“Got copies?”
“Naw, we changed over to electronic about three years ago.” He twirled his chair around again. Archer would bet he was singing along to
Stayin’ Alive
in his head. He bounced in his chair, happy as a clam to have someone to talk to. “I can track it down, but for that I’m going to need an order for sure.”
“Can we take a look inside his unit?” Liz asked, but it sounded more like an order.
The guy shrugged. “Am I going to get in trouble if I show you?”
“I think you were probably concerned that you smelled smoke and opened that unit to check it out. We just happened to be here to offer our assistance to a citizen.”
“Okay. Sure.”
He put his nose in the air like he was sniffing. He got it. He grinned. He was having fun. He hopped up, grabbed his key, double checked his records and led them out the door and into the facility.
Behind them, the television host continued to gush.
Mrs. Rice’s Apartment, West Los Angeles
Mrs. Rice, a woman of sour disposition even when she was at home, ate her dinner early on a T.V. tray in front of the television. Her husband worked nights, and that was fine with her since she always brought home a lot of work.
Tonight she was lamenting the fact that she had left Hannah Sheraton’s file at the office. Given what she was seeing on the local news, the girl was completely out of control. No doubt the video would go viral. The public seemed to have an insatiable appetite for beautiful young girls acting out. Mrs. Rice had never done anything like that in her entire life. Then again, if she had, no one would have noticed. She had never been beautiful and even she doubted she had ever been young. Still stinging from her defeat in court, Mrs. Rice was sure she would vindicate herself with this proof that Hannah Sheraton was living a permissive existence in a beach town whose notoriety stemmed from annual volleyball tournaments and drinking contests. Add to that her attack on a man of God, and this was just the fodder Mrs. Rice needed to revisit the forty-eight hour ruling Judge Leisinger had handed down.
That kid was a loose cannon. She had to go, and she had to go as soon as possible.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX:
A-1 Storage, El Segundo
Unit 244 was down the main path and over one at the end of the row just in front of a high wall that was topped by curling barbed wire.
“Is there only one way into these units?” Archer asked as he eyed the wide rolling door that was closed and padlocked.
“Yep. Once your stuff is in there, the only way to get it out is through this door.”
Satisfied, Archer moved closer and to the right. Once they opened it there was no telling what could happen. If Hernandez was behind the door, there was going to be a fight. Archer would assume he had weapons. If so, no one wanted to be directly in the line of fire. If he didn’t have anything and he tried to run, he would have to get through three people in order to make his escape. Make that two. The manager, Archer figured, would be pretty useless.
He was unlocking the unit and starting to roll the door up as Liz eased her gun out of her holster and inched to the left. She held it casually by her side, but Archer knew if anything came out of that unit too fast it was toast – including Xavier Hernandez. He only hoped Liz was a good shot and downed him. The last thing they wanted, however, was a dead guy who couldn’t tell them where Josie and Erika were. Archer did not draw his weapon. The last thing he needed was to be involved in a shooting with an officer at his side; the first thing he wanted was his hands around Hernandez’s neck.
The door rose smoothly, riding its rails with a slight, well-oiled rumble. Inch by inch it went up, revealing nothing initially. Six eyes squinted through the gloom of the setting sun into the black cave-like interior of the storage unit. The manager, so fond of reveals on television makeovers, had latched onto the fact that Archer and Liz were looking for something that might not be all that cool, so he had moved behind Archer and was ready to duck if he had to. The door stopped moving, the motor stopped whirring and the three people stared into the unit. A dozen heartbeats were shared between them as they waited.
Nothing happened. Josie did not call out. The stench of death did not hit them broadside. A frantic Hernandez did not rush them.
“Is there a light in there?” Archer asked.
“Want me to turn it on?” The man whispered.
“You’re just checking to make sure everything’s okay, right?” Liz suggested.
“For God’s sake. Flip it,” Archer barked.
“Right. Right.” The manager wrung his hands, swallowed hard. Taking one giant, Mother-May-I step forward, he reached around and flipped a switch, stepped back and put himself against the wall next to the door.
“Holy moly.” Liz whistled as she stowed her gun and rested her hands on her hips. “You ever see anything like this, Archer?”
“Nope,” he said.
The manager poked his head around the corner, saw what they were seeing and laughed with giddy relief. All thoughts about privacy rights and the need for a warrant flew out of his head.
“I’ll be damned,” he whistled and walked right on in.
He squeezed his skinny body past the towers of toilettes: white, pink, blue, beige, high boys and elongated seat models. There was even one that was painted with flowers. All of them were new and stacked to the ceiling, packed into the place from one wall to the next. Curious as a kid in a corn maze, the manager kept up a steady stream of chatter as he picked his way into the unit. When he came out again he was grinning from ear to ear.
“Look what Hernandez had in the back.”
Here came that laugh again. The guy sounded like a honking goose as he held up his treasure. Archer rolled his eyes. Liz stifled a chuckle. Plastic, life sized, blow-up dolls were draped over each of the man’s arms. One was dark haired and bore a striking resemblance to Betty Boop. The other was blond. Both had lips like blowfish. It would take a whole lot of hot air to puff up the rubber babes, but it didn’t look like they’d been inflated for a while. Archer had a funny feeling that the manager was going to take some liberties as soon as they were gone. At least someone would get something out of this.
“What’s your name?” Archer asked the man who was carefully inspecting his rubber friends.
“Benny,” he answered offhandedly. “Think Hernandez would notice if one was missing?”
Archer gave himself a mental checkmark for reading the guy right.
“Think your wife would notice she had competition?” Liz pointed to his wedding ring, and Benny appeared crestfallen.
“Come on, I’m talking a joke. You don’t think I’d really, well, you know.”
“’Course not, but curiosity can be powerful, Benny. Besides, we couldn’t let you steal. Just wouldn’t be right,” Liz went on.
“We’re obliged you took a look inside,” Archer mumbled as Liz holstered her gun. As much as he was relieved, it was still a huge disappointment not to find some clue that would lead them to Josie. Hernandez’s profile was getting weirder by the minute.
“Hey, my pleasure. That’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” Benny stuffed the plastic dolls into a toilette. “Your guy sure has an interesting inventory.”
“I didn’t think Xavier was kinky that way. Thought he preferred the real thing,” Archer noted. Benny stepped out and hit the switch. The door started to come down.
“Who’s Xavier?” Benny asked.
“The guy who owns this unit,” Liz reminded him.
“Nobody named Xavier on this docket. It’s Havier Hernandez. Havier,” he insisted, snapping his head between Liz and Archer. “I’m sorry, I guess I wasn’t listening.”
“Geeze,” Liz breathed, chancing a look at Archer who was none too pleased.
He turned away, disgusted that they had wasted more than an hour on a wild goose chase. He kicked at a stone and headed toward the car. Behind him, Benny continued to apologize as Liz continued to assure him anybody could have made the mistake. That was a lie Archer wouldn’t have told, but that’s what women brought to the force. Peacemakers, dammit. Lost in his thoughts, trying to decide which way to turn next, Archer only half-registered the rest of the conversation between Liz and Benny. The other half of his brain was noting that they weren’t alone on the lot.
About fifty yards down, a man was working a unit lock. He was short, light skinned and dark haired. Archer paused. He tilted his head. The man looked familiar, and in the next second he knew why. He had seen this man in his dreams and carried his image with him every waking minute since finding that note in Josie’s Jeep.
Xavier Hernandez had finally made an appearance in the flesh.
An Outbuilding in the California Mountains
It took him longer to get there than he had anticipated since he wasn’t driving the old car, but it had been a lovely ride nonetheless. So it was quite dark as he hitched his pack and picked his way through the forest. He had been feeling a little blue, a little lack-luster until that afternoon. Then the girl had made such a fuss, a wonderful fuss for the television people. Boy, didn’t she get everyone’s attention? Her method was a little awkward but her intent was spot on. That’s really what it was about, wasn’t it? A little recognition of the harm being done to so many. Well, that and a little retribution, and retribution was just another word for payback and that was just another word for justice. She was just too young to know how to exact her pound of flesh with grace and creativity. He had the advantage of time, hindsight and maturity to plan, and execute a plan, and that plan was going better than he ever could have imagined. Soon he would pull the PR trigger and he would be back in the game. And the women? Well, they’d be back home safe and sound but he would always be there, in their nightmares. That was perfect justice. Make ‘em sweat forever.
He chuckled. Then he laughed, and his laugh carried through the quiet mountains, and he loved the sound of it. It had been so long since he felt so good about himself or seen the future so clearly.
A-1 Storage, El Segundo
Archer pushed off just as Hernandez shot upright and bolted for the front entrance. He had fifty yards on Archer, and Archer had fifty pounds on him. The fifty pounds would hold him in good stead if he caught the guy, but it wasn’t doing him any favors now. Hernandez was in good shape, slim and quick and afraid. It was the fear that made Hernandez faster than Archer would have anticipated; but Archer’s emotional inventory gave him a shot at getting his man.
Seeing what was happening, Liz ran to the car, threw herself in, grabbed the radio, called for officer assist, and gave their location over and over again. Behind her, Benny screamed questions, swore he didn’t know who that guy was, and then screamed just for screaming sake. This was probably the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him. If he didn’t die of a heart attack, Benny would, no doubt, swear that it was he who fingered the bad guy and caught him after a grueling chase. He would be on TV. He would be the reveal, the transformation, just like one of his makeover shows. For his part, Archer didn’t care who took credit. All he wanted was to catch Xavier Hernandez. When he had him, when he knew where Josie was, he was going to kill the son-of-a-bitch. First, he had to catch him.
As Archer ran, the wide road down the center of the A1-Storage property seemed to lengthen and narrow. His foot hit a rock and his ankle buckled, sending him smashing into one of the roll-doors. The thing shook and rippled and trampolined Archer back on track. Pain registered in his shoulder, his ankle may need some looking after, and his lungs weren’t those of a thirty-year old cop anymore, but none of it mattered now. Hernandez was almost at the gate.
Archer saw that traffic on Sepulveda was at a dead stop. Headlights cast a kliegish glare north, and red brake lights haloed the southern exposure. Archer had no idea how long the traffic had been stopped for the light, but he hoped it turned green soon. If that happened, Hernandez would be no match for commuters trying to get home. They would just as soon run over him as stop. But Hernandez didn’t try to shoot across the eight lanes north and south. He grabbed the post of the gate and swung himself right with the grace of a pole dancer, landed on the sidewalk and shot off again.
He looked behind him to gauge Archer’s progress and saw the big man closing. Xavier’s blank expression surprised Archer. He expected more: fear, loathing, triumph. No matter, that connect was enough for Archer to drill into the man’s brain. Hernandez’s had only one, simple objective: get away. Archer wasn’t about to let that happen.