He wished he still had his gun, but of course, he had to leave the gun where it was as part of his bail condition.
On the laptop he typed in “Jackie Wolfe,” the name Brooke O’Shea had fed him when he asked if she knew the assistant’s name. O’Shea likely did not want to reveal her real name to him, so she gave another one.
The results of his search filled his screen. Jackie Wolfe was a character Brooke O’Shea had played in an independent movie that was shown in a handful of theatres. Jackie Wolfe was a housewife who believed her husband was cheating on her. In order to catch him red-handed, she struck up an online conversation with him, posing as someone else. After weeks of intense conversation, they agreed to meet at a hotel. The next day, the husband’s dead body was found in the hotel room. The detectives were stumped because the person he was chatting with online did not exist.
Callaway could guess the ending. Jackie Wolfe had lured her husband to the hotel, killed him, and then somehow gotten away with the murder. His death was justifiable because he had wronged her.
Brooke O’Shea had played Jackie Wolfe when she lured Callaway to Isabel Gilford’s house. Instead of murdering Callaway, she had killed the real Isabel Gilford and framed him for the murder. And she must have done so with the help of her lover, Cary Gilford.
Where was the real Isabel Gilford during this time? he thought. And how can I find that out?
He had an idea. He searched online and found what he was looking for.
The real Isabel Gilford was an only child of Melvin and Irene Worsley. Their current address and phone number was in Florida.
He dialed the number and waited
A moment later, a male voice answered. “Mel Worsley.”
“Sorry to bother you, sir,” Callaway said, “but I’m calling from the Milton Equestrian Club.” Callaway was not sure such a club existed, but in his earlier research, he had found that Isabel Gilford loved horses.
“Okay,” Worsley replied.
“I was wondering if you knew how we could get in touch with Mrs. Isabel Gilford. She had a riding session booked at the club, but she hasn’t arrived. We tried contacting her husband, but he is not answering his phone.”
There was a sigh on the other end. “I’m afraid Isabel has passed away,” Worsley said, his voice breaking.
“Oh my God,” Callaway said, feigning shock. “I’m so sorry to hear that. My condolences to you.”
“Thank you.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, when did it happen?”
“Last night. We were scheduled to fly over to Milton this morning, but my wife’s heart condition got worse at hearing the news, so we’ll be flying over later today.”
“That’s understandable,” Callaway said. “The only reason I asked was because she missed her previous two sessions as well.”’
“Isabel was visiting family in England,” Worsley said. “She only returned just yesterday.”
“My condolences again, and I’m so sorry for your loss,” Callaway said, and hung up.
He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. That explained why he never once saw the real Isabel Gilford while he was being conned by Brooke O’Shea and Cary Gilford.
They had planned everything out in detail.
Brooke O’Shea kept asking for more evidence even when he thought he had finished his job. She was prolonging his case. Only when the real Isabel Gilford was back in Milton did they put the final touches to their plan.
Callaway grimaced.
I fell right into their trap.
NINETY-NINE
Holt shook his head as he hung up the phone. Callaway had called to tell him how he had been setup.
Callaway had concocted a farfetched scenario where Isabel Gilford’s husband and his assistant had conspired to implicate him in murder. Callaway rambled on about Brooke O’Shea being an actress and how she had used makeup and prosthetics to play a character. He mentioned some movie Holt had never heard of, nor did he care to look up.
Callaway was a desperate man who was blindly throwing darts, hoping one would hit the target.
But there was something Callaway said that caught Holt’s attention.
He debated whether to look in to it or ignore it completely. He checked his watch. He still had some time before he headed home. Plus, Nancy was visiting her mother’s, so she would not be back until later anyway.
Prior to getting behind the wheel, he made a call to confirm certain details.
He then drove to the property where Isabel Gilford was found dead. Instead of pulling up at the house, he passed it and pulled into the neighbor’s property. He parked next to a 4x4 truck and got out.
He rang the doorbell and waited.
When he did not get an answer, he peeked through the window. The lights were on inside, but it looked like no one was home.
He frowned.
This was a waste of time, he thought. I should have never come all this way.
He heard a noise in the distance. He listened. It was a dog barking. He walked in the direction the barking was coming from.
He cut through a path and entered a forest. He weaved his way through several trees and bushes in the darkening woods. As he got closer, the noise became more distinct.
“Bad Bessie, bad dog,” a male voice yelled.
Holt spotted a man pulling the leash of an overly excited Basset Hound. The dog was barking at something on the ground a few feet away. Holt squinted and realized the object was a dead rabbit.
The man spotted Holt and said, “Their instincts take over and they can’t help themselves.”
Holt flashed his badge when the man said, “Do you mind taking Bessie back to the house? I have to bury the rabbit deep underground or else Bessie will keep coming back for it. Her breed has got a keen sense of smell, you know?”
Holt grabbed the leash and tugged Bessie away.
He waited by the house steps for the man to return. His name was Rob Bushman, and he was the one who had seen Callaway race away in his car.
Bushman returned and said, “Thanks for looking after Bessie.”
Holt scratched Bessie under her ears and patted her neck. “She was a good girl.”
“You’re Detective Holt, right?” Bushman asked.
“I am.”
“I recognized you. You’re investigating the murder next door?”
“Yes. I tried calling you, but it wasn’t going through,” Holt said.
“Sometimes I lose signal when I am deep in the forest,” Bushman explained. “It’s only after I come out that I realize I have missed calls or messages. So, what can I do for you?”
“Were you here all day yesterday?”
“I was.”
“Did you by any chance see your neighbor, Isabel Gilford, at her house?”
Bushman thought a moment. “I believe I did when I took Bessie out for a walk. I do it at least three times a day, twice for sure. I suffer from depression and anxiety, and I find the walks help put my mind to ease.”
“What time did you see Mrs. Gilford?”
“I think it was in the afternoon.”
Holt’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”
“Maybe late in the afternoon, but definitely during sunlight.”
“Did you see the man in the Dodge Charger yesterday?”
Bushman smiled. “He’s the one who’s charged with murdering her?”
Holt did not reply.
“I saw it on the news,” Bushman said. “And to answer your question, I didn’t see him yesterday.”
“How about last night?”
“I don’t go out for walks at night. It’s easy to get lost in the dark. So, I can’t say if he was there or not. But I did see him in the morning. Even Bessie saw him. Didn’t you, Bessie?”
Bessie stared at the ground.
“And you are certain Mrs. Gilford was here during the day?”
“Absolutely. I even waved to her as I walked past her property.”
“
And you’re sure it was her?”
Bushman blinked. “Why do you ask?”
“Never mind,” Holt said. “Thank you for your time.”
As Holt walked back to his car, he had a nagging feeling that something was not right. On his drive over, Holt had spoken to someone in U.S. Customs and Border Protection. They were able to find out that Isabel Gilford had indeed flown back from England yesterday, and that her flight did not land until later that evening.
How could Bushman have seen Isabel Gilford at the same time she was on a plane flying over the Atlantic? Holt thought. He couldn’t, unless…
Holt’s eyes widened.
…unless Callaway is telling the truth.
Someone was indeed playing a dangerous game.
ONE-HUNDRED
Callaway received a text from Holt.
YOU WERE RIGHT, BUT I HAVE TO FOLLOW THE EVIDENCE. AND RIGHT NOW, IT POINTS TO YOU.
Even though the reply was not promising, and Callaway was not expecting a reply to begin with, the message did give him some solace.
Still, his hands are tied, Callaway thought.
Callaway put the phone away. There was some unfinished business he had to deal with before he made his next move.
He left his office and drove to Joely’s restaurant. The moment Joely saw him enter, she dropped everything and rushed over. She hugged him with tears in her eyes.
“Is it true?” she asked.
“Of course it isn’t,” he replied. “I didn’t do it.”
“I knew it,” she said with full conviction. “You’re a cad, Lee Callaway, but you’re no killer.”
“That’s what I keep saying.”
“Do you want something to eat?” she asked. “It’s on the house.”
He was not very hungry, but he did not want to turn down her offer.
Who knows when I might see a good meal again?
“I’ll have whatever you can give me,” he said.
She smiled and walked away.
He took a seat at a corner table. He then saw a familiar face enter the restaurant. He was not sure if he should smile or frown.
Fisher came over. “I knew I’d find you here.”
“You’ve come to arrest me again?” he asked.
“If it wasn’t me, it would have been Holt.”
He stared at her and then nodded.
“Mind if I sit with you?” Fisher said.
“Won’t you get in trouble for talking to me?” he asked. “I mean, you are the arresting officer in my case.”
“I’m no longer in charge of your investigation. And if anyone asks, I was hoping to get you to confess and save the taxpayers the cost of a lengthy trial.”
“Funny.”
“So?”
“What?”
“Can I join you?”
“It’s a free country.”
She sat down.
Joely returned with a plate and placed it before Callaway. “You have some nerve coming back here,” Joely said to Fisher with a scowl.
Callaway smiled. “It’s all right. Dana is a friend.”
“Some friend,” Joely said, and walked away.
Fisher leaned over. “Do you think I should order something? I am kind of hungry.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you. There’s no telling what Joely might put in your meal.”
Fisher’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
Callaway laughed. “Of course not, but she is upset, so I’d play it safe if I were you.”
“I’ll grab some drive-thru on my way back to the station.”
Callaway saw that Joely had brought steak, mashed potatoes, and corn. His favourite. He cut into the steak and said, “How’s your case coming along?”
“Which one?”
“The one with the lottery winner.”
“I’ve hit a brick wall, I’m afraid.”
“Thanks to you I’ll be staring at a brick wall while I’m in prison.”
“Ouch,” she said, wincing.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help it.”
“I spoke to Holt,” she said.
“And?”
“He doesn’t like what he sees in your investigation.”
“Like what?” Callaway asked, curious.
“The murder weapon with your prints. The bloody shirt in your hotel room. It all seems like it was staged.”
“Exactly!” Callaway said. “I was setup, and no one is listening to me.”
Fisher gave him an imploring look. “Lee, if you didn’t commit this crime, then do whatever you have to in order to prove your innocence.”
“How can I?” he asked.
“Do you know why Holt doesn’t like you?” she asked instead.
“Yeah, because I’m young and good looking and he’s old and ugly.”
“I’m being serious.”
“Okay, sorry.”
“He doesn’t like you because you don’t have to follow the rules like he does. You can skirt around the law. You somehow found a way to help Paul Gardener. And now, you will have to find a way to help yourself.”
Callaway pondered her words. He knew how hard it was for her to come here and face him, but she came because she believed him.
“Thanks, Dana,” he finally said.
ONE-HUNDRED ONE
Callaway knew Fisher was right. If he wanted to save his skin, he would have to resort to doing things he otherwise would not do, which meant he would have to ask for help from certain people he preferred to stay away from.
He banged his fist on the steel door and waited. A minute later, a small window slid open and two eyes appeared.
The eyes went wide when they saw who it was.
The door opened, and Baxter came out. “Mr. Callaway,” he said.
Mister? Callaway thought.
“How can I help you, sir?” Baxter asked.
Sir? Did Baxter go take a crash course in Manners 101 or something?
“I need to speak to Mason,” Callaway replied.
Baxter stared at him. He looked unnerved and even a little scared.
“Um… Mason is busy at the moment,” he said.
“He’s never too busy to see me,” Callaway said. He took a step forward, expecting Baxter to block his path. Instead, Baxter recoiled as if Callaway was carrying the Ebola virus.
What’s going on?
Callaway moved past him and headed up the stairs. At the top, he waited for Baxter to open the door to Mason’s office like he always did. But this time, Baxter did not even follow him up the steps.
Callaway was confused. He shook his head and entered Mason’s office.
Mason was on the phone, but the moment he saw Callaway, he dropped the receiver and jumped out of his chair.
“Lee, buddy, pal, bro,” he nervously said. “What’re you doing here?”
“I need to speak to you, Mason,” Callaway said.
“Yeah, sure, alright, but you could have just called me. You didn’t have to drive all the way here.”
Baxter came up the stairs. He and Mason exchanged looks.
Callaway crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, what’s going on?”
Mason sheepishly shrugged. “Nothing is going on.”
Callaway caught sight of a newspaper on Mason’s desk. The paper was opened to a page with an article on Isabel Gilford’s murder.
So that’s why they’re acting so weird.
“I didn’t kill her,” Callaway said.
“Of course you didn’t. We never believe anything they write in the newspapers. Isn’t that right, Baxter?”
Baxter was pale. He swallowed. “Yes, Boss.”
“I was setup,” Callaway said.
“Of course you were.”
Callaway grabbed the closest chair and, for the first time ever on a visit to Mason, sat down. Right now, Mason and Baxter were more afraid of him than he was of them.
Callaway shut his eyes and sighed. Why did I even bother coming here?
A few minutes went
by before Mason said, “Lee, you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay!” Callaway snapped.
Mason and Baxter jumped back.
“I’m angry and I’m pissed,” Callaway continued. “Yesterday I was a free man, and today I could be facing life behind bars. And the people responsible for my predicament are laughing it up. At least that’s what I think they are doing. I don’t know why they chose me. I have a lot of questions but no answers. I am here to ask for your help.”
“Um… sure, Lee. We are more than happy to help you, but we can’t help you get away with murder,” Mason said. “I’ve got a business to worry about, and Baxter wouldn’t survive a day in prison.”
I highly doubt your last claim, Callaway thought. Baxter could take down half a cell block.
“I don’t need your help to get away with murder,” Callaway said. “I need your help to prove my innocence.”
Mason’s brow furrowed. “How’re we going to do that?”
“I have an idea.”
Mason paused and then said, “Lee, we like you a lot. We’ve done business together many times, but we don’t do you favors. You should know that by now.”
Callaway smiled. “I do.”
He reached into his pocket.
Mason and Baxter took a step back.
Callaway pulled out an envelope and dropped it on Mason’s desk.
“What’s that?” Mason asked, eyeing the envelope suspiciously.
“Ten grand.”
Mason reached out and pulled the envelope closer. He looked inside, and his eyes sparkled.
“Okay, so what do you have in mind?” he asked.
ONE-HUNDRED TWO
Fisher stared at the blue evidence folder on her desk. This one was for Big Bob’s murder. Next to the folder were two others, slightly thinner than the first, but they contained information on Chase Burley and Debra Coleheim’s deaths.
Fisher knew the cases were linked, but now that she had hit yet another dead end, she began to feel all three would end up as cold cases, cases that would haunt her into her retirement.
The Invisible Wife Page 22
