The Lee Callaway Boxed Set

by Thomas Fincham

  The information he needed was urgent.

  He had tried to get the information himself, but neither the people at the airline nor his online search were fruitful. The flight was a year ago, and such information was not readily available.

  What Echo discovered answered the mystery that eluded the police, Jimmy, and—until now—even him. However, if the police had looked carefully at the time of Gail’s death, they would have seen a glaring hole in Kirkman’s story.

  Echo was able to gain access to Bayview Airport’s Flight Information Display System. According to the FIDS, Kirkman was indeed scheduled to be on the 9:45 PM flight out of Bayview, but that flight had been delayed two and a half hours due to bad weather on the East Coast. The flight eventually took off after midnight.

  The drive from the airport to Gail’s apartment was only twenty minutes. The delay gave Kirkman more than enough time to go to Gail’s place and be back before the flight took off.

  But if Kirkman did go to Gail’s apartment, then why did her building security cameras not catch him?

  Callaway was able to answer that quandary right after he spoke to Douglas Hoyte.

  He went to Gail’s apartment building. As he expected, there were CCTV cameras in the front lobby and near the elevators. Callaway then went to the back of the building, where Gail had fallen to her death. The exits were next to the building’s stairs.

  Lo and behold, there were no cameras at that spot.

  Whoever had used that exit must have been familiar with the building. They had to have visited Gail before, and that’s when Callaway’s interest in Kirkman was piqued.

  He now had to prove the theory formulating in his head.

  NINETY-FIVE

  Osman was still pissed that his cash cow was gone. He was hoping to milk Dillon Scott out of money for a very long time.

  Scott acted like a tough guy on film, but when push came to shove, the man was a coward. He used his money to make his problems go away.

  Osman found out Scott had paid off a lot of women. He wasn’t sure why. His contact never revealed this information to him, but this told Osman that Scott would be an easy target. He would have kept paying as long as it didn’t affect his career.

  Scott was all about being a movie star. He lived for the fame and adulation. He would have done anything to not jeopardize what he had, even if that meant delivering bags of cash to random locations.

  Osman had to hand it to him; Scott knew how to follow orders. He never deviated from Osman’s instructions. Maybe he learned that from being an actor. They were always doing what the directors wanted them to do.

  Actors were not wolves. They were sheep. And Osman was a lion.

  He smiled at the last bit. He always viewed life on the streets as a jungle, and for a while, he was food for other animals, until he met his contact and decided to take matters into his own hands.

  His contact told him the plan, but it was Osman who executed it. Without him, there would be no cash for either of them.

  His cell phone rang for the umpteenth time. He recognized the number. It was his contact. He had been calling nonstop for the last day and a half.

  Per his contact’s instructions, Osman should have dumped the prepaid phone a long time ago, but he didn’t, and now his contact was desperately trying to reach him on that very phone. How ironic.

  He felt the phone buzz in his hand. He grunted. He knew he should answer, even though he knew what his contact was calling him about.

  He pressed a button and put the phone to his ear. “I thought you said no more calls on this phone?” he asked.

  “You ripped me off!” the voice roared. “I picked up the money from the train station bathroom, and it was missing five grand.”

  “Listen, I could have kept it all and given you nothing, but I didn’t, so consider yourself lucky.”

  “I need that money. I told you some dangerous people are looking for me.”

  “That’s your problem.”

  “We had a deal,” the voice said.

  “Scott is dead, so we got no more deal, you got that?”

  There was silence on the other end. Osman could hear breathing.

  “Come on,” the voice said, now calm. “You have to give me that money.”

  “I don’t have to give you shit,” Osman shot back.

  “Osman…”

  “Hey, no real names, okay?”

  “Sorry, I… I…” the voice stammered. “It’s just that, I’m in deep trouble, and if I don’t pay these people back, they’ll hurt me.”

  “Listen, man, we’re already in deep trouble for what we did. If I were you, I would dump that phone and never talk about this ever again.”

  Osman ended the call.

  He wasn’t worried about his contact going to the police. Osman was a low-level drug dealer who had been in and out of jail many times, but his contact had not even driven past a prison.

  His contact would keep his mouth shut, Osman knew. He had far more to lose than Osman did.

  NINETY-SIX

  Callaway sat outside Kirkman’s office. He wasn’t sure what his next step should be. He couldn’t very well go into his office and accuse him of anything. He believed Kirkman knew more about Gail’s death than he was letting on, but whatever Callaway had on him was circumstantial at best.

  The flight Kirkman was on was delayed a couple of hours. This still did not prove he had actually left the airport and driven to Gail’s apartment. It would require a ton of man hours to go through ample airport CCTV footage to see if he had done that. Only Fisher could compel the Bayview Airport to provide her this information, but even she would be hesitant to make such a request based on just a theory.

  If someone had seen Kirkman at Gail’s apartment prior to or after her death, that would have been different. That would have given the police a reason to trace Kirkman’s steps on the night of her death.

  A thought suddenly occurred to Callaway. What if someone did see Kirkman at Gail’s apartment? What if that person was Tamara Davis, the woman Douglas Hoyte had seen running out of the back of the building?

  When Callaway was at Gail’s building, he had seen a blanket and some clothes underneath the back stairs on the main level. It was evident that someone slept in that spot.

  Tamara Davis was homeless and an addict. Did she also use that very spot to keep warm during cold nights?

  Callaway’s theory was starting to make more sense.

  Someone was blackmailing Scott, and Scott was linked to Kirkman. They owned a production company together. Was this blackmailer using Tamara Davis to get to Scott?

  Callaway wasn’t sure how this all fit together. What he did know was that he had to find a way to get Kirkman to explain what he did during the time his flight was delayed.

  Kirkman would not be willing to talk to him. Callaway was not a police officer, and Kirkman was not a suspect. Even if Fisher agreed to bring Kirkman in for questioning, she would need something concrete to go ahead with that.

  As Callaway was trying to come up with a plan, he saw Kirkman exit the office building’s main doors. He looked distressed and angry. His brow was furrowed, and his shoulders were slumped. He got in his black Lexus and drove away.

  Callaway decided to follow him.

  The Lexus drove for several blocks until it entered an alley next to an industrial building. Then the Lexus disappeared around the back of the building.

  Callaway parked across the street. He debated whether to proceed further, but the alley was so narrow that only a single car could go through it at a time. What if Callaway went in and Kirkman decided to come out? Kirkman had already seen him, and he would know Callaway was trailing him.

  He gritted his teeth.

  The Lexus emerged from the alley, got back on the street, and drove away.

  Callaway had a feeling Kirkman was headed back to his office. But why was Kirkman here in the first place?

  Callaway wanted to find out.

  He put th
e Charger in Park and got out. He walked through the alley and reached the back of the building.

  There was nothing but empty parking space. He spotted a metal garbage bin next to the building. He walked over and lifted the lid. He only saw garbage and debris. He was about to shut the lid when sunlight reflected off an object. He leaned into the bin and pulled out a cell phone.

  The screen was cracked. Someone had tried to break it, but they had done a poor job. Many of the latest phones were made with high-grade material, which included the front glass.

  He pressed a button. To his surprise, the phone was still functioning, but the cracked glass made it difficult to see what was on the screen.

  He pulled out the SIM card and placed it in his phone. When he checked the content, he found a list of telephone calls.

  They were all to one number.

  NINETY-SEVEN

  Fisher was inside a small room at the Norton Bridge Toll Center. Three large LCD monitors were placed on the walls. The screens displayed images of the toll booth from different angles.

  Security officers were seated in front of smaller LCD monitors. They watched as attendants in each toll booth allowed drivers to pass through once they had paid the required fare. In most cases, the drivers tapped their toll cards and were let through the gates without an incident. Even those who paid at the booth were let through in less than thirty seconds. The system had to work efficiently and effortlessly each day lest it cause a backup.

  When Fisher saw the toll pass, it had triggered something in her brain. She drove an hour to the toll bridge to confirm her suspicions. The bridge was the only tollway between Bayview and Milton. If anyone had come to Milton from Bayview, they would have had to cross the bridge. This meant there would be a record of them.

  Fisher stood behind a security officer who was typing away on his keyboard. She didn’t know the exact time of Scott’s death, but she had a time frame to work with.

  In Jimmy’s confession, he said he had left Scott’s house after midnight. The limo driver, Mr. Gill, who had discovered Scott’s body, said he arrived around 8:00 AM. There was a lot of time between when Jimmy left and when Gill arrived, but Fisher doubted she would have to go through that much footage. She had a feeling Scott’s killer had shown up way before Gill did.

  She watched as the clock at the bottom of the screen showed 11:35 PM. It ticked slowly. “Can you speed it up?” she asked.

  The officer did as instructed.

  The booth was not very busy. Night had fallen, and there were not many people driving across the bridge. Whenever a car would appear, Fisher would ask the officer to run the footage at normal speed. When she realized the driver was not who she was looking for, she would ask the officer to speed the footage up again.

  This went on until the clock hit 12:23 AM.

  Fisher hoped her instincts were correct. If they were not, she had no more cards left.

  Holt would return the next day, Jimmy would be let free, and she would have to start her investigation from scratch again.

  A Jaguar pulled up to the booth. The driver leaned out of the window and paid the attendant. At that precise moment, the driver’s face was clearly visible on the screen. The attendant handed change to the driver, and the Jaguar drove away.

  Fisher felt her heart skip a beat. Was this the break she had been looking for?

  She asked the officer to fast-forward the footage. She also told him to keep an eye out for that specific vehicle. Fisher was certain the Jaguar would return. There was only one way in and out of Milton, and that was through the toll bridge.

  Almost an hour and a half later, the Jaguar returned. The driver paid the fare. Again, Fisher could clearly see the driver’s face as he leaned out the window. Then the Jaguar drove off.

  Fisher’s eyes narrowed. She had just seen Scott’s killer. But there was still more work to be done.

  “Can you make me a copy?” she asked the officer.

  NINETY-EIGHT

  Callaway was not sure whose number was on the SIM, but he wanted to find out.

  How am I going to do that? he wondered.

  The person on the other end of the line would know just by his voice that it was not Kirkman. Callaway didn’t want to spook the other person either. Kirkman was in a hurry to destroy the phone. This could mean only one thing: Kirkman did not want the phone’s contents somehow leading back to him. Callaway had tried to access the text messages on Kirkman’s phone, but the cracked glass made it impossible. While the call log was saved on the SIM, the text messages were not.

  Callaway could take the phone to a nearby electronics store and have them download the information onto his phone, but he wasn’t sure what was on the phone or how sensitive the information was. What if the store employees saw something they shouldn’t? He didn’t want to open something without knowing what was behind it.

  He could contact Echo and have her crack the phone’s texts. She was good at stuff like that. But he had already bothered her enough. Plus, Fairview was a long drive away. He wasn’t going to ask her to come to Milton. He would have to go to her.

  He took a deep breath and dialed the number on Kirkman’s SIM card. He waited for it to ring before he hung up. He suddenly got cold feet.

  That was stupid, he thought. Maybe I should let Echo extract data from the phone before I proceed further. This number could be my only chance to find out what was going on.

  The phone buzzed. He saw the call was coming from the same number he had just dialed.

  He didn’t answer.

  The phone buzzed half a dozen times before it stopped. Callaway wasn’t sure if Kirkman had a voicemail. If he did, there was no way he would ever be able to access it.

  The phone then buzzed once. He checked and realized there was a text message from that very number. He opened it.

  HEY MAN, I TOLD U I AIN’T GIVING U DA MONEY.

  What money? Callaway thought. Maybe I should play along and find out.

  I WANT MY MONEY, Callaway texted back.

  I GAVE U UR SHARE.

  LET’S MEET UP SO WE CAN TALK.

  Several minutes went by with no response.

  Maybe I pushed it too far.

  OK, MEET AT USUAL SPOT.

  Usual spot? Callaway had no idea where that was.

  Callaway typed, WHY NOT SOMEPLACE ELSE?

  NO WAY, THE TRAIN STATION IS THE ONLY PLACE I MEET U.

  What train station?

  Callaway didn’t want to lose this opportunity.

  OK.

  He put the phone back in his pocket and frowned. He had no idea where this meetup was.

  He saw a man across the street. Callaway got out of the Charger and approached him.

  “Sorry to bother you, sir,” Callaway said. “I’m not from here. Do you know if there is a train station around here?”

  “Sure,” the man replied. “The Bayview Central Train Station is about a mile from here.”

  Of course, that makes sense, Callaway thought. Kirkman lived in Bayview, so he would meet someone somewhere nearby.

  “Thank you,” Callaway said.

  He returned to the Charger and drove off.

  NINETY-NINE

  Fisher glanced at her watch and then at the Milton PD’s front doors. She was seated in one of the lobby’s hard plastic chairs. A laptop was cradled in her arms. She hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, but she came prepared just in case.

  Ten minutes passed before the woman entered the building. Mrs. Rachel Scott was wearing a long coat, large sunglasses that covered most of her face, a blouse, tight pants, heels, and she wore dark lipstick.

  She removed her sunglasses and came over to Fisher. “I hope I can finally take my husband home and give him the burial worthy of a movie star,” she said.

  “We’ve completed the autopsy, so I don’t see why not,” Fisher said.

  A smile crossed Rachel’s face. “I’m glad to hear that. When you called, I was concerned there was something wrong with Dillon’s
investigation.”

  “No, everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be.”

  “That’s good to hear. Do you need me to sign any documents?”

  “Documents?” Fisher asked.

  “Yes, to take possession of Dillon’s body.”

  “We’ll get to that later. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind answering some of my questions.”

  “Questions?”

  Rachel looked surprised.

  “Yes, just to tie up some loose ends in the investigation.”

  “Don’t you have a suspect in custody?” Rachel asked.

  “He’s in a holding cell as we speak,” Fisher replied. “Please follow me upstairs.”

  They took the elevator to the second level. They walked through the halls. Fisher noticed how Rachel’s heels audibly clicked on the concrete floor.

  They entered a room with a giant mirror on one wall. The other wall was bare. There was a metal table in the middle with chairs on either side of it.

  “Am I being interrogated?” Rachel asked, suddenly defensive.

  “Unfortunately, this is the only room available for us to speak in private,” Fisher claimed. That wasn’t true. The room was equipped with cameras and recording devices. On the other side of the mirror, an officer was making sure everything was being recorded as evidence.

  Rachel almost laughed. “Dillon starred in a couple of crime movies, and this looks awfully like an interrogation.”

  “Are you not comfortable answering my questions? Is there something I should be aware of?” It was Fisher’s turn to get defensive, a tactic she used to disarm an interviewee.

  “Do I need a lawyer?” Rachel asked.

  “You are entitled to one. Would you prefer to call one while we wait?”

  Rachel stared at her. Fisher knew she was wondering where this was going, but she also wanted this over with so she could head home. She figured because they already had someone in custody, she had nothing to worry about.