The Incident (Chase Barnes Series Book 1) (2 page)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

There are an incredible amount of people that I owe a great deal of gratitude to in making this dream a reality.  It begins with my beautiful wife Andrea whose support and patience drove me to complete this novel and see it through.  She and her sister, Danielle Moreau, were my beta readers and weren’t afraid to point out my errors and flaws and for that I tremendously thank you both.

              The following people were overly generous in contributing to my Kickstarter project to have this novel professionally edited and for that I am indebted to you for life: Adele Kertesz, Karen Avillo, David Perez, Susan Silvestri, and Donna Gustafson, who I consider part of my work family; Donald Jaconia, Matt Johnston, Dan Gilmore and Jamie Nolan, who I will consider friends for life; David Gaipa, who is a stranger to me as we never met but there has been a connection since he was the first to donate to my project.  Then there is my actual family: Mary Anne Moreau, Jim and Kristen Montesano, Roy Montesano, Nancy Montesano, Ashley Danks, Charlie Montesano, my father Joe Montesano as well as my brother Joe Montesano, who continues to amaze me on a daily basis with his indescribable generosity. 

I give special recognition to my mother, Ann Dobbelaar, who did contribute to the Kickstarter program but has contributed so much more than her hard earned money.  She sacrificed so much over the years that if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be where I am and you wouldn’t have the honor of getting to know Chase Barnes.

Thank you to you and all of your families for your contributions and I hope you enjoy!

PART I-

The Next Phase

One

Even though I wasn’t supposed to, I dropped by the department a couple of times in the last six months.  According to Fitzgerald, I was to stay away from the department for the entire duration of my mandatory leave.  His psychoanalytic conclusion was that returning to the department would only make things worse.  Everyone apparently has their PhD in analyzing Chase Barnes.  But I couldn’t help it if Dr. Sharper’s office was directly across the street from the department.  Fitzy unsuccessfully tried to use brute force to get me to leave my old stomping grounds after my first two attempts to visit.

I once again took it upon myself to visit for a third time and waited until I knew Fitzgerald would be out of the office and handcuffed myself to his desk just so he’d give me a chance to talk.  Upon entering, I heard Fitzgerald let out a frustrated sigh the moment he realized who was sitting with their back to him.  He initially ignored me and went about his business.  It wasn’t until after he sat and began adjusting case files on his desk that he noticed the cuffs.  I rattled and clanged the cuffs against the metal desk until the hairs on Fitzgerald’s neck stood at attention.  He did nothing but shake his head and chuckle.  What else could he do?

He had to let me back to work.  I needed to be back to work.  I fed him the bullshit that it was per doctor’s orders.  I knew he wouldn’t buy it, considering he’d have to check with Dr. Sharper to get her supposed professional opinion as to whether I was ready to return.  She ultimately had the final say and needed to sign off on the necessary paperwork that indicated I was ready to return to action.  At first, I thought it was a breach of doctor- patient confidentiality but then I realized I didn’t care all that much.

“Fitzy, I need to work.  This domesticated bullshit is killing me.  Just knowing that I can’t work is making me nuts,” I said.  It was the same routine I’d delivered during my previous visits but had ended in failure.  I suddenly felt like an inmate pleading for approval from the parole board.  Each time adding more and more empathy.  Home had become my prison.

“I’m sure Lindsey loves having you home.”

I looked at him, disregarding the comment.  Then said: “And what about poor Drew?  I’m sure he’s a lost puppy without me.”

“Drew is just fine.  Listen, come back in a week and we’ll talk about your assignment.”  I noticed the inflection in his voice, almost as if he had an answer to his plan but wasn’t ready to reveal. 

“Really, you’ll let me back to work in a week?” I asked.

“No, dipshit.  I said come back in a week and we’ll
talk
.”

Throughout our few minutes of conversation he hadn’t looked at me once.  He finally grazed a casual glance my way. 

“A week?  What the hell is this bullshit?  Every day for the last six months I’ve had to relive that night.”  I was shouting.  “It’s grown beneath my inner conscience and festered at the base of my brain like a fucking cancerous tumor.  I haven’t learned a damn thing since and it’s literally beginning to kill me. “

Fitzgerald threw up his hands in surrender.  He said, “Okay, okay, okay.  I gotcha, buddy.  I’m with you on that one and we’ve been working it since you left and haven’t come up with anything worth a cup full of shit.”

“I know it should be the least of my concerns but I can’t keep fighting to answer what the hell he was doing in Paterson? 
That’s
the shit that keeps me up at night.  Well, that and the fact that I wish I could’ve done something different.   Of all the drug busts, prostitution rings, and gang violence I’ve taken on in the three years I’ve been on the force, I had to be called to
that
7-11 on
that
night and watch it all unfold the way it did.”

“What does Lindsey think?” Fitzgerald said.

“I haven’t told her everything.  I can’t.”

“What about Sharper?”

“Fuck her.  She’s a waste,” I said.  “Lindsey makes a better counselor but I’m sure it’s difficult to counsel when you don’t know the full story.”

Fitzgerald simply sat and listened.  He was good like that.  Never judgmental.  Never opinionated.  He just let you talk.

“She tries to remind me that I was just doing my job and that I will always be a damned good cop,” I said.

Yeah, right.  Doing my job as a damned good cop?  I don’t think so.

“You are and you will be again,” he said. 

“Where the hell did Jake get the money or even the resources to get the LSD that they found in his system?  And the gun?”

Fitzgerald shrugged.  He had no answer.  No one did.

The dealer was never found.  Immediately following that night, I wanted to get back on the beat with Drew, my latest partner, thinking that pushing through the experience and getting back to work would allow me to be a cop again but it wasn’t the remedy I was looking for.  Instead, I received a six month involuntary leave and was forced to see Dr. Karen Sharper on a weekly basis.

“Jake was not a drug user,” I said just to be saying something. 

“I know,” Fitzgerald said.

I debated leaving the police force all together and pursuing another career.  I’m only thirty- two and figured I still had plenty of time to make a career move but my wife and my shrink tell me otherwise.  At first, I thought the advice was complete asinine bullshit but since it came from both of them I figured I could give it some serious consideration. 

They both, in their own jargon of course, advised that I leave the front lines of the police force and become a detective.  I was hesitant at first because my mind was made up and I was ready to flip the entire police industry the bird.  I gave it some thought and decided to go for it.  Lindsey was surprised; however, when I told her I wanted to become a homicide detective.  She assumed I’d pursue the narcotics division considering my experiences with Jake and all but homicide is where I wanted to be.  Fitzgerald was yet to learn about my future ambitions.

“I’m taking the test when I come back,” I said.

Fitzgerald paused and looked at me.  “What test?”

“The detective’s test, of course.”

Silence.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Fitzgerald finally said.  “What department, narcotics?”

“Homicide.  There is nothing in this world that would please me more than to stumble across the rotting flesh of the son of a bitch that sold Jake the drugs.”

Two

The chills ran through Fitzgerald’s body so violently I could actually watch them pulsate through his veins.  He didn’t- couldn’t- say anything for a few minutes.   All he did was nod. 

              “I see what you’re saying.  I’ll consider it.  Now get the hell out of my office before I have to call the police,” he finally said.

              “Thanks, Fitz.”  The excitement was building in me and I could feel it beginning to spill over like a bubbling volcano.  Fitzgerald made another facial gesture, which was a clear indication that my time was up and time for me to go. 

              If it wasn’t bad enough that I couldn’t sleep as it was in the last six months, the following week had been my own experiment of what it would be like to be a Panamanian night monkey.  I began to feel nocturnal.  I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have a Tylenol PM or Ambien- induced sleep.  The voices in my head prohibit me from resting my head on the pillow.  Other times, the pills get me to at least close my eyes but the voices are there to jolt me out of my light haze.  The voices remind me of that night and convince me that Jake recognized the commands from the police officers chasing him through the alley and was willing to surrender rather than take aim at a cop.  I couldn’t go by Sharper’s analysis because one week she would agree with my theory and the she would question my thoughts the next.  I was beginning to believe that Dr. Sharper was not a very good therapist and had not one clue as to what the fuck she was talking about.  

              During the next week, I felt like the number of things I had done outweighed the number of things I hadn’t, which was the first time in a long time.  However, sleep was the one thing that still evaded me.  I wound up on the couch in the living room each night because I was so restless and didn’t want to keep Lindsey up at night.  She tried to sympathize but we both knew she’s not exactly a runway model in the morning.  Monday couldn’t get here fast enough. 

              I had played out about a thousand scenarios in my head.  Would I simply be given back my old beat with my old partner?  Would I be given a different beat in a different part of the city?  Would I be given back my old beat but with a new partner?  I had no idea what to expect.  Lindsey continued to be supportive and patient with my joyous and reckless feelings despite being visibly annoyed by my rambling of questions.  I had never been more productive around the house, which also pleased Lindsey.  The laundry was done without constant reminders.  I hung up a few photo frames along the wall up the staircase and a few other odds and ends I had been putting off since I started my leave.  I actually washed my car by hand on an unseasonably warm day.  Something I hadn’t done since I was seventeen when I had gotten my first car. 

              I again started to look over a few study guides and books I had gotten to prepare for my detective’s test.  I purchased them a few months ago but they got more use as placemats in recent times. I felt purposeful again- like I suddenly discovered a light at the end of the tunnel.  The tunnel that had been not just dark, but damp with my sweat and tears and dripping with Jake’s blood.  I could only study in small doses due to the raging anxiety and fear and unadulterated joy I was feeling for returning to work. 

              I had another meeting set up with Sharper that I didn’t want to go to.  Figuring I’d put up with it this long what the hell was one more session.   By now, I had discovered Sharper’s routine.  She’d start by asking how I had been since the last time we met, which I would reply with a one word answer.  Then she’d ask if there was anything new I wanted to talk about, which would be answered with a shake of my head.  She’d get frustrated and I’d get bored and by the time we actually began to make some headway, the sixty- minute timer would chime and I’d bolt out of there like it was the last day of school.

              This time was going to be different.

              I had mentioned my idea of being a homicide detective to her a while back, which in hindsight was an obvious mistake.  She instantly analyzed my decision and concluded that I should choose something other than homicide because it would be too painful on my psyche and my subconscious would suffer dramatically, whatever the hell that means.  And she clearly wasn’t listening to anything I was saying.  Man, if I could do it all over again I’d become a shrink- or maybe a weather person- because no matter how wrong they are, they still earn a hefty paycheck. 

              “As sad as it is to say this might be our last session together, Doc,” I said.

              “And why is that?”

              “I guess you haven’t talked to Fitzgerald then?”

              Sharper remained neutral.  She always remained neutral. 

              I was hip to her game so I kept talking.  “He wants me back in the office on Monday morning to discuss my return to work.”

              “Is that what he told you?”

              “Not in so simple terms but I know that’s what he meant,” I said.

              “What did he tell you exactly?”

              “He told me to come back and we’ll talk but I already know what he wants to talk about.”

              Sharper looked at her notes and said, “Chase, that can mean a lot of things.  I wouldn’t jump to too many conclusions.” 

              Balls of fire began to rage behind my eyelids.  It was predominantly out of frustration at this conversation but more so at the fact that Sharper may actually be right.  I hated that.  Was I assuming too much in that Fitzgerald was speaking to me the other day like my friend and not my boss?  Could it be, as much as I hate to admit it, that Sharper may be right in my conclusion jumping and I could be setting myself up for further failure? 

              “Nope.  Not the case.  I think I have proven to you, to Fitzy, and to myself that I am ready to get back to work.”

              I watched her write something down on her pad.  She always held it in a way that I couldn’t even see the color of her ink.  Sharper sat in silence and we both attempted to wait each other out.  Once again, she won.

              “What do you know?” I finally said.

Three

Fitzgerald had said to be in his office by nine for our meeting.  So I showed up at seven- thirty.  I couldn’t tell you when I got up on Monday morning because I don’t think I actually went to bed.  I was showered, fed, and ready to go so I figured, what the hell, I’ll show up early and get to Fitzgerald before he sat at his desk with his bagel and coffee.

              It was the first time in quite a while that I actually felt alive.

             
Alive?  Unlike Jake!

             
I felt like I actually had a purpose to serve.  I tried to block out the negative thoughts and feelings about what happened with Jake.  A few desks in the office were occupied when I arrived.  In the distance, I could see Fitzgerald through the glass windows of his office, sitting at his desk, drinking coffee, and reading the paper.  I acknowledged a few people and dodged some awkward glances along the way and cautiously rapped on his glass door.

              He looked up and I couldn’t judge his feeling about me being so early.  I think he anticipated it and was expecting me for the last half hour.

              “Hey, Fitz,” I said.

              “Come on in, Barnes.  Have a seat,” he said.  He folded the paper and tucked it in between a stack of case files on the corner of his desk.

              “So when do I start?  Am I back with Drew or do I have a new partner?  As long it’s not that clown Donovan; I hate that guy.”  I found myself rambling as I usually do at times like this and I didn’t care.  I brought up my intentions of becoming a detective again and that I’d been attempting to occupy my six months off with studying for the test.  I felt telling him again would show that I’m truly ready to return to active duty.  

              Fitzgerald sat back and laced his fingers across his flat stomach.  I couldn’t see but I knew he was stretching out his wiry legs under the desk.  “Are you finished?” he asked.

              I nodded.

              I felt like a kid waiting to be picked for kickball at lunch recess. 

              “This has been rattling around my brain for quite some time.  Really since the day you went on leave.  You’re a good cop but I don’t know if this is the place for you anymore.”  Talk about being blunt.  A problem Fitzgerald never had with anyone or anything.

              Suddenly I felt like I was asked to be steady pitcher in said kickball game because I was the odd kid out.  I replayed his quote in my mind a few times before responding.  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?  You’re transferring me?  What good is that going to do?  This is my home, where I need to be.”  I felt deflated.  “I’ve done more for this department in three years than some of those other lumps of shit out there have done in a lifetime,” I added.

              “Not exactly a transfer.  I’ve met with the chief on several occasions since you were put on leave, trying to make sense of this whole thing.  We think you’d be better off if you went private, out on your own.  You can use the excellent cop instincts you’ve been given to create quite a lucrative business.”  He said this as if he were telling me to have a salad rather than a cheeseburger.

              I was stunned.  “Private?”  What the fuck does that mean?  You want me to give up my time with the department to become a private investigator?  What am I, a cartoon?  You can’t just draw me a new scene, Fitz.”

              He threw his hands up trying to protect his ego.  “Listen, I originally didn’t think this was the best move either but it’s out of my hands.  However, the more I thought about it, the more it began to make sense.  Besides, the chief wants what the chief wants.  Trust me when I say that you’ll have the full support of the department in any cases you come across.”

              “Just give me a chance to prove that I can be as good as I was and walk the beat,” I said.  “On sort of a probationary basis.”

              Fitzgerald fell back further into his chair and let his mouth rest on the tips of his steepled fingers and I watched him ponder for what seemed like an eternity.  The further back he leaned I found myself being drawn to him and leaning further over the desk.  Like a magnetic force was pulling me closer and pushing him further away.

              “I’m sorry, Barnes.  I wish I could and I’m sure you’d be the damned good cop I know you were but it’s really out of my hands,” Fitzgerald said, spreading his hands like wings.  “Like I said, we’ll help you out any way we can.”

             
This guy’s a real crackerjack.  A private investigator?  Who does he think he is?  The only thing I know about private investigating is from what I read in novels and Magnum P.I. reruns.

              “Gee, thanks.  How generous of you.  I can’t believe this.  What the hell do I know about private investigating?  How am I supposed to get cases, put up “Help Wanted” posters on telephone poles and mailboxes?  Am I supposed to help little girls find their lost puppies and old ladies find their dentures?”  I didn’t know what to do so I started to get up and leave.

              “Chase,” Fitzgerald commanded.  I turned my head with my body still carrying me towards the door.  He actually first- named me.  He was serious.

              “What?”

              “This is going to be good.  And think of it this way, we’re still a team.  Anything you need just shout,” he said.

              “Yeah, you’re a real pal, Fitz.  Thanks.”

              I felt like shouting all right.  I felt like shouting right in his face and anyone else that crossed my path at that moment but knew it wouldn’t do any good.  And just like that, with a fresh slap in the face, I became Chase Barnes, Private Investigator.  Look out world, here I come!