The Invisible Wife

by Thomas Fincham

  THOMAS FINCHAM

  THE INVISIBLE WIFE

  A LEE CALLAWAY MYSTERY

  The Invisible Wife © Thomas Fincham 2018

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, including the right to reproduce this work or portions thereof, in any form.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Read Thomas Fincham’s Starter Library for FREE when you sign up to my Reader’s Group.

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  Visit the author’s website:

  www.finchambooks.com

  Contact:

  contact@finchambooks.com

  HYDER ALI

  The Silent Reporter (Hyder Ali #1)

  The Rogue Reporter (Hyder Ali #2)

  The Runaway Reporter (Hyder Ali #3)

  The Serial Reporter (Hyder Ali #4)

  The Street Reporter (Hyder Ali #5)

  The Student Reporter (Hyder Ali #0)

  MARTIN RHODES

  Close Your Eyes (Martin Rhodes #1)

  Cross Your Heart (Martin Rhodes #2)

  Say Your Prayers (Martin Rhodes #3)

  Fear Your Enemy (Martin Rhodes #0)

  ECHO ROSE

  The Rose Garden (Echo Rose #1)

  The Rose Tattoo (Echo Rose #2)

  The Rose Thorn (Echo Rose #3)

  The Rose Water (Echo Rose #4)

  STANDALONE

  The Blue Hornet

  The October Five

  The Paperboys Club

  Killing Them Gently

  The Solaire Trilogy

  FOREWORD

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for checking out my work. The Invisible Wife is book #4 in the Lee Callaway series.

  I’m currently working on the next Lee Callaway book.

  In the meantime, you can check out Lee’s introduction in The Rose Water (Echo Rose #4).

  Thank you again for your support. Without you, I wouldn’t get to do what I do.

  Thomas Fincham

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

  FIFTY-THREE

  FIFTY-FOUR

  FIFTY-FIVE

  FIFTY-SIX

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  FIFTY-NINE

  SIXTY

  SIXTY-ONE

  SIXTY-TWO

  SIXTY-THREE

  SIXTY-FOUR

  SIXTY-FIVE

  SIXTY-SIX

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  SIXTY-NINE

  SEVENTY

  SEVENTY-ONE

  SEVENTY-TWO

  SEVENTY-THREE

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  SEVENTY-FIVE

  SEVENTY-SIX

  SEVENTY-SEVEN

  SEVENTY-EIGHT

  SEVENTY-NINE

  EIGHTY

  EIGHTY-ONE

  EIGHTY-TWO

  EIGHTY-THREE

  EIGHTY-FOUR

  EIGHTY-FIVE

  EIGHTY-SIX

  EIGHTY-SEVEN

  EIGHTY-EIGHT

  EIGHTY-NINE

  NINETY

  NINETY-ONE

  NINETY-TWO

  NINETY-THREE

  NINETY-FOUR

  NINETY-FIVE

  NINETY-SIX

  NINETY-SEVEN

  NINETY-EIGHT

  NINETY-NINE

  ONE-HUNDRED

  ONE-HUNDRED ONE

  ONE-HUNDRED TWO

  ONE-HUNDRED THREE

  ONE-HUNDRED FOUR

  ONE-HUNDRED FIVE

  ONE-HUNDRED SIX

  ONE-HUNDRED SEVEN

  ONE-HUNDRED EIGHT

  ONE-HUNDRED NINE

  ONE-HUNDRED TEN

  ONE

  Detective Dana Fisher was in her Honda SUV. She had a clear view of the restaurant. Fisher had been sitting there for twenty minutes, but she could not muster the courage to get out.

  She was a ten-year veteran of the Milton Police Department. She was five-foot-five, weighed close to one hundred and ten pounds, and she had dark, shoulder-length hair. Her thin nose pointed upwards, and it moved whenever she opened her mouth.

  She anxiously tapped the steering wheel.

  Maybe this is a mistake, she thought. I should let Holt handle this.

  Detective Gregory Holt was her partner, and, over the years, he had also become a friend and confidant.

  Holt would have relished making the arrest, but he knew Fisher had a history with the suspect, so he trusted her to do what was required. She was not going to disappoint him. She also did not need backup. The suspect was not a threat. But she never thought he would be a suspect either.

  He was already inside the restaurant when she drove up. There were a few other places Fisher could have found him, but the restaurant seemed like the best place to start.

  Fortunately—or in his case, unfortunately—she would not have to look for him anywhere else.

  He was in his normal corner booth by the windows, sipping a cup of coffee, and having a meal. On a number of occasions, she had seen him munching on pancakes, waffles, or whatever he could afford. He would always offer to share his meal with her, but she would decline. She was not a breakfast person. A cup of coffee was all she needed to start her day.

  She took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel tight. She suddenly felt lightheaded. She was not ready for what she was about to do.

  Maybe I should wait until he leaves, she thought. He was a frequent customer, and it would be wrong for her to embarrass him in front of the whole staff. But this was no time to be concerned about saving face, nor thinking of delaying making the arrest. She had to stay objective, no matter who the suspect was.

  What he did was serious, and in many ways, unforgivable.

  She shut her eyes.

  It is better that I do this than Holt, she thought.

  Holt would go in hard, and he would not hesitate one bit to use force if necessary.

  She knew the situation required a delicate approach.

  She counted to ten, opened her eyes, and got out of the SUV.

  Her heart pounded inside her chest, her knees felt weak, and sweat broke out around her temples as she walked up to the restaurant.

  She entered and made a beeline to the other side of the restaurant. The suspect’s head was down as he cut into a piece of waffle.

  He looked up and smiled. “Dan
a, what’re you doing here?”

  She gritted her teeth and said, “Lee Callaway, you are under arrest for the murder of…”

  TWO

  One Week Earlier

  The house was an eyesore compared to the other houses on the street. The owner had bought three houses which stood next to each other, torn them down, and built one massive structure in their place. The owner’s taste in architecture left something to be desired, however.

  A marble water fountain shaped like a giant dolphin’s mouth was in the front. The exterior of the house was painted in a variety of bright colors, ranging from yellow and green to even purple.

  The middle structure was a dome with spiral chimneys on either side that made it look more like a cheap Taj Mahal than anything else. There were more dolphin statues near the house’s front steps, and palm trees surrounded the property.

  Holt had little or no opinion when it came to design, but even he saw how gaudy the property looked.

  He parked next to a vintage Rolls Royce and got out.

  Holt had thick arms, thick hands, and a thick neck which made his shirt collar tight. His head was shaved clean, exposing a wrinkled skull. His eyes were small and black, and they absorbed everything in his vicinity.

  He was six-four and weighed close to two hundred and fifty pounds. He was an imposing man who did not hesitate to use his size to his advantage.

  As was his ritual before each new investigation, he rubbed his wedding ring three times. The gesture was his way of reminding himself why he chose to be a detective.

  His family meant the world to him, and he deeply believed he was making the world a better place for them.

  He spotted an officer leaning against a police cruiser. The officer was tall, had deep blue eyes, a prominent chin, and blond hair that was hidden underneath his police cap. A woman who looked distraught was in the cruiser’s backseat.

  The officer straightened up the moment he spotted Holt.

  “Officer McConnell,” Holt said.

  “Detective Holt,” Lance McConnell replied.

  “You were first on the scene?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And is it secured?”

  “It is, sir.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am.”

  Holt’s eyes narrowed. “Is Detective Fisher inside?”

  “She is.”

  Holt looked around. “I don’t see her SUV.”

  McConnell coughed and cleared his throat. “She came with me, sir.”

  Holt raised an eyebrow. “She did?”

  “Um… yes. When the call came I was not too far from Dana’s—I mean, Detective Fisher’s place, and so I offered her a ride.”

  Holt’s stare bore into him. If McConnell was sweating, he did not show it. Holt took a step closer. His nose was inches away from McConnell.

  “I care a great deal about Fisher,” Holt said.

  “So do I,” McConnell quickly replied.

  “That’s good to hear,” Holt said. “Fisher is a wonderful person and a damn good detective. If you hurt her, I will make it my mission to hurt you worse. Understood?”

  McConnell swallowed hard. “Understood.”

  Holt smiled, which made him even more threatening. “I’m glad we had this talk,” he said, slapping McConnell on the shoulder.

  Holt entered the house.

  THREE

  The twelve-foot-high ceilings made the space look twice as big. The pattern-tile floor was recently polished and glistened in the light. A spiral staircase was in the middle of the space with an overly large chandelier hanging just above it.

  At the foot of the staircase, a woman was standing next to a body. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she scowled at Holt as he approached.

  “I saw you drilling Lance outside,” Fisher said.

  “Was I?” Holt replied with mock surprise.

  “Yes, you were.”

  “Officer McConnell and I were having a polite chat.”

  “You were inches away from his face.”

  “I was making sure he understood me.”

  “I know what you’re up to,” she said.

  “And what is that?”

  “You don’t want to see me get hurt.”

  Holt was genuinely surprised. “You heard our conversation?”

  “I didn’t have to. Your body language told me everything I needed to know.”

  “I was just reminding him how to treat a lady properly.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Greg, but you have to remember I grew up with three brothers. I know how to take care of myself.”

  Holt knew this was her way of saying, Mind your own business.

  “Got it,” he said.

  Fisher finally broke into a smile. “Thanks, though.”

  He nodded.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  After his nephew’s death, Holt was sent to a conference in Vegas. Upon his return, the department assigned him to desk duties. Holt refused a psychiatric evaluation, which did not help his case. He insisted he was fine and was ready to get back to work, but the department did not want to repeat what happened to Leo Calderon.

  Leo was a beat cop who was called in to investigate a domestic disturbance. What he found inside the house was straight out of a horror novel. A father had butchered his wife and four children. The father had then taken a paint brush and painted the walls with their blood.

  The father was arrested without incident, but he pleaded insanity during the trial. Leo knew the father was not crazy. When Leo had cuffed the father at his house, the father had quipped that he would not see the inside of a prison cell.

  The father’s lawyers brought in medical experts. They all believed the father had a psychotic episode where he heard voices in his head that told him his wife and children were evil. The father had a history of domestic violence, and a few days before the murders, his wife had gone to a divorce lawyer.

  The first trial resulted in a hung jury. The second trial found the father not guilty by reason of insanity, resulting in him having to serve time in a mental institute rather than a prison.

  In court, as the father was being led away, he turned and gave Leo a smile and a wink. He also mouthed, “I told you so.”

  Leo snapped. He drew his gun and fired at the father four times. The father took two bullets in the heart, dying instantly. One of the two stray bullets hit an officer of the court. Leo was immediately taken into custody and charged with first-degree murder.

  Leo’s twenty-four years of exemplary service had gone down in an instant. The department had failed to see the signs that Leo had been under a lot of stress. His wife was dying from cancer, and the insurance company had refused to pay for an experimental procedure that could potentially save her life. Also, a few months earlier, his six-year-old grandson was hit by a car as he was crossing the road. The driver drove off and had still not been found. The grandson spent months in the hospital, going through eight separate operations.

  When Leo was interviewed after the shooting, he said the father’s sentence was an insult to justice and he felt it was his responsibility to right a wrong.

  It was understood that what Leo really wanted was justice for his wife for the way the insurance system was treating her, and for his grandson, because they had yet to locate the driver who had put him in the hospital.

  Had the department taken steps to remove Leo from high pressure situations, this tragedy could have been avoided. Leo was now spending the remaining years of his life in prison instead of spending it with his family in retirement.

  Holt took a deep breath. “I’m good.”

  “You sure?” Fisher asked.

  “I’ll let you know if I’m not.”

  She paused and then said, “You recognize the house?”

  “It looks somewhat familiar.”

  “While it was being built, it was regularly on the news. The owner was constantly fighting his neighbors and the city.”


  Holt’s brow furrowed. “Now I remember… it’s the guy who won thirty million dollars in the State lottery.”

  “Yep. The house belongs to Big Bob.”

  “And is that him?” Holt asked, nodding in the direction of the body.

  She turned to the victim. There was a pool of blood underneath the body, and blood trailed to another room in the house.

  “Unfortunately, no amount of money could have saved him from what happened,” Fisher said.

  FOUR

  Robert Burley stood six-feet, five inches, weighed two hundred and ninety pounds, and he had a belly large enough that he could use it to push someone aside. He got the name “Big Bob” because of his stature, but it was his occupation that elevated his name.

  Prior to winning the lottery, Big Bob owned a successful car dealership in the city, aptly named Big Bob’s Auto. He had become a local celebrity because of his dealership ads, which often could be found airing in the middle of the night on local TV stations.

  The ads were made on the cheap and so the production values were subpar. In each ad, the camera would be aimed at the dealership’s front door. Big Bob would emerge from behind the door as if he was making a big entrance on a grand stage. He would wave at the camera as if he was inviting a customer into his dealership. He would then proceed to walk the camera through the dealership and over to a particular vehicle. All the while, in his gravelly voice, he would be talking to the camera as if he was talking to one of his best friends. He would praise the vehicle’s best features, and at the end of the ad, he would look directly into camera, point a big finger, and say, “Don’t think too long. This car could be gone before you know it.”

  The story went that on the day he won the lottery, Big Bob gave all his employees a day off. He later gave each of them a vehicle of their choice as a gift. He even wrote a check for ten thousand dollars to the clerk who sold him the ticket. He called her his good luck charm.

  That night he celebrated at a steak house with his family and friends, and the next morning, accompanied by his wife, son, and daughter, he drove up to the lottery office in a rented Bentley.