It was anything but.
There was no glamor or excitement, only broken dreams and heartache.
He thought about watching a basketball game or a movie. But he knew his mind would still be on what was discussed in the meeting.
He needed something to keep him occupied.
He had two cases that required his attention.
Joely’s and Hope’s.
Callaway was in no mood to drive back to Erie Lake. He was not sure what he would find there to begin with. The case was leaning more toward Hope being responsible for her son’s death.
Dean, on the other hand, looked like he was now on the straight and narrow path, similar to what Callaway was trying to do. But in order to truly confirm this, Callaway would need proof.
He decided to go to Joely’s house.
He pulled up across from the tiny bungalow. The lights were on inside the house, and there was Joely’s sedan in the driveway.
Everyone was home.
He turned off the engine and settled in for a long night. He doubted if he would see anything tonight.
He did not care, though.
He just needed to get out of the apartment.
In a couple of hours, he would head home and be in bed. In the meantime, he would try to get some work done.
He pulled out the digital camera from the glove compartment and began to scroll through the photos he had taken previously.
When he was not even through two dozen photos, he caught something in the distance. He quickly lowered himself in his seat.
It was Dean. He was standing on the porch with a cell phone to his ear. Callaway could not tell what was being said. Not that he could read lips, anyway, but he wished he had a clear view of Dean’s face. Dean was looking away, down the other side of the street.
Callaway squinted. Who are you waiting for? he thought.
Just then, a white Cadillac appeared down the street. It pulled up to the curb and stopped with the headlights still on.
A man got out from the driver’s side. His hair was slicked back, and he wore a leather jacket.
Dean met the man near the Cadillac.
Callaway debated whether to snap photos, but he wanted to know what was going on.
Dean looked angry and agitated. He also looked scared.
They got into a heated conversation. Dean kept pointing to the house as he spoke. He then put his hands together as if begging the man to leave.
The man pointed a finger at Dean’s chest as if to make a statement.
Callaway then noticed a second man. He was in the Cadillac’s passenger seat. The second man never once got out, but his gaze was fully on Dean.
The man pointed his finger at Dean once more as if to warn him about something. He then walked back to the driver’s side and got in.
Dean shook his head and hurried back inside the house.
As the Cadillac pulled away, Callaway decided to follow it.
SEVENTY-THREE
Fisher parked across from a run-down house. The windows were covered or boarded up. The front lawn looked like it had not been mowed in some time.
An Escalade was parked in the driveway. The license plate told her it belonged to Vinny Ulrich.
He’s inside, she thought.
But she could not go barging in. So far, Ulrich had done nothing wrong. Even though she had him on audio rejoicing about what happened at Emily’s Place, that still did not mean he had anything to do with it.
She would wait for Ulrich to make his move. She was not sure what that move was, or how it would help her in her investigation. He would be foolish to carry on him the very weapon used to murder those women at the center.
Ulrich likely would have gotten rid of it by now. She just hoped he kept something that could tie him to the center. It could be the attire the shooter wore on the day he arrived at the scene. Gloves. Baseball cap. Hoodie. Anything that could match the shooter.
On her way over to the house, Fisher had conducted a search. She found no Smith & Wesson 9mm registered to a Vinny Ulrich. That did not mean he could not have gotten the weapon on the black market.
Fisher had a different theory, though.
The Smith & Wesson 9mm belonged to Earl Munchin, and during one rally, when Munchin was preoccupied, Ulrich had taken possession of it. He had then used the weapon to commit the heinous murders.
The scenario made sense once she began to put it together. All she had to do was somehow prove her theory.
As she waited in her SUV, she saw a green station wagon pull up and park in front of the house. A man got out. He looked older and had grayish hair. The man ambled up to the house and then rang the doorbell. A young girl wearing a silk robe answered the door. She smiled and let the man inside before shutting the door behind her.
Fisher’s eyes narrowed.
A short time later, a pickup truck pulled up and parked behind the station wagon. A man wearing construction clothes got out. He looked young with a scraggly beard. The man walked up to the house and rang the doorbell. A different girl wearing a silk robe answered the door. She smiled and let the man inside.
Ulrich is running a brothel from his house! she thought.
Fisher debated what to do next. Ulrich may be involved in prostitution, she thought, but is he guilty of murdering those women?
As she pondered her next step, she saw the front door open.
Ulrich came out. He lit a cigarette and blew a plume of thick smoke.
A Mercedes pulled up to the house and parked right behind the Escalade. The driver rolled down the passenger side window and said something to Ulrich.
Ulrich scowled and then went inside the house. He emerged with another girl. She too was dressed in a silk robe, but the girl looked far too young. She had tears in her eyes as Ulrich dragged her by her arm toward the Mercedes.
Fisher had seen enough. She speed-dialed a number on her cell phone and got out of the SUV.
“Please, I don’t want to go with him,” the girl pleaded. “He hurts me.”
“I’ll hurt you more if you don’t go,” Ulrich said.
“What’s going on here?” Fisher demanded.
Ulrich glared at her. “Mind your own damn business, lady,” he said.
She pulled out her badge and held it up in the air. She turned and let the driver of the Mercedes get a good view of her badge. He quickly drove off.
Fisher turned to Ulrich. “You want to ask me nicely?”
The bravado melted off Ulrich’s face. “I didn’t know you were a cop.”
“I’m a detective, if that helps.” She turned to the girl. “You okay?”
“She’s fine,” Ulrich claimed.
“Was I talking to you?” Fisher snapped at him.
“I’m okay,” the girl said, looking over at Ulrich.
“You don’t look okay to me,” Fisher said.
The girl looked away.
Ulrich pasted a fake smile on his face. “Everything is fine, officer.”
“No, it’s not,” Fisher said, her voice cold as ice. “I just saw you try to force this girl against her will into another vehicle. You are either a pimp or a kidnapper.”
Ulrich blinked. “I’m not a kidnapper.”
“I don’t know that. You may be holding her against her will.”
“I’m not,” Ulrich said. “You can ask her yourself.”
Fisher gave him a hard look. “I will, but not in front of you. I would hate to see you coerce her into giving a false statement.”
Ulrich’s face turned hard. “You can’t take her away.”
“No, I intend to take you away.”
Ulrich blinked. “Are you arresting me?”
“I’m considering it. But I would prefer if you came with me to the station willingly.”
Ulrich fell silent.
A police cruiser pulled up to the house. McConnell got out. Fisher had called him to find out what was going on in the house. If it was a brothel, they had to make sure no underage girl
s were working there.
“Is there a problem, detective?” McConnell asked. He had one hand on his holster.
Fisher turned to Ulrich. “Well, it depends on what Mr. Ulrich would prefer. A ride in my SUV, or in the back seat of a police cruiser.”
Ulrich stared at her. His shoulders sagged. “I’ll take the SUV.”
Fisher smiled. “Good choice.”
She pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
Ulrich’s eyes widened. “I thought you said I wasn’t being arrested.”
“You’re not.” Fisher walked up and cuffed him roughly behind his back. “I just want you to see how it feels when you’re forced to do something against your will.” She tightened the cuffs around his wrists.
Ulrich grimaced in pain.
She led him by his shirt collar to the SUV. She shoved him in the back seat and slammed the door shut.
Scumbag, she thought.
SEVENTY-FOUR
Callaway followed the Cadillac to a bar ten miles from Joely’s house. The car parked in the lot, and the two men got out. The one in the driver’s seat wearing the leather jacket had spoken to Dean. The one in the passenger seat had on a flashy suit and sunglasses. He was much shorter than his compatriot, but when the leather jacket guy held the door for him, Callaway knew the flashy suit guy was the boss.
If Callaway had to take a guess, they looked like they were from the underworld.
What is Dean doing with people like them? he wondered.
He was not certain that they were criminals; they just looked like criminals. But Callaway had seen enough unsavory people to know who was trouble and who was not. These guys fit the former category.
He decided to go and confirm his suspicions.
He parked farther from the Cadillac. If things went south, he did not want them messing up his Dodge Charger. He needed a lot of time and money to get his baby fixed the last time. Callaway did not want to go through that again.
He entered the bar and surveyed the space.
He caught sight of the two men. They were sitting at a table in the corner.
Callaway walked up to the bartender and ordered a drink. While he waited, he glanced at the men. They were sipping from their glasses. The one in the leather jacket was munching on some peanuts from a small tray.
The man in the suit had still not taken his sunglasses off.
Mr. Inconspicuous, Callaway thought as he discretely glanced at him. He is standing out like a sore thumb in this place.
When his drink came, Callaway decided to take a direct approach. He took a sip from the glass and walked up to them. He made sure to keep his hands where they could see them. The last thing he wanted was these mobster-wannabes getting itchy trigger fingers and lighting the place up.
“Hi there, fellas,” he said with a smile. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“Who the hell are you?” the Suit said.
“I’m a private investigator.”
Leather Jacket reached into his coat.
“Hey, take it easy. I’m not following you,” Callaway quickly said. “I’m following Dean.”
The man in the suit shook his head, and his associate relaxed and went back to eating his peanuts.
“Do you mind if I sit down?” Callaway asked.
“Okay,” the suit replied. “But you got two minutes.”
Callaway wanted to roll his eyes. Why do they think their time is worth more than others? he thought. These guys probably spent the day staring at each other.
Callaway pulled up a chair across from them. “Can I show you my business card so you know I’m not pulling a fast one on you?”
“Yeah, sure,” the Suit said.
Callaway pulled out the fake card he used for just these situations, and he slid it across the table.
The Suit grabbed the card. “Gator Peckerwood?”
“That’s my real name, I’m afraid,” Callaway claimed. “My parents were from Louisiana.”
The Suit laughed. “I guess that explains it.”
Leather Jacket only snickered.
Callaway said, “I was outside the house when I saw you roll up on Dean. I figured, out of courtesy, I should introduce myself and find out why you guys are interested in him.”
“Dean owes our boss some serious cash.”
Callaway frowned. “He owes my client money too.”
“Is that why you’re following him?” the Suit asked.
“Yep,” Callaway replied. “If you don’t mind me asking, how much does Dean owe your boss?”
The Suit paused, staring at him. He shrugged. “Ten grand.”
Callaway winced. “Ouch. That’s a lot of money.”
“How much he owe your client?”
“Half of that.”
The Suit nodded. “Just so we are clear, we get our money first, got it?”
Callaway put his hands up. “Crystal clear. That’s why I wanted to talk to you guys, to find out what’s going on. I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, you know?”
The Suit smiled. “You’re a smart guy.”
“Not that smart if I’m working as a private eye.”
The three of them shared a laugh.
Callaway took another sip from his glass. “So, what is Dean doing in Milton anyway?”
“What do you think? He’s hiding from us.”
“Okay.”
“He thought we wouldn’t be able to find him, but we did.”
“How did you manage that?” Callaway asked. “I’ve been looking for him for weeks.”
The Suit beamed. “Easy. We knew he was married before and that he had a kid. After we checked out all the places he normally hung out at, we decided to drive down here. And lo and behold, he was hiding in his ex-wife’s house.”
“Is that why he was angry at you?” Callaway asked.
“He didn’t like us making threats.”
“What kind of threats?”
“We told him that if he didn’t pay us, we’d hurt his little boy and then the boy’s mother.”
Callaway’s jaw tightened. He wanted to punch the Suit in the mouth, even though he knew that would definitely make Leather Jacket respond with extreme violence.
“Does he have the money to pay you?”
The suit laughed. “Of course not. Why do you think he ran away in the first place?”
“What if he runs now?”
“He won’t.”
“What if he does?”
“We’ll hurt the boy and the woman, and then we’ll go after him. And when we find him, we’ll hurt him even worse.” There was a hint of glee in the Suit’s eyes.
“Why not just hurt him and leave the boy and woman alone? It seems like they got nothing to do with the mess he’s in.”
“Yeah, but we have to make an example of him. We can’t have people running away. It’s bad for business, you know?”
Callaway was silent.
He hated people like the Suit and Leather Jacket. They enjoyed hurting the innocent for pleasure. And now he hated Dean even more. To save his own skin, he had placed Joely and Josh in danger.
“How long does Dean have to pay you back?” Callaway asked.
“Forty-eight hours. That’s how long we intend on staying in this dump of a city.”
Callaway nodded. Two days, he thought.
He stood up. “I guess my client is out of luck. I doubt after Dean pays you, he’ll have anything left to pay my client.”
The Suit laughed. “They sure are out of luck.”
As Callaway walked out of the bar, he could not help but think how unlucky Joely and Josh were for being involved with a low-life like Dean.
SEVENTY-FIVE
After seeing the killer on Gene Caldwell’s security footage, Holt was certain he was on the right track. The killer had walked along that very street to make his escape.
But how many doors would Holt have to knock on to see what their cameras had captured? There was no telling how far the man had gone before he comp
letely disappeared.
Then there was another question that had begun to swirl around his head.
Did the killer live in this neighborhood?
It would not make sense if he did. In fact, it would be a daring act, one that could have dire consequences for the killer.
Whenever there was a murder, the first thing the police did was survey the neighborhood. Knocking on each door to find out if anyone had seen or heard anything. The statements from the neighbors usually helped the detectives piece together what might have happened. Most of this information could turn out to be superfluous, but there was still a chance that one piece could be the missing clue they were looking for.
Until now, Holt believed the killer had left from the front entrance. Now that he knew otherwise, the entire investigation had taken a different turn.
As Holt walked down the street, he noticed no signs for bus stops. The killer had come in a car, not by public transit.
The street was lined with parked cars. There was no telling where the killer could have parked his vehicle.
The only way to confirm this was to find more homeowners with security cameras. That would be tedious work, but there was no other way around it.
He made it to the end of the street when he spotted a convenience store in the corner.
They must have CCTV cameras, he thought.
Holt made a beeline for the store.
An elderly man was sitting behind the counter. Holt introduced himself and told him why he was there.
The man shook his head. “They don’t work.”
Holt’s eyes narrowed. “But I can see a camera pointed at your front door.”
“That’s only for show, I’m afraid. We had a nasty windstorm a couple of years back. Pulled the thing right out of the wall. When I came to check on the store, I found it hanging by its wire. I don’t have the money to hire a professional to come down and fix it, so I just stuck the camera back up and hope no one notices that it’s broken.”
“Aren’t you afraid of being robbed?” Holt asked.
The man shrugged. “I don’t sell liquor, smokes, or anything valuable for that matter. If you wanna buy milk, eggs, or everyday stuff like soap or detergent, then you come here. You would not believe how many times people show up late at night ‘cause they’ve run out of something at home.”
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