The Lee Callaway Boxed Set

by Thomas Fincham

  “We’re on duty,” Holt said. “Water for me.”

  “I’ll have an iced tea.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Once they had their drinks, Holt ordered a chicken breast sandwich with fries on the side. Fisher ordered pasta and a Caesar salad.

  While they ate, they watched as Martina moved around the patio, serving the patrons that came and went.

  Almost an hour later, with their plates empty and the restaurant less busy, Martina came over to them with their bill.

  “Do you mind talking to us now?” Holt asked.

  “It depends, if you guys give me a nice tip,” Martina replied.

  Holt almost laughed. She sounds like a paid informant, he thought. “Sure, why not,” he said.

  Martina pulled up a chair and sat down next to the detectives. “So, what do you want to know about Pedro?”

  “We’re looking for him,” Holt replied.

  “Like I told you, I haven’t seen him in at least a week or two.”

  “You said you guys broke up. Why?”

  “He was acting weird and stuff.”

  “Weird? How?’

  “Whenever we were together, he was always on the phone. He was distracted all the time. He would get upset and angry for nothing. I think it was that bitch…” Martina caught herself. “Sorry.”

  “Who?”

  “The one who got killed.”

  Holt sat up straight. “Kyla Gardener?”

  “Yeah. Pedro was always calling her or she was calling him. I asked him about it, and he would always say they were friends, but I got the feeling that he liked her. I mean, she was white and she had money, so I get it, right?”

  Holt and Fisher did not know how to respond to that.

  “I got me a white boy too. He’s sweet, and he takes care of me,” Martina said.

  “Did Pedro and Kyla ever get into a fight?” Fisher asked.

  Martina shrugged. “I dunno. Pedro didn’t like talking about her with me. Whenever I brought her name up, he would get quiet. I think he was sleeping with her.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Fisher asked.

  Martina gave her a look. “A woman knows when her man is cheating on her.”

  “Did Pedro ever talk about Kyla’s father?” Fisher asked, getting Martina back on track.

  She thought a moment. “Yeah, he mentioned him a few times.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He was a nice guy, and Pedro liked him.”

  “Anything else?”

  Martina shook her head and got up. “I gotta go. My boss is staring at me.”

  She grabbed the bill and smiled at the size of the tip. “I thought cops were cheap asses, but you guys are okay.”

  “Glad to know,” Holt replied.

  FORTY

  The school was only a couple of blocks from Patti’s house. Even then, Patti never let Nina walk home alone. If she was off work, she would pick up Nina herself. If she was working, she would ask a neighbor or another parent to take Nina home. Nina was also enrolled in a lot of extracurricular activities, from music classes to dance classes to art classes. By the time Nina was done with one of those, Patti was there to pick her up. Things would be easier if Callaway shared duties as a parent, but he did not. He tried, but there were too many times he left Nina waiting at the school’s front steps. Luckily, a teacher or concerned parent would notify the school or Patti. His ex-wife would be furious at Callaway’s irresponsible behavior. She would forbid him from seeing Nina. Eventually, she would let him back in, only for Nina’s sake. A girl needed a father, even if he was a cad.

  Patti was far more mature than Callaway would ever be, although her decision to marry him may have been most unwise in many ways. Regardless, she knew if she cut Callaway off from Nina’s life completely, the man would just move on to something else. It was better if he was always reminded that he had a child who needed him every once in a while.

  Callaway would be the first to admit he was not always there for his daughter. It was not that he did not love or care for her, his situation was just… well, complicated.

  The birth of his only child was the happiest day of his life. He broke down in tears when he laid eyes on her. He felt overwhelming joy when he held her in his arms. He stayed up all night staring at her.

  Callaway never imagined that at this stage of his life, he would be divorced from a woman who was better than him in every way, would hardly see his daughter, would always be struggling for money, and would be sleeping at a stranger’s house. But certain events led him to where he was. He had no one to blame but himself.

  There was a bigger reason why he was not always available to his daughter. There were times he felt like a loser, as if he was not worthy of his daughter’s love. The other parents had cool jobs, incomes in the six-figures, drove fancy cars, and lived in nice neighborhoods. He barely eked out a living. He later realized Nina did not need anything from him except his time and his unconditional love. He vowed to give her that, but he kept coming up short.

  He spotted her standing by the school’s steps. Nina had dark hair like her mother, albeit longer, almost reaching her lower back. Her eyes were emerald green, like his, but her smile was again like her mother’s. She looked like a mini version of Patti. He was glad his daughter got her mother’s beauty.

  He waved at her, but she did not wave back. A woman was standing next to her. Nina turned and said something to the woman. Callaway recognized her as one of Nina’s teachers. The teacher scowled as Callaway approached. He just smiled back at her.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” the teacher asked, ignoring Callaway completely.

  My reputation precedes me, Callaway thought.

  “I’ll be fine, Mrs. Jennings,” Nina said.

  “She’ll be fine,” Callaway said.

  The scowl on the teacher’s face did not disappear.

  He held out his hand and she reluctantly took it. She did not want to come across as rude in front of her students.

  Screw you, Mrs. Jennings, he thought. I’ll get you with my kindness.

  As Nina and Callaway walked back to Patti’s house, he said, “So, how’s my princess doing?”

  “I’m almost ten, dad. Please don’t call me ‘princess.’”

  “You’ll always be my princess.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  “How’s school?” he asked.

  “Good.”

  “You like it?”

  She shrugged. “It’s okay, but if I want to be successful when I’m older, I need an education.”

  “That’s right. Or else you’ll end up like me.”

  “Broke and homeless.”

  “Hey, did your mom tell you that?”

  “Are you?”

  He stared at her. Even though she had his eyes, they were great lie detectors, just like her mother’s.

  “Okay, next question,” he said, trying to change the subject. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  She made a face. “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you. I would tell mom first.”

  “So you do have a boyfriend?” He started jumping up and down. “Nina’s got a boyfriend. Nina’s got a boyfriend.”

  Nina rolled her eyes. “Dad, you’re embarrassing me. And no, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Good,” he said, stopping. “Or else I’d beat him up.”

  “Whatever,” she said, and they continued walking. “You gave mom some money, right?”

  He frowned. “How did you know that?”

  “Did she give you hard time about seeing me?”

  “No.”

  “Then you must have given her money,” she said.

  “Maybe I came all the way just to see you.”

  “Dad, I’m not a child anymore. I know when you come to visit.”

  “Okay, when do I come?”

  “When you have something for her. Or else, if you came empty-handed, she would have yelled at you by now.”

&nbs
p; “Then how did you know I gave her money?”

  She let out a dramatic sigh, like only a young person could. “Dad, you’re not so bright, are you? If you didn’t give mom money, she wouldn’t have let you pick me up. Don’t you see that?”

  She not only looked like her mother, she was just as whip-smart.

  God help me, Callaway thought.

  “On my way here, I saw an ice cream shop. What do you say we get some right now?” he suggested

  “Before dinner?” Nina asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Why not?”

  “And you’re okay with explaining this to mom?”

  “Okay, never mind.” He was suddenly disappointed. He wanted to do something for his little girl and he could not even do that. His irresponsible behavior had stripped him of that right.

  She squeezed his hand and said, “I still love you, dad.”

  He smiled at her. “I love you too, baby.”

  FORTY-ONE

  Holt and Fisher were at the DA’s office. Barrows was behind her desk, looking disappointed. “As you know,” she said, “the defense always has more resources than we do. They are being paid by clients who, at times, are quite wealthy, while we at the DA’s office are at the mercy of elected officials for our annual budget. We were fortunate that the current governor has allocated extra funding to our department. This has allowed us to level the playing field somewhat against the criminal defense lawyers and their heavy bank accounts.”

  Where are you going with this? Holt thought. He glanced at Fisher. He could tell she was thinking the same thing.

  Barrows saw the look on their faces and said, “I hired a private company to conduct a blind survey of citizens of this city. I’ve heard of defense lawyers investing in such a study, so I wanted to gauge public opinion before we went to trial. We gave them a case that was exactly like Gardener’s, minus the names, of course. We asked them if they would give a verdict of guilty or not guilty if they were members of a jury, based on the evidence presented.

  Holt’s back arched. He was suddenly eager to know the answer.

  Barrows said, “Overwhelmingly, the majority said not guilty.”

  “What?” Holt jumped up from his chair. “That’s bullshit.”

  Barrows was not the least bit offended by the profanity. She had heard far worse while in court. Holt began to pace the room like he normally did. He was like a bull who wanted to let off steam. Barrows gave him a moment to compose himself.

  Fisher asked, “What was their reason for giving such a verdict?”

  “In order to convict, they have to believe without a shadow of doubt that Paul Gardener murdered his daughter. And they did not.”

  “What about the blood on his shirt?” Holt asked. “How can that not be conclusive?”

  “We are still waiting for the report to confirm whether it’s the victim’s blood on his shirt or not.”

  “It is,” Holt said firmly. “Paul Gardener was not bleeding anywhere on his body.”

  “I agree, and those surveyed were never told whether the blood was his or the daughter’s. Their concern was—and I’m going to relate it to the Gardener case—if Paul Gardener did indeed murder his daughter, then why did he not dispose of the shirt with the evidence on it?”

  “Maybe he didn’t realize there was any blood on him,” Fisher suggested.

  “It was easy for you guys to spot, so why not by him?”

  “Maybe it was dark and he didn’t see it.”

  Holt jumped in. “Maybe while in a state of panic at what he had done, he got careless. That’s known to happen in cases like these.”

  Barrows said, “There was blood on the victim, on the bed, everywhere. Surely, he would have known some of it was on him.”

  “Maybe he was too drunk and didn’t realize that it was.”

  “Apparently, he was not drunk enough to go out to his car and hide the murder weapon in the glove compartment,” Barrows said. “That tells us he was aware of his actions and their consequences.”

  “But remember, he went back inside the guesthouse to sleep off the alcohol,” Holt said.

  Barrows frowned. “That’s another thing the people surveyed found questionable.”

  “What?”

  “Why would someone not leave the scene of the crime? They must have known that the victim’s body would be found by someone.”

  “Maybe he hoped by morning he would be clearheaded. He would then conceive a plan to get rid of the body and the evidence.”

  “At the moment, it’s all conjecture and not sufficient enough to convict. If it was premeditated murder, then the onus is on us to prove the killing was motivated. So far, we don’t have that.”

  “Sure we do,” Holt said. “We have the text messages between the suspect and his daughter.”’

  “That exchange could simply have happened during the heat of the moment. How many times have we said something to our parents in anger only to regret it later?”

  “The victim wanted to get married; her father disagreed. They got into an argument, and he killed her,” Holt insisted.

  “That very well may be the case. But based on the facts at hand, we may not win this case, or we may end up with a hung jury. Neither of those options look very appealing to me.”

  Fisher jumped in. “Are you saying we should drop the charges?”

  “Of course not,” Barrows replied. “What I’m saying is that you need to get me something that will persuade a jury without a shadow of a doubt that Paul Gardener did murder his only child.”

  FORTY-TWO

  Callaway returned to his office with a far lighter wallet. He had stopped by the noodle shop and handed over the last two months’ worth of rent. The landlady had been after him for so long that on some days, he considered not coming to his office.

  On his last trip to his office, he knew his landlady was out of town visiting a relative, so there was no way he would run into her. Sometimes he would show up at odd hours to avoid her, like early in the morning or in the middle of the night. He hated hiding like a criminal, but when you do not have money, you make yourself scarce.

  He could have given Patti less money, but the longer the money was in his pocket, the more tempted he would have become. He would have gone straight to a casino or a bookie and tried his luck. Over the years, he had won some serious money, but he had lost it too. That was how it was with gambling, although in his experience, he lost more than he won.

  Callaway also believed in always clearing up his debt, no matter who it was to. The money he gave to Patti was well overdue. She was raising Nina on a single income, which was not easy. And with Callaway hardly there to help out physically, the very least he could do was help out financially.

  As for the landlady, she had expenses relating to the restaurant and the building. She did not need someone like Callaway taking advantage of her.

  The situation reminded him of a saying his high school Economics teacher would say: There’s no such thing as a free lunch. Even if it was free to you, someone is paying for it, and they hope to earn back the cost sometime down the line.

  The landlady was getting no benefit from letting him squat, which was essentially what he was doing by not paying rent.

  He sat down behind his laptop and began to go through his emails. He was surprised by the number of people who found him through his website. In fact, right after solving the Hotel Murders in Fairview, he was certain his business would explode. And it did, but for all the wrong reasons.

  A potential client had said Foo Foo, his pet cat, had run away and he wanted Callaway to bring her home. It’s an animal, he thought. It was probably sick and tired of its owners.

  Two other potential clients, the parents of a teenage girl, had said her boyfriend had stopped returning her calls and they wanted Callaway to find out what happened. Unless there was a missing persons report filed by the boyfriend’s family with the police, the boyfriend had probably moved on with someone else.

  One
man had the gall to contact him about a particular job, which involved scoping out a bank for info that could be useful in a robbery. Callaway was furious and dumfounded at the offer. Did the guy not realize what he was asking him to do was illegal? That moron had no idea the client/PI relationship was not protected by the courts like the doctor/patient relationship was. Callaway had forwarded the email to the Milton police.

  Then there were jobs he turned down because the outcome could end up being dangerous. He had stalkers reach out to him to locate celebrities or people they were infatuated with. He had one disturbed person ask him to follow a congresswoman because he did not like her policies.

  Callaway did, however, take on jobs that involved finding dirt on a client’s colleague or supervisor so the client could wrangle a promotion. He also took jobs from companies who hired him to ferret out the secrets of their competitors, like when they were launching their next product, or what products they were currently developing. Such snooping might be unethical, but he figured if no one was physically harmed in the process, then it was okay. Plus, the individuals and companies who hired him always paid on time, or they always sweetened the fee if the outcome was favorable to them.

  Callaway began going through his emails, hoping he would find more of those types of cases to work on.

  FORTY-THREE

  Outside the DA’s office, Fisher said, “We need to find Pedro.”

  “No, we need to find more evidence against Paul Gardener,” Holt shot back.

  “What if Pedro murdered Kyla and now he’s disappeared?” she asked.

  “I don’t buy it.”

  “Kyla did call Pedro on the day she died.”

  “But she also called other people,” Holt said.

  “Yes, but none of those people have suddenly gone missing.”

  “Okay. What about the unknown number?”

  “What about it?’

  “That’s exactly my point,” he said. “It could be someone of no consequence, or it could be someone relevant to the case.”

  Fisher shook her head. Holt was being stubborn. He was like a hound who had his eyes on only one fox.