Callaway shook his head. “It sounds plausible, but I don’t think that’s what happened.”
“Why not?”
“If the blackmailer already knew where Scott lived, then why not just go there and pick up the money himself? Also, I don’t think the blackmailer would expose himself to Scott out of fear that Scott would turn him in to the police.”
“What if the blackmailer had something on Scott that would prevent him from going to the police in the first place?” Jimmy asked.
“True, but then why go through the trouble of driving to Yonge Avenue, dropping the backpack under a park bench, and then leaving?” Callaway replied.
Jimmy thought for a moment. “You’ve got a point there.”
“Also,” Callaway added, “we don’t know who this blackmailer is, and so we have no idea where to find him, but we do know something about this girl. She got in the same taxi with Scott. We find this girl, and she might tell us more about what happened that night.”
“How do we do that?”
“Simple. We have the license plate number. We contact the taxi driver and we get access to his CCTV footage.”
“Okay, but how does the footage from the taxi help us identify this girl?” Jimmy asked.
Callaway pondered this. “The witness said the girl looked like a fan. Let’s assume that Scott had offered to share the taxi with her. If he did, then the taxi driver must have dropped her off somewhere, presumably at her house.”
“What if he dropped her off at the bus stop or subway station?”
“Even if the taxi driver dropped her off somewhere other than her house, the footage from the taxi will still be useful. Fisher can release it to the press in order for someone to identify her.”
They were silent for a moment.
Jimmy broke into a smile. “Good job, kid. I knew you still had it in you. That whole bit with Frank Henderson had me worried. I thought you had lost your touch and were now scraping the bottom of the barrel for any case that came through your door.”
“I was desperate and still am,” Callaway corrected him. “The five hundred dollars Betty Henderson gave me was a lifesaver at the time.”
“I’m sure it was. Don’t get me wrong, but you have it in you to do greater things. The way you see the forest for the trees. Even I can’t do that at times,” Jimmy said. “I get obsessed about minor details. But you, you see the bigger picture. Nice work.”
Callaway didn’t know why, but his chest swelled with pride. Jimmy rarely showered praise, and to have Jimmy compliment him like that meant a lot to him. Callaway felt like a boy who had shown his father that he can be a man too.
“We have to go tell Fisher,” Callaway said. “I think it might be better if we do it in person.”
Jimmy pulled out his cell phone. After reading a message, he frowned.
“Everything okay?” Callaway asked.
“Yeah, yeah, everything is fine. Why don’t you go meet Fisher and I’ll see you later.”
Callaway stopped the Charger by the side of the road. Jimmy got out, waved goodbye, and walked away.
It was typical of Jimmy to disappear unexpectedly. Callaway could have queried Jimmy as to where he was going, but the old man would have quipped, There’s a reason I didn’t get married. I didn’t want my wife asking me too many questions, so don’t start asking me questions, either.
Callaway shook his head and drove away.
SIXTY-SEVEN
Osman had just gotten off the phone with his contact. As agreed, Osman had dropped off his contact’s share of the money in the bathroom at the Bayview Central train station. The cellophane-wrapped bundle of cash was placed inside the toilet bowl of stall number three. His contact would know where to find it.
Osman had considered skipping down with all the money, but his contact knew his identity. Osman doubted his contact would expose him if he did that. It was his contact’s plan to blackmail Dillon Scott, after all. But his contact owed money to the wrong people, which made him a desperate man. There was no telling what he would do—even go to the police and squeal on him if Osman tried to swindle him.
The police would believe his contact over a low-level drug dealer, but Osman had taken precautions. Even though he used a prepaid phone as his contact had instructed him, Osman had recorded all their telephone conversations.
In his line of work, you only watched your back and no one else’s. Backstabbers were all too common. This made him suspicious of those around him. It was also how he survived on the streets this long.
His contact had told him to destroy the prepaid phone, but Osman would do no such thing. He would keep it, along with everything else he had on his contact.
His contact had set up the entire blackmail scheme, and Osman followed it to perfection. Osman had called Dillon Scott and told him to bring the money to a park in Milton. Osman would have preferred to have him deliver the money in Bayview, but his contact believed a change of venue was for the best. It would keep Scott on his toes.
Also, if Scott decided to involve the police or the FBI, the new location would require extra time to mobilize a new plan. By then, Osman would have picked up the money or, at the very least, known something was up and aborted the mission.
Osman walked out of the train station and straight to a bus stop. He knew the station had cameras at every corner. They would capture his license plate number if he drove here.
When his contact had instructed him to wrap the money in cellophane and leave it in the bathroom, Osman rolled his eyes. It was too over the top, akin to something he had seen in the movies.
But now he realized why all the extra steps were necessary. His contact was protecting himself, but in a different way, he was also protecting Osman. If someone caught them together, they would be guilty by association. By separating their actions, nothing would lead back to either of them.
Osman cared little for what happened to his contact, but he cared immensely about what happened to him. If his contact was being careful, so would Osman.
His contact was pleased, though, when Osman had told him Tamara was out of the picture. After Scott’s death, she was no longer useful in their plans. She had to be taken care of before she became a bigger problem for either of them.
Osman had initially offered to get rid of her for a fee, but it was his contact who had devised a plan to get money out of Scott. It was a risky move, one even Osman would have hesitated making. Tamara knew too much, and what she knew would send his contact to prison for life.
Tamara’s death had not appeared in the newspapers, which told him the police did not suspect foul play.
The bus approached the stop. Osman lined up to get inside.
He smiled.
The job was done, and he was glad to leave it behind him. He could now take his share of the money and do whatever he wanted with his life.
SIXTY-EIGHT
Callaway returned to his office and sat down behind his desk. He was fortunate to catch Fisher at the Milton PD. She had just returned from Bayview. She was unable to get much information on Gail Roberts’s death. Callaway could see her disappointment. Fisher took her job seriously. She wanted to help him and, in the process, also help Jimmy with his case.
Callaway had asked if she found anything on Scott’s blackmail. She told him she had discovered that the money had come from Scott’s business partner, Brad Kirkman. This solved the mystery as to how Scott got his hands on the cash, but it still did not solve who the blackmailer was.
Callaway then told Fisher about the girl who was last seen getting in a taxi with Scott. He also gave her the taxi cab’s license plate number. The moment Fisher heard this, she was out the door. She didn’t even wave goodbye.
Callaway smiled. The excitement on her face was worth telling her in person. Sometimes detective work or PI work required a heavy dose of luck. If that man on Yonge Avenue had not approached Callaway and Jimmy, they would not have caught a break.
The girl in the taxi was
the key to this whole investigation. Callaway had no doubt Fisher would find her, and quick.
He turned on his laptop to check his messages.
He heard footsteps coming up the stairs.
His smile widened. Jimmy’s back so soon, he thought.
His smile dropped when he saw it was his landlady. Ms. Chen was short, slim, and she had her hair tied into a ponytail. She wore a loose dress, heels, and around her neck was a string necklace which had a small marble animal. According to the Chinese calendar, Ms. Chen was born in the year of the dog.
Per Ms. Chen, people born in the year of the dog were cautious, and they did not trust very easily, but when they did, they were loyal to a fault.
Callaway never gave her much reason to trust him. He was always feeding her lies about when he would have the rent money, or when he would do something he agreed to do. Ms. Chen owned the noodle restaurant below his office. He once offered to help her clean out the restaurant’s freezer. He was way behind on rent, and it was his way to repay her. Instead of doing the work, however, he avoided her like the Black Plague.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Chen?” he asked.
“Someone wants to see you. They are in the restaurant,” she replied.
“Who?”
“I don’t know, but they bring their whole family and they eat a lot of food. You bring more people like that, and I’ll think about giving you a discount on your rent.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
She laughed. “Of course not. Your rent is already too cheap. You want to pay no rent?”
“That would be nice.”
“In your dreams, buddy.”
She turned around and disappeared down the stairs.
He frowned. He was not expecting anyone. The frown quickly turned into a smile. If these people ordered a lot of food, then that means they have money, he thought.
He rushed downstairs. When he entered the restaurant, he found Frank and Betty Henderson seated at a table with their four children. Frank stood up the moment he saw him. He came over and shook his hand.
“I’m not sure what you did, Mr. Callaway,” he said, smiling, “but Sandra and Carl quit the company, and they even forgave my loan before they left.”
“Hey, that’s great news,” Callaway said. “I’m so happy for you.”
Betty came over with tears in her eyes. She gave him a big hug. “Thank you for giving me back my husband and for not letting my family fall apart.”
Callaway’s eyes moistened too. The Hendersons were good people who never wanted to harm anyone. They were just pushed into a difficult situation where they had no choice but to work with bad people.
Frank stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “This is for you, Mr. Callaway.”
Callaway stared at it. “What is it?”
“Betty gave you five hundred, which I know was not nearly enough for the service you provided. It’s not a lot, but we managed to come up with another five hundred as our appreciation for what you did for us.”
Callaway opened his mouth but no words came out. He choked up. He had done work for the rich and wealthy. What he dug up for them in the course of his investigations enabled them to get a significant divorce settlement. Even then, some of those people would try to cheat him out of his fees. The Hendersons had very little, but they were willing to give whatever they had.
“Thank you,” he said, taking the envelope.
SIXTY-NINE
Callaway went back up to his office in a euphoric daze. Not only was he able to help nice people, he was also compensated for it. The additional five hundred was nothing to crow about, but it was money he desperately needed.
Normally he would go to a bar and celebrate, but he didn’t want to burn through a significant chunk on alcohol. Now he could meet his obligations and still have some left over until his next case.
The laptop was fully booted, and he decided to quickly check his emails. Luck had struck him twice already. First there was the girl in the taxi with Dillon Scott, and now the Hendersons appearing out of nowhere to give him money. He wanted to see if he could ride this luck out.
He quickly went through the messages and sighed. People were asking about his services, but none of the prospects sounded promising. While the Hendersons’ case turned out well for everyone involved, he did not want another case where the financial reward was minimal.
He heard footsteps coming up the stairs.
Did my landlady see Frank give me the money? Callaway suddenly thought. Does she want her rent now?
To his relief, it was Jimmy. He was out of breath as he came over and sat on the sofa next to him.
“You need to exercise,” Callaway said.
“I need to retire,” Jimmy said.
“I don’t know how you can.” Like him, Jimmy did not have a pension plan. Callaway doubted if he even had any savings. “You can start by slowing down.”
Jimmy nodded. “I saw your landlady on my way over. She seemed pleasant.”
“Only today,” Callaway said.
“Was that Frank I saw in the restaurant?” Jimmy asked.
“Yep, and he gave me another five hundred for all the hard work I did.”
“You mean we did,” Jimmy said.
Callaway paused. “You want half, like we used to?”
Jimmy laughed. “I’m only busting your balls. It’s all yours, kid. But you wanna go down to the bar and celebrate?”
Great minds think alike, Callaway thought. “I think I’m going to hold on to this money,” he said. “I’ve had enough fun to last me a while.”
“Fair enough,” Jimmy said, wiping sweat from his forehead.
Callaway’s phone buzzed. He answered. He listened, spoke, and then after five minutes, he hung up with a frown.”
“What’s wrong?” Jimmy asked, concerned.
“It was Fisher.”
“And?”
“She was able to track down the driver from the license plate number, but the driver said he had already provided his taxi’s CCTV footage to another detective.”
Jimmy shot up from the sofa. “Which detective?”
“The driver’s not sure, but he said the detective took the entire data storage unit as evidence.”
“How’s that even possible?”
“The driver is a new immigrant. He barely spoke English, so he had no idea who Dillon Scott was or that he was with a girl. Fisher pushed him, but he kept saying he gets a lot of passengers during his shift and he doesn’t pay too much attention to them,” Callaway replied. “Maybe that’s why this detective was able to convince the driver to hand over the footage without much protest.”
Jimmy’s mouth was open. “So what are you saying? We don’t have anything on who this girl might be?”
Callaway didn’t want the old man to have a heart attack. He smiled and said, “Fortunately, the vehicle is affiliated with a taxi corporation. All footage is transmitted wirelessly to their main office. The backup is stored for thirty days. It is wiped clean after that period. Fisher will visit the main office first thing in the morning. She assured me she will have the footage soon enough.”
Jimmy exhaled. “Well, that’s good to hear. I still say we go and celebrate.”
“Jimmy…” Callaway began to protest. He could feel the envelope with the money burning a hole in his pocket.
“Relax, kid,” Jimmy said as he pulled a fifty-dollar bill from his sock. “I keep this for emergencies, and for times when I need to reward myself. If you’re interested, drinks on me.”
Callaway smiled. “In that case, count me in.”
SEVENTY
Callaway groaned as an unpleasant sound pounded in his ears. He grumbled and then blinked a few times to clear the fog from his eyes.
The sound did not cease, getting louder by the minute.
How’s that even possible? he thought.
He squinted and looked around. He was on the bed in his hotel room. He tried to get up,
but a sharp pain pierced his skull. The noise stopped, and he shut his eyes to let his mind adjust.
He had a splitting headache. He knew why. The night before, after leaving the office, he and Jimmy had gone to the bar around the corner. They were only supposed to have one drink, but they were having so much fun that they ended up having one too many.
I can’t do this every time I go out, he thought.
When he saw he was wearing no shoes, he jumped off the bed. He felt dizzy. He placed his hand on the wall for support and then searched for his boots. He found them next to the front door.
There were a few times when he had lost his shoes while out drinking. Once, it was during a blizzard. It was still a mystery as to how he made it to his house without them. He was glad he didn’t lose any toes to frostbite.
He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes. He remembered leaving the bar with Jimmy. He also remembered walking with Jimmy to his hotel room.
A thought hit him like a thunderbolt. He instinctively reached for his jacket. He let out a long sigh of relief. The envelope with the money was still in the inside pocket. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Jimmy. Callaway was worried he might have spent all the money at the bar.
Callaway was a happy drunk, and he was known to give generous tips. There were times when he would return to the bar the next day and beg the owner or bartender to return the tips. This would not go over too well, and the people who received the tips would downright refuse. They had earned the money, after all. Some, however, would pity his situation and agree. They must have thought he was a no-good drunk who was used to throwing all his money away on booze.
He went into the bathroom, washed up, and returned to the bed. He searched his jacket pocket again and found the culprit that broke his sleep: his cell phone.
The Lee Callaway Boxed Set Page 61