The Gone Sister (A Private Investigator Mystery Series of Crime and Suspense, Lee Callaway #2)

by Thomas Fincham

  “When I spoke to Glenn Maker, he alluded to the fact that the girls were protected. What did he mean by that?” Callaway asked.

  “Before agreeing to take on a client, we met them at a specific location.”

  “Specific location?”

  She nodded. “Glenn’s not really a pimp. He’s more of a programmer. This whole setup was like a business transaction to him. But Carl was the one who watched over us when we met the clients.”

  “Carl?” Callaway asked.

  “Carl Goodwin. He owns an art gallery where we met the clients. He was protective of us girls. There were many times he would end a meeting if the girls felt uncomfortable or wanted to end the transaction.”

  “Do you know where I can find this Carl Goodwin?”

  “I’ll give you his address.”

  EIGHTY

  The building was old and decayed. The white exterior paint had turned yellowish brown. The windows were boarded up with plywood, and the lawn surrounding the property was covered in weeds and tall grass.

  When the call came in, Holt and Fisher rushed over. They drove around to the back of the building. They spotted a police cruiser and parked next to it. A string of yellow police tape was already in place to secure the scene.

  A uniformed officer stood before the tape. He was surrounded by three young men. The officer saw the detectives and came over.

  To Fisher’s pleasant surprise, the patrolman was Lance McConnell.

  “Dispatch notified me about twenty minutes ago,” McConnell said.

  “They called it in?” Holt asked, nodding in the direction of the young men.

  “They did.”

  “Show it to us.”

  They followed McConnell through the police tape and across the building’s parking lot. Fisher estimated it had space for around thirty vehicles.

  “What was in the building before it was abandoned?” Fisher asked McConnell.

  “They used to print labels for products. I think it was owned by two brothers, but after one died, the other sold it. The new owners had no idea about the labeling business. It soon went under. I think they used to employ close to fifty people at one time.”

  She was not sure why she had asked him, but she liked hearing his response. What is it about him that is making me blush? she thought.

  She quickly shook the thought away. They were here for a reason that did not involve getting googly-eyed over someone she really did not know.

  Next to the parking lot was a small lake. The water was black and still.

  There was an object by the water’s edge. They walked up and realized the object was shaped like a body. It was covered in several garbage bags secured with nylon ropes. A pale white limb was sticking out from a corner of the bag.

  A long piece of wood lay next to the body.

  Holt and Fisher quickly pulled on latex gloves and carefully approached the corpse. From his jacket pocket, Holt removed a switchblade and gently cut the bag open.

  He grimaced as a strong odor hit his nostrils. Fisher covered her nose with the back of her hand. McConnell took a step back.

  The body was a woman with flowing blonde hair, but that was all they could tell about her.

  Her cheeks were purple, bruised, and swollen. Her eyes were puffy and shut tight. Her lips were red and cut up.

  Whoever she was, she was almost unrecognizable.

  EIGHTY-ONE

  Callaway entered the restaurant. He spotted Joely behind the counter. She nodded to a booth at the far end.

  Elle was sitting at the table with a cup before her. Joely had called Callaway and told him Elle had been waiting for him for close to an hour.

  He sat across from her. She sensed him and turned her head toward him. “Lee?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “I went to your office and I thought about waiting for you there, but then I decided to come here.”

  “You could have called me,” he said.

  “I did not want to do it over the phone”

  His back tensed. “Do what?”

  “Apologize to you for my abrupt disappearance.”

  He relaxed. “That’s okay.”

  “Along with a lot of other issues, I also suffer from severe anxiety attacks.” Elle lowered her head. “I haven’t left my apartment since the last time we spoke.”

  “Oh,” he said.

  “I kept thinking something bad might have happened to Katie, or that I will never see her again. These thoughts paralyzed me, and I worried I would go down a deep, dark hole that I won’t be able to come out of. Fortunately, my doctor prescribed me something that has lifted the cloud off. This was another reason why it took me three months to get the courage to come down to Milton and search for Katie.”

  “I appreciate you sharing this with me. I know it must have been difficult for you,” Callaway said.

  She nodded. “While I was away, did you find anything on my sister?” she asked.

  He was not sure how he could break the news to her, especially after what she had just told him about her condition. “I’ve made some progress,” he slowly replied.

  She smiled. “And do you know where she is?”

  “Um… I… it’s just that…” he stammered.

  Her smile disappeared. “Tell me what you found.”

  There’s that determination in her voice again, he thought. He found it reassuring.

  “You might not like it,” he warned her.

  “I want to know.”

  “Katie was working as an escort.”

  Her silence spoke volumes as to how shocked she was.

  He was not sure how much time had passed when she asked, “Are you certain?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” he replied. “It was how she was supporting her lifestyle in Milton.”

  He was met with more silence. She slowly reached for the cup, found it, and moved it toward her lips. She stopped short and said, “Do you think that’s why Katie didn’t want me to come see her?”

  “It could very well be,” he said. “She was likely ashamed of what she was doing.”

  Elle put the cup down. “When I came to Milton, I never expected I would end up going on this emotional roller coaster. Every time I think I understand my sister, she blindsides me with something else.” She looked away to collect her thoughts. “But this doesn’t change anything,” she said. “I still love my sister. She’s the only family I have left. I want to know where she is.”

  “Good,” he said with renewed hope. He worried she might give up her search. He would hate to abandon it without knowing the truth. For the past couple of days, all he had thought about was Katie Pearson and what might have happened to her.

  EIGHTY-TWO

  The youths who had found the body were Mike, Joe, and Will. The standout aspects of their attire was that Mike wore a hoodie, Joe sported a baseball hat, and Will had a gold chain around his neck. All three were still in high school.

  “What were you doing here?” Fisher asked.

  Mike shrugged. “We were skateboarding in the parking lot.”

  “You skateboard here often?”

  Joe nodded. “Yeah. It’s a quiet area. No one bothers us.”

  Will jumped in. “It also has stuff we can use for obstacles.”

  Fisher had seen a plywood sheet propped up next to a metal garbage bin for use as a skateboard ramp. Wooden crates were placed strategically in order to jump over them. There was a ramp, handrails, and lots of steps for the young men to perform their stunts on. And the empty parking lot allowed them to skateboard freely.

  She could see the building’s attraction. The place was private and almost secluded.

  It is also a perfect location to dump a body, she thought.

  She looked at her partner. Holt was still by the body. He was looking for any clues that would help him identify her. Fisher knew that would not be easy. The woman had been badly disfigured and likely tortured.

  She turned to the three youths.
“Tell me how you found the body.”

  Joe said, “I was doing a flip when I lost grip on my board and it flew out of my hands. It ended up rolling toward the lake.”

  Mike said, “I was closer, so I chased it down. When I finally got to it, I saw something floating in the water. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew I hadn’t seen it there before.”

  Fisher raised an eyebrow. “When was the last time you were here?”

  “We came yesterday.”

  “And you didn’t see anything in the lake?”

  “I mean…” Mike said, trying to backtrack his comment. “I don’t really pay too much attention to the water…”

  Will said, “We usually keep away from the lake. We tried playing ball hockey here a couple of times, and we lost a bunch of balls in the water.”

  “What made you pull the victim out of the lake?” she asked.

  Joe replied, “We didn’t know what it was at first, but there was something not right about it.”

  “Like what?” Fisher asked.

  “We saw rope tied around it.”

  Mike said, “I watch a lot of crime shows on TV, so I had a bad feeling it might be a body.”

  “He didn’t want us to touch it,” Joe said, pointing to Mike.

  “I wanted to call 9-1-1 instead,” Mike shot back.

  “We eventually did call, you know,” Joe replied.

  Fisher did not want the questioning to get derailed. She said, “So how did you get it out?”

  “We used the four-by-fours over there.” Will pointed at a pile of wood on the side of the building. “We found one that was eight feet long. We used it to guide the body toward us. We pulled it ashore, but when we saw the foot, we dropped everything and called 9-1-1.”

  “You did the right thing by calling us,” she said.

  “Is it a guy or a girl?” Joe asked, curious.

  “It’s a woman,” Fisher said. There was no point in hiding it from them. They would end up finding out through the media anyway. Plus, there was a good chance they would be interviewed for a story. They were the ones who had found the body, after all.

  “What happened to her?” Mike asked.

  Something terrible, Fisher wanted to say, but instead she replied, “We don’t know yet, but we’re looking into it.”

  EIGHTY-THREE

  Andrea Wakefield used a blade to cut the rope that held the garbage bag over the body. She then tore open the plastic garbage bag. The smell was even more intense. Holt and Fisher grimaced, but the medical examiner did not even flinch. She was rarely surprised or taken aback by what she saw.

  Wakefield opened the garbage bag further. The victim was still clothed. She was wearing a black top, white skirt, and stockings, but no shoes. She wore a necklace, and there was a watch on her wrist. The watch was still ticking.

  Her wrists and ankles were duct-taped.

  “Why use the duct tape when there was already a rope to secure her body?” Holt said.

  Fisher said, “It might have been used prior to the garbage bag.”

  “What do you mean?” Holt asked.

  “She might have still been alive when she was brought here. The duct tape would come in handy so that she didn’t run away.”

  “But why not have it over her mouth?” Holt said. “It would prevent her from calling out for help.”

  “That’s not true,” Wakefield said. “The victim’s mouth was taped at first. If you look carefully, you can see residue from the glue around the edges of her lips.”

  “Then why was it removed?” Holt asked.

  “Maybe her assailant wanted information from her that she was unable to provide,” Fisher suggested.

  “It would explain the condition of her face,” Wakefield said.

  “Is that how she died? From her injuries?” Fisher asked Wakefield.

  “No, she died from a single gunshot.” Wakefield turned the victim’s head to the side and moved her fingers over the back. She parted the victim’s hair, revealing a hole the size of a penny.

  “She was shot from behind?” Fisher asked.

  “That would be my guess,” Wakefield replied.

  Holt narrowed his eyes. “More like executed.”

  Fisher noticed a piece of rope around the victim’s ankle. The end of the rope was split. “Is that how her body was submerged?” she asked.

  Wakefield nodded. “It was likely tied to a heavy object. From my understanding, there are jagged rocks at the bottom of this lake. My guess is, when the body started taking in water, it began to float to the surface. Even with the garbage bag wrapped around it, it was not watertight. It took a couple of days for the rope to get severed by the rocks as it fought to come up.”

  Fisher liked throwing ideas and questions at Wakefield. She was the best in her field. There was not much that got past her.

  Fisher said, “Do you believe she was shot at the back of this building?”

  “Why do you ask?” Wakefield said.

  “If she was, then we should scour the area for shell casings.”

  “In that case, I would have to say yes.”

  EIGHTY-FOUR

  The art gallery was wedged between a bar and a pet food store. The space was confined, but the bare white walls and bright lighting made the gallery look spacious.

  There were no paintings hanging on the walls. Instead, there were large computer tablets propped up on clear plastic stands all around the space.

  Callaway was confused why a so-called “art gallery” would not have any art displayed. Elle was next to him, and he wished she could see what he was seeing. He never understood nor cared much for art, but even he knew you had to have something for people to admire.

  Maybe I’m supposed to appreciate the white walls? he thought.

  A man appeared from behind another wall. He was dressed in a white turtleneck, beige pants, and brown loafers. He had wavy hair, a soul patch beard, and he wore round spectacles.

  “Is there anything in particular you are looking for?” he asked with a smile.

  Callaway said, “Are you Carl Goodwin?”

  The man paused and stared at them for a second. “You’re the private investigator Glenn told me about,” he said.

  “Yes, I am.” Callaway pulled out Linda’s photo and held it out for him. “We’re looking for her. She’s been missing for three months now.”

  “Glenn told me that too,” Goodwin said.

  Callaway turned to Elle. “This is Linda’s sister. She’s the one who hired me to find her.”

  “I had no idea Linda had a sister,” Goodwin said.

  Callaway did not want to explain that Linda was really Katie. “Linda’s best friend said the last conversation she had with her was right before she was to meet a client.” Callaway looked around the space. “It is my understanding they meet…here?”

  “Yes, they do. We have a seating arrangement behind that wall for the girls and the men to meet before they decide to go on their way,” Goodwin replied.

  Callaway scratched his head. “I’ll be honest with you, this is a highly odd way for a John to hire an escort.” He regretted using the word “John” in front of Elle, but she showed no reaction, so he continued. “Usually you find the girls roaming the streets, or you find them in the back of a newspaper, or you find the pimp who’ll hook you up with the girl.”

  “I’m afraid those methods are still going on to this day,” Goodwin said. “We wanted a new approach to what is the oldest profession in history.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “I’m not sure how much Glenn told you, but he and I worked at the same software company. When we were laid off, we began searching for employment. After months of no offers, Glenn created the website, and I cashed out my pension and started this gallery.”

  Callaway rubbed his chin. “Speaking of the gallery, I don’t see any art.”

  Goodwin smiled. “Let me show you.” He took him to a computer tablet. He tapped the screen and swiped through the various displays. “We’r
e not really an art gallery per se, we are more like an art creator.”

  “Art creator?”

  “Instead of buying paintings or designs created by artists with their own tastes and aesthetics, you become the artist. When you come into the gallery, you select a painter’s style. Picasso. Rembrandt. Van Gogh. We have over a hundred artists to choose from. You then use the tools in our software, and you paint your masterpiece. Once you are done, that’s when the magic happens. Follow me.”

  Goodwin took Callaway behind the back wall. There was a robotic machine with arms. Callaway saw paintbrushes of all shapes and sizes, and paints of every color imaginable. A blank canvas was in front of the arms.

  Goodwin said, “The software feeds the information into the robot, which then mimics the artist’s brushstrokes and creates a painting in the artist’s style. It’s quite fascinating how accurate these machines are.”

  “Doesn’t that lead to people creating forgeries of priceless art?” Callaway asked.

  “We’ve had people come in and recreate masterpieces, but the materials we use are contemporary,” Goodwin replied. “It would take an expert only a second to know it’s not an original piece of work. A good forgery can take months or years to create. This takes less than twenty minutes.”

  “Amazing,” Callaway said, feeling astonished.

  Goodwin walked him back to the open space. He found Elle waiting for him. In all the excitement, Callaway had forgotten about her.

  He coughed and said, “Coming back to Linda. We believe she might have met a client here and perhaps not made it back home.”

  “That’s not possible,” Goodwin said. “When Glenn approached me with the idea, I agreed to let him use the gallery as a meeting spot. Safety is our number-one priority. If the girls got a wrong vibe from the client, I’d come in and end the meeting.”

  “Did the clients ever get aggressive?”

  “Sure they did, but once I threatened to call the police, they’d quickly leave. A lot of them have families and good jobs. The only reason they go through the site by purchasing digital currency is because they want complete anonymity.”