The Fixer's Daughter

by Hy Conrad

  As she gnawed at the chewy edge, she reviewed her schedule. First would be a visit to St. David’s to see Gil and her father. Buddy was originally supposed to be released today but Dr. Oppenheimer had arranged an extra day for observation – and for her to figure out what to do with him. Next would be the vet. She had already spoken to a very sympathetic technician who had agreed that cremation would be the best choice and informed her that Angus’ remains would be ready any time after two. Squeezed in somewhere would be a trip to the grocery store and possibly a nap.

  It was nearly eleven when she rinsed her breakfast dishes then went to answer the doorbell.

  “Emily.” She hadn’t seen her brother’s partner in well over two years. Emily Pasquale looked pretty much the same, same cynical half-smile, same bored demeanor. A bit more sallow in hue and definitely pregnant.

  “Callie. Your brother mentioned you were staying here. Sorry for not buzzing from the lobby, but people enjoy opening doors for me.”

  “Come on in. Congratulations. How are you?” Neither woman was much of a hugger and they both leaned in with a mid-distance air kiss.

  “I could have been a burglar for all they knew.”

  She definitely looked further along than three months. “Are there many pregnant burglars?” Callie asked.

  “Actually, there are. I think it’s the hormones.”

  Callie smiled. This was the Emily she remembered. “So… how’s the first trimester?”

  “Entering its fifth month.” She waddled through the door. “The vomiting’s been replaced by back aches, leg aches, every possible ache. But thanks for asking.”

  “Oh. My brother said it was your first…”

  “My fault. I told him it was my first trimester a couple months ago and that’s what stuck.”

  Callie motioned to the sofa. “Do you want to sit down? Can I get you something?”

  “If I sit down, I may never get up. I came to drop something off. Is Helen Crawley here? I need her to sign for this.” Emily bent at the knees and lowered a Trader Joe’s shopping bag to the floor.

  “Helen went back to Phoenix. Don’t you and State communicate?”

  “Not so much. I’ve been dealing with the vacant lot where the vic was found. We brought in metal detectors, dogs, a search team from the police academy.”

  “All of that? Why?”

  “The lot is one of our few leads, which isn’t good for the property owner. He’s trying to sell the lot, and our presence isn’t helping. I guess murder brings all kind of annoyances.” Despite her plan to the contrary, Emily eased herself into a flowery upholstered chair, probably a castoff from Sherry Ann’s childhood home.

  “What is it?” Callie pointed to the Trader Joe’s bag.

  “Briana’s laptop. The techies found nothing helpful, but they transferred the data to our system just to be safe.”

  “Nothing at all? Are you sure?”

  The detective pursed her lips. “State said you were second-guessing us. There’s no coverup, Callie, just a murder we’re trying to solve.” She eyed the bag. “Now I’m going to have deal with the departmental mail system and verification paperwork.”

  “I have a charger cord that Briana’s mother left behind. Maybe you can put it in with Briana’s laptop.”

  “Sure,” Emily said with the hint of a whimper. “Or you can do it yourself. Send them off together. Oh, what a good idea. Callie, please? It’ll save a grumpy pregnant woman the hassle.”

  “Send it to her parents? I can do that?”

  “You just sign for it. I trust you’ll mail it in a timely manner.”

  “I’ll do it today. But do you trust me not to snoop? I am a reporter.”

  “Go ahead and try. A. There’s nothing on it. And, more important, B. you don’t have her passcode. Come on, Callie. Do me a favor.”

  “Okay,” she agreed. “I can have it sent from our office. Should I insure it? Or send it return receipt requested?”

  “Probably not a bad idea. Either one or both.” Emily grunted as she leaned over and pulled a large, sealed, cushioned envelope out of the Trader Joe’s bag. The bag also contained a pen and Callie used it to sign on the red line marked Verified Delivery. “Thanks,” Emily said. “Now I can go home and take a nap. Don’t tell your brother.”

  “No problem. So, how is everything else?” She was straining to remember Emily’s husband? Rob or Ron? “Is everyone excited about the baby?”

  “I wouldn’t say excited. It hasn’t been the easiest pregnancy. Ross’s mother says the first birth is the hardest, which is true for me since I never intend to have a second.”

  “What about my brother? Has he been understanding?”

  Emily made a face. “He won’t let me interview suspects. We tried it. He says I get too emotional. That’s why he sent me here instead, running stupid errands.”

  “Instead? Instead of…” It took Callie two seconds to piece it together. “You mean now? State is interviewing a suspect now? In the Westlake case? He’s doing it now?”

  Emily hemmed. “I didn’t say that. We’re working several cases.”

  “You are such a bad liar.”

  “I am not a bad liar. I’m just exhausted at the moment.”

  “So, it is the Westlake case.”

  “Augh.” It came out as a combination growl and moan. “The guy’s not really a suspect, Callie, more a person of interest. State went to talk to him.”

  “And by ‘him’ you mean Professor Samuel Paget. Damn. I’m the one who gave State his name.” She made a fist. If there’d been a nearby wall, she might have punched it. “So, I’m right. Paget is his suspect. So much for keeping me in the loop. State promised to keep me in the loop.”

  “Callie, please. You’re giving me a headache to go with my backache.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Battle Hall was a Classical Revival building, designed by classic American architect. It seemed like a fitting home for the university’s Center for American Architecture and Design.

  Callie had always been good at piecing things together. From Emily, she knew that the professor had not been brought into the station. State was going to him. Before leaving the apartment, Callie visited the U.T. website and found that her old password still worked. With just a few clicks, she’d determined that Paget had office hours today. Right now, in fact.

  As she rounded a corner into a marble-lined hallway, Callie noted a young male student, seated outside a faculty door, an art portfolio balanced on his lap, his left leg bouncing nervously. The office was 107, Dr. Paget’s, and the student looked up as she approached the door. “There’s a police officer in there. I don’t know why. They kicked me out.”

  “Thanks,” said Callie and twisted the knob. It wasn’t locked.

  “Excuse me. Can you ask them how long they’ll be? I have a class.”

  “You should go to your class,” Callie said right before pushing open the door. “This may be a while.”

  Sam Paget was behind his desk, a little slumped over, in a brown jacket that probably always looked wrinkled. “Student hours are by appointment,” he snapped.

  “Sorry, Professor.”

  State was seated across the desk. In just two words, he recognized the voice. “Oh, my God.”

  Callie was the only one prepared for this moment. She had rehearsed a dozen variations and had settled on the truth. She just had to say it with authority. “I’m not a student, Dr. Paget. I’m a reporter.”

  “A reporter?” He was sitting up straight. “No, no. I can’t have a reporter here.” Then he instantly changed his mind. “Wait, don’t go yet. What do you want?”

  “Oh, my God,” State repeated.

  “Sir, I think you had a relationship with Briana Crawley, a sugar daddy kind of arrangement, and that it ended not long before her murder.”

  Paget bristled. “You can’t prove that. I’ll sue. Who do you work for?”

  Callie pointed to the familiar hardback lying prominently on the middle
of his desk. “I’m the one who gave the police your autographed book.”

  State was on his feet, facing her. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “Is this true?” Paget asked the detective. “You know this woman? She gave you the book?”

  State paused. “She did. But she has no right to intrude.” He stepped toward his sister and lowered his voice. “Did Emily tell you I was here? I swear, she needs to go on maternity leave.” He turned. “Mr. Paget, this woman is leaving.”

  “Fine,” said Callie. “I’ll just write what I have.”

  “What you have? No.” Paget sounded desperate. He turned to State. “I want her to stay. I don’t want her printing this, not without hearing my side. Can you make her not print anything at all?”

  “I wish I could. But you can ask her to keep whatever you’re going to say off the record.”

  “Would you do that?” Paget asked Callie, his eyes pleading. “Keep this off the record?”

  State’s tone turned reassuring. “Sir, I’m sure she doesn’t want to ruin your life. How about it, Miss? If Dr. Paget’s statement has nothing to do with her death, will you agree to keep his name out of it?”

  “Um…” This conversation had obviously been going on for some time. “If it has nothing to do with it? Okay. Off the record. If I have to mention Dr. Paget, if it’s unavoidable, I’ll use a pseudonym – if he has nothing to do with her death.” Already, she was feeling disappointed.

  “There it is,” State declared. “Her word in front of a witness. Now you can tell her what you told me.” He pulled another chair out from against a wall and offered his sister a seat. Callie was reminded of the dozens of times she’d sat in a claustrophobic office just like this one, discussing grades and careers and life.

  “Okay.” The smooth-headed, slightly paunchy man swiveled his chair, facing them both. “One of my male students told me about this website. A lot of college girls use it, he said. Not that I was looking for…” He took a deep breath. “Look, my marriage wasn’t in the best place, and I had some money from the sale of a property my aunt left me.” With every sentence, he seemed to get smaller and more vulnerable. “I found Bri on the site. She wasn’t a student in my department, so I thought, ‘Why not?’. We would never meet outside the arrangement. And she seemed to need some guidance, being away from home. Bri was very special. You can laugh, but it wasn’t just about sex.”

  Callie hadn’t pulled out her phone or a notebook. She didn’t want to spook him. “What was her screen name?”

  “Holly G,” State said. “We got it from her computer.”

  Paget nodded. “Like Holly Golightly from the movie. That’s how she thought of herself, untainted, doing it for fun.”

  State checked his notes. “And you’re Doctor Feelgood, I presume.”

  Paget emitted a closed-mouth moan. “It was a joke. I wanted a girl with a sense of humor.”

  “When did the relationship begin?” Callie asked.

  “In the fall, right before classes. She wasn’t demanding. I paid her rent and spoiled her. We liked each other. We were good for each other but we didn’t have illusions. At least I didn’t. It couldn’t go on forever.”

  When he paused and lost focus, Callie primed the conversation. “You called it off, didn’t you? Was it guilt? Did you finally feel guilty?”

  “Guilt?” A gurgle formed in his throat. “My wife almost found out. I was leaving the office to have dinner with Bri, and Gloria called me. We have the same Google calendar. She said, ‘What’s this reservation tonight at Anthony’s Trattoria? I thought you had a meeting.’ I told her I did have a meeting. Then she told me to check the calendar. I did, and there they were, both listed for seven o’clock, my made-up meeting and my dinner with Bri at Anthony’s. I don’t know how it happened. I had called for the reservation personally, not Open Table or anything like that. Talked to the reservation girl personally. But somehow it magically popped up on our calendar. How the hell it happened… It’s this damned connectivity crap. Everything’s connected. There should be a law. So, I told my wife it was a weird mistake. And then I stood Bri up, just to be safe. The next day I called it off.”

  “What was Ms. Crawley’s reaction?” State’s trusty notepad was once again open.

  “She was upset, but she understood. Excuse me.” Paget swiveled to face State directly. “Can you answer a question for me?”

  “Depends on the question.”

  “You keep calling her Ms. Crawley. Is there a good reason for that?”

  State lowered his notepad and thought. “It’s an old cop thing, I guess. The way I was trained. It’s supposed to be a sign of respect. Do you find it annoying?”

  “I do,” said Paget.

  “Me, too,” Callie chimed in. “I get trying to be respectful, but it sounds so formal.”

  “Like she’s not a real person to you,” Paget added.

  “Okay, I get that,” State said. “Bri. Briana. Okay, I’ll give it a shot.” He raised his notepad. “You say Briana was disappointed, but not angry.”

  “Sounds better to me,” Callie said.

  “Yeah, that’s what I live for. Dr. Paget, how did you leave things with… her? Any severance offer? Any agreeing to continue the rent?”

  Paget nodded. “I gave her five thousand in cash, to ease the transition. It was nearly all I had left from the property sale. Like I said, it couldn’t go on forever. Right after that, I got rid of the phone we used, got rid of the email address.”

  “Five thousand’s a lot of money,” Callie said.

  “I cared for her. I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

  State made sure he had eye contact. “Was the money a bribe so she wouldn’t tell your wife? Was she threatening to make trouble?”

  Samuel Paget looked from one red-headed interviewer to the other. If he saw any resemblance, he didn’t mention it. “That’s why you’re both here. You’re thinking maybe I killed her. What a horrible thing to think.”

  State shrugged. “That’s my job. Can you tell us where you were on the evening of April twelfth?”

  “The night she was killed? I’m not sure I remember.”

  Callie pointed to the smart phone on his desk. “Your Google calendar?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Paget picked up his phone, pressed the screen a few times and squinted at the result. “April twelfth.” He smiled. “I was part of a panel discussion at Goldsmith Hall. ‘The Future of Municipal Architecture’. Afterwards we all had dinner with Dean Atchison. Dinner was at eight. I assume we finished up around ten. I drove home and probably watched a half-hour of something before bed. When was Bri killed?”

  State didn’t have to check his notes. “Between eight and nine p.m. Give or take.”

  “Then I have an alibi.” He seemed relieved. “I told you it wasn’t me.”

  State nodded. “If it all checks out, yes. Congratulations. Was your wife at home when you got there?”

  “She was.”

  State made a note. “Was your wife alone? Had she been home all evening?”

  The professor jerked his head up from his phone. “Jesus. You’re not saying my wife needs an alibi, too? She had no idea about us. And she could never do… Please don’t talk to her. Promise me you won’t.”

  “There was rape involved,” State reminded him. “So we’re not looking at any women right now. I’ll talk to the dean about that evening. You say there were several people at the dinner?”

  “Probably six of us.”

  “Good. Then I won’t have to mention your name, just as part of the group.”

  “Thank you.” There was relief in his voice. “I appreciate it.”

  It seemed to Callie that the interview, as disappointing as it had turned out, was almost over. All of this work to find Briana’s sugar daddy, and for what? Her brother flipped to the next page. “Does the name Dylan Dane sound familiar?”

  “Dylan Dane? Never heard of him.”

  “Did Briana mention an
y boy from school? Any other boyfriends? Perhaps another sugar daddy she had? Some girls do that, have more than one.” Paget didn’t answer. “Any business opportunity or relationship she talked about? Dylan, like Bob Dylan. Dylan Dane.”

  “Sorry,” he replied. “Bri used to talk about her roommate and a couple of girlfriends, but we never discussed boys. We were in our own little world, a separate world. As for the other thing, it’s possible that she had another arrangement in her life. I hope not. She wasn’t the type. I…” His voice broke. “I hope not.”

  “Almost done,” State said with a sympathetic half-smile. “I know this is difficult.” Callie could see that, despite her preconceptions, her brother was actually good at his job. “What do you know about Briana’s bank account? Did you ever deposit anything directly into her account?”

  “No. Never. I’m not stupid. I paid her in cash, even for rent and presents. The only mistake I made was autographing the book. And that damned Google calendar.” He smacked a hand flat on his desk. “A lot of men must get into that fix. It’s a life lesson. Never share a calendar with your wife.”

  When State flipped shut his notepad and put away his pen, it signaled the official end of the interview. They spent another few minutes listening to the sad, defensive man reminisce about his dead mistress, the college girl that Callie had bonded with from the moment she’d seen her lying in a metal drawer.

  State stood first and shook Samuel Paget’s hand. In his early days on the force, he had told his sister that one of the policies of old school cops was never to shake the hand of someone you honestly think is a killer. “If you remember anything or think of anything, please contact me, no matter how inconsequential,” said Detective McFee.” And with that, he pulled his wallet from his jacket and gave Dr. Paget his card. “There’s my cell phone and my departmental email. Remember, anything at all. Thank you for your time.”

  They were in the parking lot, halfway to their cars, when State felt far enough away to speak. He stopped, hands on his hips. “What the hell was that about?”

  “I was keeping myself in the loop.”

  “You were compromising an interview.”