Callaway checked his watch and then grabbed a newspaper. He flipped to the classified section. He had been considering moving out of the hotel for some time. The hotel was not a long-term option. Sooner or later, he would have to find a place to put down his roots. He was waiting until he secured a permanent job before he did that, but now he had significant cash in his pockets.
Callaway had learned the hard way that with good times came bad times. Right now, the sun was shining on him, but it could very well turn cloudy. Thankfully, Isabel Gilford’s fee could see him through until his next case.
FORTY-NINE
Mike Sprewell had an army-style haircut, steely eyes, and a handlebar moustache. He was the detective who had investigated the shooting at Chase Burley’s house.
Holt and Fisher were seated with Sprewell on a patio outside a coffee shop. Sprewell took a sip from a steaming hot cup.
“You sure you guys don’t want anything?” he said. “It’s my treat.”
Sprewell was across town when they had called him. He quickly dropped everything to meet them.
“We’re good, thanks,” Holt replied.
“What can you tell us about Chase Burley?” Fisher said.
“Where do I start?” he asked.
“Anywhere would be fine,” Fisher replied.
“He moved down here a couple of years ago. From what I heard, he wanted to open his own recording studio. He—or should I say, his father—bought an old studio down on Pearl Street. A big shot record producer used to own that studio, but when people started moving to digital music, the equipment became outdated, and the producer closed the doors and walked away. Chase got a good deal on the place. He then invested half a million dollars to upgrade the equipment. But like most creative endeavors, you have to be really talented or hardworking to get a break. I don’t think Chase was either.”
“I’m assuming you spoke to him a few times?” Holt said.
“I did. The first time was when there was a fire at the studio. The fire investigator had determined that it was arson, but my investigation could not find who was behind it. I interviewed Chase several times. He said he was in Milton visiting his parents at the time of the fire, but that did not mean he couldn’t have paid someone to light the place up.”
“Why did you think he had something to do with it?” Fisher asked.
“The studio was losing lots of money,” Sprewell replied. “Chase had hired top sound editors, recording engineers, equipment managers, and so on. There were rumours he was looking for a buyer, but when that didn’t happen, he joked that he wished the place would burn down so he could claim on the insurance policy. And it did, and he got his money.”
“But you couldn’t point to him as the culprit,” Fisher asked.
“I couldn’t.”
Holt frowned. “So how does this link up to what happened at his house?”
“After he got the money, he started hanging around with people who were involved in the drug trade.”
This is interesting, Fisher thought.
“Chase began dealing cocaine out of his house. We didn’t know this at the time, but it put him in the crosshairs of some very dangerous people. We once found him badly beaten up by the side of the road. He never told us who was behind it, but I had an idea. It was the gang whose turf he was dealing on. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were the ones who tried to gun him down in front of his house, but Chase believes it’s better to adhere to some arcane street code about not being a snitch. If someone is trying to kill you, you get the authorities involved, but they don’t see it like that.” Sprewell paused to collect himself. “Whenever I interviewed him, he didn’t come across as dumb, but he didn’t come across as bright either. I mean, his father set him up nicely, but the kid took it for granted.”
“What was his relationship with his father? Did you know?” Holt asked.
“Not sure. He didn’t talk about him much. But whenever I mentioned his father’s name, he would get angry. I think he resented the fact that his father was always coming to bail him out of whatever trouble he found himself in.”
Is that what they fought about on the night Big Bob was murdered? Fisher thought. Chase wanted Big Bob to get him out of the mess that nearly got him killed, and this time Big Bob refused?
FIFTY
Cary Gilford emerged from the office tower. He was carrying his suit jacket in one hand and a briefcase in the other.
Callaway watched as Gilford turned right and headed toward the parking lot. The assistant was nowhere in sight.
Maybe she’s still at work? Callaway thought.
But he could not wait to find out. His mission was to follow Gilford and see what he was up to.
Gilford got behind the wheel of the Audi.
A moment later, he pulled out of the parking lot.
Callaway followed behind.
The Audi weaved through traffic until it stopped in front of a flower shop. Gilford got out and went inside. Ten minutes later, he returned to the Audi carrying a box of chocolates and a bouquet of roses.
Callaway’s eyes narrowed. Is that for your mistress?
That explained why she was not with Gilford when he left work. She was likely already waiting for him at some other destination.
Callaway smiled. This could be what he was looking for. To catch them in the act. That was exactly what his client wanted from him, was it not?
The Audi was back on the road. Callaway kept a fair distance between it and the Charger. He did not want to spook Gilford and have him change his plans.
Callaway had the element of surprise in his favor. Gilford would think he was spending time with his mistress without any prying eyes. What he did not know was that Callaway would capture the rendezvous on his camera.
This was a feat far more complicated than it looked. He had to know where to be and when. People did not get intimate in front of an uncovered window. They preferred privacy. Callaway would have to get creative if he wanted to get the right shot.
Previously, he had hid inside a closet. He had peeked through windows with an opening of just inches between the drapes. He had even gone so far as to plant hidden cameras in a room. The last was illegal, for sure, but sometimes desperate times required desperate measures.
He was not proud of using hidden cameras, though. There was no sleuthing involved, because the hidden cameras did all the work. However, knowing where to stick a tiny camera came with its own set of challenges.
He once stuck a wireless camera inside an air vent. The day was hot, and the occupant decided to turn on the air conditioner at full blast. Callaway had not properly secured the camera. Needless to say, the pressure from the AC blew the camera down the vent. He did not get another opportunity for a shot for three weeks. The error cost him time and money. While he could have been working on a new case, he was still trying to wrap up the old one.
The Audi got off the main road and took side streets for five minutes until it pulled into a gated property. Callaway parked the Charger across from the home and watched as the Audi disappeared behind the high walls.
He debated whether to get out and take a look around the property, but he knew it was not necessary. The house belonged to Cary and Isabel Gilford.
It was highly unlikely Gilford was meeting his mistress in there. The chocolates and flowers were for his wife.
Callaway spotted a black sedan in his rearview mirror. The car was parked half a block away from the Charger. He looked back and he could make out a silhouette behind the wheel.
He squinted.
I’ve seen that car before, he thought. But where?
Before he could find out, the sedan did a U-turn and sped away.
Callaway did not know what to make of this new development, but he suddenly had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
FIFTY-ONE
After returning to Milton, Holt and Fisher contacted Joan Burley. She had no idea there had been an incident at Chase’s house. They did not go int
o any details. They wanted to know where Chase was. Joan Burley had last seen her son two weeks ago. She did not even know he had recently been in Milton. He always visited her when he was in town.
They then spoke to Caroline Leary, who was staying with her mother until her father’s funeral. Caroline was aware of her brother’s problems with drugs. She was certain he was not a user and that he only got into dealing because their father had cut him off financially. She too was not aware of the shooting in Westport.
Holt and Fisher told her it was important that they speak to Chase. She told them she had not spoken to him in months. She last saw him in Connecticut when he surprised her for her son’s birthday. They pressed her for any scrap of information she could give, and she gave them a woman’s name.
They found her working as a bartender in a small lounge in Kesseltown, a town an hour away from Milton. Tara St. Patrick was Chase’s on-again, off-again girlfriend. Her hair was dyed bright pink, she had a large tattoo covering the entire length of her right arm, and she wore oversized glasses which looked like they were more for show rather than short-sightedness.
She was serving a customer when she came over to Holt and Fisher. “What can I get you?” she asked, revealing a stud in her tongue.
They flashed their badges. “We’re looking for Chase,” Fisher said.
“I don’t know where he is,” Tara said with a shrug.
“He’s in trouble and we need to find him.”
“Like I said, I don’t know where he is.”
Fisher decided to use a different tack. “Did you know that someone tried to kill Chase?”
Tara blinked. “What?”
“Yes. We just returned from Westport and it looks like someone sprayed bullets across the front of his house. We spoke to one of his neighbors and he said Chase barely escaped with his life. We also spoke to the detective at the scene and he believes a local gang is behind it. Apparently, sometime back Chase was roughed up badly—perhaps by the same gang, as a warning. If I was a betting woman, I’d say these people are still looking for him, and when they find him…”
She let her words trail off.
Tara’s shoulders sank. “I was the one who got him into drugs,” she confessed. “I was a recreational user. Cocaine was my choice of poison. The guy I was dating wanted to be a rapper and Chase had just opened his recording studio. I went to the studio a few times and saw Chase there. A short while later, I broke up with the rapper and I hooked up with Chase. When the recording studio was in financial trouble, Chase asked his father for money. I didn’t know this at the time, but Chase had drained his trust fund to set up the studio. His father refused to help him out. I think he was against the studio from the beginning, but it was Chase’s trust fund, so he could do whatever he wanted with the money.”
“Was Chase angry at his father?” Fisher asked.
“Yeah, a lot.”
“Did he ever threaten to kill him?”
Tara fell silent. She then said, “Chase said a lot of things about his father, but they were out of frustration. He felt betrayed.”
“Betrayed, why?”
“He thought his father had turned his back on him.”
“But he setup a trust fund in his name.”
“Yeah, but he gave Caroline double what he gave Chase.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I think because she had a family of her own and I think he knew if he gave Chase more money, he would only blow it.”
Fisher paused. She then said, “You mentioned that you got him involved in drugs. How?”
Tara looked away. “After closing the recording studio, Chase owed money to a lot of people. He didn’t know how to pay them back, so I introduced him to some people who were involved in the illegal drug business. He cut a deal with them and became a distributor. But there was a catch: they wanted him to open shop in his neighborhood.”
Fisher understood why. “They knew it was someone else’s turf?”
Tara nodded. “From then on Chase had a target on his back.” She covered her face with her hands. “I just never thought they’d try to kill him,” she said.
“That’s why we have to get to Chase before they do,” Fisher said.
Tara thought a moment. “I really don’t know where he is, but sometimes he likes to hang out at this one place.”
“Give us the name.”
FIFTY-TWO
“So, what do you think?” Callaway said.
Nina walked around the empty space with a smile on her face. Patti stood in the corner and observed the interior.
The two-bedroom unit was on the fourteenth floor of an apartment building. The place was recently painted—the smell of fresh paint still hung in the air—and the parquet floor had been polished. The building was well-maintained, the elevators seemed to be in working order, and when Callaway checked, there was hot water as well as cold. Hot water was a luxury he had lived without in his previous rental accommodations.
“I love it, Daddy,” Nina said, turning to him.
“How much is the rent?” Patti asked.
“Thirteen hundred,” Callaway replied.
“Isn’t that kind of steep for you?”
“I’m working on a case that will cover it and then some.”
“Why two bedrooms?”
“I was hoping that once I’m settled in, Nina can visit me and maybe even sleep over, you know.”
Nina jumped up. “Yay!” she yelled.
Patti frowned. “We’ll see how the visits go first before we discuss sleepovers. Okay?”
Callaway nodded. “I haven’t signed any papers yet,” he said. “I wanted your approval before I did that.”
Patti stared at him and then she relaxed. “It’s nice and clean.”
He smiled. “Once I hand over the first and last month’s rent, I can move in in two weeks.”
“Can I see the balcony?” Nina asked.
Callaway turned to Patti.
“Sure,” Patti replied.
Nina scurried away.
When they were alone, Patti said, “I need to ask you a favor.”
“Okay, what is it?” he eagerly asked. Patti rarely asked him for anything.
“My neighbor is away, so I need you to babysit Nina,” Patti replied.
Callaway had met this neighbor and he did not like her. In fact, the neighbor liked Callaway even less. She knew what kind of parent and husband Callaway was, so her opinion of him was not entirely unjustified. Even so, Callaway would rather have his daughter spend time with him than her.
“Sure, I’ll watch Nina,” he said. “You have a long shift?”
“No. Actually, I have a date.”
Callaway felt his chest tighten. He tried to hide the pain on his face. “Who is it?” he asked.
“It’s none of your business who I go out with,” she shot back.
She was right. They were no longer married, so she could do whatever she wanted.
“Can I rely on you to watch Nina or not?” Patti asked. “You’ve made promises before and not shown up.”
“No, I’ll be there,” he replied.
Callaway felt momentarily dizzy.
FIFTY-THREE
Holt and Fisher drove to a seedy part of the city. The place used to be a strip club—there were still neon signs across the front—but it had now been turned into a dance club.
The interior was dark, and it smelled of cigarettes and marijuana. In the middle of the space was a stage with a pole—a remnant from the strip club—with tables all around. There was a bar in the corner.
Holt and Fisher approached the bartender. He was a gruff looking man with a tattoo of an American eagle on one side of his shaved skull.
Holt flashed his badge and asked a question. The bartender nodded at a table in the far corner. Two men nursing their drinks were seated at the table.
Holt and Fisher walked over to them. Holt said, “We’re looking for Chase Burley.”
The first man, who
was wearing baggy clothes and a bandana, said, “I don’t know any Chase Burley.”
The second man, who was wearing a hoodie and a baseball cap, said, “Never heard that name before.”
They started laughing.
Holt flashed his badge and then opened his jacket to reveal his holster. “I didn’t find that very funny,” he said. He turned to Fisher. “Did you think that was funny?”
“I don’t find murder funny,” she replied.
The smiles dropped from the men’s faces. “Murder?” the first one said. “What are you talking about?”
“Chase’s father, Robert Burley, was found murdered in his home,” Holt said. “You are aware of this, are you not?”
There was a strong pungent stench emanating from both men. They must have just finished a joint, Fisher thought.
“We don’t watch the news,” the second man said.
“You should,” Holt scolded them. “That’s how you’ll know what’s happening around you.”
Fisher said, “Have you seen Chase?”
The first man shrugged. “We saw him two days ago.”
That’s the day Big Bob was murdered, Fisher thought.
“Did you talk to him?” Fisher asked.
“Yeah, but only for a bit,” the second man replied.
“What did you talk about?” Holt asked.
“Nothing much.”
“Why was he here?”
“He wanted to blow off some steam.”
“Why?”
“He was angry.”
“At who?”
“His old man, of course,” the second man said.
“Okay.”
“He was always pissed at him,” the second added. “It always had to do with money.”
“Did he ever threaten his father?” Holt asked.
Both men clammed up.
“Was he ever violent toward Big Bob?” Fisher pushed.
The first man sighed. “Chase always said he wished someone would teach his old man a lesson, but I don’t think he meant it, you know.”
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