The Lee Callaway Boxed Set

by Thomas Fincham

“What did you want him to say? ‘I killed a man, and I want you to help me get away with it?’”

  He opened his mouth, but he had no reply. She had a point. She always did.

  “Jimmy was in a tough position. He did what anyone would do when faced with a difficult situation. You said yourself that it was an accident, that Jimmy never went to the house to hurt him.”

  “I would have helped him if he’d asked.”

  “How?” Patti asked.

  Again, Callaway had no reply.

  “If you had helped him, that would have made you accessory to murder. By hiding the truth from you, he was also protecting you.”

  Callaway wasn’t ready to hear that. He was angry, and he was using it as fuel to despise Jimmy. He didn’t want her words to take that away from him.

  He stood up. “I have to go.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know, but I can’t stay here.”

  “You can have dinner with us tonight,” she offered. “I know Nina would be so happy to see you.”

  He shrugged as he moved to the front door. He turned to her. “You didn’t have to do this, but thank you.”

  She smiled. “If you change your mind, you’re welcome to drop by.”

  SEVENTY-NINE

  Fisher was not surprised to see a throng of reporters gathered outside the Milton P.D. After Cameron Kilgane broke the news of Jimmy’s arrest, other news outlets quickly picked up on the story. Fisher’s cell phone had been ringing nonstop. The press wanted a quote or a short sound bite. Her friends wanted to know the details of how it had gone down. Even Holt had left her several messages.

  Fisher didn’t answer any of the calls, nor did she reply to her messages. She was not prepared to say anything about the case.

  She parked her SUV in the back of the police station and took the elevator up to the squad room.

  Jimmy had confessed to killing Dillon Scott, but he never confessed to blackmailing him. Fisher had pressed him on it, but he was adamant he had no idea.

  Scott had gone to Yonge Avenue with a backpack full of cash. He could not have done this without specific instructions. So who was this person blackmailing him? she thought. And what did he have on Scott that made him agree to pull out fifty thousand from his production company’s bank account and hand it over?

  She shook her head. She should forget about the blackmail. Scott was dead, and his killer was in custody. That was all that mattered. Who cared if there was another layer to this mystery? She should just close the case and move on to a dozen other cases that required her attention.

  On her way to the Milton PD, she had stopped over at Scott’s house. The crowd at the front gates had quadrupled since her previous visit. The press was obviously there for a story, but Scott’s fans and even curious spectators wanted one last chance to be at the spot where Scott was found dead. With a suspect in custody, they could sense the end was near.

  Once Jimmy was charged and convicted, the entire case would be relegated to the back pages of many newspapers. In a year, Scott’s murder would be a distant memory. Something else would occupy the public’s conscience. Scott would forever be remembered as a great actor who met an unfortunate end.

  There was a reason for Fisher’s visit to Scott’s house, though. She wanted a section of the carpet where Jimmy had allegedly thrown up after realizing he had killed Scott. The carpet had already been cleaned with bleach, which would make it difficult to get a DNA match, but it would prove Jimmy had tried to dispose of the evidence. The wine glasses were not recoverable. Jimmy had tossed them over the cliff too. The glasses had also been wiped clean of fingerprints, and they too were wrapped in a towel, but unlike the bookend, they had not survived the fall.

  It was her job to build a case against him whether she liked it or not. The prosecutor would then weigh the evidence and determine a reasonable sentence to put before a judge. She would request leniency, but she feared the public outcry would be too much to ignore. They would argue that a famous star was brutally taken away in his prime—even though, truth be told, Scott’s career was on a downward trajectory. Regardless, optics mattered in a high-profile case like this, and Fisher worried that the state attorney might not consider her opinions.

  Fisher hoped Callaway was able to convince Jimmy to seek out counsel. Without legal help, Jimmy was looking at spending the rest of his life behind bars.

  EIGHTY

  After leaving Patti’s house, Callaway had driven to his office, but the mere thought of being stuck inside a windowless room suffocated him. He wanted to be outside, another reason why he didn’t stay at Patti’s. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

  He figured a quick stroll around the block would cheer him up. It did not. Instead, he walked aimlessly down the streets for almost an hour. Where was he going? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care.

  He had passed several bars, but he never once considered going in. Patti had pulled him out of one. Had she not shown up, he would have drunk himself into oblivion. When he got going with the booze, he didn’t know when to stop. While he was married, there were times when Patti had to literally carry him home from the bar. It wasn’t that Callaway was an alcoholic, he just didn’t have much self-control. This trait was what got him in trouble. With booze, with money, with women, he just couldn’t help himself.

  It would be so easy to fall back into the trap of just one drink, but he owed it to Patti not to. When he thought about it, he owed her a lot. She gave him the freedom he so coveted. Others would have hung it around his neck like a leash. But not her.

  He still didn’t know what she saw in him that made her marry him. It wasn’t Nina. She came a year after they tied the knot.

  The two happiest days of his life were when he got married and when Nina was born. But that happiness didn’t last long, and it had nothing to do with either Patti or Nina. It had everything to do with him. His restlessness took over.

  He was feeling restless right then. He couldn’t sit at Patti’s, and he couldn’t sit in his office. The bar was out of the question, so where should he go? Maybe to his hotel room, but then do what? Watch TV? Sleep?

  He had to do something to keep him busy. His mind was all over the place, and each time he tried to focus, his mind came back to Jimmy.

  Callaway had always wanted to follow in the man’s footsteps. He wanted to be him. Now he loathed him.

  Jimmy was a criminal!

  Patti may have been right when she said Jimmy kept Callaway in the dark because he didn’t want him implicated in the murder. But then why show up at his office in the first place? Jimmy ought to have known Callaway would help him and end up becoming part of the narrative.

  Callaway was grateful that Fisher didn’t question him as to how much he knew of Scott’s murder. Jimmy was Callaway’s friend, and he had introduced him to Fisher. She would be right to be suspicious of him. But she was not. She could see the shock and pain in his eyes.

  Jimmy had betrayed him!

  He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and took a deep breath. He could not fall apart here. There were too many people on the street, and a public meltdown would only draw attention to him.

  He slowly exhaled. He could feel a strong sensation surge through him—resentment mixed with sadness. He resented the fact that Jimmy had used him. He was sad that his relationship with Jimmy had now come to an end.

  After Jimmy was locked away, Callaway didn’t know if he would ever see him again. He hoped in time his anger toward Jimmy would fade, and that he would want to visit him in prison. But what if Jimmy didn’t want to see him? What if Jimmy was angry at him for abandoning him in a time of need?

  Why do I feel like the guilty one? he thought. It was Jimmy who weaved a web of lies.

  He turned around and headed back the way he came. He walked past the noodle shop and entered the alley next to it. He made his way to the back of the property and suddenly stopped in his tracks.

  Standing at the bottom of
the metal stairs was a girl. She looked like a teenager, and next to her was an older woman who looked a lot like her. Probably her mother, Callaway figured.

  He hardly ever received any visitors, so he was surprised to see them. Even if someone did show up unexpectedly, they would see the telephone number taped to the door and call him.

  “Lee Callaway?” the girl asked.

  “I’m sorry, we’re closed,” he said. He was in no mood to take on a case, even if the money was good. “Call tomorrow… or better yet, call next week.”

  He walked past them and went up the metal stairs.

  “Mr. Callaway, I need to speak to you,” the girl said.

  He kept going.

  “It’s about Jimmy Keith.”

  He stopped mid-step. He turned to look at her. “What did you say?”

  “I need to speak to you about Jimmy Keith.”

  Callaway’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know him?”

  “I’m his granddaughter.”

  EIGHTY-ONE

  The girl and her mother were seated on the worn-out sofa. Callaway sat on a chair across from them.

  The mother and daughter eyed the interior of his office, and Callaway immediately felt self-conscious. The office was a reflection of his success—or lack thereof—as a private investigator. Some of his contemporaries had offices in skyscrapers with views of the entire city. Callaway, on the other hand, was holed up in a cramped space with no sunlight.

  He thought about offering them something to drink, but he had nothing, not even water.

  He coughed to clear his throat and said, “I’m sorry, but Jimmy doesn’t have a grandchild. I mean, if he did, he would have mentioned it to me.”

  “Jimmy didn’t know until a year ago,” the girl said.

  Callaway almost laughed. “It’s a little hard to believe, you know.”

  “Jimmy had a son, whose name was—”

  The realization hit him like a thunderbolt. “James Keith, Jr.,” he said. Jimmy had mentioned it to him once when he was drunk. Callaway thought it was the alcohol talking.

  “Yes,” the girl said. “That was the name on the birth certificate, but Jimmy wasn’t there for the birth. My grandmother always told us my grandfather was a decorated police officer who had died in the line of duty.”

  This was partially true, Callaway knew. Jimmy was an officer for the Miami Police Department, and he was shot in the arm when a perpetrator made a run for it during a routine traffic stop. But he didn’t die, nor was he highly decorated. He quit after getting in a fight with his superiors.

  “Didn’t you realize the story about Jimmy was a lie?” Callaway asked. “I mean, if you just went online and did a search, you’d have seen that he hadn’t died.”

  “I know that sounds simple now,” she said. “You see, right after my dad was born, my grandmother married Jacob Miller, and he immediately adopted my dad and gave him his name, so he became James Miller.”

  “And you are…?” Callaway asked.

  “Becky Miller, and this is my mom, Sara Miller.”

  He smiled at Sara, and she smiled back.

  Becky said, “Until recently, I didn’t even know my grandfather was not really related to my dad by blood. I think even my dad didn’t know this. My grandfather died from lung cancer when my dad was four. My grandmother raised him on her own, but then she got sick with leukemia when my dad was sixteen.”

  “I’m sorry,” Callaway said. He could not imagine a family being hit with so many tragedies.

  He thought of something. Did Jimmy know what was happening to his son?

  “Where is your dad now?” he asked.

  Becky took a deep breath. Her eyes turned moist. “My dad died last year in a construction accident.”

  Callaway’s heart ached for the girl.

  Becky said, “I met Jimmy at my dad’s funeral. He introduced himself as a colleague from the construction company. I could tell he wasn’t telling the truth. My dad had never once mentioned him before, but I had seen him crying next to my dad’s casket. When I looked carefully, I could see a strong resemblance between him and my dad. Before I could press him on it, he disappeared.” She paused to collect her thoughts. “A month later, I caught him standing outside our house. I was coming back from work. He tried to run away, but I cornered him. I asked him how he knew my dad. He eventually confessed to me. He always knew he had a son, but he never wanted to be a father—he didn’t want the responsibility.”

  Callaway suddenly felt guilty. I never wanted to be a father either, but I have Nina.

  “Over the years, my grandmother had made several attempts to contact Jimmy. She wanted him to look after my dad when she was gone. She knew her time was coming to an end, but Jimmy never responded. More time went by, my dad got older, he got married, he had me, and then Jimmy had a heart attack.”

  Callaway nodded. He had heard about that.

  “I think it was then that Jimmy began to search out my dad. He tried to approach him a few times, but he wasn’t sure how my dad would react. He always thought he had time to build a relationship with my dad until he found out about the accident. He was really torn up about it. I had to console him, even though it was my dad that was gone. After that, we kept in touch on a daily basis. Jimmy even sold his condo and boat when he found out we needed money.”

  “How much money was it?” Callaway asked, curious.

  “Around eighty thousand dollars.”

  Callaway’s mouth nearly hit the floor. That was his entire life savings.

  Sara Miller said, “I thought the money came from a fundraiser, until Becky told me the truth just now.”

  Becky said, “Jimmy told me that if I ever needed help, I should come to you.”

  Callaway was flattered, but he said, “I’m not sure how I can help you.”

  Becky turned to her mother, who gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, baby. You tell him the truth.”

  “Mr. Callaway,” Becky said, tearing up. “Jimmy didn’t kill Dillon Scott… I did.”

  EIGHTY-TWO

  Callaway almost fell off his chair. “What?!”

  Becky didn’t reply.

  Callaway stood up and began pacing the room. He turned to Becky. “How could you have killed Scott when Jimmy just confessed to the crime?”

  “He confessed to it to protect me,” she replied.

  Callaway stared at her.

  A light bulb went off in his head. “You’re the girl in the taxi with Dillon Scott.”

  She looked away.

  It’s now making sense, Callaway thought. When Fisher had gone to see the taxi driver to retrieve the footage, the driver told her another detective had taken it. That other detective was Jimmy. He must have shown the driver his replica Miami PD badge. He took the footage so that nothing led back to his granddaughter.

  Callaway walked back to the chair and sat down. “Tell me what happened the night Dillon Scott died.”

  Becky’s hands shook. Her mom placed her hand over hers and gave her daughter another reassuring smile. “Tell him,” she said.

  Becky took a deep breath. “I work as an assistant at a veterinary clinic. It’s only part-time, but whenever we have an emergency at the clinic, I stay later than usual. Anyway, I was leaving the clinic that night when I saw Dillon Scott coming my way…”

  “The clinic is on Yonge Avenue?” Callaway asked.

  “It’s not on Yonge Avenue, but on the street next to it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Jimmy had told me about a case he was working on.”

  “Gail Roberts?”

  “Yes. He would call me up and we would talk for hours. What he really wanted was to know more about my dad, but deep down it hurt him that he had missed all the major events in his life, so instead we would talk about the case. From Jimmy, I knew Dillon was in Milton shooting a movie.”

  “You call him Dillon?” Callaway asked.

  “That’s what he told me to call him when we met.”

>   “Go on.”

  “When I saw Dillon, I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I saw an opportunity to help Jimmy. I approached Dillon and told him I was one of his biggest fans. It was a lie. I’ve never seen any of his movies, but I knew of his work. I asked if I could take a photo with him. He was in a hurry to catch a taxi. He asked if I needed a ride. I told him yes. He offered to drop me off at my house.” She shook her head. “I should have never gotten in the taxi with him, but I did. We started talking, and I asked him a lot of questions about being a famous movie star. I think he liked the attention because a minute before, when I’d seen him walking up the street, he looked stressed.”

  He was, Callaway thought. He’d just stormed away from a reporter at a bar. “How did you end up at his house?” Callaway asked.

  She sighed. “He said he wanted to show me something, but it was at his house.”

  “What?”

  “One of his acting awards.”

  “And you agreed?”

  She nodded. “I figured I could get him to tell me something about Gail Roberts. I was so stupid and naïve.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “We got to the house, and I was surprised when he sent the taxi away. I thought he’d show me the award and then I would go straight home. He said he would call another taxi. He seemed so nice, and I was never worried because he’s Dillon Scott, you know? I’ve seen posters of him outside movie theaters. I was kind of flattered a famous movie star was giving me all this attention. He asked about my family. I told him about my dad, and he looked genuinely sad. But now that I think about it, maybe he was only acting, and he really didn’t care about what I’d been through. We went inside the house, and he offered me a drink. I told him I was sixteen, but he smiled and said there’s always a first time for everything, and that years later, I would tell my friends that I had my first drink with Dillon Scott. I think he had wine, because it was red, and I don’t know what he brought me, but it was brown.”

  It was bourbon, Callaway thought.