The Missing Mistress

by Thomas Fincham

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Casey was silent. She could tell this was something he had been grappling with ever since Miranda died. Casey would not survive a day in prison. He would rather slit his wrists than spend the rest of his life behind bars.

  “How did you and Nunes hook up, anyway?” she asked.

  A smile flickered across his face. “She pulled me over for a traffic violation.”

  Fisher’s eyes widened. “No way.”

  “Yes way.”

  “And?”

  Casey was smiling. “I charmed her into going on a date with me.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I sure did. But she still gave me a ticket, though.”

  They both laughed.

  It was good to feel like there was not a black cloud hovering over them all the time. Ever since Casey told her what had happened, Fisher could not get rid of the knot in her stomach.

  “You like her?” Fisher asked.

  “I do,” Casey replied with a nod. “I think she might be the one.”

  Fisher’s jaw dropped. “Are you thinking of proposing to her?”

  “That thought had crossed my mind.”

  Fisher could not believe her baby brother, a person who railed against the institution of marriage, was thinking of settling down.

  He said, “I’ve even checked out a few engagement rings.”

  “Does she know of your intentions?”

  “I plan on surprising her.”

  “What if she says no?” Fisher said.

  Casey gave her a look that said, are you kidding me? Fisher knew half a dozen girls who would have happily married Casey if he had just asked. In fact, some of them still hoped he might return one day and propose.

  “When did you plan on doing it?” Fisher asked.

  “First, I have to save enough for a nice ring. Then I plan to take her to the Grand Canyon. And at the precise moment the sun is setting, I will get down on my knee and propose.”

  Fisher’s eyes turned moist. “It sounds romantic.”

  “That was the plan, until....”

  He looked away.

  She reached over and put her hand over his. “You’ll get the chance for your happy ending, Casey. I know it.”

  He turned to her and smiled. But she could tell he did not believe her.

  A moment of silence passed before he said, “I’ve been doing some thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “After speaking to Helen, I think it’s time I finally tell you something I should have told you years ago.”

  Fisher felt the knot in her stomach tighten.

  FORTY-NINE

  Parish stared at the large TV screen in his office. He had been glued to the news ever since David Becker decided to make a spectacle of his death.

  “David, you fool,” he mumbled.

  He reached over and picked up a glass of bourbon. He could taste the oak flavor on his tongue. Bourbon was his choice of drink, and today he’d had enough of it for a week.

  He was not drunk, but he could feel the buzz. He was not a big drinker. He only drank when something was gnawing at him.

  He had been through major battles in his life. He had been twice divorced. His first wife took nearly half his assets. He did not make the same mistake with the second one. She was his mistress and the reason for the end of his first marriage. He made her sign an ironclad prenup. No matter how many lawyers she hired, they could not get an extra penny out of him except for what was stated in their agreement.

  A third Mrs. R.J. Parish was on his horizon. She was currently in Maui. He had paid for her and her friends to spend a week on the island. He needed her out of the way. His plan required great discretion.

  The soon-to-be Mrs. Parish was thirty years younger than him. She was his private trainer. After he suffered a minor heart attack, his doctors ordered him to eat healthily and to exercise. He was never big on fruits and vegetables, but he could spend a few minutes each day working out. It did not take long for the Mrs. Parish-in-waiting to fall for him… or his money.

  He knew it was not true love. That did not happen for men of his age and stature. They had to buy affection, and he was quite comfortable doing that.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Yes,” he bellowed.

  His secretary stuck her head in. Beth had worked for him for almost twenty years. She had long graying hair and deep-set eyes. Even with all the foundation and makeup she wore, the wrinkles were still visible. She wore a floral-pattern dress that went down to her knees and high heels.

  “I’m heading home,” she said. “Do you need anything, Mr. Parish?”

  “No, I’m fine,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” Beth said before she shut the door behind her.

  I should be with a woman her age, he thought. He quickly shook the thought away. Money afforded him the luxury to acquire whatever he wanted, even the company of beautiful women.

  He just wished he could have used his money to make his current problem go away.

  He took another sip from his glass. On the TV, the news reporter was at the scene of Becker’s death. The freeway had been cleared now, but those stuck in traffic because of the tragic incident were still complaining about what had happened.

  “There is nothing tragic about it,” Parish grumbled.

  There was another knock at the door. “What is it now?” he yelled.

  The door swung open and Viggo entered, momentarily startling Parish. The man had that effect on people.

  “Have you seen the news?” Parish asked.

  “I have,” Viggo replied.

  “Did we push him too far?”

  “I don’t think we pushed the right buttons.”

  Parish knew where he was going with this. Viggo was ex-military. He had wanted to take David to a secure location and extract the information they were looking for.

  Parish knew the ramifications of such an extreme action. If that had been done, they would have had to kill David. He was comfortable with lots of things, even torture, but not murder. Perhaps, considering what had transpired, he should have gone down that route. It might have killed—no pun intended—two birds with one stone, he thought: getting rid of David Becker and discovering where Lana Anderson is hiding.

  Viggo said, “There is a private investigator going around asking questions.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “About her.”

  Parish thought a moment and then smiled. “Follow this private investigator. He may just lead us to her.”

  FIFTY

  Fisher waited for Casey to speak.

  He took another sip from his bottle to clear his throat, and said, “Jacob was not behind the wheel the night he died. I was.”

  Fisher knew Jacob Wilson was Casey’s childhood best friend They were returning from a party when they decided to drag race with a group of boys. Their car crashed into another car. Jacob died while Casey survived.

  “I didn’t have my license. But I so badly wanted to drive,” Casey said. “Dad would have never let me drive his car. And you know how Mike and Sam were.”

  Their older brothers never let Casey do anything. They treated him like a child.

  “Jacob had just gotten his license and his parents let him take their car. I begged him to let me take it for a spin. I could see that he wasn’t sure about it, but he was my friend, so he agreed.” Casey turned to her. “We were not drinking that night at the party. I want you to know that.”

  She understood that point was important to him. He did not want alcohol to take responsibility for what happened.

  “We had just gone a couple of blocks from the party when another car pulled up next to us. The guys in that car were around our age, maybe a year or two older, and they started egging us into racing them. Jacob told me to ignore them. I did until one of them called me a baby.”

  That was what everyone in the family called him. Fisher knew
how much Casey hated being called that, but she liked calling him “baby” in order to tease him.

  “I don’t know what came over me. The moment the light turned green, I pressed the accelerator as hard as I could.” He covered his face with his hands. “I can still hear Jacob’s voice in my ears. He was screaming for me to slow down. But I could feel the power of the car. I remember, I glanced at the rearview mirror and saw I had a large lead on the other car. I felt great. But then, I lost my grip on the steering wheel, swerved into the other lane, and slammed into an oncoming car. It all happened in an instant. I remember being in shock. I couldn’t believe I was still alive. When I turned, I saw Jacob was slumped in the passenger seat. The airbags had deployed, but there was blood on his face. I then saw the car we were racing slow down then speed away. I think, when they saw what had happened, they got out of there as fast as they could. I somehow managed to get out of the car. I saw the driver of the car we hit was slumped behind his wheel. I rushed to the other side of our car and checked for a pulse, but Jacob was dead. I was suddenly scared. I knew Dad, Sam, and Mike would tear me to pieces for being so stupid. I panicked and managed to pull Jacob out of the passenger seat and drag him to the driver’s side.” Casey’s head fell to his chest. “I let Jacob take the blame for what I had done. His parents never knew I had killed their only son.”

  Casey began to sob into his hands. Fisher wanted to reach over and comfort him, but she did not.

  Fisher was not in the country when the accident happened. She was eighteen, and she and a friend had decided to go backpacking through Europe. When she returned from her trip, she noticed that Casey had become more reserved. He no longer shared all his secrets with her. He had suddenly grown up in the course of a summer.

  He had also changed—for the worse. He went from a smiling young man to one who was dour and angry.

  Fisher always thought it was because of the loss of his best friend that he was acting that way. She now realized his self-destructive behavior stemmed from the guilt that was eating away at him.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Holt had spent an hour going over all of David Becker’s medical records. His blood sugar level was normal. His heart was normal. His blood pressure was normal. His cholesterol was normal. He did not have any serious life-threatening illness. There was nothing health-related that would push him to kill himself.

  But there was something else that might have been a precursor to him making that fateful decision on the freeway.

  Holt had discovered that Becker was embroiled in a lawsuit filed by one of his clients, Parish Holdings Inc. Becker was accused of stealing millions of dollars from Parish Holdings. As a lawyer, Becker’s firm held money in trust for various real estate projects. But Becker had been accused of siphoning money from those trust accounts and transferring it to a numbered account in the Isle of Man. The owner of that numbered account was David Becker. Holt was not able to get further details, as the case was still before the courts.

  Holt was able to get Becker’s personal bank account statements. Becker had money in his checking, savings, and 401k account.

  He had far more than the average citizen, Holt thought, but was it enough to defend him in a lawsuit? Parish Holdings had far more resources to go after him.

  Holt was certain the money in the Isle of Man was already frozen, which meant Becker would not have been able to use it for himself.

  Is that what pushed him over the edge? He saw that his scheme had been exposed and he knew there was no way out?

  Becker’s last words before he jumped were: “I’m doing this for my family.”

  Maybe he did not want them dragged through a lengthy and messy trial.

  Holt leaned back in his chair.

  His mind drifted to what the tenant at Becker’s office had told him. A man was caught going through Becker’s office, and he had scared the tenant.

  Who was this man?

  What was he looking for?

  Did it have anything to do with the lawsuit?

  Holt sighed.

  The longer he spent on David Becker’s case, the more he came to realize Becker had finally thought life was not worth living.

  Holt had had bouts of depression. They usually came after an unexpected tragedy. But because he was dealing with the grief, he knew how precious life was.

  He also saw firsthand the impact death made. As a detective, he had investigated hundreds of murder cases. The devastation for the loved ones was immense. Some never got over the loss and they spent the rest of their lives carrying it with them. Others were so damaged that they ceased to function normally.

  Holt’s mother never got over a son who had died of cerebral palsy. Nancy never got over the death of their adopted son from cancer. Marjorie was barely hanging on after Holt’s nephew was brutally murdered.

  All these mothers were destroyed by the death of a child.

  Holt shook his head. Why am I thinking about this too hard? he wondered.

  David Becker was a grown man who chose to end his life. There was no one else to blame for what happened to Becker except for David Becker himself.

  But there was still something nagging him about this case. He just wished he knew what that was.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Fisher was lying in bed when a sweet smell bombarded her senses. She got up and left her room.

  Casey was in the kitchen. He was wearing an apron as he fried something on the stove.

  “What’re you making?” she asked, her mouth watering.

  “French toast with strawberries, bananas, layered honey, and powdered sugar,” he replied.

  She took a seat at the table.

  He placed a plate in front of her. While he filled her cup with coffee, she took a bite.

  “This is actually pretty good,” she said.

  “You sound surprised.”

  “You never made anything when you were at home.”

  He shrugged. “When you don’t have your mom cooking for you, you are forced to learn a few things.”

  He sat across from her.

  Suddenly, there was an awkward silence between them.

  “I can tell you didn’t sleep at all last night,” he finally said.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, because I didn’t sleep either.”

  She said nothing.

  “I know you must think I’m a monster.”

  “I don’t,” she quickly said. “I just don’t know why you didn’t tell the truth about what happened that night years ago.”

  “I wanted to. I really did. But as time went by and everyone talked less and less about it, I thought I could leave it behind me.”

  “Jacob Wilson is dead.”

  “I know, and I am alive. That’s something I’ve had to carry with me all these years.” He paused and then said, “Right after it happened, I thought about killing myself.”

  She stared at him.

  “I even attempted it.”

  “You did?” she asked, shocked.

  He nodded. “You remember that beach we used to go to as kids?”

  “Of course, it was like a twenty-minute drive from our house. Sam and Mike would spend all day there.”

  “You know why, don’t you?”

  “Girls, what else?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a wistful smile. “One day I couldn’t take it anymore. I took the bus to the beach. I spent an hour sitting on the sand, staring at the water. I then mustered up the courage and I started to walk into the water. It was cold to the touch and I suddenly thought about turning back. But the pain was too much to bear. I wanted to make it go away. I kept going deeper and deeper until the water was up to my neck. I then let go.”

  As Casey talked, Fisher felt the knot in her stomach twist.

  “I shut my eyes and let the ocean take me. As I was sinking, it felt like I was hanging in the air. For a moment, I was at peace. I was ready for whatever awaited me in the afterlife. But then, when I began to swallow and inhale the water,
I suddenly panicked. I was desperate for air. And I realized I didn’t want to die. I quickly swam up and made my way back to the beach. As I coughed up water, I began to cry. I was weak and a coward. I let Jacob take the blame for my actions and I didn’t even have the courage to kill myself.” He winced. “I then went home. No one asked where I was or what had happened. They had no idea. What they also didn’t know was that I had left a suicide letter in my room. It explained how much I loved them and why I had decided to kill myself. I wanted to take full responsibility for what happened to Jacob.”

  “What did you do with the letter?” Fisher finally asked.

  “When I knew I wasn’t going to kill myself, I didn’t want anyone to ever find out what I had done that led to Jacob’s death. I buried the letter, just like I buried everything else deep inside me.”

  Fisher saw pain in his eyes.

  “You know why I chose to be a teacher?” he asked.

  She shrugged. She figured he wanted to have a stable and secure job.

  “I wanted to make sure other kids didn’t do something stupid like I did,” he said. “I tried to be friends with them. I wanted them to know they had an adult who knew what they were going through. I told them to take responsibility for their actions. Not to drink and drive. Not to take drugs. Because I had done those things. I wanted them to know they could come to me if they had any problems.”

  “Is that why you took Miranda to Leaside Forest Park? You wanted her to trust you?”

  “I wanted to help her, regardless of how things looked. I just never imagined she too would end up dead.”

  Fisher got the sense that death followed Casey wherever he went. Like the people who adored him, death was also attracted to him.

  “Nunes knows what happened with you and Jacob?” she asked.

  “When I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, I told her the truth. It was a selfish decision more so than anything.”

  “How so?”

  “I didn’t want to hold onto it by myself. I wanted someone to carry the weight with me. If Helen loved me, she would understand. And she did. She encouraged me to tell you last night.”