Page 25 of Rattler's Revelation
“One of them looked like him,” Taylor says, nodding in Rattler’s direction. “Although he had blue eyes and was an inch shorter.” As Taylor describes the second man, I see Randy’s jaw clench and his hand shake. I glance at Rattler to see if he noticed the change in Randy. His worried expression tells me he did. When Taylor finishes describing the third man, he has questions of his own. “What is this about?”
“I’m going to tell you a story, and I want you to remain calm until I finish,” Randy says before launching into the nightmare of 27 missing girls and the lengths a group of men has gone to keep their disappearances secret.
Taylor clasps and unclasps his fists as Randy talks. When Randy finishes, Taylor leaps to his feet and stalks to the wall of windows. He glares out at the city lying bare at his feet before he returns his attention to us. “You’re saying I let her kidnappers walk in here and take her stuff? That I was so stupid and insecure that I didn’t recognize what was happening? How is that possible?”
“They were probably convincing,” I explain. “Did they mention you showing up at 1% and embarrassing her?” Taylor nods. “The man who looks similar to Rattler worked at 1%. He was the one harassing Christine. He harassed me, too. Did Christine turn in her notice?”
“Yeah, she did. She agreed to finish the term before finding a new job. It’s one reason she was so angry with me for showing up at her work. She said the problem would be gone soon, and I embarrassed her for no reason.”
“That’s how these guys operate. They almost kidnapped me when I was on my way home from what should have been my last day. Luckily, Randy stopped them from grabbing me. When Rattler took me to my apartment, we discovered that someone had broken in and was packing up my belongings. It’s how they keep anyone from suspecting foul play. We’re gathering information to try to locate the women and the men who kidnapped them. Is there anything more you can tell us about them?”
The despair in Taylor’s eyes switches to hope as he yanks out his phone. “I might be able to help you. I put an AirTag in one of the boxes.”
“You what?” Randy asks.
Taylor flinches. “I know what that sounds like. I admit it was stalkerish. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I lost my senses as they were boxing her stuff up. I only wanted to make sure she was safe. At least that’s what I told myself. The plan was to check on her once and make sure she was living in a safe place. I can’t guarantee I wouldn’t have tried speaking to her when I saw her, but I didn’t get the chance. The men drove her boxes to a storage unit. I figured she was staying in a temporary location, and she asked them to store her belongings temporarily. I came to my senses after I caught myself checking the AirTag daily. If word got out that I was stalking my ex-girlfriend, I’d lose my business. I own Stryker Security. We offer services to those with stalkers, so how embarrassing would it be if it got out that I was a stalker?”
“Do you think the AirTag is still transmitting?” Rattler asks.
“It should be. The battery lasts for six months.”
“Can you check?” Randy asks.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: RATTLER
Taylor leads us to the storage facility where the AirTag still pings its location. It’s a standard facility with several rows of units, each requiring the renter to provide their own lock for the unit. The main building features a banner displaying rates by square footage and highlighting amenities. The internal units offer air conditioning and come at a premium. The cheaper units are outside. Luckily for us, the unit we’re searching for is located at the front of the property and is easily visible from the street. Taylor leads us to it. On the sliding garage-style door is a heavy-duty padlock.
Randy eyes the lock before glancing around. “I need to call Rafe and see how he wants to proceed. Rattler, can you locate the manager and bring him out here?”
I nod as I head for the door marked ‘Office’. As I walk, I pull out my cell phone and call Puma. I give him a rundown on what we’ve learned and where we are. “Randy is calling Rafe so he can meet us here. They’re likely to need a warrant to gain access to the storage unit. I’m locating the manager, and I’m going to ask if he can give us any information on who’s paying for the unit.”
“Good idea. I see Rafe on the phone. I’ll join him when he leaves to meet with you. This is a good lead. We don’t want to lose it.”
Opening the office door, I get some relief from the heat in the cool air-conditioned room. A long counter stands to the side. On it is a wire basket holding a few papers, a telephone, and a computer. Behind the counter stands a young man whose eyes widen when he sees me.
“Hey,” I say as I approach the counter. “I’m wondering if you can help me.”
“Did you lose your key again?” the kid asks as he grabs a clipboard off the wall behind him and shoves it my direction, along with a pen. “Fill out the form and I’ll grab the bolt cutters.”
I consider my play. The kid has mistaken me for my cousin. I could go along with it and get him to open the unit. If it were just me, that’s what I’d do, but Randy is with me, and he’s a cop. I’m pretty sure that impersonating my cousin to gain illegal entrance to the storage unit wouldn’t go over well. However, that doesn’t mean I can’t get information.
“I don’t need the bolt cutters, Stevie,” I tell him, taking in the name on his shirt. “I’m not Walt Turner. He’s my cousin. I need to confirm that he’s the one renting unit 134.”
Stevie studies me before nodding. “He is. Is there a problem?”
“There is. Look, I’m here with a cop, and we want to gain access to that unit.”
Stevie looks pained by my comment. “I can’t just let you have access. You said you were with a cop. Can he get a warrant?”
“I think he’s working on it. You can come out and meet him, but first, who is on the rental agreement? Is it just Walt Turner?”
“Walt Turner and Tommy Lunz,” Stevie confirms after he checks the record on the computer. “They rented it four months ago.”
“Can you give me a copy of their data?”
Stevie seems reluctant, but he returns his attention to the computer, and a few keystrokes later, I hear the sound of aprinter whirring behind the counter. Stevie reaches down and comes back with a sheet of paper that he hands to me. I review the document and see that instead of an address, I find a P.O. Box number. Damn. “Thanks, Stevie. Go ahead and grab the bolt cutter and come with me.”
Stevie does what I say and joins me outside.
