The Lee Callaway Boxed Set

by Thomas Fincham

  In recent years, Milton College had risen from being known as an academic school to one which also had a thriving basketball program. They had the funding needed to push the program forward, and they had a young coach who knew how to connect with the players. Some of the top high school prospects in the state had joined the team. They saw the Milton Cougars as an opportunity to play big minutes and thus showcase their talent for professional scouts.

  Isaiah was just looking for the opportunity to step onto the court. He knew the moment he did, the world would see what he could do.

  When the college offered Isaiah a scholarship, Marjorie and Dennis were beyond elated. Their son would go to a respectable college, and he would not be far away from them. But it came with a caveat: Isaiah would have to prove he could make it onto the team.

  Over the summer, Isaiah was on campus every day. He worked harder for the upcoming season than all the prospects combined. Holt had driven him back and forth for practice on a number of occasions. He had seen the focus and determination on Isaiah’s face. He tried to tell him to enjoy his time as a student as these could be the best years of his youth. But Isaiah would have none of it. He wanted to succeed, and he was not going to let anything stop him.

  Holt could not fault Isaiah for wanting the best for himself. Holt also had the same sense of determination when he was focused on a case. He thought of nothing else but catching the perpetrator.

  Holt and Nancy were in the stands for Isaiah’s first game. Holt was overcome with pride when he saw Isaiah in the Milton Cougars uniform. Isaiah was subbed into the game in the middle of the first half with his team trailing behind by ten points. Isaiah’s infectious energy, his hounding of the other team’s best players, and his ability to hustle and do all the dirty work resulted in his team squeaking out a win. Isaiah tallied eight points, twelve rebounds, two steals, and three blocked shots in that game.

  The joy on Nancy’s face that night was something Holt would never forget.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The five-thousand-seat gymnasium was located in the middle of the campus. During home games, the crowds were loud and boisterous, sending a vibrant surge of energy into the arena. But now the gym was eerily quiet. The news of Isaiah’s death had reached the college.

  Holt and Fisher entered the gym and spotted two people at the other end of the court.

  An older man was consoling a student. The student was in tears as the man spoke gently and reassuringly to him.

  Holt had never spoken to Assistant Coach Jay Bledson before, but he had seen him on the sidelines during the games. Bledson was short in comparison to the players he coached. He was slim, and he was wearing a maroon t-shirt—the Cougars team color—and he had on black shorts.

  Holt introduced himself and Fisher, after which Bledson took them further away from the weeping student. He did not want the student to overhear their conversation.

  “Isaiah’s death has hit the team hard,” Bledson said with sadness in his eyes. “We have a road game tonight. I don’t think anyone on the team is thinking about that right now.”

  “Where’s Coach Loughton?” Holt asked. Earl Loughton was the Cougars’ head coach.

  “He’s meeting with faculty right now. And I believe afterwards he’ll visit Isaiah’s parents.”

  “Isaiah was my nephew,” Holt said.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Bledson said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Isaiah mentioned that someone in his family worked for the Milton Police. I guess he was talking about you.”

  Holt felt a pang of sadness. Isaiah talked about me? he thought.

  “You’re here about the Chrysler, aren’t you?” Bledson asked, getting right to the point.

  “Yes. It is registered to you,” Holt replied. “Why was Isaiah driving it?”

  “He said he needed it to run an errand.”

  “And you let him take it?”

  “Sure, why not? Most of these kids come from poor families. They don’t have much money, so forget being able to own a car.”

  Holt felt a spark of irritation. “Isaiah’s parents have money,” he said.

  Bledson stared at him. “Listen. I try to help out these kids as best as I can. If they need to go somewhere, I’ll give them a ride. If they want to borrow my car while I’m on campus, I’ll let them. Just so long as they don’t damage it.”

  “What time did Isaiah borrow your car?” Holt asked.

  Bledson pondered the question. “I came to campus around six…”

  “This morning?”

  “Yes. I try to come in early. It gives me time to work out, and if any of the players want to run drills, I’m available to them.”

  “What happened after you came in?” Holt asked.

  “The moment Isaiah saw me, he asked to borrow the car.”

  “What was his demeanor like? Was he stressed or upset?”

  Bledson thought for a moment. “He looked like he hadn’t slept the entire night. I asked if everything was okay, and he gave me a noncommittal answer. I could tell he had a lot on his mind. I did not want to push it, though. He was in a hurry, and he had to be somewhere quick.”

  Was the furniture store where he had to be? Holt thought.

  Bledson said, “I let him take the car on one condition: He had to be back for the eleven a.m. practice. Coach Loughton would be furious if he wasn’t. I remember Isaiah grinned and said he’d be back before any of the guys broke a sweat.”

  Holt remembered that grin. It could be mischievous and reassuring. He often grinned when he was about to do something he should not.

  “Next thing I heard was that something terrible had happened to him.” Bledson shook his head, his eyes full of disbelief.

  Something terrible did happen, Holt thought. A promising young man’s life was brutally taken away.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Callaway looked at Elle. “What’s your sister’s name?” he asked.

  “Katie,” Elle replied. “Katie Pearson.”

  “Okay. What happened to her?”

  “I don’t know. The last time I spoke to her was over three months ago.”

  Callaway blinked. “Three months?!” he said a little too loudly.

  “I contacted the police shortly after our last conversation.”

  “And?”

  “They first told me it’s not illegal for a person to disappear, especially if it’s an adult.”

  “How old is your sister?” Callaway asked.

  “She turned twenty-two a month ago.”

  “And what have the police done so far?”

  “After I filed a missing persons report, I’ve not heard back from them.”

  Callaway knew that was not unusual in cases like these. There were thousands of stories of people who were never found or seen again. The police departments were already backlogged with unsolved murder cases, so a lot of times, the less violent crimes were pushed to the back burner. Unless there was suspicion of foul play, these cases were rarely investigated thoroughly.

  “Where does your sister live?” Callaway asked.

  “In Milton.”

  “And you?”

  “I live in Mayview.”

  That’s just an hour from here, Callaway thought.

  “What was your sister doing in Milton?” he asked.

  “She was working and studying.”

  “Do you have a photo of your sister?”

  She unzipped her purse, searched inside, and placed a Polaroid on the table. Callaway picked up the photo.

  Katie was smiling. She had blonde hair, dark eyes, and perfect teeth.

  “Do you have another photo? Perhaps one with her standing?” Callaway asked. In his experience, a full-body shot was more helpful than the one of a profile.

  “Sorry, this is the only one I have,” Elle replied.

  “What about on your cell phone?”

  She smiled. “Why would I have them on my phone when I can’t even see them?”

 
Callaway felt flustered. “Right, sorry. Do you have the police report that you filed?”

  Elle again reached into her purse and pulled out a folded document. She slid it across the table.

  Callaway scanned the report. It had the missing person’s name, age, height, weight, hair color, eye color, build, nicknames, known allergies, medical condition, articles of clothing they were last seen wearing, and so on. The report was dated three months earlier.

  “Have you been to Milton before?” Callaway asked.

  “This is my first time.”

  Callaway figured that. The police report was filed in Mayview.

  “Have you spoken to the Milton PD? Your sister was in Milton at the time of her disappearance, you know,” he said.

  “I did speak to them, and they told me another missing persons report was not necessary as one had already been filed in Mayview.”

  “Really?” Callaway was surprised by this.

  “My sister’s information was already logged in NamUS.”

  The National Missing and Unidentified Persons System was operated by the Department of Justice. The information in the system was used by law enforcement officials, agencies, and even individuals in searching for missing persons.

  “And you are certain your sister was in Milton?” Callaway had to be sure before he proceeded.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “How?”

  “She told me.”

  “She texted you?”

  “No, we spoke on the phone.”

  “Why didn’t she text you?”

  “I don’t know how to text.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t see.”

  Callaway’s face turned beet red. Second time I put my foot in my mouth, he thought.

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” Elle said, sensing his embarrassment. “I’ve had people say far worse things to me before.”

  “I did not mean to offend you with my questioning,” he said. “I’ve taken on cases before where a person has gone missing, and after weeks of searching, I’ve found them in another state, sometimes living under a different name. There is nothing I nor the police can do to compel them to return to their family. If they are an adult, they are free to leave the country, state, or city whenever they want.”

  “My sister has not left the country, nor the state, nor the city.”

  “How do you know?”

  Elle fell silent. “I can’t be certain, of course, but what I can tell you is my sister and I spoke regularly. Three months ago, she stopped answering my calls. I’ve waited patiently for the police to tell me they’ve found her. I have now taken it upon myself to do something about it. Are you going to help me or not?” Her voice was gentle but determined.

  “I’m not sure what I can do,” Callaway replied. Missing persons cases often did not result in positive outcomes, and Callaway did not want to give Elle false hope. Since she was blind, Callaway would feel like he had abused Elle’s trust in him if he searched for Katie and failed.

  She reached into her purse for a third time and pulled out an envelope. She laid it on the table. The envelope was thick and heavy.

  “It’s five thousand dollars. All up front,” Elle said.

  Callaway’s mouth nearly hit the table. He needed a moment to compose himself. “That’s a lot of money, Elle, and believe me when I say this, it is money I could desperately use right now. But you’d be throwing it away. It might be better if the police looked into it.”

  “They are not doing anything.”

  “You should have a case number from your missing persons report. You could contact the person in charge of your case and get an update.”

  “I already did.”

  “And?”

  “I get the standard answer that they are investigating this matter and they will let me know the moment they find something.”

  Callaway sighed, “That’s no surprise, given how the Milton PD is stretched thin right now.”

  “Please,” Elle said. “I need someone whose sole job is to find my sister.”

  “What if I’m not able to find her?” he asked.

  “Katie was my younger sister. She was also my best friend. I don’t know where she is, and it is eating away at me. There are times I go to bed crying. There are also times I can barely function. I am willing to do whatever it takes to find out what happened to her, even if it means I may never see her again.”

  Callaway was silent for a moment. “Fine. I’ll look into it and get back to you.”

  He reached for the envelope.

  Elle blocked his hand with hers.

  “I want to come with you wherever you go.”

  Callaway frowned. “It might be better if I did this on my own. I don’t want to inconvenience you, or worse, put you in any danger.”

  “It’s my sister and it’s my money,” Elle said.

  Callaway stared at her.

  “Forgive me if I don’t trust you just yet. I can’t see with my eyes, which means I don’t know if you will do what you say you will.”

  That seems logical, he thought. “Okay, fine.”

  She smiled once again.

  He thought of something. “How did you find me?”

  “I heard about the Paul Gardener case.”

  “Right, of course,” Callaway said.

  That case finally got me a client, he thought.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Holt and Fisher were inside a room with glass walls at Milton College. A security officer was seated behind a set of computer monitors. The security cameras, located in every corner of the campus, had recently been installed due to a string of sexual assaults that had rocked the college.

  A masked man dressed in dark clothing had attacked female students as they walked to and from class. All the attacks had taken place at night, and the victims were unable to identify their attacker. The college hired extra security officers and placed restrictions on students walking alone. The attacks would have continued had someone not come forward with information.

  The roommate of a law student told campus police that on the night of the attacks, the law student would disappear for hours. The authorities were going to bring the law student in for questioning, but then they learned the man’s roommate had previously been reprimanded for cheating on his exams. The whistle-blower in that situation happened to be the law student, and the authorities worried the tip could be a false lead given out of spite. They also worried the real attacker could disappear for good if they caught the wrong person. Instead, they took no action against the law student and continued their investigation in secrecy. Several months went by without an incident. The extra campus security was reduced, and restrictions were lifted on students walking on campus after dark.

  One night, the law student was seen leaving his room. He was dressed in black, and he had a mask in his pocket. The law student hid behind a set of trees, shielded in darkness, as a female student left her class. She was on her phone, unaware that someone was watching her as she walked back to her dorm.

  The law student waited for the right moment to pounce. What no one was told at the time was that an undercover officer had been placed across the hall from the law student. For several months, the officer never let the law student out of his sight. Now the officer was tailing the law student. When he made his move, so did the undercover officer. Before the law student could reach the female student, he was on the ground and handcuffed.

  Holt knew all the details because Isaiah had told him. Isaiah had wanted Holt’s opinion on what to do to keep his female friends safe on campus. Isaiah was big and strong, and he was a protector for those he cared for.

  As Holt stared at the monitors, he could not help but wonder if he could have protected Isaiah had he known what he was up to that morning.

  The security officer played with the keyboard until he found what he was looking for. He pointed to a monitor on the left.

  The image showed the parking lot next to the gymnasium.
The clock at the bottom indicated the time was a little after six a.m. They watched as the doors opened and Isaiah came out of the building.

  Holt’s back arched, and his hands tightened into balls. He clenched his jaw, feeling emotions rush through him. Only a few hours later, his nephew’s bullet-riddled body would be found.

  Fisher placed her hand over his fist to calm him. Her gesture helped, but not that much. Holt could not tear his eyes away from the screen.

  Isaiah rushed to a car parked in the corner of the lot. They recognized it as the Chrysler. He shoved the key into the door, unlocked it, and got behind the wheel.

  He raced out of the lot a moment later.

  Bledson was telling the truth, Holt thought. He did let Isaiah borrow his car.

  But something troubled him. Why was Isaiah in such a hurry to leave? Was he meeting someone at the furniture store? And was this person responsible for Isaiah’s death?

  He wished he had the answer.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The house looked run-down from afar and looked no better up close. The grass had not been mowed in months, and discarded appliances and furniture were scattered on the lawn. The window shutters were broken or missing, and the exterior paint was peeling and faded.

  Callaway read the address to Elle to make sure they were at the right place.

  “Yes,” Elle replied. “That’s the address Katie told me.”

  Why would Katie live in a dump like this? Callaway thought as he knocked on the front door.

  A moment later, a large woman appeared from behind the screen mesh. “If you’re selling something, I’m not buying,” she said in a hoarse voice.

  “We are looking for someone,” he said. “Her name is Katie Pearson. We believe she lives at this address.”

  “No one by that name lives here,” the woman replied.