“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. It’s my damn house.”
Callaway held up the Polaroid. “Can you take a look?”
The woman squinted. “Never seen her before. Listen, I’m missing my favorite show. You got the wrong house.”
Elle spoke up. “Do you have tenants in your basement?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I do. So?”
Callaway understood where Elle was going. “Do you mind if we spoke to your tenant?” he asked the woman.
“Yeah, I do mind. Now get off my property before I call the cops.”
“Please,” Elle said. “I’m looking for my sister. She’s missing.”
The woman stared at her. “Fine. Go around the back and knock on the door. He’s probably sleeping, so you’re gonna have to bang on the door to wake him up.”
The woman slammed her door shut.
Callaway shook his head and proceeded to the back of the house. Elle followed behind, tapping her stick as she did. Callaway wondered if he should hold her hand to assist her, but she looked like she did not need his help.
Callaway pounded on the basement door with his fist. A man stuck his head out a minute later. His eyes were slits, and he blinked like he was lost in a daze. “Who are you?” he asked.
Callaway smelled marijuana on him. “We are looking for this person.” Callaway held up the Polaroid again. “Her name is Katie Pearson. Do you know her?”
The tenant came out to get a better look. He was wearing a stained t-shirt and shorts. “Nah, man. I’ve never seen her before, but I kinda wish I had.”
He grinned.
Callaway ignored the comment. “How long have you been staying here?”
“I moved in two months ago.”
That’s after Katie went missing, Callaway thought.
“And do you know who lived here before you?”
The tenant shook his head. “No idea. You can ask the landlord upstairs.”
“She’s not very friendly,” Callaway said. He had no desire to knock on her door again.
The tenant nodded. “She’s one mean lady,” he said.
Callaway turned to Elle. “Maybe Katie might not have told you the right address.” He knew it was common for people to be untruthful about where they lived if they did not want their families to find out.
“Katie would never lie to me,” Elle said. Callaway opened his mouth to speak, but Elle surprised him by asking the tenant, “Sir, is your rent four hundred plus electricity?”
“Yeah, it is,” the tenant replied.
“That’s what my sister paid too. And is your apartment covered with sunflower wallpaper?”
The tenant’s mouth dropped. “Yeah, how did you know?”
“My sister told me.”
“Do you mind if I confirm this?” Callaway asked, feeling curious.
The tenant hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said.
“I know you got weed in there, and I don’t care,” Callaway said. “I just want to take a quick look.”
The tenant held the door for him. Callaway went down the steps. The smell of marijuana was strong, almost unbearable. The basement was cramped and dark, but Callaway easily spotted the wallpaper. It was ugly and covered in sunflowers.
He hurried back outside, grateful to breathe fresh air again.
“You were right,” he said to Elle.
“Katie always complained that the yellow wallpaper made her want to throw up,” Elle said.
TWENTY-NINE
Coach Earl Loughton had a boyish face, sharp eyes, and salt-and-pepper hair. Even though he was still in his early thirties, the premature gray hairs were a result of the stress and pressures of being a head coach. Loughton was wearing a white polo shirt, black shorts, and white basketball shoes. He had a whistle hanging around his neck.
Holt and Fisher were in Loughton’s office. The walls were adorned with photos of all the teams Loughton had coached over the years. Loughton was a rising star in college basketball, and Milton College had just given him a multi-year contract worth millions of dollars, including bonuses.
Loughton was a hard-nosed coach who demanded a lot from his players, but he also cared about the young men under his watch. Isaiah had nothing but positive things to say about him.
Holt had met Loughton once before, during a practice scrimmage the team was having. Holt decided to drop by and see Isaiah play. When he saw Isaiah hold his own against older, bigger, and more experienced players, he knew the kid had a bright future ahead of him.
Holt was also able to exchange a few words with Loughton. He came away agreeing with Isaiah’s sentiments about the man.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Loughton said. “I know Isaiah meant a lot to you.”
“Thank you,” Holt said, but Loughton’s condolences did little to ease his grief.
“I spoke to his parents, and I can’t imagine what they must be going through,” Loughton continued. “We are all devastated by this tragedy. I offered to cancel tonight’s game out of respect, but his parents were adamant that the team play. It was what Isaiah would have wanted.”
Holt knew it was typical of Isaiah to put others before himself. He never wanted anyone to go out of their way to do something for him. He was a humble person.
“Isaiah was the heart and soul of the team,” Loughton said. “He was one helluva player and a great kid. We had great hopes for him.”
“We did too,” Holt said.
Loughton nodded. “Thanks for letting me talk to my guys first. I know you want to question them.”
“No problem,” Holt said. “We saw the footage of Isaiah leaving campus this morning. He left pretty quickly. Any reason why he’d be in such a hurry?”
“I wish I knew,” Loughton replied. “I really do. We try to keep an eye on them. They are still kids, and we don’t want them getting into anything that might reflect badly on them, the team, or the college. We pay extra attention during road games. We try to keep all the players on the same floors of the hotel, and we position coaches in rooms on each end of the hall so we know if someone’s leaving the property. We once had a hotel mess up our booking, and we had players all over the hotel. The next morning, we found our two point guards, our starting center, and a couple of bench players heavily intoxicated. One of them had snuck out, purchased alcohol, and brought it back to the hotel. Later that day, we lost the game by almost thirty points. Isaiah wasn’t like that. He took the game seriously. He never drank, he ate well, and he worked hard. A role model for the other players.”
“Was there anyone on the team he was particularly close to?” Holt asked.
“Sure. Our point guard.”
THIRTY
Byron Fox choked back tears as he sat across from Holt and Fisher. They were in the campus cafeteria. Byron sported an afro, a goatee, and a stud earring in his left ear. He took a sip of his juice. Holt and Fisher had coffee and tea, respectively.
“I can’t believe Isaiah’s dead,” Byron said, shaking his head. “Who would do something like that to him?”
“We are trying to find out,” Fisher replied.
Byron looked at her and nodded.
“Your coach said you and Isaiah were close,” Fisher said.
“Yeah, we were.”
Fisher wanted to ease into the questioning, so she started with the soft questions. “How’d you two meet?”
“On the court, of course. If you were on his team, Isaiah had your back. As a point guard, it was my job to dribble the ball up. The opposing team would send bigger players on me. They would try to trap me so I would give up the ball. Sometimes they’d get rough to mess up my game. Isaiah would have none of that. If a player shoved me, the next time they had the ball and they were going around a screen, Isaiah would give him an elbow to the face. He wouldn’t get away with it all the time. The refs would whistle him. But it would send a message to the opposing team that if they tried anything, they’d have to deal with him.”<
br />
“But your friendship was off the court as well, right?” Fisher asked.
“Yeah, for sure. When we weren’t practicing or working out or playing, we listened to music. We both liked R&B and rap. We argued nonstop on who the best band was or who the best singer was. We were planning to record our own songs.”
Holt remembered how Isaiah knew all the lyrics to the songs that came on the radio. He would sing along whenever he was in the car. If Isaiah had not gotten into sports, he definitely would have done something in music.
“Do you know why Isaiah left in such a hurry this morning?” Fisher asked, getting to the point.
“I had no idea he was even gone. I was sleeping when someone woke me up and told me.”
“When did you last see him?” Fisher asked.
Byron thought for a moment. “We hung around last night.”
“And how was his demeanor?”
Byron stared at her. “Demeanor?”
“I mean, was he upset, angry, calm, anxious…?”
“Oh, right. He was calm, I guess.” Byron sat up straight. “What I’m saying is that with Isaiah, you could never really tell. He never wore his emotions on his sleeve, you know. In my case, if I was excited, everyone knew I was, and if I was down, then you knew to stay away from me.”
“So, there was nothing out of the ordinary with Isaiah last night?” Fisher prodded.
“I mean, he was on the phone most of the time.”
“Who was he talking to?” Holt asked.
“I’m not sure, but I think it was a girl,” Byron replied.
“What’s her name?” Holt asked.
“I don’t know. We talked about everything, but certain things he kept to himself. I didn’t push him on it. It was none of my business. I had to respect his privacy, you know. He never asked me questions about my personal life. I never told him my dad was in and out of prison for dealing drugs, or that my mom was caught for shoplifting because we had no money.” Byron shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m telling you guys this stuff. You are the police. My head’s been really messed up ever since I found out about Isaiah.”
Fisher was not interested in Byron’s personal life. “How did you know it was a girl Isaiah was talking to?” she asked.
“He would leave the room whenever he would get a call. A couple of times, I heard him say the word ‘baby.’”
“Baby?” Fisher asked, confused.
“Yeah, like ‘baby I’ll take care of you,’ ‘baby I love you,’ like what you’d call your girlfriend, you know,” Byron replied.
THIRTY-ONE
The fast food restaurant already had a line at its counter when Callaway and Elle arrived. Callaway asked Elle to take a seat at a table while he stood in line behind a large man.
Elle said her sister worked at this location. She and Callaway hoped someone at the restaurant might have information on Katie.
Callaway glanced over at Elle. She was sitting upright with her cane in her hand. He could not imagine what she must be going through. Not being able to see and not knowing where her sister was.
After the large man had ordered his super-sized combo, Callaway approached the counter and asked the girl on duty for the manager.
She waved a man over. He was young, with pimples all over his face and whiskers on his chin. His name tag read Gary.
“What can I do for you?” Gary asked.
Callaway pulled out the Polaroid. “I’m looking for this woman. Her name is Katie Pearson. She was an employee here.”
Gary stared at the photo. He shook his head. “I’ve never seen her before.”
Callaway blinked. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I would remember someone who worked for me.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Four years, and a year and a half of those as a manager.”
Callaway frowned. “Can you show the photo to your employees? Maybe someone might remember seeing her.”
“I don’t know. We’re kind of busy right now.”
“Please. It’s important.” Callaway pointed at Elle. “Her sister hasn’t spoken to her in months.”
“Okay, sure,” Gary said. “Give me a minute.”
Callaway walked over to Elle. As if sensing him, or perhaps smelling him, her back straightened and she turned to him. “What did they say?” she asked.
“The manager has never seen Katie, but he’ll ask his employees,” Callaway replied.
“How can that be?” Elle asked, surprised.
“Are you sure it’s the right address?” Callaway asked.
“Of course it is.”
Elle thought for a moment. “Across the street, is there a record store?”
Callaway looked out the window. The sign had two vinyl records at the beginning and end of the name. “Yes, there is.”
Elle smiled. “On her breaks, Katie would go to the store and browse through the records in their catalog. She loved jazz and classical music.”
The manager returned. “I’m sorry, but none of my employees have seen this person.”
“That’s not possible,” Elle said sternly. “My sister works here.”
“If she did, we would have some record of her employment. No one by the name of Katie Pearson ever worked here, ma’am.”
There was silence when Elle said, “Is your name Gary Nelson?”
“Yes, it is.”
“And you live with your parents in Lafferty?”
Gary’s mouth dropped. “Yeah, I do.”
“I also know you have an employee who hurt his arm while surfing in Miami. You have another employee who broke off her engagement when she caught her fiancé with her best friend.”
“How do you know all that?”Gary asked.
Callaway was thinking the same thing.
“I know because my sister told me,” Elle said.
Gary swallowed and adjusted his cap.
Callaway turned to him. “How do you explain this?” he asked.
“I can’t,” Gary replied, still bewildered. “You can check what I just told you with my employees if you like.”
“I intend to,” Callaway said. He was not leaving until he got to the bottom of this.
THIRTY-TWO
Holt was seated at the dining table. Marjorie was at the stove making tea. Fisher was upstairs in Isaiah’s bedroom.
Holt was not ready to go through Isaiah’s stuff. He feared he would break down if he did.
He looked out the window at the backyard. Dennis had set up a basketball net so Isaiah could practice. Holt remembered many nights when he would drop by and see Isaiah shooting baskets in total darkness. Holt once asked him why he did not just turn on the floodlights Dennis had installed. Isaiah told Holt he wanted to see if he could make a basket blind.
Holt was reminded of his time in high school. He was tall with big hands, and his high school coach encouraged him to try out for the basketball team. He made it on the team, but he was relegated to the bench for most of the games. What he never forgot was how his coach would make his players shut their eyes and practice shooting without a ball. The coach believed mental visualization was just as important as physically shooting the ball.
Marjorie came over and placed a steaming cup before him. “I’m not sure how your partner takes it, so I didn’t put any milk or sugar in her cup.”
“Fisher likes it black,” he said.
“Should I go upstairs and call her? It’ll get cold,” Marjorie asked.
“No. Let her do her job,” Holt replied. “Plus, she prefers her tea lukewarm anyway.”
Marjorie nodded and sat down. Holt could not help but feel like his sister had aged significantly since he broke the news to her.
“How’s Dennis doing?” he asked.
“He’s withdrawn into himself. When his mother passed away, he drew into himself for weeks. It’s his way of grieving. But I am worried. I need him now more than ever, and if he shuts himself off from me, I don’t know how I’m
going to get through this.”
Holt placed his hand over hers. “I’m always going to be here for you,” he said. He meant every word of it. Marjorie gave him hope and courage at times when he had none. If it were not for her, he would not have become a police detective. He would have gotten himself into trouble with the law and would be rotting in jail.
Growing up, Holt was always getting into fights. Kids picked on him because of his size. They felt like if they could take him down, then no one would mess with them in school. He was no gentle giant, though. He had a mean streak in him. He once knocked out a kid’s two front teeth with a single punch.
Holt hated bullies, but after years of fending them off, he became one himself. He started picking on kids much smaller than him. He was also going through teen angst, which made him a horrible person to deal with. When Marjorie found out, she broke down crying. She told him to leave the house and never come back. She was much older than him, and she was working during the day and studying at night to put a roof over their heads. Holt remembered feeling worse than trash. He had let down the one person who meant more to him than anyone in the world. He vowed he would never do anything to hurt her again. And he never did.
“Where’s Brit?” he asked. He still had not spoken to his niece.
“She’s really upset,” Marjorie replied. “She’s still at her friend’s house. It might be better for her to be with someone her age right now. Later I’ll take her someplace to talk.”
Holt nodded and took a sip from his cup.
Fisher appeared in the kitchen. She was holding a large plastic bag. She had tagged items that could be useful in their investigation.
Marjorie said, “Your tea is ready.”
Fisher grabbed the cup, took a sip, and then gulped it down in one breath. “Thanks,” she said.
Outside the house, Holt asked, “Did you find anything in Isaiah’s room?”
“His laptop is password-protected,” she replied. “I’m hoping someone in IT can access it. But I didn’t find his cell phone.”
Holt frowned. “We didn’t find it on him either.”
The Lee Callaway Boxed Set Page 29