The Invisible Wife

by Thomas Fincham

  She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve seen the way you do it. The suspects are left with bruised wrists.”

  “It’s because they try to squirm when I cuff them.”

  “I’m just saying, that’s all.”

  A uniformed officer approached them. “Sorry to interrupt, but there is a lady downstairs to see you.”

  “Who?” Fisher asked.

  “She said her name was Caroline Leary.”

  Fisher knew why she was here. She wanted an update on her father’s and brother’s murders.

  Holt moved toward the elevator.

  Fisher said, “Wait. Stop!”

  He turned around. “Shouldn’t we go speak to her?”

  “Only I should.”

  He looked confused.

  She said, “I think you should continue with Callaway’s investigation, and I should work on finding who murdered Caroline Leary’s father and brother and Debra Coleheim.”

  Holt stared at her. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I am,” she replied. “And also, I don’t think I can live with myself knowing I put a friend away for life.”

  EIGHTY-EIGHT

  Roth showed up at Patti’s house. He wanted to discuss some things with Callaway. Patti moved to the kitchen to give them privacy.

  Roth and Callaway sat across from each other in the living room. Callaway said, “Thanks for getting me out so fast. You wouldn’t believe what a relief it is to be outside a cell.”

  Roth smiled. “That’s what all my clients say as well. They tell me they didn’t realize how precious freedom is until it is taken away.”

  “I know the feeling. It’s given me a new perspective.”

  Roth loosened his suit coat. “I’m glad to hear that. Now, I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

  Callaway knew. He had been mulling the matter ever since Roth took his phone call.

  “My firm has the best legal team in the city,” Roth continued. “That’s my opinion, of course. But I’m proud to say we win more cases than we lose. A lot more. But that success comes with a price.”

  “I have slightly over twenty thousand in cash,” Callaway quickly said. He saw the irony in his offer. He was going to use Isabel’s money to defend himself against the charge of killing her.

  “I can obviously take it as a retainer,” Roth said, “but I must warn you, it won’t nearly be enough if we go to trial.”

  Callaway sat up straight. “If?”

  Roth paused to give Callaway a moment to brace himself for what he was about to say next. “There is always a plea deal.”

  Callaway jumped up. “You don’t believe I’m innocent?”

  “It’s not whether I believe it, it’s whether the jury will believe it,” Roth calmly replied.

  “But I didn’t kill her!” Callaway yelled.

  Patti stuck her head through the kitchen door. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, everything is fine,” Callaway quickly replied.

  He sat down and covered his face with his hands.

  Roth leaned closer. “I know this is tough for you to hear. Believe me, I do. But I wouldn’t be doing my duty as a lawyer if I didn’t give you all the options available to you. Right now, the prosecution is building a case against you. They have likely gone through your home, your office, and wherever else you go on a regular basis. They have a witness who saw you run away from the crime scene. Your fingerprints are on the murder weapon. Your prints are also on a wine glass that you drank from while at the house. I wouldn’t be surprised that when I get back to my office, there’ll be a message waiting for me from the District Attorney’s office. It’ll be to inform me of additional evidence linking you to the murder.”

  Callaway listened to what Roth was saying, but at the same time he was not listening. His mind was all over the place. He looked up at Roth. “What motive do I have for killing my client?”

  “I don’t know, but in my experience with these kinds of cases, the longer you take to decide whether you would like to plead guilty or not, the more time you give the detectives to formulate a motive.”

  Callaway felt like someone had wrapped their hands around his neck and was squeezing his throat tight.

  “What about taking on my case pro bono?” he asked.

  “I would, but my firm is already involved in several wrongful conviction cases, which has stretched our resources to the limit. We are not able to take on another case without severely putting financial stress on the firm. I don’t want to do that and jeopardize all those people we are currently representing.”

  Roth paused and then said in a low voice, “Think about what I just said. But don’t think too long. It might mean the difference between being in prison for ten years with a chance of parole after seven or spending the rest of your life locked up with no chance of parole.”

  EIGHTY-NINE

  After her conversation with Caroline Leary, Fisher was mentally and emotionally exhausted.

  Caroline had wept as she spoke of losing her father and brother. She genuinely believed the lottery winnings had destroyed her family. Her father was a devoted husband and all-around family man, but the moment the check was in his hand, a different side of him came out. He became consumed with the money and what he could do with it. He also became more suspicious of others. He used to try to help people whenever he could, but now he avoided them whenever possible. He grew tired of getting constant requests for money, and he became isolated and depressed.

  Her brother did not fare well either after the financial windfall. He used to be a good student and dreamed of one day becoming a sportscaster. But when he realized he did not have to work to pay for his needs, his motivation fell away. Instead of being focused on getting into a career, he spent his time partying and doing drugs.

  Caroline remembered her brother as loving, kind, and responsible. The man he became later in life was the polar opposite of who he was when he was growing up. He would have done anything for her. And she felt helpless she could not do anything for him.

  Fisher tried to reassure her they were making progress in their investigation, but her words felt hollow. They had hit a wall in the investigation, and if they did not get a break soon, both cases would be pushed aside.

  Detectives took pride in the number of convictions they got in the course of their career. They also took pride in how long it took to seek out a suspect. They loved being assigned cases that were so-called “quick-hits,” ones where all the puzzle pieces were available and all they had to do was put them together.

  The fastest case Fisher ever solved was in three hours. The murder occurred at nine a.m., and by noon they had a suspect in custody. The fact the victim miraculously survived a near-death attack and pointed out her assailant was a major break, but those cases were rare.

  Fisher had some of the pieces to Big Bob’s and Chase Burley’s murders, but she did not know how they fit together, or if they fit at all. What if Big Bob’s death had nothing to do with the money in his safe? Or with the drugs Chase was involved in? What if Fisher was looking at the whole situation from the wrong angle?

  There were a dozen scenarios, and none of them led her to finding who the killer was.

  And if that was not draining enough, Callaway’s murder charges had blindsided her. She still could not fathom if he was capable of such a crime. She was grateful she no longer had to build a case against him. That was up to Holt.

  For all his faults, Holt was a damn good detective and he would follow proper procedures and protocols to get a conviction. If the evidence led to Callaway, there was nothing she could do to help him.

  NINETY

  Holt rang the doorbell and waited. A moment later, Cary Gilford answered.

  “Detective Holt,” he said. “Please come inside.”

  Holt followed him into the living room. When they were seated, Holt said, “On the phone you said it was urgent.”

  “It is,” Gilford replied. “I know you have a
person in custody for my wife’s death.”

  “He’s no longer in custody,” Holt corrected him. “He’s out on bail, but he’s charged with the crime.”

  “Oh right, sure,” Gilford said. “I should have mentioned this to you when we first met at my wife’s house, but as you can imagine, I was not in the right state of mind. I had just discovered my wife’s dead body.”

  Holt put his hand up. “No need to explain. It’s understandable.”

  Holt could not imagine how he would react if something terrible were to happen to Nancy. He would rather slit his wrists than live the rest of his life without her.

  Gilford said, “I will admit that I have not been a very faithful husband. I have cheated in our marriage, but that does not mean I didn’t love my wife. What I’m trying to say is, while my wife had hired a private investigator to follow me, I too had hired a private investigator to follow her.”

  Holt sat up straight. This is interesting, he thought.

  “If a wife can sense her husband may be involved with another woman, so too can a husband sense his wife may be involved with another man.”

  Gilford walked over to a side table, returned with an envelope, and held it out for Holt.

  Holt took the envelope and opened it. There was a dozen black-and-white photos. They were taken from a distance, but Holt could easily see that the man was Callaway and the woman, even though she had on dark glasses and a long coat, was Isabel Gilford. Her silver hair was clearly visible.

  “My private investigator caught them together.”

  “Of course they were together,” Holt said dismissively. “She was his client.”

  “And, I’m afraid, also his lover.”

  Holt was taken aback. “I’m sorry?”

  “At first, I didn’t believe it either. Until I received a call from my insurance company. My wife had tried to change her life insurance policy. In fact, an amended policy was faxed to the insurance company.”

  Gilford walked over to the side table and returned with another envelope for Holt.

  Holt snatched the envelope from Gilford’s hand and pulled out a set of documents.

  Gilford said, “On page four you will see the name of the beneficiary.”

  Holt quickly flipped to the page. “Lee Callaway,” he read.

  “Yes. And on the last page you’ll see my wife’s signature and also the date it was signed.”

  “It was yesterday,” Holt said.

  Gilford nodded. “Naturally, I am going to fight it. I don’t believe it is valid.”

  Holt stared at the wall. His mind was elsewhere.

  It was always about the money, he thought.

  Callaway was always broke, and so, killing Isabel was his chance to get rich.

  Holt now had a motive.

  “There is something else,” Gilford said.

  “And what is that?”

  “Yesterday morning, my wife had asked me to come to the house by the lake.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I was surprised too. It was her place to get away from everything, including me sometimes. Whenever we got into a fight, she would go there. Anyway, I didn’t go, and I now regret it tremendously.”

  Holt’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you?”

  Gilford looked away. “I was with another woman that night.”

  “Who?”

  “My assistant.”

  Holt was not sure if this was relevant.

  “Do you suppose my wife wanted me dead?” Gilford asked.

  Holt frowned. “Why do you believe that?”

  “Only a month before, my wife asked me to increase my life insurance policy. Naturally, I did, because I want her taken care of after I’m gone.”

  Holt mulled this over. “And you think your wife and Mr. Callaway wanted to kill you once you arrived at the house?”

  “I don’t know, but the thought did occur to me. And if I had gone, and my wife was there with her lover, what do you think could have happened?”

  Holt’s eyes narrowed again. “I’m not sure,” he said, “but it was a good thing you didn’t go.”

  NINETY-ONE

  Once Roth had left, Callaway decided to go for a walk. He needed to clear his mind.

  Roth had made it very clear that he was not going to take Callaway on as a client. He was aware of Callaway’s financial situation, Callaway knew there was another reason, one Roth would not admit to him face-to-face. The evidence was stacked against him, and Roth did not want a loss on his resume.

  Roth’s career hung on his impeccable winning percentage. Wealthy or prominent clients relied on him to get them out of trouble. Callaway had heard that politicians, businessmen, and even sports stars had him on retainer. He was available to them twenty-four-seven.

  Callaway, on the other hand, would not get past the preliminary hearing with the money he had.

  Roth’s visit to Callaway was a way to pay back Callaway for what he had done for Roth’s more affluent client, Paul Gardener. Roth did not seem like the type of guy who liked to owe anything to anyone. But Callaway knew that was as far as Roth would go for him. He had gotten him out of a cell for now, but he would not keep him out of a cell permanently.

  Callaway had debated contacting Paul. He did not give up on him when everyone else had, including even Paul’s family. But then again, Paul had paid Callaway handsomely for his services. Callaway had used that money to help Patti and Nina at a time when they needed it most. Patti’s roof was in dire shape. Water had started to leak whenever rain came. And there were other repairs that required immediate attention. And now that house was collateral on his bail.

  Going to Paul’s house for help was out of the question. There was no telling how much the lawyer fees would add up. Paul was not family. He was a former client.

  Disheartened, Callaway decided to go to a bar. He needed something in his system to numb the pain he was feeling right now.

  I can’t spend the rest of my life in prison, he thought.

  He considered going to Joely’s restaurant. She was in shock when he was led away in handcuffs. She must have a ton of questions for him.

  He was not ready to answer them.

  He wanted to hide from the world, and himself.

  What if I had killed that woman?

  He tried to shake the thought away, but it always came back like a boomerang.

  He entered the bar and put a fifty-dollar bill on the counter. “Keep bringing ‘em until it’s all gone,” he told the bartender.

  The bartender looked at him, shrugged, and brought him his first glass.

  Callaway drank the booze in one gulp.

  Half an hour later, Callaway had consumed four glasses. He could feel the buzz already. A couple more drinks, and he would be fully drunk.

  “I’m not pleading guilty,” he mumbled to himself. “I’m not guilty, okay?”

  He lifted the glass up to finish it and order another.

  His eyes caught something on the TV behind the bar.

  He squinted, and then he got on top of the counter to take a closer look.

  “Hey!” the bartender yelled.

  Callaway was inches away from the screen when his eyes widened in disbelief.

  The bartender rushed over and pulled him off the bar.

  “You need to leave now, mister,” he said, “or else I’m calling the cops.”

  Callaway was not listening to him. He was already rushing out of the bar.

  NINETY-TWO

  Fisher’s investigation was leading nowhere, so she decided to start from the beginning. She went back to Big Bob’s house. Unlike the previous times, the house was no longer an active crime scene. Fisher would have to seek permission first before taking another look around.

  She pulled up to the mansion. There was a black GMC Terrain parked in front. Fisher parked next to the GMC and got out. She went up to the house and rang the doorbell. She waited a moment before the door swung open.

  A man wearing a wh
ite T-shirt, blue jeans, and black boots stood at the door. He had long hair that was pulled back in a ponytail. His muscular arms were covered in tattoos and he was a good foot taller than Fisher.

  “Can I help you?” he said.

  “Suzanne Burley?” Fisher asked.

  “She’s not in,” the man replied.

  “You are?”

  The man’s face turned hard. “Who wants to know?”

  Fisher held up her badge.

  He relaxed and said, “I’m Suzanne’s boyfriend.”

  Fisher paused and then asked, “Mrs. Burley was seeing you while she was still married?”

  “She was separated.”

  “And you two live together?”

  “Yeah, I live at her other place, but after what happened to her… um, husband, we’ve been staying here.”

  Right, Fisher thought.

  “Do you know when Mrs. Burley will be back?”

  “She’s at her yoga class, so maybe in an hour or so.”

  Before Fisher left, she asked, “Is that your car parked in the front?”

  “It is.”

  “It’s nice.”

  She got behind the wheel of her SUV. She drove a couple blocks away from the house, found a spot by the side of the road, and parked.

  She pulled out her laptop and punched in the GMC’s licence plate number.

  The plate was registered to a Rick Castroni.

  She punched his name into the police database and found that Castroni had been in and out of prison for armed robbery, assault with a deadly weapon, and for tampering with evidence.

  Why didn’t I see this before? she thought.

  She knew the answer. Suzanne Burley was never a suspect to begin with. She had nothing to gain financially from her husband’s death. Big Bob was smart not to have a life insurance policy, especially one where his younger wife was the beneficiary. Anything Suzanne Burley received would come from the pre-nup, which was iron-clad as far as Fisher was concerned.

  But that did not mean someone else could not have committed the crime.