A moment later, the manager returned with an employee. “Herb,” the manager said, “tell them what you told me.”
Herb was tall, rail-thin, and he had acne on his face. “A guy came in and asked me where we kept our cement,” he said.
“What else did he ask you?” Fisher said.
“He was also looking for a sturdy rope.”
Fisher shot a glance at Holt.
“What did this man look like?” Fisher asked.
Herb shrugged. “I dunno. He was wearing a checkered shirt, I guess.”
“What else?”
“Um…” He searched his mind. “I remember he had paint stains all over his shirt and pants.”
“He was a painter?”
“I’m not sure.”
“When was this?”
“Um… I think it was two days ago.”
“Do you remember the exact time?”
For a second, Fisher thought Herb would tell her how absurd her question was, but instead he said, “I kind of do remember. It was right before my smoke break.”
With this information in hand, the manager took the detectives to his office. A security officer was seated behind a set of monitors. The manager told him exactly what he was looking for.
The security officer began to rewind the footage on one of the screens. A moment later, he played the footage at normal speed.
The image was black and white, but it was sharp and in high contrast. The hardware store’s automatic doors slid open, and a man came in. He was tall, wearing a checkered shirt, cargo pants, and work boots. His hair was dark, and he walked with purpose.
He stopped by the entrance and looked around. He was searching for the signs atop the aisles. He then spotted an employee and waved him over. It was Herb. They exchanged a few words, and the man turned right and headed toward the other side of the store.
He disappeared from view.
“Can you follow him?” Holt asked.
The security officer quickly punched a key, and the screen flickered to another image. The man was walking down the aisle. He stopped at a section. He grabbed a bundle of rope and looked at the price. He put the rope back, grabbed another one, and did the same. He did this a few times until he was satisfied with one. He slung the bundle of rope over his shoulder and headed in another direction.
The image flickered as the security officer punched another key.
The man was in the landscape section now. He looked around and then picked up a piece of concrete block. The block’s weight bowed him down as he made his way to the checkout.
Fisher watched with bated breath. They could see the time stamp at the bottom of the screen. She prayed the man paid with credit or debit instead of cash, making it easy to pull up the transaction and find out the man’s name.
The man pulled out some bills and handed it to the cashier. He grabbed his change and receipt and left the store.
Fisher sighed.
“Do you have cameras in the parking lot?” Holt asked.
The image flickered again.
The man was leaving the hardware store. Fisher’s back tensed. The moment the man entered his vehicle, they would have his license plate.
The man continued walking. He moved farther and farther away from the camera. He had parked at the far end of the lot. There was no way to distinguish the make and model of the car he was driving.
Holt turned to the security officer, “Can you find the clearest picture of this man?”
“Sure,” the officer replied.
“We want a copy of it.”
EIGHTY-EIGHT
“What do we do now?” Elle asked Callaway. They were walking down the street toward the Impala, which was parked a block away from the art gallery.
Callaway felt like he was spinning his wheels. Nothing made sense to him anymore. How could a simple search turn into something so complicated?
He knew the answer all too well. Katie had lied to her sister. She told Elle what she wanted to hear. Behind her back, she lived a life that was reckless and possibly dangerous.
The life of an escort was anything but glamorous. Linda’s social media posts about her visits to all those countries was not indicative of the profession’s sordid truths. Most girls got into being escorts because they saw no other option to earn a living. Some were forced into the trade. Sex trafficking was a massive economic concern for most governments. The amount of money the traffickers made off the girls was staggering. And then there were the social implications of prostitution. These girls were ostracized and considered worse than lepers by the general population. Most people did not understand why someone would sell their bodies for money.
No matter how Glenn Maker and Carl Goodwin sugarcoated it, prostitution was dirty and ugly.
Callaway felt a strong migraine coming on. His nose throbbed with pain. The swelling had subsided, and he did not need to put a new bandage over his nose, but it was still not healed.
“How do we find my sister now?” Elle asked as they walked.
He had no idea. He felt terrible for Elle. The moment they saw a glimmer of hope, it was cruelly taken away from them.
“We will not stop until we know what happened to her,” Callaway replied, trying to sound positive. But deep down, he was feeling doubtful himself.
He stopped and pulled out his cell phone.
“What’s going on?” Elle asked.
“I know someone who might be able to help us,” he replied.
“Who?”
“She’s a reporter in Fairview. I worked with her on a case there.”
“Are you referring to Echo Rose?” Elle asked.
Callaway looked at her. “How did you know?”
“I told you I did my homework before I hired you, remember?”
“I do.”
He turned back to his cell phone. “Linda’s best friend, Jennifer Paulsingh, last spoke to her before she was supposed to meet a client.”
“Okay,” Elle said.
“Maker and Goodwin have set up a system to protect the girls. What if someone—maybe a client—forced Linda to punch her password into the website so Maker and Goodwin would think everything was all right with her? If we find out when that reply was made, maybe it can tell us the exact time of her disappearance.”
Callaway quickly messaged Echo.
“And you think Echo Rose can help us in this regard?” Elle asked.
“Echo is one of the best hackers I know, if not the best. She can hack into anything, even Glenn Maker’s website.”
Callaway hated to bother Echo, but he was at the end of his rope.
After he sent the text, something flickering in a storefront window caught his eye.
Several display televisions were relaying the news. Callaway could not hear the audio, but the scroll at the bottom read WOMAN’S BODY DISCOVERED IN LAKE BEHIND ABANDONED BUILDING.
His heart sank, and he was again grateful Elle could not see what he was seeing.
He quickly scrolled through his contact list and speed-dialed a number.
EIGHTY-NINE
Fisher spotted the Impala as it pulled into the parking lot and found a spot. Callaway had called her, and she had driven to the morgue after speaking to him. She did not tell Holt where she was going. Holt was somewhat possessive with the cases he worked on, and there was no way he would allow a private investigator to become privy to his investigation. Plus, Holt and Callaway had a history. Callaway had made Holt look foolish on another case. If Holt found out she was speaking to him, he would blow his top.
Callaway approached her. Next to him was a woman with a walking cane.
“This is Elle Pearson,” Callaway said, introducing her.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Detective Dana Fisher,” she said. She then got right to the point. “Lee told me your sister is missing.”
“Yes,” Elle replied.
Fisher turned to Callaway. “Can you describe her to me?”
“I can do better.” He stu
ck his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out the Polaroid. He handed the photo to Fisher.
Fisher’s eyes narrowed. “How long has she been missing?”
“Three months,” Callaway replied.
“And you said her name is Katie Pearson?”
“Yes.”
Fisher stared at him. “But she might be going under the name Linda Eustace?”
“It’s a long story,” he said.
Fisher nodded and said, “Come with me.”
They followed her into the building. They took the elevator to the basement and walked down a tiled hallway.
They went through a heavy door and approached another. Fisher stopped and turned to Callaway and Elle. “I must warn you the body has suffered severe trauma.”
Callaway knew the warning was not for Elle but for him. He took a deep breath and nodded.
They entered a sterile room and found the medical examiner standing before a body lying on a table. The cadaver was covered with a green sheet.
“Andrea Wakefield,” Fisher said, “this is Lee Callaway and Elle Pearson.”
The medical examiner gave them a nod.
She pulled off the sheet.
Callaway nearly threw up on the floor. He covered his mouth and looked away.
“It’s not a pretty sight, I’m afraid,” Wakefield said.
Callaway turned back, but he did not move his hand away from his mouth.
The woman looked like she had been beaten to a pulp. Her face was swollen, puffy, and purple.
“Who would do this?” he asked.
“That’s what we are trying to find out,” Fisher replied.
Elle stood where she was. She said, “My sister has distinguishing marks on her body. Would that help to identify if this is her?”
“Absolutely,” Wakefield replied.
Elle provided her the details.
Wakefield checked the body. She shook her head and said, “It’s not her.”
Fisher frowned. “Then who is it?”
NINETY
Elle was seated on a chair outside the examination room. She wept as Callaway tried to comfort her.
“It’s not Katie,” he whispered to her. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Every time they find a body, I can’t help but think it’s her.” She heaved a sigh and said, “I can’t keep doing this.”
Callaway sighed. This was taking a toll on her and him. She was right, though. When Callaway saw the news, his first thought was that the police had found Katie. A part of him wanted this search to be over, but another part of him did not want it to end with a dead person. Elle deserved closure, but she also deserved a happy ending.
The longer it took for them to find her sister, the less hope he had that she was still alive. He understood why they could not find Katie Pearson, but he could not fathom what happened to Linda Eustace.
Is she on the run from someone? Is that why she took on a new identity? Callaway wondered.
Fisher joined them. “The medical examiner has started the autopsy. There is no point for you to stay here.”
Elle sniffled and said, “Do you know who hurt that woman?”
“We have a suspect.”
“You do?” Callaway said, feeling curious.
Fisher paused for a moment before she said, “Holt would kill me for telling you this, but the victim was found wrapped in a garbage bag. Her ankle was tied to a concrete block so it would stay underwater.”
Elle gasped and said, “Oh my God.”
“How did you find the suspect?” Callaway asked.
“The suspect had gone to a nearby hardware store and purchased the concrete block and the rope used to drown the body.” She pulled out her cell phone and held the screen up for Callaway. The image was black and white, but it was clear that the man was standing by a cash register.
Callaway’s eyes narrowed. “He looks awfully familiar,” he said.
“He does?” Fisher asked, surprised.
“Yeah. I’ve seen him someplace.”
“Where?” she asked eagerly.
He rubbed his chin in deep thought. His eyes suddenly widened, and he stuck his hand in his jacket pocket to pull out another photo. “We found this while we were searching for Elle’s sister. It was in one of her sister’s personal effects.”
Fisher examined the picture. “I can see the similarities, even though the hair is a different color and style.”
“We think his name might be Bruno Rocco,” Callaway said. “Before her disappearance, Elle’s sister mentioned she was seeing someone by that name.”
“That’s good to know,” Fisher said.
“Could the same person be responsible for what happened to that woman in there and also for Elle’s sister going missing?” Callaway asked.
“It could very well be,” Fisher replied. “I’ll ask Holt to run the photo through our facial recognition software. Hopefully it will confirm the name you just gave us.”
NINETY-ONE
Holt was making his way through the police department’s parking lot when a familiar Buick pulled up in front of him.
Agent Ed Schaefer rolled down his window and smiled. “Detective Holt, do you have a minute?”
Holt nodded. “What can I do for you, Agent Schaefer?”
“I just heard on the radio that you guys pulled a female body from the lake. Is that true?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Do you know who she is?”
“Not yet, but we’ll know soon enough.”
“Do you believe this is related to your nephew’s murder?”
Holt’s brow furrowed. “How so?”
“I mean, I’m only speculating based on what I’ve read, but didn’t your nephew go to meet a woman at that furniture store?”
Cassandra Stevens!
Holt had a suspicion it could be her. Cassandra had blonde hair. She was five-three, and she weighed around a hundred pounds. The woman found in the lake had blonde hair. She was also around five-foot-three, but her weight would be impossible to match due to the body’s decomposition. And her killer had worked her face over. Holt doubted they would be able to ID her via her face. But the department had numerous tools at their disposal. A DNA sample taken from her hair. A print from one of her fingertips. Even dental records could be used to identify her.
Holt said, “We don’t know yet if it’s the same woman.”
“But it could be, right?” Schaefer prodded.
Holt studied him and said, “That is a possibility.”
“I just want you to know my offer is still on the table,” Schaefer said. “I want to help you find the person who is responsible for your nephew’s murder. He was a promising athlete, and it would be a shame for his death to never be solved.”
“I would not let that happen,” Holt said.
“If you feel comfortable, I would love to know how far you have progressed in the investigation.”
Holt paused to think this over. What’s the harm in letting him know what we’ve found? he thought. He is a federal agent, after all.
“We haven’t made much progress in Isaiah’s case,” Holt conceded. “But if the body belongs to Cassandra Stevens, then we might be able to solve both cases.”
Schaefer’s eyebrow rose. “How so?”
“We have a suspect on our radar.”
“You do?” he asked, sounding shocked.
“Yes.” Holt pulled out his cell phone and displayed a photo for Schaefer. “This was taken from a security camera at a hardware store. The suspect purchased items that were used to dispose of the body.”
Schaefer stared at the picture in silence. He swallowed and said, “Did you trace the payments to a name? That’s what I would do if I were you.”
“The suspect paid with cash, but it doesn’t matter.” Holt put the phone away. “We know what he looks like, and soon we will know who he is.”
Schaefer checked his watch. “Well, I wish you the best of luck. I hope you find what you
are looking for. If you ever need my assistance, don’t hesitate to contact me.”
He drove away.
NINETY-TWO
Callaway dropped Elle off at a bus stop. She looked visibly ill. The thought that her sister might have drowned in the lake was too much for her. Even though it turned out not to be Katie, Callaway understood how mentally draining the experience was for Elle. It was close to torture.
Each time they felt like they were taking a step forward, they ended up taking two steps back.
Elle had declined his offer to drive her to Mayview. “I need some space,” she had told him. “I’ve got a lot to work through.”
He respected her independence, and at the moment, even he was not in the mood to make the drive. The pain in his head was pounding like a sledgehammer. He needed painkillers and a shot of alcohol in his system—preferably the latter.
He debated whether to go straight to a bar and get drunk, or go home and take the medicine and pass out.
He decided against either of the options. He doubted he would be able to fall asleep any time soon, and the alcohol would only make the headache worse.
What he needed was to keep his mind preoccupied. The only way to do that was to go back to the office and try to come up with another plan.
The search for Elle’s missing sister had also been a drain on his finances. The five thousand Elle had paid him was running out fast. Soon he would have to ask her for more money, which he did not want to do. He felt it was crass for him to worry about money when the poor girl was no closer to knowing the truth.
He let out a long sigh. Why did you agree to take on this case? he thought. You know better than most people how difficult missing persons cases are to solve.
The answer was simple. He was having a horrible day when Elle showed up out of nowhere. And her visit was fruitful on all accounts.
Earlier that day, he had messed up by sleeping with his client’s wife. The client punished him by breaking his nose, damaging his beloved Charger, and making him return the fee with some cash on top.
Elle’s case had come at a time when he was desperate. At first, the case was like a gift from the heavens, but then it had turned into a nightmare that he was not sure would end any time soon.
The Lee Callaway Boxed Set Page 42