He had a task that was becoming more and more bizarre as the days went by. What was supposed to have been a straightforward search for a missing person had now become more complicated. Katie Pearson had disappeared three months ago. Then he discovered she was living her life as Linda Eustace. When he and Elle went out looking for Linda, they found she too had disappeared.
A small window in the door slid open. Two eyes peered out at Callaway.
“Who is it?”
“It’s your uncle,” Callaway replied, annoyed.
“Uncle Moe? Is that you?”
“Baxter, open the door!”
“Name please?”
Why do I have to do this each time I come here? Callaway thought. “It’s Lee Callaway.”
“Do you have an appointment?” Baxter asked.
Callaway narrowed his eyes. “I do, actually.”
“What time?”
Callaway checked his watch and rattled off the current time. “I’m actually running late. If you let me in, I’ll be able to make it to my appointment.”
“You’re not trying to trick me, are you?” Baxter asked.
Callaway smiled. “How can I do that? You’re the smartest guy I know.”
Callaway could see Baxter was smiling. The door was unlocked and it slid open.
Baxter came out. He was six-foot-four, weighing close to two hundred and fifty pounds, and he sported a buzz haircut. He always wore a tight t-shirt, even when the weather was chilly. The shirt exposed his well-defined biceps.
“Follow me,” he said.
They went up a flight of narrow stairs. The sounds from the strip club boomed through the walls.
They stopped at another door.
Baxter paused and then rapped his knuckles on the door. Callaway rolled his eyes. Baxter had a screw loose in his head, which made him juvenile and dangerous.
“Come in,” a voice bellowed from inside.
The door opened, and Callaway was escorted into a small, narrow office. A wide desk took up most of the space.
Mason was seated in a leather chair. He was short, rail-thin, and had a sleeve of tattoos on both of his arms. He sported a small goatee, and he wore prescription glasses.
“Your appointment has arrived,” Baxter said proudly.
“I didn’t have any appointments today,” Mason said.
Baxter turned to Callaway. His eyes suddenly filled with rage.
“Well, I might not have been entirely truthful, but I did try to call to make an appointment,” Callaway said. “It’s not my fault your phone’s not working.”
Mason sighed and looked at the spot on his desk where his phone usually sat. “The phone had an unfortunate accident.”
Mason looked over at the wall behind Callaway. There was a large dent in the drywall.
Mason must have flung the phone across the room, Callaway thought. I bet the thing is now in the dumpster.
Mason was a loan shark, and a very ruthless one at that. If you borrowed money from him and were late in repaying, he would send Baxter to get the money. Not only would he make sure you paid up, he would also make sure you never delayed paying Mason again. He would make an example out of you.
In desperate times, Callaway had come knocking on Mason’s door. He hated himself for that, but sometimes he was left with little or no choice.
I’m stupid that way, Callaway thought.
“What can I do for you, Lee?” Mason asked.
“I’m looking for someone, and I need your help,” Callaway replied.
Mason blinked and looked over at Baxter. “Did he just ask me for help?”
Baxter was smiling. “I think he did.”
Mason looked at Callaway. “I don’t find people. That’s your thing.”
“I’m kind of stuck, and I figured someone like you would know people in low places.”
“I’m offended.”
“Don’t be. It was a compliment.”
Mason stared at him. “Why would I go looking for this person?”
“It would mean a lot to me.”
Mason laughed so hard, he almost fell off his chair. Even Baxter was chortling.
Callaway shook his head.
Once Mason and his goon had their laugh, Mason wiped tears from his eyes and said, “That was the funniest thing I ever heard.” He turned to Baxter. “Isn’t that right?”
“My stomach hurts from laughing,” Baxter replied.
Dimwits, Callaway thought.
He pulled out a wad of hundred-dollar bills.
Mason and Baxter suddenly looked like they had been hit by falling anvils.
“What’s that for?” Mason asked.
“I wouldn’t ask you for help assuming you would simply do me a favor, would I?”
Mason glared at Callaway. “Quit screwing around, Lee. Seriously, why would I waste my time looking for someone for you?”
“I’ll pay you to look for this person, genius,” Callaway replied. “You think I’m holding toy money here?”
Mason’s eyes narrowed. “You’re offering me money?”
“Yep. I know, the world is ending, right?” Callaway quipped.
“That’s never happened before,” Mason said, clearly dumbfounded.
Callaway chuckled. “There’s always a first for everything, right?”
“How much is it worth to you?” Mason asked, revealing his stained teeth. He looked like a hyena circling his prey.
“Five hundred.”
Mason frowned. “That’s not a lot of money.”
Callaway shrugged. “It’s not a lot of work. All you have to do is make some calls. That’s it.” He glanced at the bare spot on Mason’s desk. “Unless you can’t get a new phone, I mean.”
Mason snorted. “I don’t live in the Stone Age. Of course I can get a new phone.”
Callaway smiled. “Then it won’t be too much work for you.”
“Who am I looking for?” Mason asked.
Callaway held up a photo of Katie. He had made a copy on his way over.
“Who’s she?” Mason asked.
“Someone I’m looking for, smart guy. She may have gotten herself involved with the wrong people. I need you to find out if anyone’s seen her. She may be calling herself Linda Eustace.” He pulled out a copy of the man’s photo. “She may be hanging out with this guy. I can’t be certain, but he might be going by the name of Bruno Rocco.”
“That’s two people you want me to look for.”
“Okay, then I’ll double it and make it a grand.” The money was coming from the five thousand Elle had given him. He had thought about asking her for more, but the girl was already going through so much. He felt wrong to get more out of her.
Mason considered Callaway’s offer. “I can make some calls, but it’ll cost you two grand.”
Callaway put the money back in his pocket. “Sorry, not interested,” he said. “Have a nice day, Mason.”
Callaway moved to the door.
Baxter blocked him.
Callaway glared at him. “You’re not going to hit a paying customer, are you, Baxter?” He was in no mood to let Baxter threaten him. “Imagine if the word got out. No one would come here knowing how you operate your business.”
“Relax,” Mason said, putting his arms up. “Baxter would never do anything unless I say so. He just did not want you to leave without finalizing the deal. That’s all.”
Callaway stared at Baxter.
Baxter smiled back.
Callaway turned to Mason. “So, we got a deal?”
Mason smiled. “Of course we do.”
Callaway pulled out the bundle of money. “I want this information as soon as possible, and by that, I mean yesterday.”
“No problem,” Mason said. He was salivating as Callaway counted out the bills.
SIXTY-SEVEN
Nikos Papadopoulos had short graying hair, a pot belly, and a tanned wrinkled face. His brown eyes had seen much in his sixty years. He had arrived in the United States with hi
s family when he was eight years old. His father opened up a furniture store where he and his siblings spent most of their youth helping him out. Nikos watched how his father handled manufacturers and how he managed customers. He was tough with the former and kind with the latter. The furniture store was so successful that his father opened up two more locations. He gave one store to two of his older children to manage, and the flagship store was going to be run by his youngest son when he was old enough.
But Nikos had other plans. He did not want to be in the furniture business. His heart was set on opening a restaurant. He loved to eat, and he figured he could parlay that interest into creating dishes for others. His father was dismayed that he did not want to continue the family business, but he still lent money to Nikos so he could follow his dream.
After three years of blood, sweat, and all his savings, the restaurant was an utter failure. Nikos had no idea how the restaurant business worked. His prices were too low when he first opened, resulting in massive losses, and when he raised prices, customers stopped coming. His servers kept quitting, and so did his cooks. The staff turnover would set him back weeks because he would need to retrain his new hires. Then there was the rat infestation that nearly derailed the restaurant’s launch. Somehow they had found a way in through a hole in a wall. That should have been a sign of things to come, but he had poured in all his money to renovate the place. He could not turn back. But things kept going wrong. If it was not the city licenses he had to maintain, it was the appliances that kept breaking down. When all was said and done, Nikos shut the doors and was left with debts he could not repay. He soon declared bankruptcy.
The furniture business, however, had thrived during the time Nikos was gone. The business’s success had caught the attention of a retail giant. They made an offer to his father he could not refuse. He sold the business, split the proceeds with his older children, and returned to Greece to retire.
Nikos was given nothing. He had turned his back on the family, and he still owed the money he had borrowed from his father. The loan was forgiven, but no additional funds were given to him after the family business was sold.
Bitter, he joined a large company that supplied frozen pastries, croissants, biscuits, and other delicacies to restaurants, coffee shops, and grocery stores. Nikos started off on the factory line and worked his way up to line manager. He got married during this time and had two children, but he never lost the desire to prove to his family and his father that he was not a failure for trying to start a restaurant. He was young and naïve at the time, but with age, he gained a lot of experience.
The moment he reached thirty years of service at the company, Nikos cashed out his pension, much to the dismay of his wife and children, and invested the money in his own furniture store.
Unfortunately, things did not go the way he had hoped after all the years of waiting. The location was ill-suited for a high-end furniture store. The clientele were bargain hunters looking for cheap and affordable items. The products Nikos had imported from Italy, Germany, and Denmark sat in his store for months. And with the economy turning sour, things went from bad to worse. He had two burglaries that cost him thousands in losses.
He soon liquidated the remaining inventory, paid back the suppliers, and was now looking for a buyer to take the building off his hands.
His father had died the year before, but Nikos was not invited to the funeral. When the family decided to sell his father’s properties in Greece, however, Nikos flew over to fight for his rights. His father never made a will, and as his offspring, Nikos was entitled to his share.
After a long and protracted battle with his siblings, Nikos was given a house his father once lived in. Nikos immediately sold the place so he had the capital to start a business again.
He then received a call from his wife, who told him something terrible had occurred on his property.
Nikos took the first available flight to Milton.
He unlocked the furniture store’s front door and scowled at the vile graffiti spray-painted on the front window. The vulgar street art reminded him of the mistake he made in opening a business in a rough neighborhood rife with drugs, violence, and crime.
He heard a beep and hurried to the back of the store. He punched in his access code and disabled the alarm. Even though the outside security camera was not functioning—some punk kids had smashed it—Nikos had installed a second camera inside, just behind the front windows.
He headed to his office in the back of the store. He placed his bag on a table and then pulled out a laptop. While the machine loaded, he left the office and surveyed the open space that was once the show room. He sighed as he thought about how he had managed to mess up another business. Most people were never given a second chance, and he somehow threw his away.
He would be extra vigilant with the money he had just inherited. Third chances were rare, and he was not going to squander his.
He went back inside the office. An external hard drive was hooked up to a small black box that was connected to the camera by the front window. The camera only turned on when there was movement. Nikos did not expect the camera to do anything but act as a deterrent for vandals, recording nothing of consequence. When he was told someone was shot and killed outside the store, he had to come and check.
He hooked up the hard drive to his laptop and played the video files.
What he saw made his eyes go wide with horror.
SIXTY-EIGHT
Holt was with Nancy at her mother’s house when he received the call. He dropped everything and rushed over. He did not even kiss Nancy goodbye as he left, something he always did. The hour drive felt like it was two hours.
He pulled into the parking lot and spotted Fisher by the front door. He got out when she approached him.
“Have you seen it?” Holt asked, getting straight to the point.
“No. I was waiting for you,” she replied. “The owner’s name is Nikos Papadopoulos, and he is quite shaken up.”
“Where is he?” Holt said.
“Inside.”
They entered the store. Papadopoulos was hunched over on a chair. His face was pale, and he reeked of vomit.
“Mr. Papadopoulos, this is my partner, Detective Holt,” Fisher said to him.
Nikos nodded in his direction, but he looked like he was on the verge of tears.
“Can you show it to us?” Fisher asked.
He nodded again and took them to his office. Holt winced. The smell of vomit was strong in the confined space, emanating from a wastebasket by the desk.
Nikos tapped the keyboard on his laptop, picked up the wastebasket, and left the room. He did not have the stomach to watch the footage a second time, but he was courteous enough to get the worst of the foul reek out of the room.
The image was black and white, and the camera was aimed at the parking lot across from the store entrance.
The image flickered whenever the camera came alive upon sensing movement. The two detectives waited with bated breath as a car pulled into the parking lot.
Holt’s back tensed.
It’s the Chrysler! he thought. Isaiah’s behind the wheel!
His nephew drove around the lot until he pulled into a spot. The car’s trunk was facing the camera. The rear lights turned off a moment later. Isaiah’s large silhouette was visible from the back windshield.
The image then went blank.
Holt and Fisher were not sure how much time had passed before the camera flickered on again.
A man appeared on the screen. He was dressed in black from head to toe, and he wore a motorcycle helmet.
He came up behind the Chrysler on the right. There was no way for Isaiah to see him coming.
Holt clenched his jaw and balled his fists. He knew what was about to happen.
The man was holding a gun. He aimed at the passenger side window and fired three shots.
Holt could see the silhouette in the driver’s seat shake violently before slumping and going stil
l.
Tears filled Holt’s eyes. He had just witnessed the cold-blooded murder of his nephew.
The shooter waited a few seconds. He lowered his gun and removed something from his jacket pocket. The object looked white. He opened the passenger door and leaned inside.
Holt could only surmise the killer was placing the packet of heroin in the glove compartment.
He emerged, pocketing something in his jacket.
It could be Isaiah’s cell phone, Holt thought. We never found it.
The killer rushed out of view.
The screen went blank.
Holt sighed and got ready to leave the office.
Fisher stopped him.
“What?” he asked her.
“It’s not done.”
More footage started. A man riding a bicycle appeared on the screen. He was Bo Smith.
He rode past the Chrysler and stopped. He turned around and then circled the vehicle. He stopped by the driver’s side window and put his hands over his head as he recognized who it was.
Smith circled the vehicle one more time and stopped at the passenger side door. He jumped off the bicycle and began to search inside. He stuffed something inside his pants pocket. Holt guessed the object was Isaiah’s wallet. Smith then opened his backpack and placed something else inside: the heroin he would later nearly overdose on.
The screen went black.
The two detectives now knew Smith was not the killer, but finding the black-clad man who had committed the brutal crime was going to be a challenge.
SIXTY-NINE
After speaking to Mason, Callaway returned to the restaurant.
The booth where he had left Elle was empty.
“Your friend left right after you did,” Joely said.
“Did she say where she was going?” he asked.
“She didn’t say anything. And I didn’t bother to ask.”
He scratched his chin and nodded. Elle was not particularly excited that he had gone without her. She felt like they were a team. She was also his employer, and she wanted to keep a tab on what he was up to.
The Lee Callaway Boxed Set Page 37
