Chapter 5 — Caleb demands to know who was on the security recording — Then Trey confesses to a secret visitor
Vincent tapped the screen twice to clear the blur from the digital zoom.
The video feed sharpened instantly.
The hood slid back completely from the visitor’s head.
Caleb leaned so far forward his chest pressed against the wooden porch railing.
The face illuminated by the porch light was definitely not Trey.
It belonged to a man in his late forties with a shaved head and a thick silver scar running along his jawline.
“Who the hell is that?” Caleb demanded.
He turned his angry gaze back to his son.
Trey stared down at the wooden decking, refusing to meet his father’s eyes.
“Trey,” Caleb said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register. “I am going to ask you once. Who is this man?”
Trey shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“I don’t know him that well,” Trey muttered.
“Don’t lie to me,” Caleb snapped, stepping closer and grabbing Trey by the shoulder.
“He is wearing your jacket on our porch in the middle of the night.
You know exactly who he is.”
Trey winced under his father’s grip.
“Alright! Stop,” Trey yelled, pulling his shoulder away. “His name is Marcus. Okay? That’s all I know.”
“Marcus who?” Vincent asked, stepping in between them.
“I don’t know his last name,” Trey insisted, throwing his hands up in defense.
“He hangs around the skate park off 4th Street.
He gave me the jacket to hold for him earlier this week.”
Caleb crossed his arms tightly across his chest.
“People don’t just hand expensive winter jackets to teenagers for safekeeping,” Caleb said. “Why did he give it to you?”
“He said he needed to store some stuff,” Trey admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“He offered me fifty bucks to keep the boxes on the porch for a couple of days.”
“You let a stranger use our property as a storage locker for fifty dollars?” Caleb asked, disbelief coloring every word.
“He said it wasn’t a big deal,” Trey argued defensively. “He just needed a place to drop off his extra gear because he got locked out of his apartment.”
Vincent shook his head slowly.
“That gear in those boxes isn’t camping equipment or clothes,” Vincent said, walking back over to the open cardboard box near the rocking chair.
Vincent reached inside and pulled out a heavy steel module stamped with industrial serial numbers.
“These are commercial-grade electrical switches,” Vincent said, turning the heavy metal piece over in his hands. “The kind stolen from the new civic center expansion downtown.”
Caleb stared at the stolen equipment, then back at his son.
“Trey, you are going to tell me every single place this Marcus person hangs out,” Caleb said. “Right now.”
Trey opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of gravel crunching near the driveway interrupted them.
Vincent snapped his head toward the side gate.
His eyes narrowed as he focused on the shadowy wooden fence line bordering the property.