Callaway was not sure about the last part but thinking so made him feel good about his job nonetheless.
He adjusted his shirt collar. The various spotlights all around the store were making him hot. The last time he wore a uniform was when he was a deputy sheriff. He could not believe his life had come full circle. He had now left his PI business to become a security guard.
A part of him wished he had never left the sheriff’s office. He would likely still be married, and he would have likely spent more time with his daughter.
He overheard a mother talking to the salesperson behind the counter. “My sister was here this morning and she said it was mayhem,” the mother said.
“We are having a bigger sale next week,” the salesperson replied. “If your sister thought today was bad, wait until she sees what happens then.”
Callaway inhaled deeply.
FOURTEEN
Fisher watched as Big Bob’s body was loaded into the back of a van. Wakefield would accompany the body on its way to the morgue.
The CSU was conducting its final sweep of the scene. They too would be gone soon.
The property was sealed off from the public. An officer would be stationed in case Fisher and Holt needed to come back and gather more evidence.
Fisher saw a couple of news vans outside the yellow police tape. The media turnout was nothing compared to her last big case: the murder of Hollywood star Dillon Scott.
Big Bob’s death was nothing more than a curiosity. Here was a man who had won thirty million dollars and now he would never live to enjoy his wealth.
She could see how some people would relish his death. Society wanted decent people to deserve the good fortune that came their way. Big Bob was not a decent person. He was a blustering salesman who said and did anything to get a sale, even if it meant fudging paperwork to get someone a car loan. Big Bob had been investigated and fined multiple times by the Better Business Bureau, but he continued to do business in a manner that made him the most money.
Holt came over and asked, “Did you learn anything from the victim’s wife?”
“They were in the middle of a separation,” Fisher replied.
“Divorce is rarely ever amicable,” he said. “Is she a suspect?”
“I’m not sure. Mrs. Burley is half her husband’s size.”
“Nancy is half my size,” he retorted.
“Okay, but do you think she is capable of murder?”
Holt paused.
Fisher said, “If you have to think about it, then the answer is yes.”
“It’s not a no either.”
Fisher knew Nancy was the love of his life. Holt would do anything for her, even if it meant quitting the force. But Holt lived and breathed the profession. His two passions in life were his wife and his job.
“Listen, Nancy is the gentlest soul I know,” Holt said, “but she is human. If I did something that deeply hurt her, who knows how she would react.”
Fisher understood where he was going with this. “In Big Bob’s case, you think it’s a crime of passion?”
“The victim was stabbed multiple times.”
“But again, Mrs. Burley is five foot four inches at best and Big Bob was a good foot taller than her. She would have had to stand on something in order to stab him in the chest.”
Holt shook his head. “I don’t agree. She could have easily reached up and stabbed him.”
“Okay, but it would require a lot of strength to get the knife through his ribs.”
“What if he was seated when she attacked him?” Holt suggested.
“If he was attacked while seated, there would have been blood on the armchair.”
“He was drinking prior to the attack. The alcohol might have impaired his ability to defend himself.”
“Sure,” Fisher said, “but why would she stab him and then call nine-one-one?”
“Maybe she thought it made her look less suspicious.”
Holt’s eyes suddenly widened. “What if she was the one hiding in the room when the victim shot through the door? It’s not uncommon for one spouse to use a weapon during domestic disputes.”
Fisher considered Holt’s theory. “Makes sense, but then why didn’t she call the police when it happened? I mean, if he had a gun, then her life was in danger. She would know better than to try to defend herself with a knife while he had a gun.”
Holt exhaled. “Alright, I’m out of ideas.”
“I’m not saying she’s not a suspect, but I still think we need to widen our scope.”
“The CSU found the victim’s cell phone. It was in his coat pocket. There were several outgoing calls last night but no outgoing calls this morning.”
“We’ll need to speak to the people he had called.”
“One other thing,” Holt said. He held up a clear plastic baggie. “It’s a receipt from a casino. It was in the same coat pocket as the cell phone. The victim had bought alcohol at the bar. The date on the receipt was from last night.”
“Let’s go visit this casino,” Fisher said.
FIFTEEN
Callaway was glad to be rid of the uniform. He was wearing a T-shirt, jeans, boots, and a leather jacket as he stood next to his beloved Dodge Charger outside the school. He saw other parents waiting to pick up their children as well.
A few of the mothers eyed him with interest. One even smiled in his direction.
Callaway looked like a cool dad who was devoted to his offspring. He did look younger than he actually was, but he was far from being a responsible parent. He had abandoned his wife and infant child because he could not take being a husband and father. His decision was a selfish act—one he should have been severely punished for—but, to his ex-wife’s credit, she always kept the door open for him to see his daughter. She was far more mature than he was. She knew no good would come from cutting off their only child from her father.
Even after that, Callaway rarely saw his little girl. The first couple years of his so-called liberation was spent with women, alcohol, and seeking danger. He and his friend Jimmy Keith had no shortage of ladies vying for their attention. Most were clients—Callaway and Jimmy caught their cheating husbands, so the clients needed company—and they met others while partying and boozing. The danger came with the nature of the job. Husbands did not take too kindly to being followed, and to being photographed in compromising positions. They lashed out with threats of litigation and violence. Some even went so far as to point a weapon in their direction.
Fortunately, Callaway came out of those situations unscathed. The husbands were not violent to begin with. They were scared. They just wanted their problems to go away. They offered more money than their spouses did, but Jimmy had taught Callaway one important lesson about the profession which he held close to his heart: you did not renege on an agreement.
If clients could not trust him to hold his end of the bargain, then he had no business being a private eye. Clients trusted a private investigator would conduct his business with delicacy, understanding, and honesty. Families were broken, careers were tarnished, and lives were destroyed by what PIs dug up.
Callaway remembered a case where he caught the husband being unfaithful to his wife. The husband begged and pleaded with Callaway to not expose his infidelity. He vowed to end the affair. But Callaway could not go against his agreement.
The marriage ended, the wife took the children, and the man ended up jumping in front of an eighteen-wheeler.
Callaway did not regret what he did. The wife deserved to know the truth—why else would she procure his services? But he still wished the outcome would have been different.
Life was precious. Family was precious. Both were something he had recently learned when Jimmy Keith arrived at his doorstep unannounced.
The bell rang, and the children rushed out.
He smiled when he spotted his daughter.
SIXTEEN
Sabrina Callaway, or as they liked to call her, “Nina”, was nine years old. She had lo
ng, dark hair that reached down all the way to her lower back. Her eyes were emerald green and she had a smile that could light up any dreary day.
She looked a lot like his ex-wife, Patti, and she also had her wit and intelligence. Callaway was not the least bit envious of that. Unlike most divorced parents, he felt no ill-will toward his ex-wife. In fact, he realized he still harbored feelings for her.
He was trying hard to be a changed man, and he now dreamed of the day they could be a family again.
Would Patti be up for it?
He had no idea.
But he was willing and eager to find out.
The moment Nina saw him, she smiled and rushed over.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said.
“Hi, baby,” he replied, giving her a hug.
He spotted a female teacher by the school’s entrance. She was staring at them with a frown on her face. She likely knew what kind of a father Callaway was. He never showed up for his daughter’s school events, and even when he did pick up Nina from school, too much time passed between the next time he did.
Patti had already informed the school that he would be coming, so they could not stop him from taking his daughter home.
The teacher can frown all she wants, he thought. I’m here, aren’t I?
A boy walked by with a backpack slung over his shoulder. He waved at Nina, and she smiled and waved back.
Callaway eyed him suspiciously. “Who’s he?”
“He’s a friend.”
He suddenly turned protective. “What’s his name?”
“Jamie.”
“What does Jamie do?”
“Huh?”
“Does he have a job?”
Nina laughed. “No, Dad. He’s only a kid.”
“Right,” Callaway replied. I don’t trust him.
They got in the Charger. Nina said, “Daddy?”
“Yes, honey.”
“Can I get a cell phone?”
“Sure, why not? I get paid next week, and then we’ll go and get you a fancy one that you can take pictures with.”
“You can take pictures with all of them now,” she replied. “But maybe you should ask Mom first.”
“Oh, right.” Patti made all the decisions when it came to their daughter. Callaway explicitly trusted her in that regard. He had no choice anyway. He had wanted zero responsibility as a parent, which gave him zero rights to her upbringing. “Why don’t you ask your mom yourself?” he asked.
“She’ll say no.”
Callaway thought a moment. “So, you want me to convince her?”
“Yes, please.”
He shrugged. “Okay, I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Daddy.”
He beamed, and then he reached over and retrieved a bag from the backseat.
“What’s this?” she asked, eagerly looking inside.
“It’s a one of a kind princess doll. All the girls want one.”
She gave him a weak smile. “I’m not really into dolls.”
He felt sheepish. “I can take it back,” he said.
Nina’s smile widened. She hugged him. “No, I’m going to keep it next to my bed. It’s the thought that counts.”
He smiled. She is wiser than I will ever be.
SEVENTEEN
The casino manager was a short, stocky man with a gray handlebar moustache and a buzz haircut. Suspenders held up his loose pants.
Holt and Fisher were in a windowless room located in the casino’s basement. The manager’s desk was covered in telephones, and in a wall cabinet were several TV monitors that displayed footage of the casino floor.
Gus Colburn caught Fisher staring at a red telephone. “It’s for when we have emergencies in the casino,” he said with a smile. “It usually has to do with security.”
Fisher nodded. “I see you have a lot of telephones. Wouldn’t it be easier to have one cell phone instead?”
“It would,” he agreed. “And I do have one, but I keep losing the darn thing. I’ve been a manager here for almost thirty years, so I have a system—which some might think is outdated—but it works for me.”
Holt said, “Robert Burley is a member of your casino.”
“Big Bob,” Holburn replied with a grin. “He’s a regular. He usually comes in a couple of times a week. If I’m not mistaken, he should be here later today.”
“He’s dead,” Holt said.
Colburn’s mouth dropped. “Oh dear…”
Holt placed a receipt on Colburn’s desk. “We found this on him. It shows he was here last night.”
Colburn did not touch the receipt, as if it might burn him. “I remember he came in and spent two hours at the slots. He was always a good customer. He was never rowdy, drunk, or belligerent to the staff. He tipped well, and from what I’ve heard he was a lot of fun.” Colburn’s eyes moistened, and he wiped them clear.
“Did you know him? I mean, on a personal level?” Fisher asked.
“I bought two cars from him. For a brief time, my son worked at his dealership when he was still in school. I didn’t go to his house for dinners or anything like that, but I did have drinks with him. Big Bob was kind and generous. He bragged a lot about how successful he was, but he only did it to get attention. It was good for business, he would always say.”
“That was before he won, right?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“And after?”
“He was insufferable.” Colburn laughed but then stopped. “No, in reality, he was far more subdued after winning all that money. I figured he would be even happier than usual, but he wasn’t. I mean, at first, he was, you know. He came down and bought every customer in the casino a drink. But after a while, I guess, the excitement wore off and he seemed solemn.”
Fisher had read a study about happiness which compared two sets of people: one who had won the lottery, and one who became quadriplegic after a horrible car accident. After six months, for the people in the car accident, their happiness level went back to what it was prior to the accident. The same thing happened for the lottery winners, albeit their happiness was slightly less than what it was the day before they had won. Psychologists believed that with all that money, the winners were no longer happy with the little things in life. This was one of the reasons why they made big purchases to give them the same rush they felt when they had won the money in the first place.
“Did you speak to Big Bob last night?” Fisher asked.
“Only briefly. Like I said, he was playing slots, and I only said hi to him.”
“Was he depressed or maybe under stress?” Fisher asked.
“I don’t know, but later, as I was doing my rounds, I saw him having a drink with a couple of guys at the bar.”
That’s where he got the receipt! Fisher thought.
“Do you know where we can find these guys?”
Colburn pointed to a TV screen behind Holt and Fisher. “As a matter of fact, they are at the bar right now.”
EIGHTEEN
The sun was still up. Callaway was not in the mood to head home, so he decided to drop by his office.
The Callaway Private Investigation Office was located above a soup and noodle restaurant. In order to get to his office, you had to go to the back of the restaurant and up a flight of metal stairs.
There was no sign anywhere to indicate his office’s existence, but there was a telephone number taped to the black metal door.
There were several reasons for the telephone number. In his line of work, client’s ex-spouses were known to seek him out, and it was not for a polite chat. Then there was his problem with money. He was not a saver, nor was he a savvy investor. He loved to be part of get-rich-quick schemes. Naturally, they never panned out as promised.
Instead of learning from his past mistakes, he always hoped the next investment would pay off. Whenever he would lose money—sometimes all of it—he would have to borrow from unsavory characters to pay his bills. And these p
eople did not take kindly to not being paid on time. In fact, they took that as an insult and would go out of their way to make an example of him. So far, he had been lucky to avoid any serious injuries. He had gotten a black eye, a broken nose, and a bruised rib, but nothing a few painkillers and some rest could not cure.
He unlocked the door to his office and entered. The room was small and windowless. There was no air conditioning and the heating was spotty. Callaway could not complain because the rent was the cheapest in the city.
Now that he was employed as a security guard, it was time to close the PI business. The rent was paid for until the end of the month. He figured he would keep using the premises until then.
Shutting down his business was a hard decision, but it was one he did not regret. He was looking forward to having money at the end of the month to meet all his obligations.
He shut the door and pulled up a chair behind a desk. There was a sofa in the corner of the room. Across from the sofa was a flat-screen TV a client had generously bequeathed to him. He grabbed the remote off the desk and turned on the TV. The set was tuned to a 24-hour news channel so that he was always aware of what was going on in the city. This also allowed him to search out potential clients.
Unfortunately, he would not be looking for new business anymore.
He turned on his ten-year-old laptop. He shut his eyes and waited for the laptop to boot up, which took fifteen to twenty minutes. He always considered purchasing a new one, but for some reason he kept pushing it off. He knew the moment the laptop stopped working—which could be at the most inopportune time—he would be forced to find a replacement.
He had a website for his business and it was his main source of acquiring new clients, apart from the word of mouth.
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