The Incident (Chase Barnes Series Book 1) (5 page)

              Garvey adjusted the cuffs on his jacket before answering.  “Well, he only lists his cell phone on the emergency contact form and has told us he works a few different jobs over the last couple of years.”

              I was making notes on a yellow legal pad, thinking he’d purchased a bunch of burner phones.  The fact that the father even supplied the school with phone numbers at all surprised me.  The more Garvey spoke, the more my mind began to race.  I made a list of job ideas that I thought Mr. Machado might be involved in, none of which were good.  I don’t know why I thought this but based on the way Lindsey described the family dynamic to me yesterday at home and the way Garvey described the situation to me now led me to believe that the father was mixed up in something shady. 

ten

From what little I knew of Glen Garvey up to this point I certainly knew he liked to talk.  I suddenly grew more compassionate for Lindsey when she’d come home from her Monday afternoon meetings completely drained.  She’d always said that Garvey wore her out more than the kids themselves.  Over the years she’d taught herself to take what the kids- and Garvey- had said with a grain of salt- a whole shaker of salt for that matter.  Lindsey simply chalked it up to kids craving the attention they didn’t receive at home.

              “Tell me more about Esteban.  What type of kid is he?” I managed to interject.

              As Garvey spoke, he slid over the two binders, using both hands, that were near the center of the table.  “These are his IEPs.  Everything in here should give you a good idea about who Esteban is and some back story on his reasons for being here.  Feel free to read through whatever you feel necessary but I will strongly advise that none of the paperwork in these binders can leave this building, including copies.  We have to maintain our level of confidentiality.  I hope you understand this and it will not hurt your investigation.  You may have copies of the incident reports, however.”

              I thanked him and pulled the binders towards me.  One binder was much thicker than the other but they were both neatly organized with divider tabs separating each section.  Lindsey informed me that the second binder was the ‘overflow’ or a second binder used because the first one was busting at the seams.  I didn’t take that to be a good thing considering the kid was barely twelve and had a binder thicker than the 9/11 commission reports.  She said, in her years at the Right Step School, there were only a handful of kids that needed a second binder. 

              Garvey finally excused himself and offered an extended hand if there was anything else I needed.  When he exited his office, Garvey added, “Please note, Mr. Barnes, that we don’t do this for all of our kids.  But with Esteban, we feel there is something very concerning going on and we greatly appreciate your help.”  He unnecessarily put a hand on my shoulder from behind and gently squeezed.  Thanks, old chum is what I felt I should say but didn’t.

              He left Lindsey and me to ourselves and I opened the first binder.  Lindsey had told me enough about IEPs, or Individualized Education Plans, over the years to give me enough understanding of what they are and how they operate.  She leaned over my shoulder to guide me through any questions I had and I opened the cover of the larger binder to notice a Service Providers Responsibility Form stapled to the inside cover.  This was to be signed by whoever accessed the student’s IEP but Lindsey told me I didn’t need to since this was supposed to be done on the hush- hush.  She also said she’d swipe the copy of Esteban’s IEP that she had in her classroom.  All teachers were required to have each of their student’s IEPs on file in their room.  A state requirement that was supposed to force teachers to truly read the IEPs and discover the child’s true disability while providing the necessary accommodations and modifications for their learning rather than have it sit in the bottom drawer only to collect dust and coffee stains.  Most teachers Lindsey worked with went through the motions and allowed the latter occur.

              There were eight total sections to the IEP.  The first being the Summary Sheet, which included the student’s demographics, names of parents and/or guardians as well as information collected at the initial intake meeting.  I wrote down Esteban’s listed address as well as the parental contact information.  Not much else was of use to me there.  The second tab marked a thick section labeled IEP.  This included Esteban’s IEP from his sending district, the school district that pays the tuition for Esteban to attend the Right Step School.  Paterson was Esteban’s sending district.  This also listed his Present Level of Academic Achievement and Functional Performance.  The jargon confused me and Lindsey needed to put it into layman’s terms saying that this included Esteban’s academic strengths and weaknesses, what type of behavior intervention strategies are needed, what academic modifications and supports Esteban needed in class to learn.  The district’s placement decision and his goals and objectives, which were filled out by Lindsey were also included.  I took some notes from this section, not knowing how they’d help me with my investigation.

              The next few sections were Social Evaluations, which was empty, Psychological Evaluations, which had a small three- page packet inserted that I perused but found nothing of interest, Educational Evaluations, Related Services, Medical, and Incident Reports.  Esteban did not have any related services, such as speech or occupational therapy; his medical section only contained his mandatory physical forms and the incident reports is what the entire second binder was dedicated to.  The Incident Reports section is where I figured I’d hit pay dirt and I couldn’t wait to dive right in.

ELEVEN

I pushed the first binder aside and slid the second in front of me.  The small hiatus in investigative work made me realize how nice it was to work so close to Lindsey.  We always said that we were glad to be in such different professions because we’d kill each other if we had to spend our entire work day together then come home and share the evening.  But this was nice.  It gave me an opportunity to really see Lindsey at work.  I had been around her co- workers in the past at social events but never during her actual work day.  If my juices hadn’t been flowing as it was from being back at work, working side by side with Lindsey made me boil over.

              I was riding high and feeling good.  I had a solid list of notes taken from what I was given and felt like I had some sense of direction for the first time in months.  I was beginning to feel like a cop again.  Or an investigator as I was now known as. 

              Then it hit me.  Like a bitch slap from an angry woman.  It took the sounds of the kids voices screaming through the halls during dismissal that made me realize that I was back in a school. 

Back around kids. 

The voices in the halls weren’t screaming but they sure as hell were in my head.  It was the first time since Jake died that I had allowed myself to listen to adolescent voices and, to be honest with you, it scared the shit out of me.  It reminded me so much of that night.  Lindsey didn’t notice it, at first.  She was skimming through Esteban’s incident reports to find anything that really stood out.  I began to sweat and my lower body started twitching uncontrollably. 

Man up, you bitch! 

              There was only one possibility: the onset of a panic attack.

TWELVE

            
 
After a glass of water and some antacids from the nurse, I was able to regroup and start to return to normal.  A trip to the men’s room to splash cold water on my face sped up the process.  Lindsey ordered me to go home and lie down but I insisted that I was all right.  Besides, I’m a private investigator now.  Going home to lie down isn’t an option.

              “Are you sure, honey?” Lindsey asked. 

              “Don’t worry, I’m fine now.  Why don’t you show me around the school?”  She was hesitant but my wit and my charm eventually forced her to cave.  We exited the nurse’s office at the end of the hallway and strolled back past Garvey’s office and towards Lindsey’s classroom.  Her students were dismissed from art so the room was empty when we entered.  She had six student desks strategically positioned around the room.  Some were staggered and others were pushed as far into the corners of the room without touching the walls.  Thin metal storage cabinets lined the back wall while Lindsey’s desk was in the far corner adjacent to the door.  Book shelves and filing cabinets were strewn about filling up any open wall space left to be occupied.  There were two long cafeteria tables occupying desktop computers, one along the windows and another wedged in between two of the metal storage cabinets. 

              Lindsey went to her desk and stacked a pile of papers and shifted a stack of novels from one side to the other.  I roamed the room and looked at some of the kid’s classwork and art projects hung up around on a bulletin board.  By the looks of some of the drawings they must’ve been working on Colonial America.  There were color- coded maps that the students labeled each of the original Thirteen Colonies. 

              “Which one is Esteban’s?” I asked Lindsey of the desks positioned around the room. 

              “Right front and center up here by me,” she replied.  The desks were all the same and had an alphabet strip stuck to the top of the workspace along with an individualized schedule.  The metal desks had a hollow opening in the front for easy access and storage of books, papers, and supplies.  I pulled out Esteban’s chair and saw that it appeared a tornado ripped through his notebooks and binder.  Crumpled papers were overflowing like hot lava.  Lindsey laughed when I caught her looking at me.  She said nothing but shook her head. 

              “How the hell do you let them function like this?” I asked. 

              “I don’t
let
them function like this, Mr. Barnes.  I don’t know how many times a week we have to spend time to just clean up their desks,” she replied. 

              “I can’t tell if I need rubber gloves or a Hazmat suit.”  She laughed again.  I began pulling out crumpled papers.  Worksheets, drawings, and a slew of lined paper assignments.  I piled them up as high as they’d let me on top of the desk.  I removed workbooks with bent and ripped corners.  Lindsey eventually joined me in my scavenger hunt, pulling a chair up next to me. 

              “This is pretty gross,” I said and I could read her answer through the expression on her face.  “I couldn’t even do this on purpose if I tried when I was in school.”  I found old napkins, but I couldn’t tell if they’d been used or not.  There was a plastic cup that looked as if it’d been used for paint and a few empty chip and popcorn bags.  Lindsey got up to retrieve the garbage can and instantly swiped everything I pulled out of the desk into the can.

              “It’s not worth the effort,” she said.

“I’m afraid to reach into the back of the desk, afraid that something would bite me or cause my hand to get stuck,” I said.  Lindsey brought me a small handheld broom, about the size of a large paintbrush and insisted that I use it to sweep out the remaining contents.  She also brought along a small pan to collect the contents. 

              There was a large clump of dust and a few broken pencils, eraser shavings, and strips of paper swept into the pan.  But it was what I swept up with the second attempt that greatly intrigued me. 

              “Hey, take a look at this,” I said.  Lindsey returned next to me and saw me holding up an empty dime bag of marijuana.

THIRTEEN

The kid had been told by Jamal to come by his apartment immediately after school.  When Esteban arrived on that Tuesday afternoon- he had skipped school and roamed the streets of Paterson- he was more nervous than ever.  He had made runs for Jamal in the past but had never been invited up to his apartment.  Jamal usually told Esteban to meet him at a specific location and had given specific instructions.  He once met Jamal in the lobby of the apartment building but had never been up to Jamal’s place.  Esteban had no idea he’d have to sit around for a few hours before given his next assignment. 

              “This is the shit you gotta do if you wanna make it big,” Jamal said.  There was a dog barking in the next room.  Esteban sat in a viscously stained, severely ripped arm chair in the corner of a viscously stained, severely damaged living room.  The living room sat in the middle of a one bedroom apartment in the heart of Paterson.  The night sky began to settle after an afternoon of a consistent misting rain.  The impending heat of the season created a thick layer of humidity in the air.