Joyce opened the front door, entered, and shut it behind her.
EIGHTY-EIGHT
Holt and Fisher parked by the curb and got out. They crossed the road and made their way up the driveway of a two-story Victorian-style house, which had a double garage that was painted white. The front lawn was neat and green, and there was a small flower garden next to the front steps.
They rang the doorbell and waited.
Fisher cupped her eyes against the glass window. “I don’t think anyone’s home,” she said.
They were hoping to ask James Riley about the check he had given to Nikki Jones for the sum of five thousand dollars, which was not an insignificant amount—enough that they had driven all the way to ask him face-to-face.
Holt walked around the driveway to the side of the house. He peeked through the wooden gate. On one side of the backyard was a children’s swing and slide, and on the other was a gazebo with patio chairs.
He returned to the front of the house and shook his head.
Holt and Fisher returned to their vehicle and got in. Fisher started it up when a gray minivan appeared down the road. The van approached the house and entered the driveway.
Fisher turned to Holt. “Good thing we didn’t drive away.”
They got out and hurried back to the house. They saw the minivan enter the garage and come to a halt.
James Riley got out of the driver’s side door. He was wearing a flannel shirt, dress pants, and loafers. His hair was disheveled, and his face had shrunk, as if the loss of a loved one had sucked the life out of him.
When he saw Holt and Fisher, he walked over and met them in the driveway.
“Mr. Riley, sorry to bother you,” Fisher said. “We rang the doorbell earlier, but you weren’t home.”
“I had to drop the kids off at their grandparents. I didn’t want them to see their father like this.”
Riley’s eyes were red and raw, and his breath reeked of liquor. Riley looked like he had been drowning his sorrows in alcohol.
Fisher asked “Mr. Riley, do you know a Nikki Jones?”
“What kind of a question is that?” he responded. “Of course I do. She works at my wife’s center.”
“Did you write a check for five thousand dollars to Ms. Jones?”
“I did.”
“Can we ask why?”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
“We prefer to ask you,” Fisher said.
Riley sighed. “Nikki works part-time at the center, which isn’t enough to cover her mortgage and living expenses. She also has student loans. Emily is—was one of the most generous people you’d ever meet. She was always helping those in need. She asked me to write a check to Nikki, which I did.”
“Why didn’t your wife write a check herself?” Fisher asked.
“Emily didn’t want the money coming from the center’s bank account. Each year, she releases a report to all the donors who supported the center, and on it she discloses how much was raised—which includes all the donors’ names as a personal thank-you for their generosity—and how much was spent in running the center. A loan to an employee would be scrutinized, and she did not want it to look like she was using the center’s money as her piggy bank. So, I wrote a personal check instead.”
“It’s a lot of money,” Fisher said.
“It is,” he agreed.
“What if she couldn’t pay it back?”
“Nikki agreed to sell her car if she couldn’t come up with the money. Also, she was still an employee at the center. Emily could always garnish her wages if she defaulted on the loan.”
Fisher was silent. She turned to Holt, who was staring at the garage. “Do you have any questions?” she asked him.
Holt said, “Is that your car?”
“The minivan belongs to Emily.”
“I mean, the one next to it.”
Another vehicle, covered with a blue tarp, was in the garage. “Yes, it’s mine,” Riley said.
“Do you mind if I take a look?”
“Sure. You into cars?” Riley asked.
“You can say that,” Holt replied.
Riley walked over and removed the tarp. The car was a blue Ford Mustang. The exterior glistened, and the hubcaps shined in the sunlight.
“It’s a beauty,” Holt said.
Riley beamed. “It is.”
They returned to where Fisher was standing. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Riley,” she said.
“No problem. Anytime.”
Holt and Fisher walked back to the car.
Fisher was about to get in when Riley appeared on the road. He walked up to the them and said, “I don’t know if you can answer my question, but I was wondering how long it will be before I can get my wife’s death certificate.”
Fisher knew on average it could take two weeks for the coroner’s office to log the information into city records and prepare a copy of the certificate, but if there was an investigation, and a medical examiner had to conduct an autopsy, the death certificate could take as long as six weeks.
Riley said, “As you can imagine, after Emily’s death, it’s up to me to conclude her affairs, and I can’t begin the process without an official record of death. Heck, I don’t even know what to do with Emily’s Place. I’m not sure anyone would even want to take over the responsibility after what’s transpired there.”
Fisher understood. “We’ll speak to the medical examiner and see what we can do to expedite it for you.”
“Thank you very much.”
EIGHTY-NINE
Callaway was on his way to Joely’s house when he spotted Dean walking down the street. He had his head low and his hands in his pockets.
Callaway accelerated and pulled up next to him. He rolled down the window and said, “Hey, Dean!”
Dean stopped and turned to Callaway. It took him a second to recognize him. “Lee Callaway, right?”
“Yep,” Callaway replied. “Can I have a word with you?”
“About what?”
“Why don’t you get in the car so we can talk in private.”
Dean looked down the street. It was empty. He shook his head. “I prefer standing, if you don’t mind.”
“Suit yourself,” Callaway said. “I thought I’d let you know I spoke to two of your buddies.”
Dean frowned. “What buddies?”
“The guys you owe ten grand to.”
The color drained from Dean’s face.
“In fact,” Callaway added, “I had a drink with them. And I can honestly say, they are hoping you don’t come up with the money because they’re going to enjoy hurting you.”
Dean broke into a cold sweat. “I’m planning to pay them back.”
“Sure you are,” Callaway said. He pushed the passenger side door open. “Get in so we can talk about it.”
Dean paused, but then his shoulders sagged, and he got in.
Callaway drove farther up the block and found a spot to park in. He faced Dean and said, “I sensed something wasn’t right when you knew who I was the first time we met. You didn’t ask Brian Dunbar about me because you were suspicious Joely had hired a private investigator. You were afraid of those two goons looking for you. And you most certainly didn’t come to Milton to spend time with Josh. You came here to save your own ass. And because of that, you’ve now put Joely and Josh’s life in danger.”
Dean covered his face with his hands. “I never thought they’d find me here.”
“They did, and believe me, they want to make an example of you,” Callaway said, feeling anger rise in him. “And to do that, they’ll start with Joely and Josh.”
Dean broke down and began to sob like a child. Callaway was not expecting this reaction. He thought Dean would act tough and tell Callaway to mind his own business. Instead, Dean looked genuinely terrified.
“I was only going to stay in Milton for a short time,” he said, “until I could find a way to come up with the money.”
“How were you going to do
that?” Callaway asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, looking up. “Maybe get a job.”
Callaway leaned closer. “These people won’t wait for you to save up to pay them back. They expect you to pay them the moment the payment is due.”
Dean sighed. “I’m sorry. I know I messed up really bad this time.”
Callaway looked out the window. A part of him wished the wannabe-gangsters would make Dean suffer for what he had done, but he did not want Joely and Josh to suffer because of Dean’s selfish behavior.
Callaway looked back at Dean. “How did you end up owing them ten thousand dollars?”
Dean sighed and shut his eyes. “Right after my gig with Angels of Addicts ended, I didn’t know what to do with my life. I knew I didn’t want to go on tour with another band. That life can take a toll on you. I decided to buy a bar instead. It was going to be a place for up-and-coming bands to play. Maybe even spot the next big thing, you know? I poured all my savings into making my dream a reality, but the bar didn’t take off as I’d hoped.”
“Okay, but you still haven’t told me how you got involved with those people,” Callaway said.
“All my money went into purchasing the bar,” Dean said. “I didn’t have anything left for renovations or even ongoing expenses, so I borrowed money from some shady people. I figured once the bar started making money, I’d pay them back. It just didn’t work out that way.”
Callaway could not scold Dean for seeking alternative lenders. He was guilty of going to loan sharks whenever he found himself in financial trouble, and they were not too kind when he fell behind on his repayment.
Speaking of which, Callaway thought, I haven’t seen Mason and Baxter in a long time.
Ever since he got back with Patti, he was being more careful with his money. This, in turn, was keeping him away from people like Mason and Baxter. Baxter was always salivating at the opportunity to have a go at Callaway. But Mason was a businessman, and he valued money over everything else. Callaway would always somehow find a way to come to an agreement with Mason.
Callaway shoved his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out a thick envelope. He held the envelope in front of Dean.
“What’s this?” Dean asked, confused.
“The money you owe those guys.”
Dean’s eyes widened. “All of it?”
“Yep. Ten thousand dollars.”
Dean reached for the envelope.
Callaway snatched the envelope back.
“Now you listen to me, and you listen good,” he said. “I’ll give you this money, but you promise you will never come back to Milton or ever try to see Joely and Josh again.”
“But Josh is my son.”
“You should have thought of that before you put his life in danger.”
Dean looked away. Then he said in a low voice, “Fine.”
Callaway said, “If you choose to run away with this money, and something happens to Joely and Josh, I know people worse than those guys you owe money to.” Mason and Baxter again crossed his mind. “I’m a private investigator, so it’s my job to find those who don’t want to be found. And when I find you, I will have the people I know have their way with you. Do you understand?”
Dean swallowed and nodded.
“Say it,” Callaway demanded.
“I do.”
Callaway handed him the envelope. He then pulled out his cell phone. “I’ve recorded this conversation,” he said. “You decide to change your mind and go see Josh or even Joely, I will give her a copy of this. And believe me, once she hears that you put her life and her son’s life in harm’s way, she will make sure you never go near them again. Even if that means hiring the best lawyer and getting a restraining order against you. Either way, you are screwed. So, if I were you, I’d clear my debts and forget about Joely and Josh and move on with my life. Got it?”
Dean stared at the envelope, feeling deflated. “Yeah, I got it.”
NINETY
Fisher and Holt were on the highway when Fisher said, “I never knew you were interested in cars.”
“I’m not,” he said, staring out the window.
Ever since they left James Riley’s house, Holt had been unusually quiet.
“Okay,” she said. “What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m your partner. I can tell when something is on your mind.”
He was still for a moment before he turned to her. “I can’t shake the feeling that James Riley is more than he appears to be.”
“What do you mean?”
Holt opened his mouth but then shut it.
“Come on,” she said. “Say whatever you’ve got to say.”
“I think James Riley killed Emily Riley, Paige Giles, and Melody Ferguson. And I also believe he later killed Nikki Jones.”
Fisher burst out laughing. “That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.”
She glanced at Holt. She saw he was serious.
Her expression turned serious as well. “How did you arrive at that conclusion?” she asked.
“It was the way he walked.”
“Walked?” Fisher asked, confused.
“I first noticed it when he approached us in the driveway. I then saw the same walk when he came up to us when we were leaving.”
“And what’s so interesting about the way he walks?” Fisher asked.
“It’s the same style of walk as the shooter.”
Fisher paused and then asked, “Are you sure?”
“I am,” Holt replied. “I spent a great deal of time staring at the footage of the shooter. You can fake a lot of things, but it’s very hard to fake a walk for a length of time. Eventually, the body reverts to a natural walking position.”
Fisher’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Is that why you were asking about the car in his garage?”
“Yes.”
“But it’s not a black Volvo SUV like the one you saw in the footage. It was a blue Mustang.”
“Agreed, but did you notice the wheels?”
She shook her head. “What about them?”
“They were brand new. The tread had no marks on them.”
“Maybe he just got new tires installed.”
“The entire car looked brand new.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“I think James Riley got rid of the Volvo and replaced it with the Mustang.”
Fisher mulled this over. “I don’t know. Riley looked grief-stricken at the loss of his wife. You could hear the pain in his voice when he spoke at the vigil.”
“He’s feeling the weight of what he’s done,” Holt said. “The guilt is getting to him.”
“I don’t know.”
Holt faced her. “Didn’t you find it odd that he never asked us about the progress of the investigation.”
Fisher shrugged. “Maybe he’s got other things on his plate. He did mention he has to find someone to take over Emily’s Place. I mean, I would hate to see it shut its doors permanently. It did a lot of good for a lot of people.”
Holt grunted and looked away.
Fisher knew that was Holt’s way of showing disapproval. She had known him long enough to know he could be stubborn and hard-headed. There were times when his tunnel vision could take him down the wrong track. But at the same time, Holt was a good detective. He could smell something foul a mile away, and if his radar was going off on James Riley, Fisher would back him up.
“You don’t believe his story about the five thousand he gave to Nikki?”
“I don’t. I think she was working with him. I also think he had planned to kill her at Emily’s Place. She was supposed to arrive at the center so that she could call 9-1-1 and inform the world of what had happened. But he was waiting for her inside. What saved her was that Angel showed up before she did. Riley knew he couldn’t stay behind because the police were already on their way, so he bolted from the back.”
“But Nikki Jones was not at the crime scene.”
>
“We don’t know that. Maybe she came, but she saw the police cruiser, got cold feet, and left.”
“Okay,” Fisher said. “But then why did Riley wait until now to kill her?”
“It goes back to what we discussed earlier.”
“And that was?”
“Your voice message to warn Nikki about the danger to her life. The moment she heard it, she must have called Riley. Until then, he figured he would let her live because the heat would further intensify if another person from Emily’s Place was murdered. But when she confronted him at her house, he saw no other choice but to shoot her. This explains why the front door was not locked. She knew her killer. It was James Riley.”
They drove in silence before Fisher said, “Once we get back to the station, we can check the motor vehicle database to see if Riley ever owned a black Volvo SUV.”
“I think we can do better than that,” Holt said.
“And what’s that?”
“I think he traded in the Volvo for the Mustang. It was the only way he could get rid of any evidence linking him to the center without raising any alarms.”
“All right, but without a warrant, how can we find out where he traded in the Volvo? It could have been traded anywhere.”
Holt finally smiled. “The dealership name and telephone number were on the Mustang’s license plate. I say we go there and confirm our suspicions.”
Fisher smiled as well. “Tell me where it is and I’ll get you there in half the time.”
NINETY-ONE
Callaway returned to his office feeling empty, both in his wallet and in his mind. He sat down behind his laptop, but he had no energy to turn it on.
The ten thousand dollars he had given Dean was more money than he had ever managed to save in his life. He was used to seeing his money come and go at the same time. He would get a nice fee for a case, and within hours or days, it would already be spent.
The Broken Mother Page 21
