The Fixer's Daughter

by Hy Conrad

  Callie didn’t want to give out her email but also didn’t want to end the conversation. Her response was a hybrid; flirty but not too eager, chatty but not too revealing. She’d never done anything like this before, she told him, and needed to take things slowly. Then she signed off without giving him her email.

  She had just disposed of the empty bottle and washed out her glass when her two roommates walked in. Helen made a point of ignoring the suitcases and boxes. Had Callie remembered to return the red-covered Kindle to its T-shirt nest in the open box? Yes. Good. All three settled in around the coffee table and shared the usual, end-of-the-day talk. How was dinner? How was your evening?

  “I’m glad to be heading home.” Helen emitted a deep sigh and finally acknowledged the suitcases. “I thought I could stay here, be strong for her, but . . .”

  “You are strong,” Callie protested. “And maybe you can do more good in Phoenix. That’s where Briana’s real friends are. With social media and everything, you can still have an effect.” She placed a hand on the older woman’s arm, her voice turning heartfelt. “And don’t forget I’ll be here.”

  Helen’s eyes turned from the suitcases to Callie. Gently but firmly, she removed the hand from her arm, got up and crossed to the tote she’d dropped by the door. “I assume this is the new issue. It’s got today’s date.” She pulled out a newspaper. Callie recognized the distinctive size and the red logo. She and Oliver had labored for hours on the cover photo, adding saturated color and a quirky headline, trying to make the charter school debut article look as exciting as possible. Helen dropped the paper on the coffee table. “I found it in a rack by the restaurant. I thought you were going to write something. At least something.”

  “I know,” Callie said. “I’m sorry.”

  She had pushed Oliver to start the ball rolling, perhaps a small piece on the metro page, detailing what they knew about Briana’s death. The Free Press is investigating. More to come. But the publisher hadn’t wanted to roll the ball without knowing there would be enough momentum. “The worst thing is to pique people’s interest and then have nothing new the following week.” It was an easy decision for Oliver. He didn’t have to face Briana’s mother.

  “We’ll start it next week. I promise.”

  Helen’s frustration was palpable. “I’m sorry, but you’re no better than the others.”

  “Helen!” Callie managed to maintain her composure. “It’s not that simple. If we say that a man was arrested and released then we need to answer more questions, like who he is. And if we give his name… We would be opening ourselves to a lawsuit.”

  “Who is this man? You haven’t even told us.”

  “What would you do if I told you? What would Frank do?” Callie waited ten seconds for the answer, which was an answer right there. “It’s to protect you. To protect my publisher and my source. The man involved is very powerful.”

  “He was trying to bury my daughter.”

  “Jesus!” Sherry Ann’s hand flew to her mouth. They hadn’t forgotten she was there, just that there were things she didn’t know. “Is this for real? Someone was caught like that and he wasn’t arrested?”

  Callie did her best to explain. That included revealing to them the essentials of Keagan Blackburn’s alibi – not his name or position – but the fact that at the time of death set by the medical examiner, this non-suspect had been on a video call with respected businessmen all over the world.

  “You mean like Skype?” Helen asked, her voice rising.

  “Yes. And please don’t tell my brother I told you.”

  “That’s it? He was on a Skype call? Those things can be faked, can’t they?”

  “I don’t see how.” Callie was trying to imagine Blackburn carrying on a conversation, at the same time raping and choking the life out of a young woman. “Mrs. Crawley. Helen. I need more answers before I start telling her story.”

  Helen shook her head. “Isn’t the point of telling her story to get those answers?”

  “That’s the whole point of journalism, isn’t it?” Sherry Ann had decided to join the debate, speaking more timidly than usual. “I’m sorry. Look, all I know is from Journalism 101. Literally. I took Journalism 101. But didn’t guys like Woodward and Bernstein start reporting before they knew all the answers? And they were up against the president.”

  “You’re right,” Callie had to admit. “Both right. There are things I can put out there that won’t get us sued. The next issue, I promise you. I promise.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Callie was already up and dressed when she heard the muted morning rustlings from the bedrooms. She had put away her sound machine and her pills – always the first thing to do when sleeping in someone’s living room – and was in the process of transforming her bed into a couch. By the time Helen’s bedroom door opened, Callie had made coffee, checked her email and was a third of the way through the New York Times online crossword.

  “Good morning.” Helen’s tone was soft but distant. “I’m sorry about what I said. I know you’re doing your best. It’s more than anyone else has done.”

  Callie was grateful. She doubted that she herself would be so understanding. “No. You’re right. This story needs to get out there, even if we don’t have the answers.”

  Both women half-apologized once again and might have continued. They were stopped by the emergence of Sherry Ann from the other bedroom, drawing a brush through her hair and checking her phone. Was Helen ready? It was almost time. Sherry Ann would be driving her to the airport. “We’ll be stopping for breakfast on the way. If you want to come with us, Callie…”

  “No, no,” she replied and felt like a coward for refusing. “We can say our good-byes here.”

  “At least you get a bedroom now.” Helen’s soft smile dimmed as she eyed the boxes by the door. “I think I’ve got everything.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Sherry Ann. “If I find anything else, I’ll send it on.”

  “The police still have her laptop,” Helen reminded them. “If you could ask them to get it to us in Phoenix.”

  “I’ll tell my brother,” Callie promised. “But you’ll be talking to him. You should call him. He won’t mind. And he’ll call you with updates. I’m sure you’ll be calling each other. It’s a very active investigation, I promise.”

  “Thank you for everything.” Helen reached out and framed Callie’s face in her hands. “I think you and Bri would have been very close.”

  Five minutes later, Callie watched from the kitchen window as Sherry Ann’s BMW pulled out of the parking lot and made a left onto Rio Grande. As soon as the car disappeared, she left the window and found her phone.

  “Hey, State.”

  “Hey.” He sounded less than happy to hear from her. “Before you ask, no I don’t have anything more I can give you.”

  “Well, I have something to give you. Is that all right?” She didn’t mean to sound pissy, but her brother could bring that out in her. “You should check out a professor. Dr. Samuel Paget.”

  “One of her professors?”

  “I don’t think so. Different department.” She went on to explain about the Kindle and the inscription in the book.

  There was no immediate response on the other end. Then… “So? I have an autographed Stephen King.”

  “Really? Did he also write, ‘To State, a student of all that life has to offer’? Because that really would make it a horror novel.”

  There was a pause on the other end. “You’re right. That is suggestive.”

  “Plus he used her nickname, Bri. To me, it smacks of mentoring, the bad kind, when you have to keep it a secret. And he’s a doctor, like our anonymous Dr. Feelgood. I think he’s the sugar daddy.”

  “A sugar daddy professor?” State sounded skeptical. “Any philandering professor worth his salt wouldn’t need a website. He’d just do it the old-fashioned way.”

  “That would open him up only to the students in his class. And it’s not as safe. A
regular student might want a relationship. A girl on MySugar would know the situation going in. You know what I would do if I were you?”

  “Can’t wait to hear.”

  “I’d show Paget’s photo to the wait staff at Anthony’s. They might be able to ID him.”

  A third pause, the shortest one yet. “Do you have the book he signed for her?”

  “I do. Somehow Helen forgot to pack it. You need it?”

  “It might be helpful if I want to get a straight answer out of him.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll give you the book. In exchange, you let me sit in on the interview.”

  “What do you mean, sit in?”

  “I want to be there. I won’t ask questions. It can be off-the-record. Ten to one, Emily will have better things to do. You can tell him I’m your partner.”

  “You mean like impersonating an officer?”

  “Okay. Not that. Sorry. Look, you have to give me something,” she pleaded. “I’m the one who gave you this.”

  “Callie…” She hated it when he spoke slow and calmly, as if addressing a child. “I’ll do my best to keep you in the loop, okay?”

  “No,” she insisted. “Look, I didn’t have to tell you. You had the same chance to find the book as I did.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll think about it.” The audio went out for a fraction of a second. “Hold on,” State said. “I gotta take this.” Then it went out again.

  Eventually there was a click, followed by ambient sound on the other end. “Hello? State?”

  “Callie?” His voice was shaking. “I gotta go.”

  “What’s up? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I mean, not nothing. I’ll call you later.”

  “Does this have something to do with the case?”

  “Not everything’s about you.”

  “Well, the case isn’t about me.”

  She could hear him moving, closing a door as he walked. “There’s been a fire at the ranch.”

  “What do you mean, ranch? Our ranch?”

  “The fire department just called. Dad and Gil are being rushed to St. David’s.”

  “Oh, my God. Are they okay? When were you going to tell me?”

  “Again, not about you.” She could hear the beep of a remote as State unlocked his car. “He said it’s not life-threatening, but that’s what they say for anything less than critical. It’s what we’re trained to say.”

  Callie scanned the counter for her own car keys. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Northbound traffic wasn’t usually bad at this hour. But today, of all days, a three-vehicle accident was blocking all the lanes. Three years ago, as Callie tried to cope with Buddy’s resignation, her psychiatrist had suggested mindful meditation. She’d given it a shot, two classes a week for over a month, but it wasn’t for her. Now, as car after car inched its way around the twisted metal and the police presence and the ambulance, she tried again, focusing on her breath, pushing away all outside thoughts. But being in the moment wasn’t going to be possible. Well over an hour later, worried and frustrated to the point of almost screaming, she found a parking spot on the fourth level of the hospital’s parking structure and followed the signs to the elevator.

  She expected someone to be here, waiting in the medical center lobby. When her father had his heart attack on the fourth fairway at the Austin Country Club, the mayor had been here waiting for her, along with the best heart surgeon in the state who’d been flown in from Dallas to perform the double-bypass. Today there was just an ill-tempered woman at the reception desk who barely listened. Callie had to spell out her name twice before receiving a printed guest pass. “The burn unit is on the third floor.”

  At the elevator bank, Callie pressed “up” and didn’t let go until the doors slid open. “Callie? Oh, my goodness. Callie.” It was Sarah from the ranch, alone in the elevator, wearing a white wristband and looking exhausted. “I’m so sorry, little girl. I’m so sorry.” There were two trails of dried tears leading from her eyes to her chin.

  Callie’s heart froze. “Oh, no.”

  “It’s all my fault. I could have saved him. I ran right by the study. He’s always there in the morning. I didn’t think.”

  “Are you saying he’s dead? He can’t be dead.”

  “Oh, my goodness.” Sarah stepped out and the doors closed behind her. “I thought you knew.”

  “Dead?” She was having a hard time understanding. “They said it wasn’t life-threatening. That’s what they said.”

  “Not life…” Sarah shook her head. “No, honey, he died in the fire. Mr. Gil went back in to try to save him. When the fire was almost out, I saw one of the firemen carrying him out to the lawn. He said they found him in a corner. All dogs are afraid of fire. It’s the way they’re made.”

  “Dogs?”

  “That’s my experience. The whole notion of running through a fire to get out the other side… That wasn’t something poor Angus could even think about.”

  “Poor Angus,” Callie repeated without inflection.

  “If I’d thought a sec, I would have called for him or gone in myself. He’s almost always on his bed in there. I wasn’t thinking. There was so much smoke. I’m sorry, little girl. I know how much you loved him.”

  Callie was overwhelmed. Under any other circumstances, the death of her beloved Angus, the puppy Buddy had brought home right after Anita’s diagnosis, the happy, beautiful setter who had first bonded with her mother on slow walks around the ranch then with Callie and finally with her lonely and disgraced father, would have been devastating. She could just envision the sweet old dog being roused from a morning nap by the smoke and the flames, cowering in the corner of the wood-lined room, whining and barking until the acrid smoke filled his lungs. But mixed in with this horrific vision was a sense of relief. Her father was alive, must still be alive. It was almost as if, quite illogically, perfectly illogically, Angus had given her one final gift, taking the news of a dead loved one on himself. Someone close to her had died, and Angus had somehow stepped up and assumed that role. It made no sense at all, but in the chaos of her swirling emotions, she still felt grateful.

  “How is Dad?”

  “Your daddy’s okay. Doctor says he got kind of confused, from the smoke and everything. They put him on some kind of breathing mask. That’s what a nurse told me.”

  “You were there at the house?” Callie was still trying to piece it together.

  “They had a dinner last night for some bigwigs. One of them kindly recalled my fried shrimp and chicken and your daddy brought me in. Things went late, so I came back this morning to clean.”

  “And you’re okay?”

  Sarah displayed a small, toothy smile and snapped off the white wristband. “Takes more than a little fire to put me down.”

  Callie left Sarah in the waiting area – the cook’s son was on his way to pick her up – then took an elevator to the third floor. According to someone at the nurse’s desk, Lawrence McFee wasn’t in the burn unit after all, had never been in the burn unit, but was occupying a private room on the same floor.

  When Callie walked in, she found her father wide awake and the nurse at his bedside fast asleep. His eyes were darting around. His breath was fast and labored. When his gaze fell on Callie’s face, it took him a few moments. “Hey, sweetie pie,” Buddy said, the words muffled by the respirator mask. The sound was just enough to wake the nurse. His anxious breathing began to slow. “Did you get off from school? Where’s your mother?”

  “Mother… Mother’s coming later.”

  “Is this your daughter, Mr. McFee?” The name tag on her blue blouse identified her as Lindsey, RPN. Nurse Lindsey could barely suppress a yawn.

  “Yes, I’m his daughter. Can you call the doctor, please?”

  “I’m sure he’ll be back shortly. If y’all want to talk privately, I’ll go. I got other things to do.”

  “Just get the doctor.” Callie added
another “please” as an afterthought and watched the nurse amble out the door.

  She took a seat in the nurse’s still-warm chair. Her father reached out and she met him halfway, her hand settling into the warm, enveloping embrace of his. How long it had been since she’d held his hand? Perhaps as a child, crossing the street. Could it have been that long ago? She had no memory of hand-holding after his heart attack. He’d been too preoccupied with showing her and the world how strong he was and how this wasn’t such a deal. Now she reveled in the quiet, intimate moment. She squeezed and he squeezed back. When he mumbled something soft and affectionate, she couldn’t quite make out the word. A few seconds later, he turned his head, looked her in the eyes and said it again. “Anita?”

  For a moment, Callie was tempted to remove her hand. “Yes, Lawrence. I’m here. How are you feeling?”

  “Better now that you’re here.” He reached with his other hand and made a weak attempt to take off the mask. She stopped him. “They told me you weren’t coming.”

  “Who told you?”

  “I don’t know. The doctor. Oppenheimer.” Some strength was returning to his voice. “That fool, Oppenheimer. He said you weren’t coming.”

  “I guess he was wrong.”

  Buddy chuckled and it turned into a cough. “Where are the kids?” he finally managed to mutter. “In school? You shouldn’t take them out of school. It’ll just worry them.”

  “The kids are fine. You should get some rest.” Callie lifted his head and straightened his pillow. When he settled back down, she once again took his hand. Gradually, his breathing grew slower and deeper. Only then did she let go and get up from the chair. A tall, lean man in a white lab coat stood in the doorway. She vaguely recalled his face. “Dr. Oppenheimer?”

  “Callie.” He motioned with his head and she crossed to him, away from her sleeping father. “I gave him something for the pain. He’s a little disoriented. That’s why he might be acting this way.”