by Dawn Edwards
Copyright © 2019
FEVER PITCH
All rights are reserved.
No part of this book either in part or whole may be reproduced or transmitted by any means or in any form by either hard copy, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by an information storage retrieval system or distributed without the expressed written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any reference or resemblance to characters, names, organizations, events, incidents or people (living or deceased) and real places are purely coincidental and products of the author's imagination.
The author acknowledges the trademark status and owners of products referred to in this piece of fiction have been used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Acknowledgement
To the love of my life, who makes my dreams a reality worth living. This book would never have been finished if not for his support. Thank you for encouraging me to seeing this book through to completion. There is no one else I’d rather be on this journey of life with.
To our little girl, who lights up my life with her love.
To my family and friends for embracing my uniqueness and supporting me to take the road less travelled - even when it is hard for you to do.
To my parents, who continue to cheer from the sidelines, but who I hope never read my stories.
To my ‘baby’ sister, who first inspired me to create words with meaning and my middle ‘tister, for showing me it’s ok walk your own path.
To my dear friend Kristy, who nagged me so many years ago to share my stories. It might have taken me a decade, but thanks for the push.
To Jessica and Janice, my small but mighty Beta team. Thank you for being honest with me, for your critiques and calming my nerves when I was stressing and celebrating the millstones.
To my editor Lindsay at Creative Edits, whose brilliant suggestions pushed me to create something to be proud of. Thank you for being patient and helping a new author through it all.
To Sarah Paige at Opium House Creations for creating a cover to judge a book by.
Lastly, I want to thank a woman who’s given me so much direction, inspiration and support while I worked on wrapping this book up. Her mentoring has meant so much to me. I hope she knows how special she is! Thank-you Karen for being on the other end of Facebook messenger, I hope to meet you one day to give you a proper hug!
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1 - Drew
Chapter 2 - Jessa
Chapter 3- Drew
Chapter 4- Jessa
Chapter 5- Drew
Chapter 6- Jessa
Chapter 7- Jessa
Chapter 8- Jessa
Chapter 9- Drew
Chapter 10- Drew
Chapter 11- Jessa
Chapter 12- Jessa
Chapter 13- Drew
Chapter 14- Jessa
Chapter 15- Jessa
Chapter 16- Jessa
Chapter 17- Drew
Chapter 18- Jessa
Chapter 19- Drew
Chapter 20- Jessa
Chapter 21- Jessa
Chapter 22- Jessa
Chapter 23- Drew
Chapter 24- Drew
Chapter 25- Jessa
Chapter 26- Drew
Chapter 27- Drew
Chapter 28- Jessa
Chapter 29- Jessa
Chapter 30- Drew
Chapter 31- Jessa
Epilogue Matt
Dedication
To Simo, whose love and support
could never be captured in words alone.
PROLOGUE
Detective Chad O’Brien
It was the worst part of my job, visiting the homes of the victims’ family members.
No amount of training would ever prepare me for the heart-wrenching cries or devastating facial expressions from the surviving family. It never got easier, no matter how many times I’d had to do it. And over the years, I’d done it plenty.
It was late Monday afternoon, and the traffic leaving Boston was flowing quicker than I had expected or wanted it to. That was always the way the universe worked; when you wanted time to stand still, the seconds ticked away at full speed. Things you wanted to avoid always came quicker than the things you eagerly awaited.
Right now, I felt my watch was stuck on fast forward.
This case had changed drastically over the past 8 hours; from an ordinary missing person's case to a high-profile, alleged homicide.
I didn’t have to look at the GPS to know that my partner and I were close to our destination. As the ocean got closer the homes got bigger; some single homes were bigger than my entire apartment building.
‘How much you think one of these would set ya back?’ I asked, looking over to my partner.
Sam and I had been partners a few years now. He was driving the unmarked car, but glanced over at me, giving me his are you serious look, and added in his never-altering monotone voice, ‘More than you or I will ever earn…combined.’
He was right. Hyannis Port, Cape Cod was money and class, clearly not a world I belonged in. This was no place for a south-end boy like me. This really wasn’t even our jurisdiction, but rather a courtesy call, as our investigation was into the disappearance or murder of Jessa Cahill. Daughter of the successful business tycoon, Steven Cahill. We had gone around to their Boston townhouse but had been advised they were at their summer house. So now, here we were, driving to one of the most expensive zip codes in the state.
We pulled into the long driveway of a massive 1920’s style mansion with the Atlantic Ocean directly behind it, providing a multimillion-dollar backdrop.
‘Guess the private jet business is doing well,’ Sam said, and I had to agree with him looking around the perfectly manicured lawns. I also couldn’t help thinking I was in the wrong job.
Two guys were scraping old paint off the side of the detached two-story garage to the right of the main house. It was the only eyesore on the property, the only thing out of place, aside from Sam and myself. They were chatting with the radio playing in the background. As we got out of our car, one of the guys stopped working and walked towards us, wiping his hands with a cloth.
We showed our badges. ‘Good morning, we are looking to speak with Steven and Colleen Cahill.’ .
The young man looked at me with a hopeful look. ‘Is this to do with Josh?”
Josh Cahill; the name was familiar to me, I knew it, I was just having trouble connecting the case at the moment.
‘We need to speak to the Cahills,’ Sam stated in his no-bullshit, no-beating-around-the-bush kind of way he always had.
‘Sure,’ the young man said. ‘Follow me.’
He led us into the house and instructed us to sit in a large room with many chairs, coffee tables and sofas in the front of the house, directly off the entrance hallway. It was bright, with lots of floral prints, fresh flowers in the vases, family pictures and very clean. ‘I’ll get my aunt and uncle if you can just wait a moment.’
As he walked through the house, I heard him ask someone for a tray of refreshments to be brought to the front room. Moments later a middle-aged woman placed a tray in front of us with a pot of coffee, cream, sugar and cinnamon rolls. Having skipped breakfast, I was delighted by the offer.
‘Thank you, it’s greatly appreciated,’ I told her as she walked away back to what I assumed was the kitchen.
Sam looked around, ensuring we were alone before he began. ‘Josh Cahill was their son, he was found dead about a year and a half ago. It was ruled an overdose, but th
e family insisted otherwise,’ Sam told me in a low voice.
Yes. I remembered the case now. ‘You’d have thought Smith might have given us a heads-up,’ I commented. Ian Smith was our sergeant and wasn’t known for being on the ball.
‘I doubt he’s even connected the dots,’ Sam said shaking his head. Sam was old school, he didn’t have the time for hotshots who moved up the ranks without merit.
‘Who was the lead detective on that case?’ I asked.
‘Jack Coakley.’ He nodded, indicating he approved of the officer, which wasn’t something Sam did often.
Before I could ask anything further, the young man came back holding a towel, placed it on one of the chairs opposite from us and sat down. ‘My aunt and uncle will be right down.’ He poured a coffee and took a roll. ‘Kathy’s rolls are the best.’ Following Sam’s lead, I too filled a cup and took a cinnamon roll on a cloth napkin.
Mr. Cahill walked down the stairs. He looked like your average middle-aged man living a good life. His hair was dark with some grey but showed no natural indication of thinning. He was of average height with an average build, a bit of extra weight in his midsection that the khakis and a blue shirt did little to hide. His wife flanked him, who in her prime would have been a trophy wife. But as all rich do, she’d aged well, managing to remain thin, with blond hair and was a bit shorter than her husband. Even without expecting company, her white linen pants and a yellow top made her look well put together.
Sam and I stood as they walked into the room.
Sam showed his badge. ‘Hello, I hope we aren’t disturbing you or your plans. My name is detective Sam Allen, this here is my partner Chad O’Brien.’
‘Please have a seat,’ Mrs. Cahill instructed.
‘How can we help you, gentlemen?’ Mr. Cahill asked, cutting to the chase. ‘I am assuming this has something to do with Josh?’
Sam shifted in his seat, clearly as uncomfortable as I was. ‘Well, no I’m sorry, sir. We are actually here about your daughter Jessa. Have you heard from her in the past 36 hours?’
‘No, she’s gone sailing, she will be back later today,’ Mrs. Cahill told us, her voice clipped, and I couldn’t ignore the fear in it. She knew what was about to come, a mother always had an intuition.
‘What’s this all about?’ Mr. Cahill asked suddenly, picking up on his wife’s fear.
‘Mrs. Cahill, Mr. Cahill, your daughter was reported missing earlier today.’
‘Missing?’ the young man who showed us in and was sitting next to us questioned. ‘What do you mean missing?’
I could see the look of panic and despair on their faces. ‘We are looking into the disappearance. She was last seen by the crew of the Yacht Matthew Wilson had chartered around 9pm last night and then between 11 and midnight by Matthew when they went to bed.’
‘So, let me get this straight, she was last seen on a boat, so for her to go missing that would mean she’s missing somewhere in the Atlantic?’ Mr. Cahill stated matter-of-fact, and Mrs. Cahill let out a cry, clinging to her husband. No matter how many times I heard it, that heartbreaking cry was one sound I’d never get use to; it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and sent a shiver through my spine. She fully understood the situation.
Mr. Cahill put his arm around his wife to console her. ‘No,’ she cried into him.
‘That scheming bastard,’ the young man spat, anger radiating from him.
‘Breton, we can’t jump to assumptions.’ Mr. Cahill looked to him, then ordered, ‘Please get Abby on the phone. Now.’
‘What do I tell her?’ he asked, pulling his phone from his pocket.
‘To get her ass down here!’ Mr. Cahill snapped.
‘Ok,’ I interrupted, looking to the young man. ‘May I ask who you are?’
‘This is my nephew, Breton Cahill. He’s a close family member, I think of him as one of my own children,’ Mr. Cahill stated, giving his young nephew an apologetic look for his loss of temper.
‘Alright, now as part of the investigation, there are some questions we have to ask. We don’t mean to be insincere, or insensitive, but they will help us a lot,’ I said to them, trying to carry on and get out of here as quickly as I could. I hated the atmosphere, hated the crying.
Mr. Cahill nodded. ‘Please tell us everything you know, and of course, you have our full, undivided attention and our full cooperation. I can charter planes to help in the investigation, anything to get her home.’
‘That’s very generous. I will let my sergeant know of your offer. Currently, the Coast Guard is searching the area,’ Sam told them. ‘Earlier this morning, the cabin steward hadn’t seen or heard from Jessa all morning. When she went to make up the room, she hadn’t been there. She looked in all the other rooms on the boat, including the crew’s quarters. She made the captain aware, and he too looked. After the steward looked again, the captain called into the Coast Guard and cordoned off the rest of the boat, sequestering Mr. Wilson, the chef and the steward in the bridge with him, while keeping their course back to Boston. En route, a Coast Guard ship met with them, disembarked them and accompanied the boat back to Boston.
‘Detective Ian Smith and his partner Marie Barrett met them at the dockyard and took them to the station where statements are currently being taken. The Coast Guard is looking by sea and air for Jessa, they have been looking since arriving on scene and plan to continue throughout the night and into tomorrow. We have a forensic team looking over the boat to rule out any foul play. We have come here to see if we can find any pieces of the puzzle. So that is where we are.’
‘Where is Matthew now?’ Mrs. Cahill asked, her voice broken with despair.
‘When we left Boston, he and the crew were being questioned, pending the results of forensic evidence; he will likely be released after questioning,’ I told them and looked to Breton. ‘You just said he was a schemer, what did you mean by that?’
Breton looked to Mr. Cahill, who answered for him. ‘Matthew was reluctant to sign the prenuptial agreement I had drawn up a few weeks ago. Jessa had said they were working things through, and she was confident he would come to an arrangement prior to the wedding.’
‘Other than that, how would you characterize their relationship?’
‘He treated her like shit,’ Breton blurted out.
‘Breton,’ Mrs. Cahill protested, sniffling back tears.
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Mr. Cahill added. ‘But yes, I’d say things were strained. I never felt completely comfortable with him. Always thought my daughter deserved more, someone better.’
‘I think all fathers share that sentiment.’ Sam nodded. ‘I have a teenage daughter; I’ve been dreading the day she brings home a guy.’
‘Have you known Matthew to be abusive to Jessa?’ I asked, bringing the conversation back to the investigation.
‘Physically, no, not that I’m aware,’ Mr. Cahill said and looked to his nephew. ‘She tells you everything.’
‘He’d be dead if he ever laid a finger on her,’ Breton said coolly. ‘But I’d say he was emotionally and verbally abusive; always poked fun of her looks. He manipulated her a lot also, to the point she was going to go through with the wedding. I don’t think she really wanted to.’
‘So, you are very close to her?’ Sam asked Breton.
‘Yeah.’ He nodded somberly.
‘And she didn’t mention anything of getting away from him, or feeling scared?’
‘No,’ he assured me. ‘I wouldn’t have let her go otherwise. She was unsure about marrying him, it was more than just cold feet, but she unfortunately had no intention of calling off the wedding.’
‘Mr. Cahill, you have the means to help Jessa leave if she wanted to, financially and logistically,’ Sam probed.
There was a long pause before Mr. Cahill responded. ‘What are you insinuating?’ he asked.
‘If there’s something you know…’
‘We didn’t help our daughter, trust me. If she wanted away from Matthew she
would leave, at least I’d hope she would have. She knows we would help her. But she didn’t ask, and I can’t see Jessa doing anything like that. You can have access to our charter flights records and anything else you might need from us. Just please, find our daughter.’ It was at that point that he broke. His voice cracked, and his eyes overflowed. He covered his face with a hand in shame for his loss of control. His wife offered what comfort she could.
We learned a lot more of the relationship between Jessa and Matthew, and it did raise some suspicions. As a joint account holder, Mr. Cahill was able to show us Jessa’s bank accounts, which over the past three months showed no unusual or large transactions, other than her monthly deposits, which were nearly as large as my salary, and few withdrawals or charges to her credit card. They also confirmed that, to the best of their knowledge, she had no other accounts.
We looked around Jessa’s room; all her clothing was there, as was her passport. It was evident that nothing had been taken with her, that she hadn’t been planning a getaway. It had been the same as with the items on the boat, even her phone had been left behind, and her engagement ring found hidden away in a duffle bag. The Cahills also gave us permission to search their Boston home for any information that might lead us to find their daughter.
At the end of our questioning, we asked for a personal item that contained her DNA. “Just in case,” we told them. We took a pair of her earrings and a hair brush in her bathroom. We didn’t give them too much information, like the fact that blood splatter was found, and there was trace from a bad clean-up job. We had some of Jessa’s other personal effects from the boat, however there was the possibility they could potentially be compromised, so we wanted to secure something from her home.
They walked us out to the front yard. ‘Mr. and Mrs. Cahill, if you think of anything, or have any questions, here’s my card,’ Sam said, passing them his card. ‘We will be in contact with you as soon as we hear anything.’
Chapter 1
DREW – Five Months Ago