Callaway’s jaw nearly hit the counter. When it came to money, Jimmy was not very charitable. There were even instances where they had split the money fifty-fifty, only for Callaway to later find out that Jimmy had taken his cut prior to the split. “What’s the catch?” he asked.
“No catch whatsoever,” Jimmy replied. “It was your case, and you did most of the heavy lifting. I just piggybacked on your hard work.”
Callaway nodded. He quickly put the money in his pocket before Jimmy changed his mind.
Jimmy raised his glass and said, “So, is this my drink, or were you waiting for someone else?”
FORTY-THREE
Fisher walked into the restaurant and looked around. She spotted the woman at one of the tables in the back. She walked up to her and they embraced.
Laura Meskin was tall, slender, and she had golden hair that reached down to her waist. Laura was Fisher’s best friend, and she had seen men swoon over her like she was the only woman on earth. They had met in high school when they both tried out for the volleyball team. Fisher was shorter than the other players, and she was a little heavier as well, so she played the back middle. She was the team’s middle blocker. Laura was always tall and lanky, so she played the outside hitter. She could spike the ball with so much ferocity that the opposing team’s players were afraid of getting hit by one of her spiked balls.
After high school, Laura went to Columbia and then wrote her bar exam. She now practiced civil law for one of the oldest law firms in Milton. She even managed to settle down and marry a trial lawyer, and together they had two boys, aged four and six.
Whenever Fisher compared her life to Laura’s, she couldn’t help but feel like she had fallen behind. She was not the least bit jealous of Laura’s success. She was happy for her. Laura was not the type of person to flaunt her accomplishments to anyone. She was well grounded, and she deeply cared about her family and friends.
“Sorry I’m late,” Fisher said, taking a seat across from her.
“It’s okay,” Laura said. “While I was waiting for you, I could have been working for my clients and billing them for the hours.”
Fisher stared at her.
Laura broke into a smile. “I’m just kidding, Dana. I’m so happy I finally got to have lunch with you.”
“I really feel bad about the last time,” Fisher said. A few months back, she had taken the day off. She had hoped to catch up on some reading, and she was also scheduled to meet Laura for lunch. When Holt’s nephew was found brutally murdered, Fisher had to cancel all her plans and focus on the investigation.
“Don’t worry about it,” Laura said, waving off her apology. “I can’t imagine doing what you do. The pressure must be intense.”
Laura was the one person Fisher could be truly honest with. She never judged her, and she always had something encouraging to say about a situation. Laura became the sort of sister Fisher never had.
Fisher exhaled. “There are days when I don’t know why I’m doing it.”
Laura reached over and put her hand over hers. “You are doing it because it makes a difference. We all have a role to play in life, and yours is to find out who committed these horrible crimes.”
“You should be a life coach, you know that?” Fisher said.
Laura smiled. “Sometimes I feel I am doing exactly that at my job.”
“What do you mean?”
“I got tired of doing employment law, so now I focus on immigration law. It breaks my heart to see people living in this country who have not seen their wives, husbands, or children in years because they can’t get US residency or they keep getting rejected when they try to sponsor them from their country of origin.”
“You’re one of the hardest working lawyers I know,” Fisher said. “You will do everything to help your clients.”
Laura laughed. “Okay, let’s stop complimenting each other like we’re strangers.” She waved the waiter over and they ordered their meals. When the waiter was gone, Laura asked, “How’s the Dillon Scott murder investigation going?”
Fisher’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not making much progress, I’m afraid.”
“Your partner is still on vacation?”
“He’s back in a few days, and he can’t wait to start working on the case.”
“I know you were a big fan of Scott when we were younger,” Laura said. “You had one of his movie posters on your bedroom wall.”
“I did,” Fisher said. “But if I remember correctly, you hated him.”
Laura frowned. “Hate is such a strong word, but yeah, I didn’t like him.”
“Why not?”
“There was something in his eyes that I couldn’t put my finger on,” Laura replied. “It was like he was hiding a deep, dark secret.”
Fisher giggled. “Of course he was hiding something. He’s an actor. It’s his job to become a different person for each role.”
Their meals arrived and they dug in.
“So, tell me more about this Officer Lance McConnell,” Laura said.
FORTY-FOUR
Becky had a textbook open on her bed. Next to the book was her binder and calculator. Becky hated doing accounting. She could not wrap her head around income statements, balance sheets, journal entries, trial balances—they all looked the same to her.
Her mom wanted her to do something practical. Her mom’s sociology diploma had not gotten her anywhere in life. Her dad was not educated, so he had spent his entire life performing manual labor.
Whenever Becky complained about school, her mom scolded her. She would remind her that had her father gone further in school, he would probably be sitting behind a desk.
Becky knew what she was trying to say. The wall would not have collapsed on him, and he would still be alive.
Becky had thought the same thing a million times, but that still did not make learning how to adjust entries easy.
She heard the front door open and close. Her mom was home. She heard footsteps race up the stairs, followed by a knock at the door.
“Becky?” her mom said.
“Yes?”
“Can I come in, dear?”
“Sure, Mom.”
Her mom rushed in. She still had her coat on, and her purse was still slung on her shoulder.
Becky’s back arched. She sat up straight. “Is everything okay, Mom?” she asked, concerned.
Her mom sat at the foot of the bed. “Something strange happened today.”
Becky felt a sharp pain in the pit of her stomach. “What?”
“I had some bills to pay, so I logged on to my bank account, and I saw that someone had deposited close to eighty thousand dollars into our account. After work, I went to our local branch and I told them they had made a mistake. They checked, and they said it wasn’t a mistake.”
“It’s not, Mom,” Becky said.
“What do you mean?” her mom asked, confused.
“After the insurance company and the construction company refused to take responsibility for Dad’s death, I set up an online fundraising campaign.”
“You did what?” her mom asked.
“I told people how they had screwed us and how tough it is for us. People started sharing their own stories of how their employers or their insurance companies screwed them. They then started donating to help us out. It was small at first, but then it started to grow, and at the end, it was a lot of money.”
Her mom took this in. “Why didn’t you tell me, baby?” she asked.
“I thought you would be mad.”
“Why would I be?”
Becky shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Her mom leaned over and hugged her. “I can never be mad at you,” she said.
Becky shut her eyes and thought, I wish I could tell you the truth about the money and about everything else that is going on with me, but you would hate me if I did.
“So, the money is ours?” her mom asked.
“Yes.”
“We can keep it?” Her mom
was still unsure.
“Yes, we can do whatever we want with it,” Becky replied.
“I think we should buy a nice headstone for your dad’s grave.”
“That’s a great idea!” Becky said. “I know exactly what to put on it.”
FORTY-FIVE
Osman stood in an alley across from the crack house. He had been there for almost an hour. He was anxious and jittery. He had a joint in his hand. He never liked putting drugs into his body, but he needed something to calm him down. He took a slow toke and let the drug work its magic. He could feel the hit course through him, almost giving him renewed energy.
After his visit inside the house, he was left considering all his options. Tamara Davis was a loose end that needed to be closed. She knew too much, and she could expose him at the drop of a hat.
No matter what he did for her, she could not clean herself up. He rented her a nice place. He bought her nice clothes. He paid for her groceries. Still, the woman could not stay away from drugs.
Once a crackhead, always a crackhead, he thought.
There was a reason for taking care of her. She was the golden ticket to make all his problems go away.
She was not lying when she said she was his ATM. He was going to use her to squeeze as much money out of his target as possible. But that was before two days ago. Now everything had changed, and Tamara was of no use to him.
She was a time bomb waiting to explode. She would blurt out their secret just to get her next hit. And if she spoke to the wrong people, Osman and his partner were looking at spending the rest of their lives in prison.
You should have never trusted an addict, he thought.
But he had no choice. He needed her in case his target got any wild ideas or decided to go to the police, which Osman was certain he would never do. The blowback would be devastating for him.
With him out of the picture, it was time to make Tamara disappear.
He took a final toke, dropped the joint, and stubbed it out with the sole of his boot. He placed a ski mask over his face. He pulled on latex gloves and then raced through the side of the tattoo parlor and up the narrow stairs. He didn’t even bother knocking. He could tell from his last visit that the locks on the door were weak. He put his weight into his shoulder and rammed it into the door. The wooden panel next to the door snapped into pieces.
He entered.
The same young man who had answered the door previously rushed at him. Osman hit him with his fist and knocked him out. The other addicts were too high to react. One or two glanced his way, but they said nothing.
He moved through the apartment and found Tamara where he had left her. She was slumped on the floor next to the bathtub. Her eyes were glazed, and there was drool coming out from the side of her mouth.
A syringe was stuck in her arm. Osman saw blood in it.
He knelt down beside her and waved his hand over her face. Her eyes did not react, but from the movement of her chest, he knew she was still alive.
He composed himself and then placed a gloved hand over her mouth and pinched her nose with the other. He was going to constrict airflow to her body. She didn’t put up a fight. She was too high to know what was happening.
Suddenly her body began to spasm as it fought for air. She moaned, but he kept both his hands firmly in place.
He was not sure how much time passed, but eventually her chest stopped moving and her body went limp.
He removed his hands and waited. When he was certain she was dead, he got up and left the bathroom. On his way out, he saw the young man he had punched. He was still on the floor, unconscious.
Whenever the authorities arrived, they would think the young man was attacked by another addict, and when they checked up on Tamara, they would think she had died from an overdose.
She would become another homeless person who had died from her addiction.
FORTY-SIX
After celebrating with a couple of drinks for helping Frank Henderson, and also for earning three thousand as a bonus, Jimmy told Callaway the reason he was in Milton.
After making the call, they drove to the restaurant where Joely worked and waited for Fisher at a table in the far corner.
Jimmy rubbed his hands nervously as he stared out the window.
“Don’t worry,” Callaway assured him. “Dana will hear you out.”
An SUV pulled into a parking spot and Fisher got out. She then entered the restaurant, spotted them, and came over.
Callaway stood up. “Detective Dana Fisher, this is Jimmy Keith.”
Jimmy shook her hand. “Lee speaks highly of you,” he said.
“Unfortunately, he never mentioned you,” she said.
“I don’t blame him. I’m sort of like an absent parent.”
“I guess you two have something in common,” Fisher said. She knew Callaway rarely saw his daughter, and she had scolded him about it numerous times. Fisher and Callaway had dated once, and Fisher always believed Callaway still held feelings for his ex-wife, even if he chose to bury them deep inside.
“Ouch, Dana,” Callaway said. “You don’t have to speak the truth.”
“So what did you want to tell me?” she asked, getting to the point.
“Take a seat, please,” Callaway replied. She sat on one side of the table; Callaway and Jimmy sat on the other. Callaway turned to Jimmy. “Okay, tell her what you told me.”
Jimmy took a deep breath and said, “I was hired by Gail Roberts’s family to investigate what happened to her.”
Fisher’s brow furrowed. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“She died after falling from her apartment balcony.”
“Oh, yes, I remember. They said it was suicide.”
“Her family doesn’t believe it was.”
“Okay,” Fisher said.
“Gail was also Dillon Scott’s personal assistant at the time of her death.”
Fisher paused. “And you think he had something to do with what happened to her?”
“I’m not sure,” Jimmy replied. “But he does have an alibi for the night of her death. He was shooting a movie in Vermont.”
“Okay, so?”
“A few days before her death, Gail had confessed to her father that something was bothering her. She was torn about what to do. He pressed her for details, but she wouldn’t say. She did mention it had to do with Dillon Scott. Like any father, he told her to follow her conscience.”
“I still don’t understand what this has to do with Scott if he had an alibi.”
“Gail then told her father that she was going to make an announcement. She died the night before she was going to do this.”
Fisher opened her mouth but then shut it. “So what are you doing in Milton now that Scott is dead?” she asked a few moments later.
“I want to know if you found anything that might link Gail’s death to Scott’s death,” Jimmy replied.
“What would that prove?”
“It would prove Gail didn’t commit suicide.”
“And that she was murdered?” Fisher added.
Jimmy was about to say something but then decided against it.
Fisher said, “Listen, I understand you have a responsibility to Gail Roberts’s family. They don’t want to believe their daughter would take her own life. But if the investigators have concluded it was a suicide, then what good would it do to drag another person’s name through the mud?”
Callaway sensed Fisher’s defensiveness. He said, “We are not insinuating anything about Scott. We just want answers.”
“So do I,” Fisher shot back. “I have a beloved actor who was murdered in my city. Everyone is expecting me to find out who did it. I don’t have the time to look into how this links to Gail Roberts’s death.”
“That’s why we want to help you in your investigation,” Callaway said.
“What?”
“We should work together. With Holt away, I’m sure you could use an extra pair of eyes and hands.”
&
nbsp; “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “Let me think about it.”
She got up and walked to the door.
Callaway caught up to her. “Dana…”
“Do you trust him?” she asked.
“Jimmy?”
“Yes.”
“I do,” he replied firmly. “If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have become a private investigator.”
Fisher gave him a look. “So he’s the reason you quit being a deputy sheriff?”
“No, wait, I was going to leave anyway,” he quickly backtracked. “What I’m saying is that Jimmy is one of the best PIs out there. He’s actually one of the good ones.”
“Coming from you, isn’t that a biased opinion?”
“Don’t take my word for it,” he said. “Do your own research and find out.”
“I looked him up the moment you mentioned his name,” she replied, “and he’s legit.”
“I told you,” Callaway said with a smile. “Come on, you’ve got nothing to lose.”
She sighed. “Holt would be furious if he found out I was sharing information on an active investigation.”
“Holt’s head would explode if he found out you were discussing it with me,” Callaway said.
“You’re not helping.”
“Sorry.”
They went back to the table and sat down. Fisher said, “What I tell you should not leave this table.”
“Understood,” Jimmy said.
“Absolutely,” Callaway added.
She spent twenty minutes filling them in on what she had found so far. At the end, Callaway said, “And you believe Scott went to Yonge Avenue to meet someone?”
“Yes,” Fisher replied.
“And you don’t know why?”
“I don’t, but I intend to go back to Yonge Avenue and find out.”
“In the meantime,” Callaway said, “we’ll see what we can uncover on Gail’s death and if it links to Scott’s. We’ll let you know what we find.”
FORTY-SEVEN
After Fisher left, Jimmy asked, “What do you want to do first?”
The Lee Callaway Boxed Set Page 56
