“At least now we know the truth,” he said.
They were silent for a moment.
“How did you know I was at the gallery?” he asked.
She looked up at him. Her eyes were raw and swollen. “I didn’t know you were here. I came to collect the money Carl and Glenn owed me. They were terrible at paying the girls on time. I found the gallery empty. I think Carl had forgotten to lock up. I searched for him, and I heard noises coming from downstairs. I went to check, and that’s when I heard the entire confession.”
“Did you ever think it was Goodwin?” Callaway asked.
“No, not in a million years. I never got a negative vibe from him,” Jennifer replied.
Callaway nodded.
He realized there was someone he had to call. Elle. She needed to know that they had found… Katie.
He pulled out his cell phone and sighed. “We should let Linda’s sister know we found her.”
“Sister?”
“Yeah, I should have told you the first time we met,” he said. “It was Linda’s sister who had hired me to find her.’
Jennifer looked at him like he was crazy. “Linda doesn’t have a sister,” she said.
“Sure she does,” he said with a short laugh. “And… her name is not Linda. It’s actually Katie Pearson.”
“No, it isn’t,” Jennifer said. “I should know. I’ve known Linda since grade school.”
Callaway opened his mouth but then shut it. He quickly dialed the number Elle had given him and waited.
An automated message told him the number was no longer in service.
He stared at the phone in utter silence.
He got out of the squad car. “I have to go,” he said to Jennifer, and he rushed away.
ONE HUNDRED-TWO
Agent Schaefer gave a statement at the Milton Police Department. He confessed to helping Bruno Rocco access new IDs, but he vehemently denied helping Rocco in the murder of Isaiah Whitcomb or Cassandra Stevens. His flight itinerary confirmed that his arrival in Milton was after their deaths. Schaefer also took no responsibility for Bo Smith’s death. He held firm that Smith was alive when he left him at his apartment.
Schaefer’s weapon had already been sent to the lab. A bullet from his gun would be matched to the bullet found in Smith. They would know soon enough if he was telling the truth.
Fisher and Holt now believed Rocco might have had something to do with Smith’s demise. Smith was at the scene of Isaiah’s murder. Rocco may have wanted to tie up all loose ends before he left Milton for good.
An officer knocked on the door. Fisher left the interview room. When she returned, she said, “Agent Schaefer, do you know a man by the name of Cosimo?”
Schaefer’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I do.”
“Who is he?”
“He worked as a hit man for Paolo Beniti. We’ve been looking for him ever since we arrested Beniti and his associates.”
Fisher said, “We got an anonymous tip that Cosimo is in Milton. He was seen at a falafel shop earlier today.”
Schaefer’s eyes widened. “I was there today.”
“With Rocco?” Holt asked in a harsh voice.
Schaefer did not respond. But his silence told them he was.
Fisher said, “Does Cosimo have aliases?”
“Of course he does,” Schaefer replied. “That’s how he’s eluded us for so long.”
“Do you know any of them?”
“Sure, I guess.”
Fisher took down the names and began checking them on her phone. After a few minutes, she said, “Nothing.”
“If he had used any of them, the airlines would have flagged them,” Schaefer said.
Fisher mulled this over. “What’s Cosimo’s full name?”
“Cosimo Castigiano.”
Fisher checked. “There is an Enzo Castigiano who landed in Milton yesterday on an American Airlines flight from New Jersey.”
“Enzo Castigiano is his father’s name,” Schaefer said. “He died a long time ago. Cosimo must be using his ID as a cover.”
“And you wouldn’t believe this,” she said. “He just booked a return flight for later tonight.”
“You have to get him before he leaves Milton,” Schaefer said. “When Beniti found out Rocco had cut a deal with us, he put a bounty on his head. I’ll bet every penny that Cosimo finally caught up with Rocco and completed the hit.”
ONE HUNDRED-THREE
Callaway drove like a madman. It was bad enough he was nursing a hangover. He now also had to contend with a lump on his head.
He should have gone to the hospital. What if I’ve suffered brain damage? he thought.
He shook the absurd thought away. If his injury was serious, the paramedics would have taken him away in an ambulance.
He took a deep breath to calm himself. Nothing was making sense. His thoughts were all over the place.
What Jennifer Paulsingh told him had shaken him to the core. He was now on his way to Mayview to find out the truth.
He found a parking spot and raced into the apartment building. He took the elevator up and banged on Elle’s door.
“Elle!” he said. “It’s Lee. Open the door!”
He waited and banged his fist again. A neighbor popped his head out. He looked at Callaway suspiciously.
“Do you know if she’s in?” Callaway asked, pointing at the door.
The neighbor shook his head. “I don’t know. I was at work all day. Maybe you can ask the superintendent.”
“Where can I find him?”
“I’ll give you his number.”
After calling the superintendent, Callaway waited impatiently in the front lobby. A Hispanic man stepped out of the elevator. The man’s face was twisted into a scowl. He did not like being disturbed this late in the day.
Callaway explained that Elle was not answering her phone. He was worried for her health.
The superintendent took him back up to her floor. After knocking on the door a few times to make sure Elle was not asleep or bathing, he unlocked the door.
Callaway pushed past him and rushed inside. The living room was as he had last seen it. Clean, organized, and with nothing out of place.
He checked the bedroom and saw something on the bed. He picked it up and realized it was a black burqa, a piece of clothing used by Muslim women to cover themselves.
What the hell? he thought, utterly confused.
He checked the closet and saw a walking stick. He grabbed the stick when he noticed a pair of sunglasses and gloves on the floor. There was nothing else in the closet.
He went back out and found the superintendent standing in the apartment’s front hall. “Everything okay, sir?”
Without answering, Callaway moved away from him. He was in a daze as he went to the living room and dropped onto the sofa. His head was reeling when he put his hands over his face.
Things were now beginning to make sense. There was a reason he had never seen any photos of Linda with Elle.
Linda didn’t have a sister.
There were no text messages between the sisters either.
Linda had never even met Elle.
The first landlord had never heard of Katie.
Katie did not live there.
Her co-workers did not remember her at the fast food restaurant.
Katie never worked there.
No one had heard of Katie.
Katie did not exist.
Linda Eustace was not Katie Pearson.
He realized he was still holding Elle’s gloves in his hands. He always thought it was odd that someone who saw with their hands would keep them covered. He now understood why. There would be no fingerprints in the apartment. Nothing to lead them to the woman who had lived here.
He pulled his hands away and looked up at the ceiling. A thought circled his mind, one that would preoccupy him for a long time.
Who was Elle Pearson?
ONE HUNDRED-FOUR
Cosimo placed his belongings in
his carry-on and quickly scanned the hotel room for the last time. He did not have time to unpack much. There was no need really. He was only supposed to be there a few days. But there was always a concern that something left behind could lead back to him.
He was not going to take any chances. He had already wiped the room clean. No fingerprints, hair fibers, or items containing his DNA would be found.
All the news channels were talking about the death of Bruno Rocco. His body had been found by the side of a road. His death had been called suspicious, which was another way of saying it was a homicide.
Don Beniti will be pleased, he thought. Beniti doesn’t need to know all the details, only that Rocco’s finally dead.
Cosimo did not have time to plan this trip. Beniti’s call came out of nowhere. The video of the basketball player’s shooting had caught everyone by surprise, but it confirmed Bruno Rocco was still alive and living in Milton.
Cosimo would not want to walk away from the contract. This required him to use his father’s identifications to create a new one for himself on such short notice. It was a risky move, but he doubted the police had been able to put things together. By the time they did, he would be long gone.
He checked his watch. There was still some time before his flight out of Milton. He went to the balcony and lit a cigarette. The air was cool as he let out a thick cloud of smoke. He was taking another drag when something caught his attention.
Two police cruisers suddenly pulled up to the hotel’s entrance, followed by an unmarked police car. A man and a woman emerged from the car. Cosimo recognized them as the detectives investigating the Isaiah Whitcomb murder.
Cosimo was certain they had not seen him. He stubbed out the cigarette and placed the butt in his pocket. He was not going to leave the cigarette for someone to analyze later.
He went back inside the room. He checked his gun to make sure it was loaded. He grabbed his carry-on and left the room.
Instead of taking the elevator, he took the stairs. If they were here for him, they would block off all entrances and exits, including the elevators.
The stairs were still not the best option, but he had no choice. He had to get to the garage somehow.
He hurried down the steps two at a time. He reached the basement level and peeked through the door. His rental was at the far end of the garage. He had parked it there for a reason. It was further away from the cameras near the elevators.
He walked briskly through the garage.
He spotted a burly man standing by his vehicle. The man looked like one of the detectives.
Cosimo prepared to turn back.
Their eyes met.
The detective reached for his gun. Cosimo pulled out his and fired at the detective. The bullet hit the rear windshield, shattering it. The detective rolled on the concrete and returned fire. The car next to him shook as bullets penetrated the exterior.
Cosimo dropped the carry-on and ran in a full sprint in the opposite direction.
How did the detective know where my car was parked? he thought.
The only logical answer was that the detectives had contacted the hotel well in advance of their arrival. They knew which room he was staying in and how he was going to make his escape.
He raced down to the garage’s lower level. He realized there was no way he could leave the building on foot. Officers were likely stationed in every corner.
He would have to force his way out.
He saw a Mustang parked in a row of parked cars. He smashed the driver’s window with the butt of his gun. He wedged the gun in his belt and got behind the wheel. He jacked the car in less than thirty seconds.
He revved the Mustang out of the parking spot.
He saw a woman in the distance. He recognized her as the female detective.
She was blocking his way out.
He jammed his foot on the accelerator. The Mustang jerked forward and then raced toward her. As he got closer, he saw she was aiming her gun at him.
She fired a shot.
He tried to duck, but the bullet pierced through the windshield and lodged in his shoulder. He yelled in pain as he lost grip on the steering wheel. The Mustang spun three hundred and sixty degrees and smashed into another parked car. The alarm went off, blasting his ears.
He opened the door, got out, and fell to the concrete. He tried to get on his feet when he saw the male detective running toward him.
He drew his gun when he sensed movement to his right.
He turned and saw the female detective in a crouched position. Her weapon was aimed right at him.
He swung the gun in her direction.
A hail of bullets ripped through him.
Cosimo was dead before his head hit the concrete.
ONE HUNDRED-FIVE
The stadium was packed as thousands of students, professors, faculty members, and family gathered to honor the late Isaiah Whitcomb. The college had decided to retire Isaiah’s jersey.
A special scholarship was also set up in Isaiah’s name. Each year, it would be presented to a promising high school student who excelled in both sports and academics. The student should also be a role model and a good citizen: traits Isaiah embodied.
Dennis and Marjorie were in tears as they stood in the middle of the court to watch the officials raise Isaiah’s jersey up to the rafters.
Holt and Fisher were in the stands. Nancy could not make it. The excitement was too much for her, so Holt recorded everything on his cell phone. They would watch it together later at home.
The body in the lake was officially identified as belonging to Cassandra Stevens.
According to Special Agent Ed Schaefer, Rocco had confessed to killing Isaiah and placing the drugs on him to send the detectives on the wrong trail. He had tortured and killed Stevens because she had found out the truth about his identity. This proved Isaiah was not a drug dealer and that he was at the furniture store to help a woman in trouble. Isaiah’s relationship with a stripper had nothing to do with the fact that two young people had lost their lives at the hand of a cold-blooded killer.
Agent Schaefer was handed over to the FBI. They assured them an inquiry would be launched against Schaefer for his involvement in protecting Bruno Rocco. Holt seriously doubted anything would come out of it.
Schaefer’s investigation and Rocco’s statement had allowed the FBI to bring down Paolo Beniti. If the truth ever got out that Rocco had lied on the stand, their entire case against Beniti would fall to pieces. The FBI would never let that happen. Schaefer would most likely be forced to take early retirement.
There was a twist in the case. Cosimo’s gun was matched to the bullet found in Bo Smith. Schaefer was telling the truth when he insisted he had no idea how Smith had died. But Cosimo’s gun did not match the bullet found in Bruno Rocco. Cosimo may have disposed of the murder weapon prior to the police arriving at the hotel, but this was something they would likely never know.
Holt smiled as Marjorie waved and blew him a kiss.
Isaiah was no longer with them, but his spirit would live forever.
ONE HUNDRED-SIX
One month later
The house was surrounded by a large garden and had a pine tree on the front lawn. The street was lined with mailboxes and white picket fences. The neighborhood looked like it had come straight out of a postcard.
He rang the doorbell and waited. A woman answered the door. She had gray hair, wrinkles around her neck, and deep brown eyes.
“Are you here to take her away?” she asked, a look of concern over her.
“I’m not sure,” Callaway replied.
He had called before coming, so his arrival was not unexpected.
“She’s a good girl,” the woman added. “I’m her mother, and she did it for me.”
“Can I speak to her?” he asked.
She studied him for a moment, trying to discern his intentions.
“She’s waiting for you in the solarium,” she said.
Callaway wal
ked through the house to a room in the back. The room was covered in glass. There were pots and plants in each corner. In the middle was a small table with two chairs.
A woman was seated in one of the chairs. Her dark shoulder-length hair was showing roots of natural blonde. Her shirt was snug on her slim body, and her sharp green eyes were staring directly at him.
“Hello, Elle,” he said.
“Lee,” she replied.
“You look… different,” he said.
“I’m sure I do.”
He took a seat across from her.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
“It’s not difficult when you know where to look,” he replied. “I had to go back to the beginning. I had to strip away everything I knew or thought I knew.”
“And what did you know?” she asked.
“That you were looking for your sister,” he said. “But in reality, all along you were looking for someone else.”
“Who was I looking for?” she asked, quizzing him.
He smiled. “Bruno Rocco.”
She nodded.
“He had come up in our search for your sister, when in fact, he had nothing to do with her disappearance. The moment I knew this, everything started to make sense. Rocco had been hired by Paolo Beniti to take out Anthony ‘Fatboy’ Carvalho. Carvalho was going to snitch on Beniti to the FBI. How ironic that in the end, it was Rocco who ended up snitching on Beniti to the feds. The hit was supposed to have been quick and clean. Drive up to the restaurant where Carvalho was having his meal and put a bullet in his head. I saw the video. Rocco ended up bungling it royally. He gave Carvalho the opportunity to return fire. A waitress ended up being killed in the shoot-out.” Callaway paused and slowly added, “Her name was Katherine Woodward. She left behind a father, a mother, and an older sister. That sister’s name was Eleanor Woodward.”
Elle nodded again.
“It made sense that you chose names that were easy to remember,” Callaway continued. “‘Katie’ for Katherine, and ‘Elle’ for Eleanor. It allowed you to keep your story straight when you arrived in Milton. It also allowed you to manipulate me for your own purposes.”
The Lee Callaway Boxed Set Page 45