“What does she do?”
Bull was silent.
“We want to find her,” Fisher said. “We want to know that she is safe.”
Bull sighed. “She’s a lady of the night.”
“She’s a prostitute?”
He nodded. “But I know she wanted to stop doing it. She didn’t like the kind of men who hired her.”
“Is the guy in the trailer one of her clients?” Fisher asked.
“Yeah.”
“You know who he is?”
“Kind of. Debra never mentioned names, but she said the guy’s dad had won the lottery or something.”
“So, Debra knew he had money?” Fisher prodded.
“She did. She was hoping he’d help her get out of here.”
“When was the first time you saw him at Debra’s place?” Fisher asked.
He searched his mind. “A month or so ago.”
“And you didn’t see him again until this morning, right?”
“No. I actually saw him a couple of nights ago.”
Fisher glanced at Holt, who had been listening silently. Big Bob was murdered a couple of nights ago.
“What was he doing here?” Fisher asked.
“I dunno. I was looking forward to spending time with Debra when…”
“You’re also one of her clients?”
Bull looked away. “A guy gets lonely, you know,” he said.
“Sure, it’s understandable,” Fisher said. “So, what happened a couple of nights ago?”
“I knocked on her trailer, and he answered the door.”
“The dead guy inside, you mean?”
“Yeah. I was surprised to see him. I asked where Debra was, and he said she’d stepped outside.”
“How did this guy act? Was he nervous? Angry? Intimidating?”
“He wasn’t intimidating, but I think he kind of looked nervous, like he was hiding from someone.”
“What made you think that?”
“When I knocked, I saw someone move the curtain. I waited, but no one opened the door. I knocked again and that’s when he asked who I was. I told him I was Debra’s neighbor. Only then did he open the door.”
Fisher pondered this. “After you spoke to him, then what happened?” she asked.
“I kept an eye on her trailer that night,” Bull replied. “I had heard stories of guys hurting the girls they’d hired. I was concerned about her, but a few hours later, she came back carrying bags of groceries.”
“Did you see the guy again?”
“Only once or twice.”
“So, he never left her property?”
“As far as I can tell, no, he never did.”
SIXTY-FOUR
Fisher walked around the trailer park with a frown on her face. She knew it was a bad area to look for evidence. There were no security cameras anywhere, there was hardly any traffic, and most of the residents kept to themselves.
There was a reason why some of them chose to live like this. They were running away from one problem or another. Bull spoke to them openly. Fisher got the sense that he had feelings for Debra. He must have been crushed to see Chase living at her home. He could have been jealous as well.
Holt and Fisher had examined Bull’s trailer just in case. They saw nothing out of the ordinary. No bloody clothes or weapons of any kind.
Fisher doubted he was Chase’s killer. Chase Burley was tortured and then stabbed in the chest. Bull was half Chase’s size. She could not see him overpowering Chase.
And then there was the phone call. Why would Bull call 9-1-1 if he had brutally killed Chase?
Fisher’s eyes narrowed when a thought occurred to her:
What if Debra killed Chase?
Maybe Chase had told her about the money. She wanted to stop being a prostitute, and what better opportunity to start a new life than with cash in her hand?
Debra could have stabbed Chase and run off with his money. Fisher thought it was odd that Chase’s car was not at the trailer park. He had to have driven here. The obvious answer was Debra had used his car as the getaway vehicle.
That raised another question:
Was Bull protecting her? That possibility made sense, but at the same time, did not.
If Debra did kill Chase, then why did she torture him? Was it to find out where he kept the money? If so, then why did she not leave with Bull, who was supposedly her accomplice? Why did he stay behind?
Bull had nothing to do with Chase’s death, she concluded. Debra might know something, but until they located her, she was only a person of interest.
There was another possibility, however. What if Debra was in hiding? What if she stumbled upon Chase’s body, got scared, and ran away?
This made more sense. Whoever killed Big Bob also killed his son. The modus operandi was the same.
What if this was never about Big Bob but about Chase all along?
What if the same people who shot up his house in Westport were the same people who murdered him?
Chase was involved in a turf war with a local gang. Chase had gone to his father’s house to get his stash of drugs. The gang followed him to the house, and he somehow managed to escape, leaving his father behind. Cornered, Big Bob must have told them about the money in his safe. They killed him nonetheless. And to tie up loose ends, they tracked down Chase and killed him too.
But then how did the maid fit into all of this? She never mentioned seeing anyone at the house other than Big Bob and Chase. And she had clearly heard them arguing inside the house.
And why sever Big Bob’s thumb when he supposedly told his killers where he kept the safe?
Fisher felt a migraine coming on.
Instead of finding answers, she was faced with even more questions.
SIXTY-FIVE
Callaway was once again parked across from the office tower. This was his fifth trip in several days, and apart from his very first visit, he rarely saw Gilford come out for lunch.
Maybe this time I really did spook him, he thought. Maybe he now has his guard up.
Nevertheless, Callaway had to find a way to fulfil his duties or else Isabel Gilford might ask for her money back. He did not have a refund policy, but there was a mutual understanding that funds would be returned if Callaway was unable to accomplish his task. There was a reason why clients paid half up front and the remainder upon completion.
Callaway stared at the glass building and squinted. He still did not know the name of the assistant. She was not listed on the website for Gilford’s firm, and Isabel Gilford did not know her real name either.
He found this last part very odd.
If Callaway knew his spouse was cheating on him, the first thing he would do is find out more about this other person. What if Cary Gilford did not like talking about business at home? Isabel Gilford came across as a woman who had lived a sheltered life.
Callaway’s research on Isabel revealed that she was the only child of a prominent businessman and his philanthropic wife. She grew up riding horses and skiing in Aspen. She met Cary Gilford at a horse show and they dated for two years before getting married in a medieval castle in Spain.
Callaway had attained all this information from a profile piece on Cary Gilford by a well-respected business magazine. Cary had just opened his firm and he was looking to attract investors. He had graduated summa cum laude from Columbia Business School and promptly gotten a job on Wall Street. He quit after getting married, and with generous help from his father-in-law, Gilford started his own investment firm. The piece on him was positive overall, and it also delved into Gilford’s hobbies. He played polo and he ran in marathons around the world.
Regardless of Isabel Gilford’s background, and her lack of knowledge about her husband’s firm’s employees, she was still Callaway’s employer. As such, he had to work with whatever information she gave him.
He would have to find the assistant’s name on his own.
He just did not know how.
SIXTY-SIX
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An hour had gone by, and still there was no sign of Cary Gilford. Callaway normally did not get anxious on a case, but right now he felt like he needed to do something.
The longer he waited, the more he felt like the job was slipping away from him. He was no closer to getting that perfect shot of Gilford with his assistant. And sooner or later, Gilford would realize something was up.
This was inevitable.
A person would have to wear blinders not to see they were being watched. Even if Callaway was careful and avoided being caught, Isabel Gilford could do something that could expose him. That had happened before, and there was no reason why it could not happen now.
He once had a client who wanted Callaway to follow her cheating husband. Callaway did so for days, which ended up turning into weeks. During this time, the client blurted out to her best friend that she had hired a private investigator. She did not know at the time that it was her best friend the husband was having the affair with. Needless to say, Callaway’s investigation came to an abrupt halt and he eventually had to abandon it all together. Only much later did the truth finally come out.
He saw a delivery truck pull into a plaza across from the office tower. A man in a uniform got out and walked to a fast-food restaurant.
Callaway suddenly had an idea. He removed his coat and got out of the Charger. He raced up to the delivery truck, stopped, and surveyed his surroundings. When he was certain no one was looking, he pulled the handle of the driver’s side door. As he expected, it opened without much effort. Most drivers did not lock their doors. They were only gone from their trucks for a few minutes, and anyway, stealing mail was a federal offense.
Callaway had no intention of touching any of the mail. He was looking for something else. He searched the truck’s interior until he spotted what he was looking for. A cap with the delivery company’s logo on it was lying on the passenger seat. He grabbed the cap. He then searched again and found a clipboard with a pen attached to it. The clipboard held a list of all the deliveries for the day. He left the list, but he took the clipboard.
He hurried away from the truck. He returned to the Charger and took a deep breath. He waited to see if he had raised any alarms.
The delivery truck driver was not running after him or making a commotion. In fact, he was not even back yet.
Callaway moved toward the office tower.
He reached the entrance, went through a set of glass doors, and took the elevator up to the nineteenth floor. Getting off the elevator, he consulted a directory on the wall of a carpeted hallway. The directory indicated he had to go right in order to get to his destination. He moved past other businesses and slowed in front of a glass wall. The sign on the door read: Gilford Investments.
He saw a young woman behind the desk. She was not the assistant. He placed the cap on his head, and with the clipboard in hand, he entered.
The young woman immediately smiled at him. “Welcome to Gilford Investments,” she said.
“Hi there,” he said. “I’m here to pick up a package.”
The woman looked around. “Oh, I don’t see anything here for you.”
“Are you sure?” Callaway asked in mock surprise.
“Yes. Brooke usually leaves it underneath the desk.”
“Brooke?” Callaway asked.
“Mr. Gilford’s assistant.”
Callaway pretended to scan the clipboard. “What’s her full name?”
“Brooke O’Shea.”
“Can you spell that for me?” He wanted to make sure he got it right. Some people used an apostrophe and others did not.
The woman spelled the name and he made a mental note of it. He frowned. “I don’t see her name here.”
The woman reached for the phone. “Brooke’s not in, but I can call and ask her.”
“Found it,” Callaway said. “I’m actually supposed to pick it up tomorrow. How foolish of me.”
He apologized and then quickly extricated himself from the situation. He did not want Gilford coming out of his office and seeing him.
As Callaway took the elevator down, he could not help but smile.
SIXTY-SEVEN
Before returning to the Charger, Callaway discarded his impromptu disguise and then walked around the office tower’s parking lot. To his shock, Cary Gilford’s Audi was not there.
How could I’ve not seen it leave? he thought. I followed him in this morning, and I was here the entire time.
He frowned.
Wait. What if he left while I was procuring my disguise?
That would make sense as to why Callaway did not see Gilford inside his office. Gilford Investments occupied a small space, so anyone could have heard his conversation with the woman at the desk. Cary would have surely come out at the sound of his mistress’s name.
Brooke O’Shea was not in the office either. Did she and Cary leave together?
Callaway cursed himself.
I’ve just lost another opportunity. They could be anywhere.
Instead of scolding himself further, he decided to utilize his time. He got behind the wheel of his Charger and drove to a building he had seen on his way over. The place was an impressive structure, made of concrete with white columns in the front and a dozen steps leading up to a massive oak door.
The Milton Public Library housed original manuscripts from some of the twentieth century’s most respected writers. Works by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Joseph Conrad, Virginia Woolf, Graham Greene, and by many others could be found there. Callaway rarely read, so he was not here to peruse any of the masterpieces on display. He was here to do some research. He spoke to a librarian who had him fill out a form because he did not have a library card, and then she led him to a computer terminal in the corner.
Once he was online, Callaway entered the name “Brooke O’Shea” in the search field. There were dozens of people with that name. He then typed in “Gilford Investments” next to the name. Several links came up and he clicked on the first one, which was for a career networking site. The profile photo showed a woman with blonde hair, bright red lipstick, and wearing a striped suit jacket. Brooke O’Shea looked professional, and, Callaway would not hesitate to admit, also looked stunning. As a man, he could see why Cary Gilford would be attracted to her.
Callaway scrolled further through her profile. She graduated from an acting school in New York. After small parts in TV shows and B-movies, she started to work as a secretary for a law firm. She then joined Gilford Investments, and in her spare time she was working toward becoming a paralegal. At the bottom of her profile was a quote from her: “Although I have had to take on various positions to pay the bills, my passion is and will always be acting. Nothing gets me excited more than to get inside the skin of a stranger. If I can make a viewer believe I am this other person, then I have done my job as an actress.”
He clicked on other sites. Most had the same basic information on the projects she had starred in. One of the sites was for a talent agency. Callaway assumed they represented her. There was a telephone number listed at the bottom.
He decided to give them a call.
SIXTY-EIGHT
Callaway waited as the phone rang. A moment later, a female voice said,
“Tanner Creative Agency.”
Callaway spoke in a southern drawl. “Hi there. My name is Gator Peckerwood, and before you ask me if that’s my real name, unfortunately, it is. My parents were from Louisiana. Anyway, I am calling from DBC Studios and I was supposed to deliver a script to one of your actresses, Ms. Brooke O’Shea.”
“Oh yes,” came the chirpy reply. “We represent Brooke.”
“I was wondering if you could give me her home address.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Which studio are you calling from again?” the woman asked.
“DBC Studios. We’re based out of Vancouver, Canada.”
“You can mail the script to us at Tanner Creative Agency and we’ll make sure she gets it.”
It was Cal
laway’s turn to pause. He wanted to let the silence hang so the woman on the other end would feel uncomfortable.
“Sir, are you still there?” the woman asked with a trace of anxiety.
“I am. I have specific instructions to hand deliver the script to Ms. O’Shea and Ms. O’Shea only. I am to fly to Milton, wait until Ms. O’Shea has read the script, and then return to Vancouver with the script in my possession. If this is not possible, then we will look at other actresses on our list.” Callaway knew secrecy was paramount in productions with large budgets. With the advent of the internet, studio executives worried about scripts being leaked online.
“No, that won’t be necessary,” the woman said. “I know Brooke would be perfect for the role. Do you have a pen on hand?”
“I do.”
She relayed the address to him.
“Thank you. You have been most helpful,” he said, and hung up.
He got in the Charger and drove twenty-five minutes to a condominium complex. Three high-rises circled a children’s playground.
Callaway wanted to drive into the complex, but there was a security guard stationed at the entrance. All unknown drivers had to check in at his booth before they could proceed further. Callaway did not know anyone in the complex, so he could not bluff his way in by claiming he was here to visit someone. And there was no way he wanted Brooke O’Shea to know he was even here.
So, what am I doing here anyway? he thought.
He knew the answer. He wanted to see where she lived and how she lived. The condo complex looked upscale. If he had to guess, each unit cost over three-hundred thousand dollars. How could a washed-up actress, on the salary of an assistant, afford such a place? The answer was she could not, but her employer, Cary Gilford, could.
Callaway felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head which came whenever he was excited. If his hunch turned out right, then his client, Isabel Gilford, would be pleased to know her husband was paying for his mistress’s accommodation. This would give her more ammunition to seize control of her husband’s business during the divorce.
The Invisible Wife Page 15