Katie did not exist.
Linda Eustace was not Katie Pearson.
He realized he was still holding Elle’s gloves in his hands. He always thought it was odd that someone who saw with their hands would keep them covered. He now understood why. There would be no fingerprints in the apartment. Nothing to lead them to the woman who had lived here.
He pulled his hands away and looked up at the ceiling. A thought circled his mind, one that would preoccupy him for a long time.
Who was Elle Pearson?
ONE HUNDRED-FOUR
Cosimo placed his belongings in his carry-on and quickly scanned the hotel room for the last time. He did not have time to unpack much. There was no need really. He was only supposed to be there a few days. But there was always a concern that something left behind could lead back to him.
He was not going to take any chances. He had already wiped the room clean. No fingerprints, hair fibers, or items containing his DNA would be found.
All the news channels were talking about the death of Bruno Rocco. His body had been found by the side of a road. His death had been called suspicious, which was another way of saying it was a homicide.
Don Beniti will be pleased, he thought. Beniti doesn’t need to know all the details, only that Rocco’s finally dead.
Cosimo did not have time to plan this trip. Beniti’s call came out of nowhere. The video of the basketball player’s shooting had caught everyone by surprise, but it confirmed Bruno Rocco was still alive and living in Milton.
Cosimo would not want to walk away from the contract. This required him to use his father’s identifications to create a new one for himself on such short notice. It was a risky move, but he doubted the police had been able to put things together. By the time they did, he would be long gone.
He checked his watch. There was still some time before his flight out of Milton. He went to the balcony and lit a cigarette. The air was cool as he let out a thick cloud of smoke. He was taking another drag when something caught his attention.
Two police cruisers suddenly pulled up to the hotel’s entrance, followed by an unmarked police car. A man and a woman emerged from the car. Cosimo recognized them as the detectives investigating the Isaiah Whitcomb murder.
Cosimo was certain they had not seen him. He stubbed out the cigarette and placed the butt in his pocket. He was not going to leave the cigarette for someone to analyze later.
He went back inside the room. He checked his gun to make sure it was loaded. He grabbed his carry-on and left the room.
Instead of taking the elevator, he took the stairs. If they were here for him, they would block off all entrances and exits, including the elevators.
The stairs were still not the best option, but he had no choice. He had to get to the garage somehow.
He hurried down the steps two at a time. He reached the basement level and peeked through the door. His rental was at the far end of the garage. He had parked it there for a reason. It was further away from the cameras near the elevators.
He walked briskly through the garage.
He spotted a burly man standing by his vehicle. The man looked like one of the detectives.
Cosimo prepared to turn back.
Their eyes met.
The detective reached for his gun. Cosimo pulled out his and fired at the detective. The bullet hit the rear windshield, shattering it. The detective rolled on the concrete and returned fire. The car next to him shook as bullets penetrated the exterior.
Cosimo dropped the carry-on and ran in a full sprint in the opposite direction.
How did the detective know where my car was parked? he thought.
The only logical answer was that the detectives had contacted the hotel well in advance of their arrival. They knew which room he was staying in and how he was going to make his escape.
He raced down to the garage’s lower level. He realized there was no way he could leave the building on foot. Officers were likely stationed in every corner.
He would have to force his way out.
He saw a Mustang parked in a row of parked cars. He smashed the driver’s window with the butt of his gun. He wedged the gun in his belt and got behind the wheel. He jacked the car in less than thirty seconds.
He revved the Mustang out of the parking spot.
He saw a woman in the distance. He recognized her as the female detective.
She was blocking his way out.
He jammed his foot on the accelerator. The Mustang jerked forward and then raced toward her. As he got closer, he saw she was aiming her gun at him.
She fired a shot.
He tried to duck, but the bullet pierced through the windshield and lodged in his shoulder. He yelled in pain as he lost grip on the steering wheel. The Mustang spun three hundred and sixty degrees and smashed into another parked car. The alarm went off, blasting his ears.
He opened the door, got out, and fell to the concrete. He tried to get on his feet when he saw the male detective running toward him.
He drew his gun when he sensed movement to his right.
He turned and saw the female detective in a crouched position. Her weapon was aimed right at him.
He swung the gun in her direction.
A hail of bullets ripped through him.
Cosimo was dead before his head hit the concrete.
ONE HUNDRED-FIVE
The stadium was packed as thousands of students, professors, faculty members, and family gathered to honor the late Isaiah Whitcomb. The college had decided to retire Isaiah’s jersey.
A special scholarship was also set up in Isaiah’s name. Each year, it would be presented to a promising high school student who excelled in both sports and academics. The student should also be a role model and a good citizen: traits Isaiah embodied.
Dennis and Marjorie were in tears as they stood in the middle of the court to watch the officials raise Isaiah’s jersey up to the rafters.
Holt and Fisher were in the stands. Nancy could not make it. The excitement was too much for her, so Holt recorded everything on his cell phone. They would watch it together later at home.
The body in the lake was officially identified as belonging to Cassandra Stevens.
According to Special Agent Ed Schaefer, Rocco had confessed to killing Isaiah and placing the drugs on him to send the detectives on the wrong trail. He had tortured and killed Stevens because she had found out the truth about his identity. This proved Isaiah was not a drug dealer and that he was at the furniture store to help a woman in trouble. Isaiah’s relationship with a stripper had nothing to do with the fact that two young people had lost their lives at the hand of a cold-blooded killer.
Agent Schaefer was handed over to the FBI. They assured them an inquiry would be launched against Schaefer for his involvement in protecting Bruno Rocco. Holt seriously doubted anything would come out of it.
Schaefer’s investigation and Rocco’s statement had allowed the FBI to bring down Paolo Beniti. If the truth ever got out that Rocco had lied on the stand, their entire case against Beniti would fall to pieces. The FBI would never let that happen. Schaefer would most likely be forced to take early retirement.
There was a twist in the case. Cosimo’s gun was matched to the bullet found in Bo Smith. Schaefer was telling the truth when he insisted he had no idea how Smith had died. But Cosimo’s gun did not match the bullet found in Bruno Rocco. Cosimo may have disposed of the murder weapon prior to the police arriving at the hotel, but this was something they would likely never know.
Holt smiled as Marjorie waved and blew him a kiss.
Isaiah was no longer with them, but his spirit would live forever.
ONE HUNDRED-SIX
One month later
The house was surrounded by a large garden and had a pine tree on the front lawn. The street was lined with mailboxes and white picket fences. The neighborhood looked like it had come straight out of a postcard.
He rang the doorbell and waited. A woman answe
red the door. She had gray hair, wrinkles around her neck, and deep brown eyes.
“Are you here to take her away?” she asked, a look of concern over her.
“I’m not sure,” Callaway replied.
He had called before coming, so his arrival was not unexpected.
“She’s a good girl,” the woman added. “I’m her mother, and she did it for me.”
“Can I speak to her?” he asked.
She studied him for a moment, trying to discern his intentions.
“She’s waiting for you in the solarium,” she said.
Callaway walked through the house to a room in the back. The room was covered in glass. There were pots and plants in each corner. In the middle was a small table with two chairs.
A woman was seated in one of the chairs. Her dark shoulder-length hair was showing roots of natural blonde. Her shirt was snug on her slim body, and her sharp green eyes were staring directly at him.
“Hello, Elle,” he said.
“Lee,” she replied.
“You look… different,” he said.
“I’m sure I do.”
He took a seat across from her.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
“It’s not difficult when you know where to look,” he replied. “I had to go back to the beginning. I had to strip away everything I knew or thought I knew.”
“And what did you know?” she asked.
“That you were looking for your sister,” he said. “But in reality, all along you were looking for someone else.”
“Who was I looking for?” she asked, quizzing him.
He smiled. “Bruno Rocco.”
She nodded.
“He had come up in our search for your sister, when in fact, he had nothing to do with her disappearance. The moment I knew this, everything started to make sense. Rocco had been hired by Paolo Beniti to take out Anthony ‘Fatboy’ Carvalho. Carvalho was going to snitch on Beniti to the FBI. How ironic that in the end, it was Rocco who ended up snitching on Beniti to the feds. The hit was supposed to have been quick and clean. Drive up to the restaurant where Carvalho was having his meal and put a bullet in his head. I saw the video. Rocco ended up bungling it royally. He gave Carvalho the opportunity to return fire. A waitress ended up being killed in the shoot-out.” Callaway paused and slowly added, “Her name was Katherine Woodward. She left behind a father, a mother, and an older sister. That sister’s name was Eleanor Woodward.”
Elle nodded again.
“It made sense that you chose names that were easy to remember,” Callaway continued. “‘Katie’ for Katherine, and ‘Elle’ for Eleanor. It allowed you to keep your story straight when you arrived in Milton. It also allowed you to manipulate me for your own purposes.”
He gave her a hard stare.
Silence hung in the air between them.
“I know you must have a lot of questions for me,” she said.
“I do.”
“Now that you are here, why don’t you ask them?”
“Why the charade with the sunglasses and walking stick? You are not blind.”
“No, I am not.” She sighed. “I’m sorry for the way I used you, but I had no choice.”
“We all have a choice.”
She paused. “Yes, we do, but I didn’t.”
He waited for her to explain.
“You’re right when you said I came to Milton not to search for my sister but for Bruno Rocco.” Her voice turned hard. “Rocco killed my sister and all he got was twelve years, of which he only served six before he was a free man. He cut a deal with the government so that he would get leniency. But what about us? What about the family that had lost a sister and a daughter? My father died a broken man. After Katie’s death, he was never the same. He had always believed the system protected the weak and provided justice to all. Those who were guilty were given a punishment that fit their crimes. But that’s not what happened with Katie. She had a full life ahead of her. The six years Rocco got would never be enough to compensate for that loss. The system is corrupt and controlled by those in power. The FBI wanted a big catch, and Paolo Beniti was the biggest in New Jersey. A lot of people at the FBI received awards and promotions, including Special Agent Ed Schaefer.”
She paused to control her emotions. “I had met Schaefer a couple of times. On each occasion, I grilled him as to why the government would go so easy on a convicted killer. People had been given far longer sentences for selling pot, and this was premeditated murder. Rocco had gone to the restaurant with the intention of shooting and killing another person. My sister had gone to the restaurant to earn money to pay for her tuition. She was going to college, and she planned to get into medical school one day.”
Elle paused and looked away. The memory of her sister was too strong.
Callaway did not push her. He knew she would tell him when she was ready.
She gritted her teeth. “I could not allow Rocco to roam free when my sister was robbed of her life. I had to find him and make him pay for what he did to her… for what he did to us. I spent every waking hour obsessing about him. I searched for any information on him. It was difficult. The FBI and the U.S. Marshals are extra protective of individuals placed in the Witness Protection Program. I knew Rocco had been given a new ID, but I did not know what it was. I changed my appearance and began making moves on a young FBI agent. He was straight out of Quantico, so he was eager to prove himself. I got intimately involved with him. I’m not ashamed to say I used him. But he gave me valuable information on Rocco. I did not know the ID Rocco was living under, but I was able to find out he was living in Milton.” She took a breath and continued. “This led to some challenges. I knew if I came to Milton asking direct questions about Rocco, it would catch the attention of the people protecting him. It would also spook Rocco. He could go deeper into hiding, and I might never get this close to him again. People knew the real Katherine Woodward had a sister and that she was not blind. Elle Pearson became the ideal alter ego to accomplish this task.”
“Then how does Linda Eustace play in all of this?” Callaway asked.
ONE HUNDRED-SEVEN
“I first needed a reason for my arrival in Milton,” Elle said. “While I was researching a cover story, I found out a woman by the name of Linda Eustace had been reported missing only three months before.”
“Linda’s best friend, Jennifer Paulsingh, had filed the report with the police,” Callaway said.
“Yes. It’s not that difficult to get information from a missing persons report. It tells you quite a bit about the person. The moment I had a name, I was able to construct my story.”
Callaway put his hand up to stop her. “I still don’t understand why you chose to be blind.”
“There were two reasons for that: One, I had to create a persona that would allow me to get close to Rocco without arousing a lot of suspicions.”
“And the second reason?”
She lowered her head. “That was for you. I knew you would not ask too many questions if you knew I had a handicap.”
Callaway looked away. He was seething. She was right, he thought. I didn’t question her even when my senses told me something was not right, and only because I thought she was blind.
“Again, I am sorry for the way I used you.”
“As sorry as you were when you used the young FBI agent to find Rocco?” he shot back.
She opened her mouth but shut it. She smiled. “My relationship with him was intimate, so I guess we used each other. But you only cared about finding my sister.”
“That’s what I was hired to do.”
“Yes, but the five thousand dollars was not nearly enough for the amount of work you did. You would have kept going even when the money ran out. Your strong sense of justice is what made me choose you in the first place. I wasn’t lying to you when I said I had heard about the Paul Gardener case.”
“It seems like a lot of people have.” He paused and then said, “I checked with Mayvie
w PD, and you had never filed a missing persons report for a Katie Pearson.”
She nodded. “The one I gave you when we first met was false. You wouldn’t believe what you can do with a little knowledge of graphic design.”
“Is that what you do? I mean as a profession?”
“I have a degree in art and philosophy. Not very helpful if you want a high-paying job. But I counsel families who were hit with violence, in how to get through their loss.”
Callaway gave her a hard look. “And do you advise them to put on a disguise and get revenge on those who hurt them?”
“Ouch,” she said, but then smiled. “No I don’t, but by speaking to them, I realized the pain never goes away. It festers until it becomes all-consuming. If Rocco was still in prison, I would have never taken any actions. But knowing that he was walking the streets, living his life without a care for the pain he had caused my family, ate away at me to the point I had no choice but to do something about it.”
Callaway then said, “And that’s why it was not Cosimo Castigiano who killed Rocco, it was actually you.”
ONE HUNDRED-EIGHT
“Yes, I killed him, and you know what?” she said boldly. “Seeing the look in his eyes when I told him who I was and why I was there was worth all the trouble in the world.”
Her tone carried the same conviction he had heard before. Joely was right when she had said Elle may have looked weak, but there was a quiet intensity to her.
Callaway said, “There are still some things I don’t understand. And I’m curious to find out the answers.”
“You already know what I did, so you can ask me whatever you want.”
“When we went to the house where Katie was supposed to have lived, how did you know the basement apartment had yellow wallpaper?”
“When I was constructing my story, I searched online and found properties that were available for rent. I went—not disguised as Elle—but as me, and I got a tour of the basement apartment. I knew people would deny knowing Katie Pearson—after all, she was not real, so I had to make sure the details were accurate so that you could believe she existed.”
The Gone Sister (A Private Investigator Mystery Series of Crime and Suspense, Lee Callaway #2) Page 23