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“Do you have a warrant?”
She smiled at him. “I don’t think it’s necessary we leap right there, is it? I’m sure you want to help the local police.”
The clerk hesitated, but then started tapping away on his keyboard. “We have an Amy Graves.” The clerk pressed his brows. “But you said Katherine?”
“Uh-huh.” It was possible a woman by that name, with the surname of Graves, had a unit here but the odds would be too great. “We’ll need to see Amy’s unit.”
“Now, I will need to insist on that warrant.” He squared his shoulders, and there was a glint in his eye that disclosed he was having fun being the one in control at the moment.
“We’ll get you one, but one thing first. We need to see if this key fits the lock on unit number…?” She left the end dangling, anticipating he’d fill in the blank.
“Three-oh-nine.”
“Right, so can we just see if it fits the lock? If it does, I’ll be happy to get you that warrant.”
“Okay, before you go in, I will need to insist on it.”
She smiled at him. “Understood.”
They followed him out to a golf cart parked at the side of the office building, and he hopped behind the wheel. “You can join me or follow in your car.”
They got on the golf cart, and he took them through rows of storage units. After the fourth turn, he parked and pointed toward the number posted next to the door. 309.
The three of them left the cart. Trent stuck the key in the lock.
“Perfect fit,” he said, twisting it.
“Hey, wait, warrant, remember?” The clerk stepped in front of them holding up both hands and waving them frantically.
“The warrant,” Trent said, “is coming right up.”
She had been fully prepared to make the call, but Trent already had his cell to an ear and was walking away. From the sounds of it he called Judge Anderson directly.
“What’s going on anyway? What did Amy do?”
Amy probably did nothing, but Katherine renting a unit under a fake name was suspicious. People with something to hide pulled stunts like that. Combine that with the existence of the burner phone. But why had Katherine chosen Amy? Katherine’s middle name was June. Her mother’s name was Tori Hurst. Unless it was her mother’s middle name?
“Detective?” the clerk prompted when she hadn’t responded to him.
“It’s an open investigation,” she offered in an off-the-cuff manner to shut down the conversation.
Trent returned to them, phone in hand. He spoke primarily to Amanda. “A warrant will be coming through.”
“I can let you in once I see it,” the clerk said, nudging out his chin, again riding a power high.
Trent’s phone chimed, and Amanda held back her smile, having a hunch it was the warrant.
“Here it is.” Trent held the screen of his phone so the clerk could see it. This would be the digital version to support a verbal authorization. She and Trent would still need to submit the supporting paperwork.
The clerk squinted, as if the print were too small, but pulled back a few seconds later. He hadn’t even bothered to scroll down. Amanda guessed if he’d read much, he hadn’t understood it. Still, he said, “Guess it’s all yours.” The clerk gestured toward the unit.
Trent lifted the door.
“Whoa. That’s intense.” The clerk stepped forward, about to go inside, but Amanda and Trent blocked his path.
Amanda said, “We need you to stay back.” Once he complied, she added for Trent, “We need to call this in, let Malone know what we’re looking at here.”
FORTY-EIGHT
