The Lee Callaway Boxed Set

by Thomas Fincham

  “That would be nice. Thank you,” Elle said.

  Three cardboard boxes were piled up next to some gardening equipment in the corner. “It’s the one on the top,” the woman said, pointing. She then left to give them space to sift through the items.

  Callaway pulled the box down and opened it. At the top were trophies and medals. “Your sister was a swimmer?” he asked.

  Elle was surprised by the question. “Why do you ask?”

  “Never mind,” he said, and moved on. He found framed pictures under the trophies. He lifted the first one. Katie was smiling next to a diving board.

  “What did you find?” Elle asked anxiously.

  “Photos of Katie when she was younger.”

  “Do you mind?” Elle asked, removing the glove on her right hand.

  Callaway gave the picture to her. She moved her fingers over the photo. Callaway sensed she wanted to touch something that belonged to her sister, maybe allowing Elle to feel Katie in some way.

  Callaway lifted the next picture. Katie was posing with another woman. The woman had dark curly hair, a brown complexion, and hazel eyes.

  “Did Katie have any friends in Milton?” he asked.

  “She never mentioned anyone to me.”

  The way Katie and the woman were smiling and making peace signs at the camera told him they were good friends.

  He did not see any other photos. He was sad Katie had cut Elle out of her new life, but her behavior made sense. The more people she had from her past life, the more questions they would raise.

  What was Katie afraid of that made her change her identity? he thought.

  He pulled out a binder. On the front were the words Fashion Academy printed in neat shorthand.

  “This must be Katie’s stuff from when she was going to school,” he said.

  He shoved his hand deeper into the box and pulled out a small leather satchel. He unzipped the bag and realized it held women’s hygiene products.

  “What’s that?” Elle asked.

  Callaway handed the bag to her. He returned to the box. So far, he had not found anything that could be useful to them. He sifted through more items and realized there was nothing more to see.

  He turned to Elle.

  He noticed something lying next to her foot.

  It wasn’t there before, he thought.

  “Did you drop something?” he asked.

  “Did I?”

  “Oh, right,” he said, feeling sheepish. He leaned down and picked the item up. It was a wallet-size black-and-white photo of a man. The picture looked like a mug shot. The man’s features were rough and hard. The back bore the initials BR.

  “Who’s BR?” Callaway asked.

  Elle thought for a moment. “Could it be Bruno Rocco?”

  “It might well be,” Callaway replied, staring at the photo.

  SIXTY-TWO

  Why was Isaiah calling a stripper on the morning of his death? Holt wondered.

  Fisher was right that Cassandra Stevens was not her real name. He was unable to find her in the police department’s database. He even tried “Cassie Stevens” and came up empty.

  The only thing they had was the address the strip club owner had given them. They were on their way to check.

  Fisher was in the passenger seat, and he could tell she had a lot on her mind.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “First it’s the heroin, and now it’s a stripper. What did Isaiah get himself into?”

  “Yeah, I was thinking that,” she admitted. “But I was also thinking that something doesn’t add up now that we know Cassandra Stevens is involved.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “I don’t think Isaiah’s death had anything to do with drugs.”

  “But heroin residue was found in the Chrysler’s glove compartment.”

  “I think someone planted that there.”

  “Bo Smith?”

  “No. He wouldn’t risk putting it there and then get caught taking it. He nearly overdosed on the stuff.”

  “Okay, but I don’t see how the heroin doesn’t play a role in what happened.”

  “If you examine Isaiah’s text messages to Cassandra, you will see that she was in some sort of trouble and that he was worried about her. He even mentioned going to the police. Why would someone who was carrying heroin on him offer to contact the police? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “A lot doesn’t make sense at the moment,” Holt said.

  “Right. And then in her text back to Isaiah, Cassandra told him to meet her at the furniture store’s parking lot. This tells us Isaiah’s visit to that neighborhood had nothing to do with a drug deal. He was just following her instructions. Also, Cassandra never once mentioned any drugs in her messages to him.”

  “But they did speak for one minute and twenty-seven seconds. That’s enough time for her to tell him to bring the drugs to that location.”

  Fisher gave him a hard look. “It sounds like you believe Isaiah was a drug dealer who died during a deal gone bad.”

  Holt shook his head. “No. As a detective, I follow the evidence, not what’s in my heart. Isaiah was found dead in a vehicle that had traces of an illegal drug. Whether it’s his or not is still to be determined. He was in contact with a woman who was not involved in a respectable profession. Whether she was his girlfriend or not, I am not sure. What I am sure of is that he had no business being where he was two days ago. He was supposed to be in class, which he had skipped to meet this woman. Isaiah made a choice—a terrible one—that resulted in him getting killed.”

  Holt’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. He was preparing himself for the worst. In case the truth of Isaiah’s death turned out to be unpleasant, he wanted to be ready.

  They were now on a deserted open road. There was nothing but farmland on either side of them.

  “Where are we?” Fisher asked.

  “I don’t know, but I punched in the right address in the GPS.”

  The screen was indicating they were less than a mile away from their destination. Fisher had a sinking feeling they were not going to find what they were looking for.

  Her instincts were proved correct when the GPS alerted them that they had passed their stop. There was no sign of any residence as far as their eyes could see.

  The address Cassandra Stevens had given the strip club owner was false.

  SIXTY-THREE

  Callaway and Elle were back at the restaurant. Joely had already served them. Callaway had ordered coffee and a cherry-filled Danish while Elle requested plain tea.

  The box containing Katie’s personal items was in the Impala’s trunk. He did not want to leave the box behind. They would be put out to the curb as garbage otherwise.

  “I would like to take the box with me,” Elle said.

  “Of course, it’s your sister’s, and that makes it yours.”

  She took a sip from her cup. “I have a terrible feeling something bad has happened to Katie.”

  Callaway knew the feeling. Creating a new life was one thing, but it was entirely another to suddenly leave that life behind. Katie would have at least taken the trophies with her. They looked like they meant a great deal to her.

  “What about Bruno Rocco?” Elle asked. “Did you find anything on him?”

  “I made calls to my contacts in various law enforcement departments. What they told me doesn’t make sense.”

  Elle was about to take a sip from her cup, but she stopped, holding her drink close to her lips. “What do you mean?”

  “There is a Bruno Rocco, but he’s serving twelve years in Mainsville Penitentiary. He was connected to some big-time mobster whose name escapes me at the moment, but even the mobster is behind bars.”

  “So what does Rocco have to do with Katie?” Elle asked.

  “I wish I knew,” Callaway replied. “I have a feeling your sister was not being entirely truthful to you. She may have given you the name ‘Bruno Rocco’ so you woul
d not ask any questions.”

  “What about the photo we found in the garage? It had the initials BR on it.”

  “It could be someone else,” he said. “But I’ll keep checking my sources to see what comes up.”

  Callaway munched on his pastry. Elle sipped her tea.

  “I wanted to ask you something,” she said.

  “Go ahead,” he replied.

  “Back at my apartment, you mentioned your ex-wife and daughter, but you never talked about your parents.”

  “They are dead.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Any siblings?”

  “I have a brother.”

  “Older or younger?”

  “Older, much older.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He’s a captain in Harlow County. It was because of him that I joined the sheriff’s department.”

  “Where?”

  “Spokem County. It’s not far from Harlow. They are almost neighbors if you ask me. I was raised in Harlow. I did not want to work under my brother, so I applied to the sheriff’s department in the next county over.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to your brother?” she asked.

  Callaway was silent. He had not spoken to his brother in years. They never saw eye to eye. Their last conversation was when Callaway told him he was quitting being a sheriff’s deputy. The disappointment was palpable in his brother’s voice.

  Callaway came from a long line of law enforcement officers. His uncle and father were state troopers, and his grandfather was a prison warden. His father never pushed him to follow the family tradition. He had Callaway’s older brother for that. But he was proud when Callaway told him he would become a member of the sheriff’s department. Callaway was grateful his father never lived to see the day he walked away from the profession. He would have been grief-stricken.

  “It’s been a while,” he said solemnly.

  “I’m sorry I asked,” she said. “I just wanted to know how far you would go to search for your brother if he was missing.”

  Callaway gave Elle a firm look. “I would move heaven and earth to find him,” he said.

  SIXTY-FOUR

  Even with Cassandra Stevens’s address leading them nowhere, Holt was determined to push ahead. Isaiah may not have been the Boy Scout some thought he was, but he was still his nephew. He would never forgive himself if his nephew’s death turned into a cold case.

  Cassandra was a big piece in this mystery. She was the one who had lured Isaiah to his demise.

  Holt wanted to find out why.

  They were back at Milton College. Holt and Fisher found Byron Fox on the basketball court. He was practicing his free throws when they approached him.

  Byron had already worked up a sweat. He spotted them and asked, “You find out who killed my boy Isaiah?”

  “We’re working on it,” Holt replied. “But first we need to ask you a few questions.”

  Byron stopped bouncing the ball. “Okay.”

  Holt held up a poster from the strip club. He pointed to a girl dressed in revealing clothing, extra makeup, and high heels. She had the girl-next-door kind of look. “That’s Cassandra Stevens. Isaiah was sending her messages on the morning he died. I want to know where he met her,” Holt said.

  Byron made a face. “How would I know?”

  “You were close to him,” Holt said. “He must have told you something.”

  “He didn’t. That’s the honest-to-God truth. I was suspicious he was talking to a girl, but I never got her name.”

  Holt pointed at Cassandra’s picture again. “So you’ve never seen this woman before?”

  Byron glanced at the photo, but he quickly averted his eyes. “I gotta go,” he said.

  He began to move away from them.

  Holt moved in front of Byron. “You know who she is,” Holt said. His eyes were hard as rocks.

  Byron, who was six-three, could have grappled with Holt if he wanted to, but he knew assaulting a cop was not a good idea.

  Fisher came up next to Holt. “If you know anything, please tell us,” she said. “Isaiah was your best friend, and someone murdered him in cold blood. We want to find out why.”

  Byron stared at her for a moment.

  His shoulders drooped, and he let out a deep sigh. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but I do remember seeing her before.”

  “Where?” Fisher asked.

  “On campus.”

  “When?”

  “During a recruitment session.”

  Fisher was confused. “Recruitment session?”

  “Yeah, all the high school basketball prospects were invited to this session. It was supposed to help us get to know the school better, but it turned into a party instead. There was music, food, and even girls.”

  “Why was Cassandra Stevens there?”

  “I don’t know, but she and a couple of other girls danced for us.”

  “You mean they stripped for you,” Fisher said, correcting him.

  “Yeah, you can say that.”

  “And Isaiah was at this party?”

  “Sure, most of the freshmen on the team were.”

  “Who organized the party?” Holt asked.

  Byron bit his bottom lip, looking unsure if he should say more.

  “You can tell us,” Fisher assured him. “We want to find Isaiah’s killer.”

  Byron sighed. “It was organized by Assistant Coach Bledson.”

  SIXTY-FIVE

  Holt and Fisher confronted Jay Bledson in his office. Bledson was not surprised they had finally uncovered his dirty little secret.

  “Why would you invite strippers to a party where some kids are under eighteen?” Holt growled.

  Bledson lowered his head. “It’s not something I’m proud of, believe me, but I had no choice.”

  “What do you mean you had no choice?” Holt shot back.

  Bledson sighed. “It’s not easy getting the best prospects to sign up with your school when there are bigger and better programs out there. The schools who make it to the NCAA tournament each year get money from the tournament—and we are talking millions of dollars here. You should see their arenas and their practice facilities. Even their equipment centers are world-class. Milton College doesn’t have the money nor the reputation to compete with other schools for talent. We are not known for having the best athletics programs. We are better known for our educational departments.”

  Holt knew this was true. Dennis was an alumnus, and he had graduated as a computer engineer.

  “I was hired to scout young players,” Bledson said. “I visited many high schools in the state, and no one wanted to come to Milton for even a tour of the campus. I was desperate, so I started studying the recruiting tactics of small colleges and universities. I could not promise the kids money or financial incentives. That would be impossible to do discreetly. You hear stories of players from poor neighborhoods who get to college and suddenly their families are driving brand-new cars or moving into a bigger house. It reeks of bribery, and people can smell it a mile away.”

  “So you thought it was better to hire strippers?” Holt asked.

  “It sounds lurid, but that’s not how it started. I wanted to hold a party on campus with live music, dancing, lots of food…”

  “Alcohol?” Fisher asked.

  Bledson shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Don’t think these kids weren’t already drinking in high school, though.”

  “But it’s still illegal to serve them liquor,” Holt scolded him.

  “Of course I know that, but it was all monitored.”

  “By whom?”

  “Me.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t trust you to watch these kids,” Holt shot back.

  “That’s fine, but even then, none of the sought-after recruits were showing up at these events. I just wanted to show these kids that Milton College was a fun place, and I couldn’t even do that. Then I got the idea to…”

  He let his words trail off.

 
“To bring these girls in to strip for them?” Fisher said.

  “I’ve been to the Gentlemen’s Hideout before, and I asked the owner to send over a couple of his best girls. They were only there to entertain them. I never encouraged or paid the girls to sleep with the players. Never. But word got out, and more and more talented kids started showing up at these parties. Once they saw what Milton College could offer, they signed up.”

  “And Isaiah met Cassandra Stevens at this party?” Holt asked.

  Bledson shrugged. “He must have. I don’t know.”

  “Does Coach Loughton know about these parties?” Holt inquired.

  “No, I set it up on my own.”

  Holt did not believe him. A college coach was the second most powerful person after the college president. It’s highly unlikely he would not be aware of what’s going on behind his back, he thought.

  Bledson saw the skepticism on Holt’s face. “Coach Loughton thinks the students are coming to Milton because of our focus on academics. We encourage and guide these students to complete their degrees. Most of them know they will never make it to the pros, so they are keen on getting a higher education.”

  He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. “Isaiah was special, though,” he said. “He would have been the first Milton College graduate to jump to the professionals.”

  Holt stood up. “You’re right. Isaiah was special, and he was going to go to Milton College regardless of these parties or not. He wanted to be closer to his family, and he wanted to make his father proud.” He pointed a finger at Bledson. “Because of you, he met this woman at one of your parties, and she directed him to a place where he ended up dead.”

  Bledson covered his face with his hands and broke down.

  SIXTY-SIX

  Elle protested, but Callaway left her behind at the restaurant. He was not about to take a lady where even he hated going. His destination was not a safe place, and the people there were known to be involved in unfriendly situations.

  He knocked on a steel door and waited. He was behind a strip club called the Gentlemen’s Hideout. The establishment had just opened its doors, but Callaway was in no mood to watch women undress themselves.