“Next thing I heard was that something terrible had happened to him.” Bledson shook his head, his eyes full of disbelief.
Something terrible did happen, Holt thought. A promising young man’s life was brutally taken away.
TWENTY-SIX
Callaway looked at Elle. “What’s your sister’s name?” he asked.
“Katie,” Elle replied. “Katie Pearson.”
“Okay. What happened to her?”
“I don’t know. The last time I spoke to her was over three months ago.”
Callaway blinked. “Three months?!” he said a little too loudly.
“I contacted the police shortly after our last conversation.”
“And?”
“They first told me it’s not illegal for a person to disappear, especially if it’s an adult.”
“How old is your sister?” Callaway asked.
“She turned twenty-two a month ago.”
“And what have the police done so far?”
“After I filed a missing persons report, I’ve not heard back from them.”
Callaway knew that was not unusual in cases like these. There were thousands of stories of people who were never found or seen again. The police departments were already backlogged with unsolved murder cases, so a lot of times, the less violent crimes were pushed to the back burner. Unless there was suspicion of foul play, these cases were rarely investigated thoroughly.
“Where does your sister live?” Callaway asked.
“In Milton.”
“And you?”
“I live in Mayview.”
That’s just an hour from here, Callaway thought.
“What was your sister doing in Milton?” he asked.
“She was working and studying.”
“Do you have a photo of your sister?”
She unzipped her purse, searched inside, and placed a Polaroid on the table. Callaway picked up the photo.
Katie was smiling. She had blonde hair, dark eyes, and perfect teeth.
“Do you have another photo? Perhaps one with her standing?” Callaway asked. In his experience, a full-body shot was more helpful than the one of a profile.
“Sorry, this is the only one I have,” Elle replied.
“What about on your cell phone?”
She smiled. “Why would I have them on my phone when I can’t even see them?”
Callaway felt flustered. “Right, sorry. Do you have the police report that you filed?”
Elle again reached into her purse and pulled out a folded document. She slid it across the table.
Callaway scanned the report. It had the missing person’s name, age, height, weight, hair color, eye color, build, nicknames, known allergies, medical condition, articles of clothing they were last seen wearing, and so on. The report was dated three months earlier.
“Have you been to Milton before?” Callaway asked.
“This is my first time.”
Callaway figured that. The police report was filed in Mayview.
“Have you spoken to the Milton PD? Your sister was in Milton at the time of her disappearance, you know,” he said.
“I did speak to them, and they told me another missing persons report was not necessary as one had already been filed in Mayview.”
“Really?” Callaway was surprised by this.
“My sister’s information was already logged in NamUS.”
The National Missing and Unidentified Persons System was operated by the Department of Justice. The information in the system was used by law enforcement officials, agencies, and even individuals in searching for missing persons.
“And you are certain your sister was in Milton?” Callaway had to be sure before he proceeded.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“How?”
“She told me.”
“She texted you?”
“No, we spoke on the phone.”
“Why didn’t she text you?”
“I don’t know how to text.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t see.”
Callaway’s face turned beet red. Second time I put my foot in my mouth, he thought.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Elle said, sensing his embarrassment. “I’ve had people say far worse things to me before.”
“I did not mean to offend you with my questioning,” he said. “I’ve taken on cases before where a person has gone missing, and after weeks of searching, I’ve found them in another state, sometimes living under a different name. There is nothing I nor the police can do to compel them to return to their family. If they are an adult, they are free to leave the country, state, or city whenever they want.”
“My sister has not left the country, nor the state, nor the city.”
“How do you know?”
Elle fell silent. “I can’t be certain, of course, but what I can tell you is my sister and I spoke regularly. Three months ago, she stopped answering my calls. I’ve waited patiently for the police to tell me they’ve found her. I have now taken it upon myself to do something about it. Are you going to help me or not?” Her voice was gentle but determined.
“I’m not sure what I can do,” Callaway replied. Missing persons cases often did not result in positive outcomes, and Callaway did not want to give Elle false hope. Since she was blind, Callaway would feel like he had abused Elle’s trust in him if he searched for Katie and failed.
She reached into her purse for a third time and pulled out an envelope. She laid it on the table. The envelope was thick and heavy.
“It’s five thousand dollars. All up front,” Elle said.
Callaway’s mouth nearly hit the table. He needed a moment to compose himself. “That’s a lot of money, Elle, and believe me when I say this, it is money I could desperately use right now. But you’d be throwing it away. It might be better if the police looked into it.”
“They are not doing anything.”
“You should have a case number from your missing persons report. You could contact the person in charge of your case and get an update.”
“I already did.”
“And?”
“I get the standard answer that they are investigating this matter and they will let me know the moment they find something.”
Callaway sighed, “That’s no surprise, given how the Milton PD is stretched thin right now.”
“Please,” Elle said. “I need someone whose sole job is to find my sister.”
“What if I’m not able to find her?” he asked.
“Katie was my younger sister. She was also my best friend. I don’t know where she is, and it is eating away at me. There are times I go to bed crying. There are also times I can barely function. I am willing to do whatever it takes to find out what happened to her, even if it means I may never see her again.”
Callaway was silent for a moment. “Fine. I’ll look into it and get back to you.”
He reached for the envelope.
Elle blocked his hand with hers.
“I want to come with you wherever you go.”
Callaway frowned. “It might be better if I did this on my own. I don’t want to inconvenience you, or worse, put you in any danger.”
“It’s my sister and it’s my money,” Elle said.
Callaway stared at her.
“Forgive me if I don’t trust you just yet. I can’t see with my eyes, which means I don’t know if you will do what you say you will.”
That seems logical, he thought. “Okay, fine.”
She smiled once again.
He thought of something. “How did you find me?”
“I heard about the Paul Gardener case.”
“Right, of course,” Callaway said.
That case finally got me a client, he thought.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Holt and Fisher were inside a room with glass walls at Milton College. A security officer was seated behind a set of computer monitors. The security cameras, located in every corner of the campus, h
ad recently been installed due to a string of sexual assaults that had rocked the college.
A masked man dressed in dark clothing had attacked female students as they walked to and from class. All the attacks had taken place at night, and the victims were unable to identify their attacker. The college hired extra security officers and placed restrictions on students walking alone. The attacks would have continued had someone not come forward with information.
The roommate of a law student told campus police that on the night of the attacks, the law student would disappear for hours. The authorities were going to bring the law student in for questioning, but then they learned the man’s roommate had previously been reprimanded for cheating on his exams. The whistle-blower in that situation happened to be the law student, and the authorities worried the tip could be a false lead given out of spite. They also worried the real attacker could disappear for good if they caught the wrong person. Instead, they took no action against the law student and continued their investigation in secrecy. Several months went by without an incident. The extra campus security was reduced, and restrictions were lifted on students walking on campus after dark.
One night, the law student was seen leaving his room. He was dressed in black, and he had a mask in his pocket. The law student hid behind a set of trees, shielded in darkness, as a female student left her class. She was on her phone, unaware that someone was watching her as she walked back to her dorm.
The law student waited for the right moment to pounce. What no one was told at the time was that an undercover officer had been placed across the hall from the law student. For several months, the officer never let the law student out of his sight. Now the officer was tailing the law student. When he made his move, so did the undercover officer. Before the law student could reach the female student, he was on the ground and handcuffed.
Holt knew all the details because Isaiah had told him. Isaiah had wanted Holt’s opinion on what to do to keep his female friends safe on campus. Isaiah was big and strong, and he was a protector for those he cared for.
As Holt stared at the monitors, he could not help but wonder if he could have protected Isaiah had he known what he was up to that morning.
The security officer played with the keyboard until he found what he was looking for. He pointed to a monitor on the left.
The image showed the parking lot next to the gymnasium. The clock at the bottom indicated the time was a little after six a.m. They watched as the doors opened and Isaiah came out of the building.
Holt’s back arched, and his hands tightened into balls. He clenched his jaw, feeling emotions rush through him. Only a few hours later, his nephew’s bullet-riddled body would be found.
Fisher placed her hand over his fist to calm him. Her gesture helped, but not that much. Holt could not tear his eyes away from the screen.
Isaiah rushed to a car parked in the corner of the lot. They recognized it as the Chrysler. He shoved the key into the door, unlocked it, and got behind the wheel.
He raced out of the lot a moment later.
Bledson was telling the truth, Holt thought. He did let Isaiah borrow his car.
But something troubled him. Why was Isaiah in such a hurry to leave? Was he meeting someone at the furniture store? And was this person responsible for Isaiah’s death?
He wished he had the answer.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The house looked run-down from afar and looked no better up close. The grass had not been mowed in months, and discarded appliances and furniture were scattered on the lawn. The window shutters were broken or missing, and the exterior paint was peeling and faded.
Callaway read the address to Elle to make sure they were at the right place.
“Yes,” Elle replied. “That’s the address Katie told me.”
Why would Katie live in a dump like this? Callaway thought as he knocked on the front door.
A moment later, a large woman appeared from behind the screen mesh. “If you’re selling something, I’m not buying,” she said in a hoarse voice.
“We are looking for someone,” he said. “Her name is Katie Pearson. We believe she lives at this address.”
“No one by that name lives here,” the woman replied.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. It’s my damn house.”
Callaway held up the Polaroid. “Can you take a look?”
The woman squinted. “Never seen her before. Listen, I’m missing my favorite show. You got the wrong house.”
Elle spoke up. “Do you have tenants in your basement?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I do. So?”
Callaway understood where Elle was going. “Do you mind if we spoke to your tenant?” he asked the woman.
“Yeah, I do mind. Now get off my property before I call the cops.”
“Please,” Elle said. “I’m looking for my sister. She’s missing.”
The woman stared at her. “Fine. Go around the back and knock on the door. He’s probably sleeping, so you’re gonna have to bang on the door to wake him up.”
The woman slammed her door shut.
Callaway shook his head and proceeded to the back of the house. Elle followed behind, tapping her stick as she did. Callaway wondered if he should hold her hand to assist her, but she looked like she did not need his help.
Callaway pounded on the basement door with his fist. A man stuck his head out a minute later. His eyes were slits, and he blinked like he was lost in a daze. “Who are you?” he asked.
Callaway smelled marijuana on him. “We are looking for this person.” Callaway held up the Polaroid again. “Her name is Katie Pearson. Do you know her?”
The tenant came out to get a better look. He was wearing a stained t-shirt and shorts. “Nah, man. I’ve never seen her before, but I kinda wish I had.”
He grinned.
Callaway ignored the comment. “How long have you been staying here?”
“I moved in two months ago.”
That’s after Katie went missing, Callaway thought.
“And do you know who lived here before you?”
The tenant shook his head. “No idea. You can ask the landlord upstairs.”
“She’s not very friendly,” Callaway said. He had no desire to knock on her door again.
The tenant nodded. “She’s one mean lady,” he said.
Callaway turned to Elle. “Maybe Katie might not have told you the right address.” He knew it was common for people to be untruthful about where they lived if they did not want their families to find out.
“Katie would never lie to me,” Elle said. Callaway opened his mouth to speak, but Elle surprised him by asking the tenant, “Sir, is your rent four hundred plus electricity?”
“Yeah, it is,” the tenant replied.
“That’s what my sister paid too. And is your apartment covered with sunflower wallpaper?”
The tenant’s mouth dropped. “Yeah, how did you know?”
“My sister told me.”
“Do you mind if I confirm this?” Callaway asked, feeling curious.
The tenant hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said.
“I know you got weed in there, and I don’t care,” Callaway said. “I just want to take a quick look.”
The tenant held the door for him. Callaway went down the steps. The smell of marijuana was strong, almost unbearable. The basement was cramped and dark, but Callaway easily spotted the wallpaper. It was ugly and covered in sunflowers.
He hurried back outside, grateful to breathe fresh air again.
“You were right,” he said to Elle.
“Katie always complained that the yellow wallpaper made her want to throw up,” Elle said.
TWENTY-NINE
Coach Earl Loughton had a boyish face, sharp eyes, and salt-and-pepper hair. Even though he was still in his early thirties, the premature gray hairs were a result of the stress and pressures of being a head coach. Loughton was wearing a white pol
o shirt, black shorts, and white basketball shoes. He had a whistle hanging around his neck.
Holt and Fisher were in Loughton’s office. The walls were adorned with photos of all the teams Loughton had coached over the years. Loughton was a rising star in college basketball, and Milton College had just given him a multi-year contract worth millions of dollars, including bonuses.
Loughton was a hard-nosed coach who demanded a lot from his players, but he also cared about the young men under his watch. Isaiah had nothing but positive things to say about him.
Holt had met Loughton once before, during a practice scrimmage the team was having. Holt decided to drop by and see Isaiah play. When he saw Isaiah hold his own against older, bigger, and more experienced players, he knew the kid had a bright future ahead of him.
Holt was also able to exchange a few words with Loughton. He came away agreeing with Isaiah’s sentiments about the man.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Loughton said. “I know Isaiah meant a lot to you.”
“Thank you,” Holt said, but Loughton’s condolences did little to ease his grief.
“I spoke to his parents, and I can’t imagine what they must be going through,” Loughton continued. “We are all devastated by this tragedy. I offered to cancel tonight’s game out of respect, but his parents were adamant that the team play. It was what Isaiah would have wanted.”
Holt knew it was typical of Isaiah to put others before himself. He never wanted anyone to go out of their way to do something for him. He was a humble person.
“Isaiah was the heart and soul of the team,” Loughton said. “He was one helluva player and a great kid. We had great hopes for him.”
“We did too,” Holt said.
Loughton nodded. “Thanks for letting me talk to my guys first. I know you want to question them.”
“No problem,” Holt said. “We saw the footage of Isaiah leaving campus this morning. He left pretty quickly. Any reason why he’d be in such a hurry?”
“I wish I knew,” Loughton replied. “I really do. We try to keep an eye on them. They are still kids, and we don’t want them getting into anything that might reflect badly on them, the team, or the college. We pay extra attention during road games. We try to keep all the players on the same floors of the hotel, and we position coaches in rooms on each end of the hall so we know if someone’s leaving the property. We once had a hotel mess up our booking, and we had players all over the hotel. The next morning, we found our two point guards, our starting center, and a couple of bench players heavily intoxicated. One of them had snuck out, purchased alcohol, and brought it back to the hotel. Later that day, we lost the game by almost thirty points. Isaiah wasn’t like that. He took the game seriously. He never drank, he ate well, and he worked hard. A role model for the other players.”
The Gone Sister (A Private Investigator Mystery Series of Crime and Suspense, Lee Callaway #2) Page 6