She put a hand on her hip. “Not funny,” she said. A second later, she smiled. “I do enjoy my customers, just as long as they pay for their meals.”
Callaway knew she was taking a jab at how he was always asking for freebies. Her boss, Bill, had specifically given her instructions not to serve Callaway unless he paid for his meal first. Callaway could not blame him. He rarely had money in his pocket. Today was not one of those days, however. He pulled out a twenty and dropped it on the table. “I’ll have your special,” he said.
Joely snatched up the twenty as if Callaway might want to take it back. “I thought you didn’t get paid until the end of the week?”
Callaway smiled. “I don’t, but when I was cleaning up my office—for the time when I do move out—I found the bill tucked beneath the sofa cushions.”
“Alright then,” she said with a smile. “One special coming right up.”
TWENTY-THREE
When Holt and Fisher returned to Milton PD, the officer at the front desk said, “There’s a woman here to see you.”
“Did she say who she was?” Holt asked.
“No, but she said it had something to do with Robert Burley.”
Holt looked over at Fisher, who was just as eager as him to find out what this woman knew.
“Where is she?” Holt asked.
The officer pointed to the waiting area on the other side of the lobby. “She’s the one in the red dress,” he said.
She was seated on a hard, plastic chair. She had long curly hair that flowed to her shoulders. She wore bright red lipstick, purple mascara, and she had pointy fake nails.
She got up when she saw them approach. She smiled, revealing a gap in her teeth.
Holt said, “I’m Detective Holt and this is Detective Fisher. It is my understanding that you have information on Mr. Robert Burley?”
“Yes, I do,” she replied.
“Okay.”
She looked around. “Can we go somewhere private?”
“Sure.”
They escorted her to a room down the hall. Once seated, she said, “I was so sad when I heard Robert was dead.”
“You mean Big Bob?” Fisher asked. “Everyone who knew him called him that.”
She smiled again. “I know that, but he wanted me to call him Robbie.”
“Alright.”
“Robbie and I were lovers,” she said. “And our love produced a child.”
“Oh, okay,” Fisher said, surprised.
“Yes, well, not a lot of people knew.”
“Was Mr. Burley aware of this?” Holt asked.
“Of course, he was the father, so why wouldn’t he know?” She looked down at her fingernails. “Robbie didn’t want the child. He wanted me to get an abortion, but I didn’t. And he refused to take responsibility for him, even though it’s his, you know.” She suddenly put her hands over her face and began to cry. “Now that he is gone, I have no one to take care of me and my child.”
Holt shifted in his chair, looking clearly uncomfortable. “I’m not sure how we can help you, Ms.—?”
“Vanessa.”
“Um… Vanessa, like I said, it’s not our jurisdiction to get involved in these kinds of matters.”
Fisher glared at him. She leaned over and soothingly said to Vanessa, “Maybe you should go get a lawyer.”
She looked up. “I did,” she replied.
“And?”
“It still didn’t help.”
“What do you mean?”
“I got a judge to get a paternity test.”
“What did it reveal?”
“It came out negative.”
“So, doesn’t that prove he is not the father?” Fisher asked.
“No, it doesn’t. I know Robert…”
“You mean, Robbie…”
“Yes. I know Robbie paid them off.”
“Paid who off?”
“Everyone. The lawyers, the judges, the people who did the test. They are all against me.”
Fisher suddenly realized what this was about. With Big Bob’s death, everyone was out to get a piece of his estate, even if it meant fabricating lies.
“Where were you last night?” Holt asked.
“What?” Vanessa replied.
“Last night. Where were you?”
“Why?”
“That’s when Mr. Burley was murdered.”
Vanessa blinked. “I… I was at home with our child.”
“Do you have any witnesses?”
“I… I…” Vanessa stammered. “I don’t…”
Holt leaned closer. “This is how I see it. You blame Mr. Burley for not taking responsibility for fathering a child—”
“I do,” Vanessa interjected.
“—and because of that you went to his house and stabbed him five times.” Holt turned to Fisher. “I told you it was a crime of passion.”
Fisher smiled. “I think you are right.”
Vanessa bolted up. “I don’t know anything about that. Maybe the judge was right. Maybe Robert…”
“Robbie,” Fisher corrected her for fun.
“Yes, maybe Robbie was not the father, you know. And… and I should be home right now with my child.”
Vanessa moved to the door. Holt said to her, “Please make sure you leave your full name and address with the officer at the front desk. We might have to ask you some more questions later regarding Mr. Burley’s death.”
Vanessa looked like she was about to faint. “Okay, sure,” she said.
She raced out of the room.
Fisher doubted very much that Vanessa would leave her information with the officer. She was probably looking forward to getting as far away from the police station as possible.
Fisher turned to Holt. “I had no idea you had a sense of humor.”
“I don’t know what you found so humorous. I was just trying to find a way to remove her from the premises.”
Fisher almost fell off her chair laughing.
TWENTY-FOUR
They had settled behind their desks when Fisher said, “We may have to go back to our original motive for Big Bob’s murder.”
“And what’s that?” Holt asked.
“Robbery.”
Holt’s eyes narrowed as he considered the possibility.
“Someone stabbed Big Bob multiple times,” Fisher continued, “and then they proceeded to remove his thumb in order to gain access to his safe—which, by the way, his buddies at the casino claim he kept a lot of cash in.”’
“Mrs. Burley may have wanted the cash because she knew at the time of their divorce she would get nothing as per their pre-nuptial agreement,” Holt suggested. “Then there was Joseph Olsson, the conman, who scammed Mr. Burley out of fifty thousand. He could kill two birds with one stone by killing him. Get the cash in order to alleviate his financial difficulties and have the case against him thrown out.”
“Yes, but there was someone else who may have wanted Big Bob dead.”
“Who?”
Fisher faced her computer and, after a few keystrokes, turned the monitor around so that Holt got a clear view. On the screen was the photo of a man with a scar across his face, deep set eyes, and a busted boxer’s nose. “Corliss Looms,” she said. “He broke into Big Bob’s house, tied him to a chair, knocked him out, and then stole two hundred thousand from his safe.”
Holt shook his head. “Looms is serving twenty years in prison for armed robbery and assault. There’s no way he could have done this while still locked up.”
“Yes, but the prosecutors always believed Looms did not act alone. Even Big Bob confirmed in his state of semi-consciousness that he heard Looms talking to someone. He didn’t see who this person was or even get a name, though.”
“If I remember the case correctly,” Holt said, “wasn’t Looms the only one arrested and charged for the crime?”
“Yes, because he refused to give up his accomplice’s name.”
They both mulled this possibility over.
&
nbsp; “So, are you saying Looms’s partner may have killed Mr. Burley out of revenge?” Holt asked.
“Maybe.”
“But the robbery was years ago, so why now?”
“Why don’t we find out?”
Holt blinked. “What? You mean go to the Milton Penitentiary right now?”
“Yes.”
“But it’s late.”
“When has that ever stopped you before?”
Holt was quiet.
“Unless you’ve got something planned with Nancy,” Fisher said.
He shrugged.
She laughed. “Alright, we’ll go there first thing in the morning. You go see Nancy.”
“And you can go see Officer McConnell.”
Fisher gave him a coy smile. “Who said I plan to see him tonight?”
“It was just a thought, Detective Fisher,” Holt replied. “It’s none of my business what you do in your free time.”
There was a glint in his eyes.
TWENTY-FIVE
Callaway’s dinner included a cheesesteak sandwich, hand cut fries, and a glass of cold ice tea. Joely even snuck in a piece of lemon pie for him. Callaway was already full by the time he got to dessert, but seeing that it was free, he ate it nonetheless.
He now regretted his decision as he huffed and puffed his way up the flight of stairs. Callaway’s room was on the third floor of a hotel. The place was neither a five-star nor a four-star; it was more like a two and a half star, but it was cheaper than renting an apartment. Management did not ask for first and last month’s rent and they asked for no references. Just as long as he paid for the entire month upfront, there were no questions asked.
He preferred such an arrangement. He could up and leave whenever he wanted. He only had a single suitcase and a hand carry to take with him. He could also change rooms if he wanted to, which he had not had to do yet.
There were benefits and drawbacks to living in a hotel. There was a revolving door of neighbors. He had gotten friendly with a retired naval officer. He and Callaway would go down to the bar and have drinks, but after two weeks, he left. Then there were two college students who had rented the room next to his. They were loud, obnoxious, and there was a party every night.
Callaway would have tolerated the noise if they had invited him over once to their parties. They did not, so he complained, and they were thrown out. Callaway had a feeling the action taken against them was not because of his complaint but because management found out the students were also using the room to sell drugs.
Similar to his office, the room was small and cramped. But unlike his office, his place had a window the length of the room. The sun streamed through each morning, forcing him to wake up. There was a bed on the right, and a futon was next to it. A TV was across from the futon. The room had running water, proper plumbing, and the heating worked during the cold winter months.
Most people took those things for granted, but with little money in his pockets, Callaway had been forced to live in far worse conditions. He could tolerate a lot, but not rodents. He had a phobia that they would crawl up his pants legs and bite his nether regions.
He shivered at the thought.
His room had a bathroom with a shower stall barely big enough for him to squeeze in for a quick shower. There was no kitchen, but the room did come with a microwave. Callaway had managed to lug a mini-fridge up the flight of stairs. He had found the fridge on the sidewalk, and to his surprise, it still worked. He kept cold drinks and frozen dinners inside the fridge.
Right now, food was the last thing on his mind.
He took off his coat and threw it on the futon. He went inside the bathroom and washed his face. He came out, flopped onto the bed, and turned on the TV.
It was set to a 24-hour news channel, which he was in no mood to watch.
I’m no longer a PI, he thought. I don’t need to know what’s going on in the city.
Instead, he watched a classic Western, one he had seen over a dozen times but never got tired of.
TWENTY-SIX
Corliss Looms was a heavyset man. His head was shaved smooth, revealing a wrinkled skull. He had a teardrop tattoo under one eye.
Even wearing the orange prison uniform, he still looked intimidating. But his hands were cuffed to the table.
Corliss had gone to prison for assault with a deadly weapon and for breaking and entering, but during his stay, he had stabbed another inmate with a homemade shank. His sentence was upgraded to attempted murder.
After robbing Big Bob in his home, he was caught a week later while trying to buy a brand-new Hummer with the stolen cash.
Holt started the conversation. “Robert Burley is dead.”
Corliss smiled. “I saw that on the news. We got TVs in our cells, you know.”
“What did you think about his death?”
He shrugged. “I dunno.”
“Were you happy someone got him?”
“Why would I?”
“At your sentencing, you looked at him and you told him you were going to make him pay for what he did.”
Corliss shrugged again. “I was going to prison for a long time, so yeah, I said some stuff.” He straightened up in his chair. “What? You think I had something to do with him getting killed? I’ve been locked up like an animal for the last ten years, man.”
“Maybe you know someone who killed him.”
He scowled. “How would I? And even if I did, why would I tell you?”
“We could work out a deal,” Holt offered. “I can’t do much about the robbery and assault, but I can see what I can do about the attempted murder. The inmate was threatening your life, so you had to protect yourself, right?”
Corliss stared at him. He turned to Fisher. “Is he for real?” he asked.
“That’s why we are here,” she replied.
He curled his lip and then nodded. “I can ask around and find out if anyone knows something.”
“No,” Holt said. “We know you were not alone when you went to Robert Burley’s house. Tell us who this person is.”
Corliss’s eyes instantly filled with fire, but the next second they were back to normal. “I got nothing to say to you.”
Holt leaned closer. “Why are you protecting this person? You are rotting in a cell while they are not. They are free to live their life however they choose, while you have to live by the rules of this prison. Take this deal. This is your only chance. Give us his name. And maybe one day down the road, you too can live your life as a free man.”
Holt was trying to appeal to Corliss’s better judgement. The man was a hardened criminal and he would not easily rat on someone, but even then, Holt knew he would prefer to be outside a prison than inside.
To seal the deal, Holt said, “We just want to talk to this person. No charges related to the robbery will be laid against him. You are already serving time for it.”
“Yeah, but then you would want to charge this guy with Burley’s death, right?” Corliss said.
Holt fell silent.
Corliss stared at him and then shook his head. “It would not do you any good talking to him anyway.”
“Why is that?”
“He’s dead.”
Holt and Fisher looked at each other.
Corliss said, “He was shot and killed last year in a drive-by shooting.”
“Who was he?” Holt asked.
Corliss’s eyes welled up. “He was my baby brother.”
“Is that why you didn’t give him up?”
He nodded. “He was family, you know. They didn’t even let me go to his funeral.”
Holt realized their visit to the prison was a waste of time. Corliss had nothing to do with Burley’s death.
Before they got up to leave, Fisher asked, “Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt Big Bob?”
Corliss smiled. “Yeah, everyone.”
“What do you mean?”
“The guy won a shitload of money. He had a bullseye on his back. Why do you think
I chose to rob him in the first place?”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Callaway opened his eyes and blinked. The sun was blinding him. He squinted and checked the time. It was a little before eight a.m. He shut his eyes and tried to get back to sleep. When he could not, he got up and went to the bathroom. Afterwards, he turned on the TV, sat on the futon, and watched the news. There was a three-vehicle crash on the highway which caused a traffic jam that lasted for several hours. A man was caught trying to lure a minor on the internet. He was a coach for his children’s soccer team. A woman was wanted for fraud. She had embezzled thousands of dollars from unsuspecting new immigrants.
If aliens came down to earth and watched the news, they’d think our world was falling apart, he thought.
There were positive news items as well. A family’s pet dog returned home after disappearing for several weeks. The family was not sure how the dog survived, but they were happy to have it back. Money was raised for a single mother whose purse had been stolen. She was unable to pay her rent until strangers stepped up to help her out. For the first time ever, a Milton resident had won the city’s marathon. The female runner who did it won in record time.
Callaway understood that even with all the feel-good stories, it was the bad ones that people remembered the most. This was why the news channels were more devoted to covering matters involving fear. Fear brought the highest ratings.
Fear was good for his business too, he knew. Fear made people hire him to follow their spouses. Fear made his clients want to know what their competitors were up to. Fear made ordinary people want to know what their neighbors were doing. Fear paid his bills. There was no other way to look at it.
He was glad that was all behind him now. He could focus on the positives rather than the negatives. As a security guard, his duty was to keep order and provide security. In return the position provided him financial security via a steady paycheck and gave his life the order and structure it was missing as a private eye.
He checked his watch. It was still early, but he decided to get ready nonetheless. He showered, shaved, and changed into his uniform.
The Invisible Wife Page 6
