“You were lost there for a minute.”
She looked at him, her eyes filled with determination and anger. “I want to find who did this.”
“Me too.”
He studied her for a moment.
“Can I rely on you?” Holt asked. This was a big case, one that would push them from all sides. People would want answers, and they would look to them for it. If Fisher’s mental state was fragile in any way, it could derail all the hard work they were going to put into it.
Holt could see that she was eager to make herself useful again. Maybe even more focused then ever before. People changed when they suffered a tragedy. Fisher’s was as bad as it could ever get. The ramifications of what happened in Lockport would weigh on her, even if she failed to admit it.
Holt knew this all too well. He went through some pretty dark and difficult times, and it increased his resolve to bring the perpetrators to justice. But he also knew that his focus could be blinding when unchecked. It had led him down the wrong path on numerous occasions. He had gone after people whom he believed had committed the crime but who turned out to be completely innocent, leading to crucial time being wasted, and time was of the essence in a homicide investigation.
“I want to be here, Greg,” she replied firmly. Fisher rarely referred to him by his first name, and when she did, it was to let him know she was serious.
“All right,” he said. He then quickly filled her in on what he knew so far, which was not much.
Fisher listened, and when he was finished, she moved around the space as if re-enacting what might have happened. “The front door was unlocked, so the shooter had no trouble getting in. He walked straight to the back—we’ll assume it was a he—and he found Emily seated behind the desk. He shot her, but then what?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why didn’t he just leave?”
Holt understood where Fisher was going. “Maybe he was going to when he heard Paige and Melody enter the premises.”
Fisher walked over to the back door, which was next to Emily’s office. She turned the knob. The door was locked.
“He didn’t leave from the back,” she said.
Holt had already checked the door when he had first arrived at the scene. A thought then occurred to him. “So, he was waiting for them to return?”
Silence hung in the room as they pondered what Holt had suggested. Someone had targeted the people at the center. But why? Why would someone want to kill these women?
Something caught Fisher’s eye. She walked over to Emily’s desk and picked up a piece of paper.
“What have you got there?” Holt asked.
“It’s a pamphlet,” she replied, reading it.
“From who?”
“The Men’s Support Alliance.”
Holt’s brow furrowed. “Who are they?”
“I have no idea.”
THIRTEEN
Callaway left the bar without finishing his drink. He then called his client and told her of his encounter with her husband. The wife was terrified. She wanted out of the marriage, and she was hoping to use the photos to force a divorce settlement in her favor.
Callaway assured her he would do whatever it took to make her problem go away, and he had just the idea of how to do that.
He kicked himself for not thinking of such a stratagem sooner. He figured it would be a straight-up case of one spouse cheating on the other. Now that he examined the case more deeply, he could see angles to the case he could exploit for his benefit.
He headed straight to a printing shop and made hard copies of the photos on the memory card. He then drove to a strip mall and parked not too far from a salon.
The husband’s mistress worked as a hairdresser. Callaway had followed the husband from his place of work to the salon, where he had picked her up and taken her to the motel.
It was the husband’s employment that made a lightbulb go off in Callaway’s head.
The husband worked for the Department of Corrections. That explained why he was comfortable holding a gun and making threats. He dealt with criminals daily. He knew how to intimidate them and get them to follow his orders.
Callaway squinted. Through the salon’s windows, he saw the mistress working on someone’s hair. Callaway knew everything about her, and one thing that stood out—which he ignored previously because he did not want to complicate his investigation—was the fact that the mistress’s boyfriend was currently locked up in the Milton Penitentiary.
Callaway had once followed the mistress from her apartment to the penitentiary to meet her boyfriend.
Callaway also discovered the boyfriend was in prison for selling drugs to teenagers. He was given six years with a chance of parole after three. The boyfriend was due to be out soon, but until then, he was protected by the husband while he was locked up.
The husband was not only cheating on his wife, he was also abusing his power as a corrections officer.
No wonder the husband had reacted the way he did. It was not just about his marriage falling apart; he was also worried he might go to prison for doing favors for the boyfriend. And if the husband was smuggling drugs into prison for the boyfriend, then his sentence could be even harsher.
Callaway was determined to see the husband get the maximum penalty allowed under the law.
The only way to do that was to find out what the mistress knew. He needed her to confirm that she was smuggling drugs to her boyfriend via the husband.
And Callaway believed he knew how to get her to confess.
Each day after work, Callaway had seen her go to a club, from which she would leave drunk. The mistress was on probation for a hit-and-run while intoxicated. As part of her conditions, she was supposed to refrain from drinking alcohol for one year. If she violated that, she would be serving time behind bars.
Callaway had photos of her stumbling out of the bar drunk.
A smile crossed his face.
Try putting a gun to my face again, dirtbag, he thought.
FOURTEEN
Fisher walked out of the center and saw McConnell standing next to his cruiser. He was looking at the media who had started to gather around the property with suspicious eyes.
Fisher was wary of them as well. With three dead—all of them women—the media would have a field day. Each victim would get a full page devoted to them. They would write stories about all the good they had done while working for the center, and because of the attention, the pressure would be on the Milton PD to find the killer fast. All eyes would now be on her and Holt, and for a moment, she felt overwhelmed by what lay before her.
McConnell walked over to her. “You okay?”
She took a deep breath and nodded.
“Are you sure no one else could take this case on?”
“Greg needs me. And I want to be here.”
“I know, it’s just that…”
He looked away.
She did not want to reach over and touch him. The cameras were pointed in their direction. Right now, they were two colleagues having a conversation. If they showed any affection toward each other, the cameras would catch it.
Their relationship was not a secret. Everyone in the department knew they were dating. Fisher just did not want the entire world privy to her personal life. The media was always hungry for stories, and she did not want to become a byline in their articles. The murders at Emily’s Place should be their focus, not what she did in her private time.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him.
McConnell faced her. “Will I see you tonight for dinner?”
“Probably not.”
He paused and then smiled. “Call me, though.”
He understood better than anyone the responsibility of the job. He was a dedicated police officer, and she was devoted to her duty as a detective.
“I promise I will,” she said.
There was a commotion as two cameramen jostled for position, hurling insults and curses at each other.
/> McConnell walked over to diffuse the situation.
Fisher decided to go back inside.
She found Holt staring at a whiteboard stuck to a wall.
“What’re you looking at?” she asked.
He pointed to the whiteboard. “It looks like a weekly schedule. You can see when they held meetings, workshops, programs, or other events. You can also see Emily Riley’s name, Paige Giles’s name, and Melody Ferguson’s name on the board.”
“Okay,” Fisher said, trying to follow what he was saying.
“Who is Nikki Jones?” he asked. “Her name is in several places.”
Fisher squinted. “Do you think she works here?”
“I don’t know, but she was scheduled to come in today.”
“What if she did, and…” Fisher’s voice trailed off. She did not have to say it, but Holt knew what she was thinking.
Could there be a fourth victim?
FIFTEEN
Callaway entered the restaurant feeling good about himself. The husband’s mistress cracked the moment Callaway showed her photos of herself drunk out of her mind. If a judge saw those photos, her probation would be revoked, and she would be inside a six-by-eight cell in a heartbeat.
She confessed that she was indeed smuggling drugs to her boyfriend in prison, and she was using the husband, who worked as a corrections officer, to do so. Callaway got her on tape, which he then placed inside an envelope and dropped off at the State Department of Corrections.
A divorce would be the least of the husband’s worries. He would have a lot of questions to answer once his superiors listened to the tape. Callaway included the photos of the husband with the mistress for good measure.
Screw him, he thought. He should have never threatened me.
He looked around the restaurant and frowned. A customer was seated at his favorite table. He debated whether to cause a fuss so they would leave. But what could he do, really? If he did make a scene, it would be him who would have to vacate the premises and not the other customer.
Then there was the matter of the employee at the restaurant. She would not be pleased with Callaway’s behavior.
He looked around, and he did not see her. He walked to the other side of the restaurant when he spotted her in the back, speaking on the phone.
Joely Paterson had shoulder-length blonde hair, which was kept in a ponytail. She had on a T-shirt with an apron over it.
Callaway had few friends, but Joely was one of them.
There were times when Callaway barely had enough money for a cup of coffee. Joely would give him a complimentary meal. She would get flak from her boss for doing so, but she could not see herself turning away a hungry person. Callaway had a feeling that Bill, the owner, would deduct Callaway’s meals from her pay. He had no way of confirming this, but it was the only logical explanation. The restaurant would be out of business if they started feeling sorry for anyone who walked in asking for free meals. The fact that he managed not to pay for his meals for so long told him it was Joely who was covering for him.
He took a seat behind the counter when Joely walked through the doors from the kitchen.
She looked visibly upset.
“Everything all right?” he asked, concerned.
She paused and sighed. “Dean is in town.”
Callaway’s back tensed. Joely’s ex-husband worked as an equipment manager for a rock band. He used to be on the road all the time, and Joely was left alone to care for their son, Josh. One day, while on tour with the band, he called her from some faraway town and told her he was not coming home. With her marriage over, she moved back in with her mom. With her help, she was able to care for her son and even save some money, which recently enabled her to finally move out on her own again.
She and Josh were making a life that did not include her ex-husband. Joely was in control of her life, and she was excited about the prospects of her future.
Callaway sensed that her future could now suddenly fall apart.
SIXTEEN
“Where is Dean staying while in Milton?” Callaway asked.
She hesitated. “Dean is staying with us.”
Callaway blinked. “What? At your place?”
“Yeah, he just showed up at our door last night out of the blue. No phone calls, no emails, nothing. But that’s how Dean always was. He never plans for anything. He prefers to live life spontaneously. I mean, that’s what I liked about him when I first met him. You felt free when you were with him. But when we had Josh, I realized I had someone else to care for, and I couldn’t get up and leave whenever I felt like it. I don’t think Dean planned to end our marriage the way he did. He just woke up one day and decided he didn’t want to be married anymore.”
“He sounds like a swell guy,” Callaway said.
She shrugged. “He’s not all bad. I mean, you walked out on your wife and daughter, and look how you turned out.”
It stung whenever someone reminded Callaway of what he’d done. And Callaway was doing his best to atone for his mistakes.
A smile crossed her face. “Dean can be charming, generous, and kind when he wants to be. He can make you feel like you are the most important person in the world. But he’s also irresponsible and selfish.”
“Why did you let him into your house?” Callaway asked.
“What could I do? The moment Josh saw him, his face lit up like Times Square. He was so excited to see his dad. I thought Dean would stay for dinner and leave. I mean, it’s the first time he’s ever visited us.”
“He doesn’t keep in contact with Josh?”
“He’ll occasionally call him when he’s stuck in some boondock town and has nothing to do. Or every once in a while, out of nowhere, he’ll send him a card, a small gift, and even some money.”
“How much money we talking about?”
“Never more than twenty bucks.”
“Again, he sounds like a swell guy,” Callaway said. “So, where is he sleeping at your place?”
“I let him take the couch. If I had my way, I would let him sleep on the street.”
“Why did he show up? Did he tell you?”
“He said he was in town and wanted to see his son.”
Callaway thought for a moment. “That makes sense.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Dean had many opportunities to come see Josh. Last year, the band he was with played four shows in Milton and the neighboring cities. Not once did he drop by. I think he’s hiding something. A leopard doesn’t change its spots so easily.”
“I did, or I’m trying to, anyway,” he said.
“Yeah, but you’re different.”
Callaway was not sure he was.
She leaned closer. “I want to hire you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Hire me for what?”
“Find out why Dean is in Milton.”
“Maybe he just wants to see Josh.”
“I don’t buy it,” she said. “There has to be a reason why he’s acting like this. He spent all last night playing video games with Josh. This morning he made us breakfast, and he even walked Josh to school.”
“Maybe he wants to get back together with you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so, and there is no way I will let him back into my life.”
“Patti’s giving me a second chance. Maybe you should, too.”
“It’s different between you and Patti. Everyone could tell you still had feelings for her. And you always went out of your way to make it up to Nina. I found out after we got divorced that Dean was cheating on me throughout our marriage. Did you do that while you were married to Patti?”
“Never,” he said. It was a fact he was most proud of.
“So? Will you take my case or not?”
He stared at her. “Sure, I’ll look into it.”
“How much?” she then asked.
“How much what?”
“How much will you charge for your PI services?”
He laughed. “If
you keep smiling whenever I come to the restaurant, then that will be my fee.”
In truth, she had fed him when he was broke and hungry. There was no way in hell he would ever charge to help her out.
She smiled and pulled her small writing pad out. “What can I get you this morning, Mr. Callaway?”
He dropped a bill on the counter. “I’ll have your executive breakfast.”
The menu did not have an executive breakfast, but Joely knew Callaway meant a plate filled with everything.
“Coming right up,” she said.
SEVENTEEN
The Crime Scene Unit dusted the crime scene for fingerprints, took still photographs and recorded videos. They found several shell casings. A ballistic test would be conducted to identify the type of weapon used, which might help them narrow their search for a suspect. If the gun was a type owned by a vast majority of gun owners, however, their search would become even more difficult.
From long experience, Holt knew no gun owner would use their own weapon for a crime such as this. They would know the police had the tools and resources to link a weapon to a specific crime. If Holt was a betting man, the weapon was either stolen or purchased from the black market. In either of those cases, the ballistic report would be useless to them.
But they needed to know the make and model of the weapon nonetheless.
Fisher searched the internet for Nikki Jones on her cell phone. Nikki might be the only surviving member of Emily’s Place. Fisher hoped nothing had befallen her. Fisher had just found an address when she heard a loud commotion explode outside.
She looked over at Holt. He looked just as surprised as her.
They walked out and found a group of people—mostly women and some men—holding signs that read, HATE CRIME. EQUAL RIGHTS. GENDER BASED VIOLENCE. They were chanting, “We want justice! We want justice!”
One of the women was holding a bullhorn. Fisher figured she was the one who had organized this rally, so she walked over to her.
“What’s this about?” Fisher asked.
The Broken Mother Page 4
