“I would like to take the box with me,” Elle said.
“Of course, it’s your sister’s, and that makes it yours.”
She took a sip from her cup. “I have a terrible feeling something bad has happened to Katie.”
Callaway knew the feeling. Creating a new life was one thing, but it was entirely another to suddenly leave that life behind. Katie would have at least taken the trophies with her. They looked like they meant a great deal to her.
“What about Bruno Rocco?” Elle asked. “Did you find anything on him?”
“I made calls to my contacts in various law enforcement departments. What they told me doesn’t make sense.”
Elle was about to take a sip from her cup, but she stopped, holding her drink close to her lips. “What do you mean?”
“There is a Bruno Rocco, but he’s serving twelve years in Mainsville Penitentiary. He was connected to some big-time mobster whose name escapes me at the moment, but even the mobster is behind bars.”
“So what does Rocco have to do with Katie?” Elle asked.
“I wish I knew,” Callaway replied. “I have a feeling your sister was not being entirely truthful to you. She may have given you the name ‘Bruno Rocco’ so you would not ask any questions.”
“What about the photo we found in the garage? It had the initials BR on it.”
“It could be someone else,” he said. “But I’ll keep checking my sources to see what comes up.”
Callaway munched on his pastry. Elle sipped her tea.
“I wanted to ask you something,” she said.
“Go ahead,” he replied.
“Back at my apartment, you mentioned your ex-wife and daughter, but you never talked about your parents.”
“They are dead.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Any siblings?”
“I have a brother.”
“Older or younger?”
“Older, much older.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a captain in Harlow County. It was because of him that I joined the sheriff’s department.”
“Where?”
“Spokem County. It’s not far from Harlow. They are almost neighbors if you ask me. I was raised in Harlow. I did not want to work under my brother, so I applied to the sheriff’s department in the next county over.”
“When was the last time you spoke to your brother?” she asked.
Callaway was silent. He had not spoken to his brother in years. They never saw eye to eye. Their last conversation was when Callaway told him he was quitting being a sheriff’s deputy. The disappointment was palpable in his brother’s voice.
Callaway came from a long line of law enforcement officers. His uncle and father were state troopers, and his grandfather was a prison warden. His father never pushed him to follow the family tradition. He had Callaway’s older brother for that. But he was proud when Callaway told him he would become a member of the sheriff’s department. Callaway was grateful his father never lived to see the day he walked away from the profession. He would have been grief-stricken.
“It’s been a while,” he said solemnly.
“I’m sorry I asked,” she said. “I just wanted to know how far you would go to search for your brother if he was missing.”
Callaway gave Elle a firm look. “I would move heaven and earth to find him,” he said.
SIXTY-FOUR
Even with Cassandra Stevens’s address leading them nowhere, Holt was determined to push ahead. Isaiah may not have been the Boy Scout some thought he was, but he was still his nephew. He would never forgive himself if his nephew’s death turned into a cold case.
Cassandra was a big piece in this mystery. She was the one who had lured Isaiah to his demise.
Holt wanted to find out why.
They were back at Milton College. Holt and Fisher found Byron Fox on the basketball court. He was practicing his free throws when they approached him.
Byron had already worked up a sweat. He spotted them and asked, “You find out who killed my boy Isaiah?”
“We’re working on it,” Holt replied. “But first we need to ask you a few questions.”
Byron stopped bouncing the ball. “Okay.”
Holt held up a poster from the strip club. He pointed to a girl dressed in revealing clothing, extra makeup, and high heels. She had the girl-next-door kind of look. “That’s Cassandra Stevens. Isaiah was sending her messages on the morning he died. I want to know where he met her,” Holt said.
Byron made a face. “How would I know?”
“You were close to him,” Holt said. “He must have told you something.”
“He didn’t. That’s the honest-to-God truth. I was suspicious he was talking to a girl, but I never got her name.”
Holt pointed at Cassandra’s picture again. “So you’ve never seen this woman before?”
Byron glanced at the photo, but he quickly averted his eyes. “I gotta go,” he said.
He began to move away from them.
Holt moved in front of Byron. “You know who she is,” Holt said. His eyes were hard as rocks.
Byron, who was six-three, could have grappled with Holt if he wanted to, but he knew assaulting a cop was not a good idea.
Fisher came up next to Holt. “If you know anything, please tell us,” she said. “Isaiah was your best friend, and someone murdered him in cold blood. We want to find out why.”
Byron stared at her for a moment.
His shoulders drooped, and he let out a deep sigh. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but I do remember seeing her before.”
“Where?” Fisher asked.
“On campus.”
“When?”
“During a recruitment session.”
Fisher was confused. “Recruitment session?”
“Yeah, all the high school basketball prospects were invited to this session. It was supposed to help us get to know the school better, but it turned into a party instead. There was music, food, and even girls.”
“Why was Cassandra Stevens there?”
“I don’t know, but she and a couple of other girls danced for us.”
“You mean they stripped for you,” Fisher said, correcting him.
“Yeah, you can say that.”
“And Isaiah was at this party?”
“Sure, most of the freshmen on the team were.”
“Who organized the party?” Holt asked.
Byron bit his bottom lip, looking unsure if he should say more.
“You can tell us,” Fisher assured him. “We want to find Isaiah’s killer.”
Byron sighed. “It was organized by Assistant Coach Bledson.”
SIXTY-FIVE
Holt and Fisher confronted Jay Bledson in his office. Bledson was not surprised they had finally uncovered his dirty little secret.
“Why would you invite strippers to a party where some kids are under eighteen?” Holt growled.
Bledson lowered his head. “It’s not something I’m proud of, believe me, but I had no choice.”
“What do you mean you had no choice?” Holt shot back.
Bledson sighed. “It’s not easy getting the best prospects to sign up with your school when there are bigger and better programs out there. The schools who make it to the NCAA tournament each year get money from the tournament—and we are talking millions of dollars here. You should see their arenas and their practice facilities. Even their equipment centers are world-class. Milton College doesn’t have the money nor the reputation to compete with other schools for talent. We are not known for having the best athletics programs. We are better known for our educational departments.”
Holt knew this was true. Dennis was an alumnus, and he had graduated as a computer engineer.
“I was hired to scout young players,” Bledson said. “I visited many high schools in the state, and no one wanted to come to Milton for even a tour of the campus. I was desperate, so I started studying the recruiting tactics of small colleges a
nd universities. I could not promise the kids money or financial incentives. That would be impossible to do discreetly. You hear stories of players from poor neighborhoods who get to college and suddenly their families are driving brand-new cars or moving into a bigger house. It reeks of bribery, and people can smell it a mile away.”
“So you thought it was better to hire strippers?” Holt asked.
“It sounds lurid, but that’s not how it started. I wanted to hold a party on campus with live music, dancing, lots of food…”
“Alcohol?” Fisher asked.
Bledson shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Don’t think these kids weren’t already drinking in high school, though.”
“But it’s still illegal to serve them liquor,” Holt scolded him.
“Of course I know that, but it was all monitored.”
“By whom?”
“Me.”
“Forgive me if I don’t trust you to watch these kids,” Holt shot back.
“That’s fine, but even then, none of the sought-after recruits were showing up at these events. I just wanted to show these kids that Milton College was a fun place, and I couldn’t even do that. Then I got the idea to…”
He let his words trail off.
“To bring these girls in to strip for them?” Fisher said.
“I’ve been to the Gentlemen’s Hideout before, and I asked the owner to send over a couple of his best girls. They were only there to entertain them. I never encouraged or paid the girls to sleep with the players. Never. But word got out, and more and more talented kids started showing up at these parties. Once they saw what Milton College could offer, they signed up.”
“And Isaiah met Cassandra Stevens at this party?” Holt asked.
Bledson shrugged. “He must have. I don’t know.”
“Does Coach Loughton know about these parties?” Holt inquired.
“No, I set it up on my own.”
Holt did not believe him. A college coach was the second most powerful person after the college president. It’s highly unlikely he would not be aware of what’s going on behind his back, he thought.
Bledson saw the skepticism on Holt’s face. “Coach Loughton thinks the students are coming to Milton because of our focus on academics. We encourage and guide these students to complete their degrees. Most of them know they will never make it to the pros, so they are keen on getting a higher education.”
He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. “Isaiah was special, though,” he said. “He would have been the first Milton College graduate to jump to the professionals.”
Holt stood up. “You’re right. Isaiah was special, and he was going to go to Milton College regardless of these parties or not. He wanted to be closer to his family, and he wanted to make his father proud.” He pointed a finger at Bledson. “Because of you, he met this woman at one of your parties, and she directed him to a place where he ended up dead.”
Bledson covered his face with his hands and broke down.
SIXTY-SIX
Elle protested, but Callaway left her behind at the restaurant. He was not about to take a lady where even he hated going. His destination was not a safe place, and the people there were known to be involved in unfriendly situations.
He knocked on a steel door and waited. He was behind a strip club called the Gentlemen’s Hideout. The establishment had just opened its doors, but Callaway was in no mood to watch women undress themselves.
He had a task that was becoming more and more bizarre as the days went by. What was supposed to have been a straightforward search for a missing person had now become more complicated. Katie Pearson had disappeared three months ago. Then he discovered she was living her life as Linda Eustace. When he and Elle went out looking for Linda, they found she too had disappeared.
A small window in the door slid open. Two eyes peered out at Callaway.
“Who is it?”
“It’s your uncle,” Callaway replied, annoyed.
“Uncle Moe? Is that you?”
“Baxter, open the door!”
“Name please?”
Why do I have to do this each time I come here? Callaway thought. “It’s Lee Callaway.”
“Do you have an appointment?” Baxter asked.
Callaway narrowed his eyes. “I do, actually.”
“What time?”
Callaway checked his watch and rattled off the current time. “I’m actually running late. If you let me in, I’ll be able to make it to my appointment.”
“You’re not trying to trick me, are you?” Baxter asked.
Callaway smiled. “How can I do that? You’re the smartest guy I know.”
Callaway could see Baxter was smiling. The door was unlocked and it slid open.
Baxter came out. He was six-foot-four, weighing close to two hundred and fifty pounds, and he sported a buzz haircut. He always wore a tight t-shirt, even when the weather was chilly. The shirt exposed his well-defined biceps.
“Follow me,” he said.
They went up a flight of narrow stairs. The sounds from the strip club boomed through the walls.
They stopped at another door.
Baxter paused and then rapped his knuckles on the door. Callaway rolled his eyes. Baxter had a screw loose in his head, which made him juvenile and dangerous.
“Come in,” a voice bellowed from inside.
The door opened, and Callaway was escorted into a small, narrow office. A wide desk took up most of the space.
Mason was seated in a leather chair. He was short, rail-thin, and had a sleeve of tattoos on both of his arms. He sported a small goatee, and he wore prescription glasses.
“Your appointment has arrived,” Baxter said proudly.
“I didn’t have any appointments today,” Mason said.
Baxter turned to Callaway. His eyes suddenly filled with rage.
“Well, I might not have been entirely truthful, but I did try to call to make an appointment,” Callaway said. “It’s not my fault your phone’s not working.”
Mason sighed and looked at the spot on his desk where his phone usually sat. “The phone had an unfortunate accident.”
Mason looked over at the wall behind Callaway. There was a large dent in the drywall.
Mason must have flung the phone across the room, Callaway thought. I bet the thing is now in the dumpster.
Mason was a loan shark, and a very ruthless one at that. If you borrowed money from him and were late in repaying, he would send Baxter to get the money. Not only would he make sure you paid up, he would also make sure you never delayed paying Mason again. He would make an example out of you.
In desperate times, Callaway had come knocking on Mason’s door. He hated himself for that, but sometimes he was left with little or no choice.
I’m stupid that way, Callaway thought.
“What can I do for you, Lee?” Mason asked.
“I’m looking for someone, and I need your help,” Callaway replied.
Mason blinked and looked over at Baxter. “Did he just ask me for help?”
Baxter was smiling. “I think he did.”
Mason looked at Callaway. “I don’t find people. That’s your thing.”
“I’m kind of stuck, and I figured someone like you would know people in low places.”
“I’m offended.”
“Don’t be. It was a compliment.”
Mason stared at him. “Why would I go looking for this person?”
“It would mean a lot to me.”
Mason laughed so hard, he almost fell off his chair. Even Baxter was chortling.
Callaway shook his head.
Once Mason and his goon had their laugh, Mason wiped tears from his eyes and said, “That was the funniest thing I ever heard.” He turned to Baxter. “Isn’t that right?”
“My stomach hurts from laughing,” Baxter replied.
Dimwits, Callaway thought.
He pulled out a wad of hundred-dollar bills.
Mason and Baxter suddenly
looked like they had been hit by falling anvils.
“What’s that for?” Mason asked.
“I wouldn’t ask you for help assuming you would simply do me a favor, would I?”
Mason glared at Callaway. “Quit screwing around, Lee. Seriously, why would I waste my time looking for someone for you?”
“I’ll pay you to look for this person, genius,” Callaway replied. “You think I’m holding toy money here?”
Mason’s eyes narrowed. “You’re offering me money?”
“Yep. I know, the world is ending, right?” Callaway quipped.
“That’s never happened before,” Mason said, clearly dumbfounded.
Callaway chuckled. “There’s always a first for everything, right?”
“How much is it worth to you?” Mason asked, revealing his stained teeth. He looked like a hyena circling his prey.
“Five hundred.”
Mason frowned. “That’s not a lot of money.”
Callaway shrugged. “It’s not a lot of work. All you have to do is make some calls. That’s it.” He glanced at the bare spot on Mason’s desk. “Unless you can’t get a new phone, I mean.”
Mason snorted. “I don’t live in the Stone Age. Of course I can get a new phone.”
Callaway smiled. “Then it won’t be too much work for you.”
“Who am I looking for?” Mason asked.
Callaway held up a photo of Katie. He had made a copy on his way over.
“Who’s she?” Mason asked.
“Someone I’m looking for, smart guy. She may have gotten herself involved with the wrong people. I need you to find out if anyone’s seen her. She may be calling herself Linda Eustace.” He pulled out a copy of the man’s photo. “She may be hanging out with this guy. I can’t be certain, but he might be going by the name of Bruno Rocco.”
“That’s two people you want me to look for.”
“Okay, then I’ll double it and make it a grand.” The money was coming from the five thousand Elle had given him. He had thought about asking her for more, but the girl was already going through so much. He felt wrong to get more out of her.
Mason considered Callaway’s offer. “I can make some calls, but it’ll cost you two grand.”
The Gone Sister (A Private Investigator Mystery Series of Crime and Suspense, Lee Callaway #2) Page 14