He walked down the block to a convenience store. He still had change left from his meal at Joely’s restaurant. He bought coffee from a vending machine and he picked up a granola bar.
Breakfast of champions, he thought as he took a bite.
The mall did not open until ten a.m. so he still had some time to kill beforehand. He decided to go for a walk to get some fresh air. Once he was at work, he would be inside the mall for the duration of his shift.
He finished the granola bar and tossed the wrapper in the garbage. He sipped coffee and was walking down the block when he felt movement behind him. He turned and saw nothing out of the ordinary.
He kept moving. After another block, he had the same feeling.
He glanced over his shoulder.
A black limousine he had seen the first time he had looked back was pulling into the lane closest to the sidewalk. And then, as if on cue, the limousine accelerated and pulled up on the curb next to him. A man got out of the driver’s side. He was wearing a black suit and black sunglasses.
“Lee Callaway?” he said.
Callaway’s back arched and he suddenly wished he had his gun on him, but it was locked up in his office desk.
“Who wants to know?” Callaway asked in a serious tone.
The man walked around and opened the back door. Callaway leaned down and saw a woman inside.
“If you would please get in,” the man said. “My employer would like to speak to you.”
Callaway looked around. The street was empty.
A part of him wanted to tell the man to go to hell. But then he saw the woman was smiling at him.
He got in.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Like most government buildings, the structure had not been renovated in years due to lack of funds. The place was made of concrete and cement, which meant it would last a long time, but it did not mean it was no less cold and ominous to look at.
The interior was far worse. The walls were painted a dark shade and the floor tiles that were once white had now turned an ugly yellow. The fluorescent light bulbs flickered in the hallways, making the place look like a scene from a horror movie.
Fisher was not bothered by her surroundings as she and Holt made their way to the morgue. She was used to death. Her job gave her a front row seat to some of the most brutal crimes imaginable. Having said that, she still could not see herself working in a place filled with dead bodies. Maybe that was why she could never be a medical examiner.
They found the ME standing before a gurney. A body was covered in a green sheet.
“I was waiting for your arrival,” Wakefield said.
“Sorry, we got stuck in traffic,” Fisher replied, knowing Wakefield was a stickler for being on time.
Wakefield nodded and then pulled down the sheet. Big Bob’s lifeless face stared back at them.
“Unfortunately, I did not find anything we did not already know,” she said.
“Meaning?” Holt asked.
“The victim died from injuries to his internal organs.” She pulled the sheet back further, revealing dark wounds on the chest and abdomen. “I counted five areas where the knife penetrated the body.”
She rolled the body onto its side. Big Bob weighed close to three hundred pounds, and he weighed even more as a corpse. Wakefield was tiny in comparison, but Fisher was impressed by how effortlessly she pushed. “There are two additional wounds in the back.” She pointed to the dark spots in the upper shoulder and lower back. “These wounds are consistent with the others.”
“Was Big Bob stabbed in the back or the front first?” Fisher asked.
While Wakefield pondered this, Holt asked, “Why is that important?”
Fisher replied, “What if—and I’m only hypothesizing here—Big Bob was asleep in the armchair when he heard a noise in the house, and when he went to check, he saw his attacker in the hallway. Big Bob realized his gun was still by his armchair, so when he turned to retrieve it, the attacker struck him in the back.” Fisher turned to Wakefield. “Were there any defensive wounds on the arms and hands?”
Wakefield shook her head.
Fisher said, “This would explain how someone with his size would not defend himself from a knife attack, because he was already hurt. The killer then struck him in the chest repeatedly as he lay on the ground. The blood on the carpet would further support this theory. Also, once he was dead, his thumb was severed from his hand.”
“But he wasn’t dead,” Holt said.
“What do you mean?” Fisher asked.
“He may have been attacked in the living room, but his body was found in the entrance by the stairs because that’s where he crawled to and eventually died. So how could the killer not have known he was not dead when he cut his thumb off? I mean the victim should have made some noise to indicate he was still alive.”
“I can explain that,” Wakefield said. “When the body suffers extreme trauma—like being viciously stabbed—it can go into a shock. The victim may have been numb to what’s happening around him. It’s like the soldiers who are badly injured in battle: if you ask if they were feeling pain at that moment, a lot of them will say they felt nothing or that they blacked out. It is only when they wake up in a hospital bed do they realize they have lost limbs.”
Holt and Fisher soaked in this information.
“Plus,” Wakefield added, “there was alcohol in the victim’s bloodstream at the time of death.”
“We found a half empty bottle of whiskey next to the armchair,” Fisher said.
Wakefield nodded. “Excess alcohol can impair judgement or reaction time. The victim may have had a fighting chance if he wasn’t drinking.”
They were silent a moment before Holt said, “Anything else you can tell us?”
“Like I said before, I didn’t find anything that you didn’t already know.”
Another dead end, Fisher thought.
TWENTY-NINE
“Mr. Callaway, I have heard great things about you,” the woman said with a smile. She was seated across from him in the limousine. She wore an oversized black coat, dark sunglasses, and she had long silver hair.
“I don’t like being followed,” he said.
“I apologize for that. I went to your office and I called the number on the door. I even left a voicemail, but when I didn’t hear back, I decided to seek you out.”
“How did you know where I’d be?” Callaway asked.
“I asked your landlady…”
“Oh, right.” Anyone could easily ask her. But then again, she did not know where he was currently residing. He kept that bit of personal information to himself. “How long have you been following me?” he asked.
Even with the dark glasses, he could tell she was staring at him. “For a couple of days,” she slowly replied.
“Okay, goodbye.”
He reached for the door. She put out her hand to stop him but then quickly pulled it back.
“I’m sorry, but I’m desperate,” she said.
“First, tell me how you knew where I’d be?” If she could find him, then his creditors and irate clients could find him as well. The whole point of not having a sign outside his office was for his protection. If he chose to ignore their telephone calls, then that was his prerogative.
“Okay, your landlady didn’t know where you would be. So, I began asking around. I went to a bar that you are known to frequent and someone said they had seen you in this neighborhood. I assumed you lived nearby, so I had my driver bring me here every day, hoping I’d see you. It was only when you left the convenience store that I knew I was right.” A smile spread across her face. “I must admit, at first I didn’t recognize you, even though I’ve seen your photos in the papers.”
“You have?” he said, surprised.
“Sure. I followed the Julia Seaborn and the Paul Gardener cases with great interest.” Julia Seaborn’s body was found underneath a bridge, and Paul Gardener was charged for the murder of his daughter. In both cases, Callaway wa
s hired to find out the truth.
The woman pointed at his attire. “Why are you wearing that?”
Callaway looked down at his security guard uniform. He was not sure how to explain his current situation.
“I feel like I’m at a disadvantage,” he said. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself at the beginning. It’s Isabel Gilford,” she said.
“What do you want from me, Ms. Gilford?”
“It’s Missus, but you can call me Isabel.”
“Okay.”
“Mr. Callaway…”
“Call me Lee.”
“Lee, I believe my husband is cheating on me and I want you to confirm this for me.”
Callaway laughed. “Let me give you some free advice. In my experience, if you feel your husband is being unfaithful, then the odds are that he is.”
“How can you be so sure?” she asked.
“Spouses get suspicious after they start noticing a pattern they hadn’t seen before. For instance, the other spouse is always leaving the room to take a call. Or the other spouse is taking longer and more frequent business trips. Or the other spouse is more distant or reserved than before. These are signs spouses pick up on very fast.” He paused and then said, “Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that if your husband is away for work longer than usual, that means he’s definitely cheating. What I’m saying is that it could be a red flag that there is something going on with him, or that you and he need to sit down and talk about your relationship.”
“I want proof,” she said.
He stared at her and then at his watch. I’m running late for work, he thought. “I’m sorry, but I’m not taking on new clients.”
“I am willing to pay twenty-five thousand dollars.”
Callaway’s heart nearly stopped. After lifting his chin from the floor, he said, “How much did you say?”
“Twenty-five thousand. All cash. All upfront.”
He licked his lips and swallowed. A range of emotions suddenly raced through him. He knew that kind of money could make a significant impact on his life. But then he remembered why he had chosen to leave the PI life behind.
I’m doing this for Nina, he thought. She needs a dad who will always be there for her. Not someone who doesn’t know where the next paycheck will come from.
He said, “I’m sure you can find other private investigators who will be willing to take on your case, but I’m closed for business.”
She looked undeterred. She smiled and held out a piece of paper. “I am only interested in hiring you. My telephone number is on there. If you change your mind, give me a call.”
He took the paper and exited the limousine.
THIRTY
Caroline Leary was sobbing uncontrollably. Fisher was seated next to her. They were in a room at the Milton PD. Holt had excused himself, leaving Fisher to console her on her own.
Caroline was Big Bob’s daughter from his first marriage. She had shown up at the station unannounced, which was not uncommon in Fisher’s line of work. Caroline was on the heavier side, with highlights in her hair, manicured fingernails, and dark eyeliner.
“I didn’t know my dad was dead until I saw it on the news,” she said.
“Your mother didn’t tell you?” Fisher asked. Big Bob’s ex-wife still lived in Milton.
She shook her head. “I spoke to her and even she didn’t know. Suzanne should have told us—we are his family, after all—but she’s nothing more than a gold digger.”
Fisher took this as her opportunity and jumped in. “Do you think your stepmother might have had something to do with your father’s death?”
Caroline looked at her. Her eyes were red and puffy. “I don’t know, but I warned my dad to be careful.”
“You two spoke regularly?”
“Sure, almost every other day. My dad and I were very close, but then I got married and moved to Connecticut because my husband is stationed there.”
“He’s in the military?”
“Yes.”
“So, did your dad tell you he was going through a separation?”
“He did. And it wasn’t amicable. He still loved her, but she didn’t love him back. I don’t think she ever did, but he was lonely, and he needed companionship, so she took advantage of him.”
“I’m assuming you and your stepmother didn’t get along?” Fisher asked.
Caroline’s face hardened. “Like I said, I don’t think she cared about my dad. She was in it for the money. She was much younger than him and, you know, she was attractive, and she knew it. She would try to make my dad jealous by talking to other guys so he would buy her whatever she wanted. He didn’t want her to leave him.”
“It’s my understanding that they had an ironclad pre-nup.”
“Thankfully, my dad listened to me and got our lawyer to draft one up. I told my dad if she didn’t sign it and he still went ahead with the wedding, I’d never talk to him. My dad’s stubborn, but I convinced him by showing him newspaper clippings of all the people who were killed by their spouses for their money.”
“Is that why he never got life insurance?”
She nodded. “He refused it outright even when Suzanne pushed for it. She cried day and night about who would take care of her if something were to happen to him. But he held his ground. She eventually signed the pre-nup because she realized she would get nothing if she did not. I mean, her career wasn’t going anywhere. She wasn’t getting any younger, and she figured this was her chance. There aren’t that many millionaire lottery winners in Milton, you know.”
“So, she had nothing to gain financially from his death?” Fisher asked.
Caroline thought a moment. “I guess not.”
After a brief pause, Fisher asked, “Did your dad have enemies?”
“Sure, lots,” Caroline replied. “I mean, everyone was after him for his money.”
“What about you? Did you ask him for money?”
Caroline fell silent. Her head fell to her chest. “I can’t lie and say my dad didn’t shower me with gifts. He paid for my wedding, he paid for my honeymoon, and he even helped us to buy a house. But I would never hurt my father for money.” Her eyes welled up and Fisher saw genuine pain in them. “We were a happy family before he won the lottery. The money should have made our family stronger, but instead it broke us apart. Don’t get me wrong, it did do a lot of good, but it also did a lot of harm, too. I would give it all up to have my dad back.”
Caroline covered her face and began to sob again.
THIRTY-ONE
Callaway stood at the store’s entrance. The place was relatively quiet. A few customers came in, browsed, and then left.
He suddenly found himself getting antsy. This happened whenever he was bored, and it was exactly how he felt when he left the sheriff’s office. His current job was not ideal, but at least it paid enough to cover his expenses.
He had knocked on dozens of doors before an agency got him his current position, and it came at the right time. He was struggling to come up with the money to pay his hotel bill, and if he failed, he would have been out on the street.
I need this job until I can get my life in order, he thought.
He strolled around the store with his hands locked behind his back. An employee was folding clothes on a display table. She smiled at him. He smiled back.
He still did not know her name, and he doubted she knew his. She was a student who worked at the store during her days off from college. He noticed her staring at him, and on a few occasions, she even blushed when he stared back. She was cute. She had flawless skin, perfect teeth and there was an eagerness in her eyes.
Callaway had dated girls far younger than him, but he drew the line at college age. They were still in the process of finding themselves, and he did not want to be that older guy who took advantage of them.
He liked the attention, for sure. He still had a few good years left in him before n
o woman batted an eye in his direction. But right now, he was in no mood to chat with the girl.
His mind was preoccupied with the woman in the limousine.
Isabel Gilford.
She had gone out of her way to speak to him. While he did not like her methods—even though he followed other people in his line of work—he was still impressed that she wanted to hire him.
Then there was the matter of the money. Twenty-five thousand dollars was a lot for a job that involved catching a cheating husband. He had done similar jobs for far less, sometimes for even a couple hundred dollars.
The woman had money she was willing to spend to satisfy her suspicions.
She was also willing to pay the entire fee up front. He would be stupid not to take the job.
But do I want to get sucked back into that life? he thought.
His situation reminded him of what recovering alcoholics went through trying to stay sober. They did not take a drink for days, weeks, or months, but when they saw their poison of choice, all sorts of questions would go through their minds.
How bad could one drink be?
What if I only took a sip?
Who would even know?
It was delusional to think such thoughts would not lead to more drinks or even going back to becoming a full-time alcoholic.
He shook his head.
He had finally taken a step in the right direction and he was not about to turn back.
THIRTY-TWO
Holt and Fisher were seated inside a poorly ventilated office. The space was small, and it felt even smaller with a desk and several chairs.
The man seated behind the desk was Ed Wallis, owner of Big Lot Autos, formerly Big Bob’s Autos. The name was changed after Wallis purchased the place from Big Bob. It did not make sense to keep Big Bob’s name on the sign when he was no longer involved in the business.
“I liked the location, so I bought it,” Wallis said. “And the lot is big too. So, the new name fits perfectly, in my opinion.”
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