The Invisible Wife

by Thomas Fincham

  The website would be another thing he would have to shut down.

  Once the laptop was up and running, he checked his emails. To his surprise and dismay, there were several messages from people looking to hire him. Normally, he would pore through each message and sift out those who were only curious about what he did from those who were ready to hire a private investigator.

  Today, however, he just deleted the messages without even looking at them.

  NINETEEN

  The two men were seated at a table in the middle of the casino lounge. The first one, Beck, had a goatee and curly hair. He was holding a beer bottle. The second, Jesse, was clean-shaven and bald. He had a glass of whiskey in front of him.

  Holt and Fisher sat across from them.

  Beck shook his head. “I can’t believe Big Bob is gone. May he rest in peace.”

  “Amen,” his friend said.

  “How long did you know him?” Holt asked.

  “Not long.”

  “Did you know him well?”

  Beck frowned. “I mean, we met up whenever he was at the casino, but we never hung outside.”

  “What do you guys do?” Fisher asked. She was curious as to why both of them spent so much time at the casino.

  “We’re retired,” Jesse said. “I used to work at a plant that built bumpers for cars, and Beck worked as an engineer for a railroad.”

  Beck nodded and took a sip from his bottle.

  Holt said, “The casino manager said he saw Robert Burley speaking to you guys yesterday.”

  “Sure, we had a drink,” Beck said.

  “What did you talk about?” Holt asked.

  “Nothing in particular. We usually shoot the breeze.”

  Fisher asked, “Was Big Bob worried? Stressed? Upset?”

  Jesse replied, “Lately, he was kind of stressed…”

  “About what?”

  “I’m not sure, but he was going through a separation from his second wife.”

  “We know this. Did he talk about his relationship with his wife?”

  Jesse nodded. “He did, whenever he felt up to it. Guys don’t really like to share their feelings or what’s going on with them. He still loved his wife—I mean, she was much younger than him, so I could see why he did it—but I guess the relationship wasn’t meant to last forever.”

  Beck said, “I always thought it was a mistake for him to marry her, and I let Big Bob know this.”

  “Why would you say that?” Fisher asked.

  “Big Bob wasn’t the most refined guy you’d meet. He was generous, don’t get me wrong. He always picked up the tab whenever we were having drinks. But Big Bob could be loud and abrasive. I’ve heard him have arguments with his wife where he’d call her terrible names. She was always doing something to piss him off.”

  “Like what?”

  “She’d go out shopping and buy all her friends expensive gifts without telling him. She even pushed him to buy her mother a house in Houston. I could tell she was using him for his money.”

  “Do you think his wife is capable of murder?” Holt asked.

  Beck put his hands up. “I never met her, so I can’t say anything. My opinions are based on what Big Bob told us and what I overheard in their conversations.”

  Holt and Fisher pondered their next questions.

  Fisher asked, “Do you know if Big Bob kept money in his safe at his home?”

  Jesse replied, “I’m sure he did. He liked having cash around. He didn’t really trust the banks. If he could, he would keep all his money under his mattress.”

  “Did he tell you how much money he kept in his safe?”

  Jesse pondered the question. “If I had to take a guess, I would say a couple of hundred thousand.”

  Fisher’s eyes widened. “That much?”

  “Yeah, sure. He won millions, you know,” Jesse said.

  Holt asked, “Was there anything different about him last night?”

  Beck jumped in. “He was quiet throughout the time he was here. We asked him if he was okay, but he said nothing. He then got a call and left right after hanging up.”

  “Do you know who called him?” Fisher asked.

  Beck shook his head. “Don’t know.”

  No worries, Fisher thought. We can check his phone records.

  Holt and Fisher were getting up to leave when Jesse said, “I’m not sure if this will help…”

  “Tell us,” Holt replied.

  “A couple of months back, Big Bob got into a fight with someone. I remember seeing them arguing in the casino parking lot.”

  “Do you know this person’s name?”

  “Sure.”

  “Give it to us.”

  TWENTY

  Callaway was at his office when he had received the call. He recognized the number and he seriously debated not answering. But he knew if he did not answer, the caller would end up paying him a visit, which would not be a good idea.

  He took the call.

  He was now standing outside a steel door that was behind a strip club. He banged on the door and waited. A few minutes later, a small window slid open, revealing two eyes.

  “Can I help you?” the man asked.

  “Baxter, open the door.”

  “Your name?”

  Callaway rolled his eyes. “It’s Lawrence of Arabia.”

  “I thought your name was Lee Callaway.”

  “You already know what my name is. Now, let me in.”

  Callaway heard a bolt turning, a chain being removed, and then the door opened. Baxter was six-foot-four. He was two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle. He sported a buzz cut and he always wore tight T-shirts that made his arms look even bigger.

  Today, he was wearing a T-shirt that read: My Brain Is Bigger Than Yours. I doubt that very much, Callaway thought, but he would never express his opinion to Baxter. He was not known for his sense of humor or common sense.

  “Who’s Lawrence of Arabia?” Baxter asked.

  “He was my uncle,” Callaway dryly replied.

  “Why did he have the word of in his name?”

  “Because that’s where he came from,” Callaway said, wanting to move past him and up the stairs. But Baxter’s massive body was in the way.

  “He was from Arabia?” Baxter asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Can I have the word of in my name?”

  “Sure you can. From now on, you will be known as Baxter of Glenwood.”

  “Why Glenwood?” he asked, confused.

  “That’s the street we are on right now.”

  A second passed before Baxter’s face brightened up. “I get it.”

  Moron.

  He turned around and moved up the narrow stairs. Callaway followed behind. They were met with another door. Baxter waited a second before he knocked and said, “Boss, Lee Callaway is here to see you. Can I let him in?”

  Callaway hated coming down here. He felt like he was in a bad sketch comedy.

  “Yeah,” came the voice from behind the door.

  Baxter smiled and held the door for Callaway.

  The office was small and narrow. A wide desk took up most of the room. Callaway could never understand how anyone could move around in such a tight space.

  Mason was seated in a leather chair behind the desk. He was short, rail thin, and every inch of his arms were covered in tattoos. He sported a small goatee, and he wore wire-rimmed prescription glasses.

  Callaway spotted a tattoo on the side of Mason’s neck he had not seen before.

  “It’s a dragon reading a book,” Mason said with a smile. “According to the Chinese calendar, I was born in the year of the dragon.”

  “And why is it reading a book?” Callaway asked.

  “Because I like to read, of course.”

  Right.

  “Have a seat, Lee,” Mason said, gesturing to a chair in front of the desk.

  Callaway crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m fine where I am.”

  Mason was
not offended. He steepled his fingers together and said, “There are rumors out there that you’ve quit the PI business.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “I have my sources.”

  “Well, they are right. I’m done.”

  Mason was surprised. “Why? I thought you had a great thing going.”

  Callaway could not help but laugh. “You know better than anyone my business is struggling. How many times have I come to your office asking for money?”

  “Too many times,” Mason replied with glee.

  Mason was a loan shark and a very good one at that. His rates were high, but he always extended loans, even to people with the worst credit rating in the city. He loaned money knowing he would find a way to collect his money, including interest. Baxter was a big reason for that. He was not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was a lethal one. He took immense pleasure in inflicting pain. Callaway came close to being at the end of his fist, but he always managed to talk his way out of a beating.

  “Well, today is your lucky day,” Mason said.

  “How so?”

  “I’ve got a job for you.”

  Callaway shook his head. “I’m not going to help you look for some guy who couldn’t pay his loans.”

  “An agreement is an agreement.”

  “Regardless. If the guy had money, I guarantee he would pay you first. But he doesn’t, and I’m not going to be the one to see him get hurt.”

  “This is a cruel business.”

  “Yeah, well, get someone else to do your dirty work. I already got a job.”

  “Yeah, I know: as a security guard watching teenyboppers shop for dolls.”

  Callaway’s face hardened. “You following me, Mason?”

  “Not me personally, but, like I said, I’ve got sources.”

  Callaway pointed a finger at Mason. “Don’t. Follow. Me,” he sternly said.

  Baxter bristled next to him, but Callaway was not scared. Baxter would never hurt him unless Mason said so, and Mason was a businessman first. It was bad business to hurt clients or associates without a genuine reason.

  Mason shrugged. “Okay, sure, suit yourself. But mark my words. You are made to be a private investigator. You can fool yourself and everyone else, but you cannot fool me.”

  Callaway wanted to tell Mason he was wrong. Instead, he turned around and left.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Holt and Fisher tracked Joseph Olsson to an office building in Milton’s west end. According to Big Bob’s drinking buddies, Olsson was the man Big Bob had a spat with outside the casino.

  The building had three levels with no elevators. Holt and Fisher took the stairs. They knocked on the door with a sign that read: Olsson Consulting.

  A man answered the door. He looked dishevelled and fatigued. “We are closed for business,” he said, sounding weary.

  “Mr. Joseph Olsson?” Holt asked.

  “Yes.”

  Holt and Fisher flashed their badges.

  “What’s this about?” he asked, suddenly alarmed.

  “Robert Burley,” Holt replied.

  Olsson’s eyes widened. “Hey, listen, I promise I’ll pay him back.”

  “Can we come inside?” Fisher asked.

  Olsson reluctantly held the door open for them. The interior looked more like a loft. There were exposed pipes, a brick wall, and concrete flooring. They spotted a bed to one side, a kitchen in the corner, and a sofa by the window.

  “You live here?” Fisher asked.

  “Yeah,” Olsson sheepishly replied. “It was supposed to have been my office, but I kind of ran out of money and had to move in.”

  Holt got to the point. “What were you and Mr. Burley fighting about?”

  Olsson hesitated.

  Holt said, “Mr. Burley’s dead, so it would be in your best interest to be truthful with us.”

  The color drained from Olsson’s face. “When… did he die?”

  “Last night. He was found stabbed to death in his home.”

  Olsson reached over, pulled a chair close, and sat down. He covered his face with his hands. After a brief moment, he looked up. “I had nothing to do with his death. I swear.”

  “Where were you last night?” Holt asked.

  “I was here the entire night.”

  “Do you have anyone to verify this?”

  “I… I was by myself.”

  “What did you do?” Fisher asked.

  “I watched a movie.”

  Holt waited a moment before he said, “You didn’t answer my question. Why were you and Mr. Burley fighting?”

  “I used to be a programmer for a software company, but I got in trouble for doing something I shouldn’t have done, and I was fired. After a year of no work, I was running out of money. One day, I went to the casino to blow off some steam when I saw Big Bob—he told me to call him by that name. I knew he had won a lot of money, but it was the first time I had seen him in person. I asked around the casino and they told me he came by often. I then came up with a plan.” He stopped and looked at the floor, as if he was drifting away in his thoughts.

  “What was this plan?” Holt asked.

  Olsson sighed. “I wanted Big Bob to invest in my company.”

  “Olsson Consulting?” Fisher asked.

  Olsson looked at her and nodded. “But the thing was, there was no company. I got the building’s landlord to agree to give me a lease without any upfront money. I borrowed furniture from people I knew and set up this place to look like an office. I then approached Big Bob. I told him I had created an app that helped people control their gambling addiction. I knew this would appeal to Big Bob, because from what I was told, he loved to spend time at the casino.”

  “Did you create this app?” Fisher asked, curious.

  Olsson shrugged. “Well, I wrote the code for it and I setup a dummy interface. It was only to show Big Bob that such an app existed. And you know what? It worked. The moment he heard me talk, he agreed to become an investor.”

  “How much?” Holt asked.

  “Fifty thousand.”

  “Let me guess,” Holt said. “When he found out it was a sham, he wanted his money back?”

  Olsson sighed. “I had planned to use that money to create a legitimate company, but I had no idea how to go about doing this. I’m a programmer, not a businessman. I officially leased this place and made it the headquarters for Olsson Consulting, and I even hired an employee, but the money ran out faster than I could do something with it. The lease is paid for until next year, and that’s why I’m still living here.”

  “Why did you go to the casino when you knew Big Bob was looking for his money?” Fisher asked.

  “I received a letter from his lawyer threatening legal action. I went to speak to Big Bob about it. I hoped we could come up with a resolution.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Honestly, I never thought this whole thing out. I figured, for a guy who won millions of dollars, fifty thousand dollars would be nothing. In fact, from what I’ve heard, he burned through far more than that at the casino.”

  “No one likes to be scammed,” Holt sternly said.

  Olsson lowered his head. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

  Holt said, “You still don’t have an alibi for the time of Mr. Burley’s death.”

  “I conned him, I’ll agree to that,” Olsson said. “But I did not kill him, whether you believe me or not.”

  Holt stared at him. At the moment they did not have enough evidence to detain him. He was a person of interest only.

  Holt leaned down until his face was close to Olsson’s. “Don’t leave the city. If you do, and I have to come find you, I promise it will be something you’ll come to regret. Do you understand?”

  Olsson swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  After his visit to Mason and his guard dog, Baxter, Callaway was spent. He decided to grab something to eat before he headed home.

  He entered the
restaurant and made a bee-line for a booth in the corner. Whenever he came to the restaurant, and if that table was empty, it was his. He liked how the booth faced the windows and was more private.

  The waitress soon appeared. Joely Paterson had blonde hair which she always kept in a ponytail. She wore a fitted T-shirt which had an apron over it.

  Joely was aware Callaway had decided to quit being a private eye. She had always admired him for following his true calling. She had always wanted to be a singer, but those dreams evaporated when she got married and then pregnant. Her then-husband worked for a rock band as their equipment manager. He was on the road a lot while she stayed home and took care of their son. One day he called and told her he did not want to be a husband or father. She then moved back in with her mother, and with her help she was raising her son, Joshua, who was now six years old.

  Callaway and Joely had briefly dated. When she found out he too had abandoned his wife and daughter, she was repulsed. But once she got to know him a little better thanks to his regular visits to the restaurant, she became a trusted friend.

  When he told her he wanted to get a steady job, so he could spend more time with his little girl, she wholeheartedly approved.

  “How was work today?” she asked with a smile.

  “I didn’t know such evil existed until this morning,” he replied. “The look in some of those mothers’ eyes scared the daylights out of me.”

  “It couldn’t have been that bad,” she said.

  “Even their daughters were terrified of them. And it was all for some doll.”

  “Did you get one for Nina?” Joely asked.

  “I did, but I don’t think she’s into them.”

  “It’s not the gift but the thought that counts.”

  “That’s what she said,” Callaway replied. “Anyway, I don’t know if I have it in me to spend another day as a security guard.” He had to admit that deep down he still wanted to be a PI.

  “Just remember why you’re doing it,” she said.

  He gave her a noncommittal shrug.

  “Do you think I want to stand all day serving customers?” Joely asked.

  “I thought you loved your job,” Callaway replied with a laugh.