“There was something I wanted to do the moment you gave me the money,” Callaway replied.
“Like what?”
“I’ll show you.”
They got in the Impala and drove straight to Julio’s shop. They found Julio working underneath a red Corvette. He stood up, wiped his greasy hands on a piece of cloth, and said, “Lee, I have no jobs for you today.”
“I’m actually here for the Charger,” Callaway said.
Julio paused. “You know I can’t let you take it without settling the bill, right?”
Callaway pulled out the envelope, removed a stack of hundreds, and handed it to Julio. “That should cover it.”
Julio counted the money. A smile broke across his face. He escorted them to the corner of the shop. “I even polished and waxed it just for you,” he said.
The car glistened under the fluorescent lights. Callaway had to admit, the Charger looked far better now than it did before it was damaged. Julio had taken extra care of it, just like he promised.
“This is Jimmy Keith,” Callaway said, introducing the two.
“Nice place you got here,” Jimmy said. He then pulled out his business card. “If you ever need information on your competition, you give me a call.”
Julio took the card and said, “Lee said the same thing to me the last time he was here.”
Jimmy smiled. “Great minds think alike.”
Callaway got in the driver’s seat. He placed his hands on the steering wheel. He inhaled. Even the interior smelled like new.
While he was learning the ropes with Jimmy, a case came through that Jimmy thought Callaway should take on alone. It was a simple case. A client wanted dirt on her cheating husband. They were in the process of a messy divorce, and she wanted a leg up on him. Callaway spent weeks tailing the husband. He found that the husband was not with one but three mistresses. He also caught the husband removing furniture and valuables from a property the court had frozen until all assets were accounted for. The information Callaway provided enabled the client to get a generous divorce settlement. The client’s husband was a collector of cars. His garage was filled with some of the rarest automobiles on the planet. The wife despised the collection. Her husband was known to spend more time with them than with her. For a job well done, she offered Callaway his choice of any car. Callaway could have taken a Lamborghini, a Maserati, or even a McLaren, but he selected a car that was relegated to the back of the garage.
The Dodge Charger spoke to him, like it was made for him. Jimmy was livid when he heard Callaway had opted to choose the Charger over the likes of a Maserati, but Callaway didn’t care. He knew he would end up selling a fancy car, but the Charger he would keep for life.
He turned the ignition. The Charger roared to life. He revved it a few times, and he could feel the power.
“You like the sound?” Julio asked over the noise.
“I love it. Thanks, Julio.”
Jimmy got in the passenger seat and they drove out of the shop. When they were on the road, Jimmy asked, “You got any money left over?”
“Yeah, sure, about a grand.”
Jimmy smiled. “We did something for you. Now why don’t we do something for me?”
“What do you have in mind?”
FORTY-EIGHT
Fisher walked down the street and frowned. She was at Yonge Avenue, and she had already knocked on a dozen doors. She showed a photo of Dillon Scott to the owners and employees of each establishment. They all knew who Scott was. They just didn’t remember seeing him on the night of his death.
She had considered requesting that patrol officers canvas the area, but she wasn’t sure what Scott’s visit to Yonge Avenue had to do with his murder.
What if he was here to shop? she thought. The street had a nice collection of businesses, and tourists were known to visit here.
She felt a headache coming on. She was hoping someone had seen him and could help fill in the blanks for her—the biggest blank being the time he left his home and the time he returned.
Why did he leave in the first place? Who was he meeting? Did this person ultimately murder Scott?
She made her way back to her SUV. She passed a bar she had parked in front of the last time she was here, but she remembered it was closed at the time.
She decided to go inside. She found the bartender behind the counter. He was a short man with wrinkles all over his hands and face. His eyes were dull and gray. “What can I get you, little lady?” he asked.
She flashed her badge. “I’m on duty, but I got a question for you.”
“I hope I got the right answer for you,” he said with a smile.
She held up Scott’s photo. “Did you by any chance see this man in your bar?”
“I sure did.”
Fisher arched an eyebrow. “You did?”
“Yeah, he came in wearing these large sunglasses, but the moment he ordered a drink, I knew who he was.”
“What did he order?” Fisher asked, curious.
“Gin and tonic.”
“And how long was he here?”
“Twenty minutes, I guess. He sat at the end of the bar, all the way in the corner. He spoke to a woman. He then got up and left.”
Was this woman the person Scott was here to meet? she thought.
“You have security cameras?” she asked.
“Of course I do. I’d be stupid not to. You gotta take security seriously these days. And I even have a shotgun under the counter. And before you ask, I’ve got my firearm license over there.” He pointed to a photo frame on the wall behind him. “I thought I’d put it up so that people would know I’m armed and ready to defend what’s mine.”
“Okay,” Fisher said. “Can you show me the footage?”
He took her to a small windowless room. Bankers Boxes lined the walls. They likely contained invoices and documents. In the middle of the room was a table with a keyboard and monitor on it. “The system is easy to use,” the bar owner said. “You punch in the time and date, and it will show you what you want to see. It’s all saved on the cloud, so you can go back at least a month.”
“You’re not staying?” she asked.
“I’m the only one in today. One of my employees is sick, so I had to get someone else to come in at the last minute. They’re on their way, but until then, someone’s gotta serve the customers. Don’t worry, if you get stuck, come to the front and let me know.”
“Thanks,” she said, taking a seat.
She played with the controls. The owner was right; the system was easy to navigate. The taxi receipt had said 7:20 PM. It was reasonable to assume that upon arriving at Yonge Avenue, Scott may have gone straight to the bar to meet whoever he was here to meet. She hoped it was the woman the owner had mentioned.
She punched in the time and date and watched the image on the screen instantly change. The camera was placed behind the counter with a panoramic view of the entire establishment. The image was black and white with no audio, but it was sharp and high-quality.
The owner was behind the counter. Two people were seated by the bar with drinks in front of them. A girl wearing an apron was taking drinks to a couple at a table by the windows.
She must be the employee the owner was talking about, Fisher thought.
Fisher waited eagerly for Scott to enter. As the clock ticked to seven forty-five, she got the feeling Scott had not come directly to the bar as she had initially thought.
She fast-forwarded the footage. People zoomed past the camera at high speeds. At precisely eight thirty-four, Scott appeared on the screen.
She played the footage at normal speed.
Scott made his way to the bar, spoke to the owner, and then moved to the far end.
Even though he was farther away, she could see he still had on his sunglasses, just as the owner said. His drink arrived and he gulped it down in one breath. His chin dropped to his chest, and he moved his hand through his hair. The movement reminded Fisher of someone who was under a
lot of stress.
She squinted at the screen. On the taxi CCTV camera, she had clearly seen Scott carrying a backpack, but now it was not with him.
“What did you do with it?” she muttered to herself.
A woman approached Scott. They exchanged a few words. She then sat next to him on a stool and they began to talk. Their conversation lasted not even five minutes before he abruptly got up, said something to her, and stormed out of the bar.
Fisher wished she knew what was said, but it didn’t matter.
She knew who the woman was, and she knew where to find her.
FORTY-NINE
Callaway and Jimmy were at a table at the Woodbine Racetrack. Callaway had his head buried in his drink. Jimmy, on the other hand, had a smile on his face.
“I can’t believe we lost over a grand,” Callaway said.
Jimmy slapped him on the back. “Come on, kid. Don’t tell me you’ve lost your nerve? We used to lose more than that on a single horse.”
“Yeah, sure, but it’s still a lot of money.”
“We’ll find a way to get it back, Lee,” Jimmy said.
Callaway took a deep breath and then exhaled.
“We always bounce back, don’t we?” Jimmy added.
“I’m not so sure anymore.”
“We’re survivors, kid. We’ll be fine.”
Callaway took a sip from his glass. “I’m thinking of quitting, Jimmy.”
“I don’t blame you. The last across-the-board wager was a terrible choice. Our horse was dead last.”
“I don’t mean the race.”
Jimmy stared at him. “Then what?”
“I’m thinking of shutting down the PI business.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Things have been really slow, and I’m tired of always hustling for new cases. People no longer value the service we provide.”
“Let me tell you something, Lee,” Jimmy said. “They’ve never valued it, ever. You know why? Because they don’t know what we can do for them. They think just because we don’t have a badge, we can’t solve a mystery. We can and we do. This gig is like any business. It has its ups and downs. When things go well, you have a great time. When they don’t, it’s not much fun.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. I’m not sure how long I can keep looking forward to the good times. Even when they do come, they don’t last for long. I mean, until I got the Frank Henderson job, I had not had a case in almost a month. That’s a long time to be without work.”
Jimmy nodded. “If you quit, then what would you do?” he asked.
“I have no idea,” Callaway admitted. “My last long-term job was as a deputy sheriff, and that was years ago.”
Jimmy leaned closer and put his hand on Callaway’s shoulder. “If you’ve already made up your mind, then I’m not going to try to convince you to change it. What I will say is that you are made for this business, kid. You have a knack for it that most people don’t. Believe me, I’ve met quite a few people who think this gig is about sitting in your car, taking photos, and getting paid. It’s more than that. It requires a ton of patience, knowing where to be and when, and also knowing when to show your cards and when to fold them.”
Callaway understood what he meant by the last statement. He had the discretion to withhold information if he felt it necessary. He did that when it involved a woman named Elle Pearson.
They sipped their drinks in silence.
Jimmy stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. When he smoothed it out, he said, “Hey, look what I found.”
“Is that a hundred-dollar bill?” Callaway asked, surprised.
Jimmy grinned. “You feeling lucky, kid?”
“Um… I think maybe we should call it a night.”
“Don’t be a wimp,” Jimmy said, getting up from his chair. “This is a sign from Heaven. It’s telling us we can win back all that we lost tonight.”
Callaway wasn’t sure, but Jimmy’s enthusiasm was infectious. “All right, one last wager, okay?”
Jimmy laughed. “That’s the Lee Callaway I know!”
FIFTY
Becky got off the bus and walked the two blocks to her house. When she opened the door, she said, “Mom, I’m home!”
She could tell from the lights inside the house that her mom had returned from work. She found her at the dining table.
“How was the clinic?” her mom asked.
Becky worked at the veterinary clinic. It had started off as a volunteer position, but after her dad died, the veterinarian turned it into a paying position. It was only part-time, but it helped cover a bit of the mortgage.
Becky headed straight for the fridge and scanned for something to eat. “I’m starving,” she said.
Her mom pointed to a pot on the counter. “There’s beef stew for dinner. You can warm up however much you like.”
Becky filled her bowl to the top and then nuked it in the microwave. She said, “A Good Samaritan brought in a stray dog. The poor thing was malnourished, and it looked like someone had abused it.”
“Oh my god,” her mom said.
“We took it in, of course, and we put it on IV fluids so that it could regain its strength.” The microwave beeped. Becky grabbed a spoon and dove into the bowl. She then went over to the dining table and sat next to her mom. “What’re you looking at?” she asked with a mouthful of stew.
“It’s just some brochures.”
Becky made a face. “What kind of brochures?”
“I was thinking, now that we’ve had this good luck, why don’t we think about what school you want to go to when you graduate high school?”
“Mom, I still have another year to go.”
“But your dad—”
Becky put her hand up. “I know, Mom. Dad never got the chance to go to college because Grandma came down with leukemia…”
“…and your grandfather had abandoned them when your dad was still a baby. Don’t forget that,” her mom said.
Becky was quiet.
“Honey,” her mom said in a soothing voice, “your grandmother raised your father on her own. When she fell ill, your father dropped out of school to take care of her and run the house.”
Becky exhaled. “You’ve told me this story a dozen times. I know it by heart now.”
“What you don’t know is that these brochures were ordered by your dad before you even went to high school.”
Becky looked away.
“I know you have your heart set on becoming a vet,” her mom said, “but you should also look at other professions.”
“But I like animals,” she said.
“Just think about it.” Her mom held up a brochure. “You can go to Harvard, Yale, or Stanford. We have the money to pay for a better education.”
“I’m going to my room. Good night, Mom.”
She stormed upstairs, taking the bowl of stew with her.
FIFTY-ONE
The tower rose five hundred feet into the sky. The exterior was covered in bronze glass consisting of more than twelve thousand windows. Each pane had cost over a hundred dollars at the time of the building’s construction. From a distance, it looked like a gold bar that was specifically brought over from Fort Knox.
The lobby had twenty-five-foot-high ceilings, brown stone marble floors, and light strategically placed to give it a regal feel.
Fisher sat in the waiting area. There were two sofas and one chair. Across from her was a young man dressed in a suit with a folder on his lap. He looked anxious and excited. He was likely here for a job interview.
Her theory turned out to be right when a woman appeared from the elevator a minute later. She was wearing a blouse, skirt, and high heels. She approached the man, shook his hand, and then escorted him to the elevator. They then disappeared from view.
Fisher checked her watch but made no comment. She was here on short notice.
The elevator doors opened. A woman came out and approached her. “I’m so s
orry to keep you waiting, Detective Fisher,” she said.
She was young, attractive, and wearing a white top and blue jeans. Her name was Cameron Kilgane, and she was a reporter for the Milton Morning newspaper.
“I had an important call to take,” Cameron said, “and it went longer than I had hoped.”
“That’s all right,” Fisher said.
“So, why does someone from the Milton PD want to speak to me?” Cameron asked.
“It’s about Dillon Scott.”
Cameron’s face narrowed. “Okay.”
“The night before Mr. Scott was found dead, he had gone to a bar on Yonge Avenue, and he had spoken to you there.”
“How did you find that out?” Cameron asked, surprised.
“The bar has CCTV cameras, so there is footage of you together.”
“Oh, right, of course.” She rubbed her forehead. “Yes, we did speak, but it was brief.”
“Why didn’t you come forward with this information?” Fisher asked.
“I didn’t see the need to.”
“Mr. Scott was found dead only a few hours later.”
“If you think I had something to do with it, then you’re wrong.”
“How can I be sure?”
“If you saw the footage, you’ll see that after Dillon Scott had left the bar, I was still there for another hour.”
“Was he there to meet you?” Fisher asked.
Cameron looked confused. “Was that the reason he was at Yonge Avenue?”
Like any good reporter, Cameron was now prodding Fisher for information. Fisher said, “I was hoping you would tell me.”
“I was surprised to see him at the bar. It’s not every day you bump into movie stars in Milton.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what were you doing at the bar?”
“I was at Yonge Avenue covering the premier of a new film. Afterwards, I decided to go to the bar to type up my story for the morning edition. It was then that I saw Dillon Scott, and I decided to approach him.”
“What did you talk about?” Fisher asked.
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