“Of course it’s me. Who else would it be?”
Callaway returned the gun to the drawer. He tucked his shirt in his pants. He patted his hair down and then opened the door.
Jimmy Keith was five-ten with a protruding belly and broad shoulders. He had deep wrinkles on his face, a handlebar mustache, and a white mane that was slicked back. His dull gray eyes were focused on Callaway, and his face was sporting a grin.
“Kid,” he said.
“Jimmy,” Callaway replied with a big smile.
Jimmy took in the office. “Small but cozy. I like it.”
Callaway’s mouth was dry. “What… what are you doing here?”
“I came to see how you were doing,” Jimmy replied.
Jimmy Keith was the reason Callaway had become a private investigator. As a deputy sheriff, he was bored out of his mind when he stumbled upon an article about Jimmy.
Jimmy was hired by a family to investigate the murder of their daughter and son-in-law while they vacationed in the Dominican Republic. The couple had been found bludgeoned to death inside their rental property. The Dominican police believed the murders were a result of a robbery gone horribly wrong. The house had been ransacked of all money and jewelry.
When there were no leads for over a year, Jimmy was brought in to find out what happened. He flew to the Dominican Republic and began his own investigation. He started with the local police, who were not too happy to see a private investigator poking his nose into their business. But after lining their pockets with American greenbacks, they were more than willing to let him at least see what they had on the case. To his horror, no work had been done on the couple’s murder. The police had in fact closed the case as unsolvable. It was another statistic of tourists caught in the country’s high crime rate.
He spoke to the couple’s neighbors. They said they hadn’t heard or seen anything. He even spoke to low-level criminals, but none of them had anything of value to add. After months of hitting walls, and with money running out, he returned to the United States, deeply dismayed.
But Jimmy never gave up.
On the second anniversary of the deaths, he caught a break. Someone had filed a claim on a life insurance policy for the daughter. When Jimmy investigated, he found it was her ex-boyfriend. He was the beneficiary on her insurance policy. But the ex-boyfriend was in the States at the time of the murders. He had a solid alibi.
Jimmy spoke to the family who had hired him, and they had nothing but positive things to say about the ex-boyfriend. The breakup was amicable, and the ex-boyfriend had even spoken at the couple’s wedding. In fact, he had also purchased the trip to the Dominican Republic as a wedding gift.
This was all Jimmy needed to hear.
He dug deeper and found out the ex-boyfriend had visited the country twice before the wedding. Jimmy spent money out of his own pocket and found out that the ex-boyfriend had also visited the local police. In particular, he met the officer who ended up investigating the murders.
Jimmy then discovered that a large sum of money had been transferred from the ex-boyfriend’s account to an account in the Dominican Republic.
Armed with this information, the family flew down to the country. With the help of the American consulate, they pressured the state police to look into the case. They found that the officer had indeed received the large sum of money. He had also been spotted at the scene around the time of the murder. No witnesses had come forward because they feared retribution from the officer, but with the state police’s assurances, they spoke up.
Meanwhile, back in the United States, the FBI brought in the ex-boyfriend for questioning. With all the evidence piled up against him, he confessed. He was bitter about being dumped, and he decided to kill the daughter and cash in her life insurance. He paid the officer in the Dominican Republic to carry out the crime.
The ex-boyfriend was now serving life in prison for conspiracy to commit murder. The officer was sentenced to prison in the Dominican Republic, but two months later, he was found with his throat slashed. Apparently, there were criminals who could not wait to get their hands on an ex-police officer, even if he was a crooked cop.
In Callaway’s eyes, Jimmy was a legend. He was also his mentor.
“Aren’t you going to buy an old man a drink?” Jimmy asked.
“Yeah, sure, absolutely,” Callaway quickly replied. “I know a great place around the corner.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Fisher parked the SUV and got out. She was at Yonge Avenue, one of the busiest downtown streets in Milton. Businesses and retail stores lined both sides of the street.
After finding the taxi receipt at Scott’s house, she was able to track down the driver. He was a new immigrant to the country, and in broken English, he confirmed he had picked up Scott at his home after six thirty in the evening. Fisher had pushed him for the exact time, but he wasn’t sure.
The security cameras confirmed that Scott was dropped off at his house at precisely 6:32 PM by the limo driver. The time printed on the taxi receipt read 7:20 PM, which meant the taxi driver had arrived at Scott’s house shortly after 6:45 PM in order to make the twenty-minute drive to Yonge Avenue.
Why was this timing so important? It explained that right after the limo driver had driven away, Scott had called a taxi. This raised a couple of questions: Why didn’t Scott just have the limo driver bring him to Yonge Avenue? And why did he leave his house right after he had just arrived?
The answers were simple. He did not want anyone to know where he was going, and he was meeting someone at a precise time.
She was able to get the taxi driver to show her the footage from his taxi cab. The latest CCTV systems were equipped to store footage up to five days.
In the footage, as Scott got into the cab, he was wearing the clothes he had been found in. He was also wearing large aviator shades. He was carrying a backpack, which he placed next to him. Fisher had not found any backpack in the house. The way Scott held the backpack close told her it contained something of value to him.
The driver tried to engage in small talk, but Scott was not interested. He kept staring at his cell phone. It looked like he was waiting for a call or a text message. Fisher couldn’t be certain. The footage was black and white and had no audio.
At his destination, Scott paid with cash, and the driver handed him a receipt. Scott stuck it in his jacket pocket and got out of the cab.
Fisher looked around the busy intersection. She saw a bar, a fish-and-chips shop, a cell phone store, and many other businesses. Yonge Avenue was like any other downtown street in America.
She could not understand why Scott would go through all that trouble to come here.
THIRTY-FIVE
Callaway and Jimmy found a booth in the corner of the bar. Callaway ordered a beer, and Jimmy had whiskey.
“You’re beaming like a little school girl,” Jimmy said, taking a sip from his drink. Callaway could still not believe the great Jimmy Keith was in Milton.
“I’m so happy to see you, Jimmy,” Callaway replied.
“I haven’t seen you in… what? Three years?”
“Five years.”
Jimmy’s eyebrows shot up. “That long, huh?”
“I called you many times, but I got no answer,” Callaway said.
“You did? Well, you should have left a message.”
“I left one each time.”
“Oh, right, sure.” Jimmy shrugged. “You know how it is in our line of work. We go where the job is.”
The truth was that Jimmy was not the type to stick with a relationship for too long. His motto was I’m here for a good time, not a long time. When Callaway called him, he never expected Jimmy to reply. Callaway did it because he wanted to see if the old man had changed. He had not.
Jimmy was one of the best, if not the best, private investigators Callaway had ever met. The man was possessed when he was working on a case. Nothing else mattered. Not family, not friends, not anyone or anything.
He had never been married, but he fathered a child with a woman he had met only briefly. He never spoke about the son or daughter—Callaway wasn’t sure which one it was—and Callaway never pushed him on it either. It was none of his business.
Jimmy was a hard-drinking, hard-living kind of man. He could drink anyone under the table and not get drunk. He had been with countless women, and he had tried every imaginable drug out there. If there was an example of a man squeezing every inch out of life, it was Jimmy.
The lifestyle eventually caught up with him. Jimmy rarely had any money in his pockets, and the last Callaway heard was that he had suffered a heart attack. Callaway tried to get in touch with him at the time, but it seemed like Jimmy was avoiding him. Callaway didn’t blame him. Jimmy was a proud man. He didn’t want Callaway to see him in a hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and machines.
Jimmy owned a rental property and a cabin boat. Whenever work dried up, he would rent out the main floor of the property and live in the basement. When things got even worse, he would rent out the entire house and live on the boat.
Jimmy was a fighter and a survivor. If he found himself in a hole, he would find a way out of it.
Callaway had taken a page out of Jimmy’s handbook. He was always broke. He had also been with multiple women, and he always found himself in trouble. But unlike Jimmy, who had his rental property and boat, Callaway had no assets to his name.
But when it came to gambling, both men thought they were one opportunity away from hitting the jackpot.
Jimmy took another sip and laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Callaway asked.
“I just remembered the time when that husband chased me out of his house with a chainsaw.”
“You did sleep with his wife, so what did you expect him to do? Buy you a drink?”
“True, true, but the husband was a good runner. I was in my shorts and had no shoes on when I bolted out of there. Had you not shown up in the Charger, I would have been chopped up like firewood.”
Callaway chuckled. “I had never seen a man with a beer belly jump through a window and into the passenger seat like you did.”
“I was running for my life, kid. I would have jumped on a moving train to save my butt.”
They both laughed hard.
“How’s Nina?” Jimmy asked next.
“She’s growing up fast.”
“Do you see her often?”
“Not as often as I would like to,” Callaway replied somberly.
They were silent for a moment, then Callaway said, “Who needs family anyway? They’re only there to weigh you down. Isn’t that what you used to say?”
“I did, but…”
“So, what’re you doing in Milton?” Callaway asked.
“I’ll tell you, but first you tell me what’s bothering you.”
Callaway shrugged. “Who said anything’s bothering me?”
“You were all jumpy when I showed up at your office. If I had not announced myself, I might have caught a bullet through the door.”
“I wasn’t going to shoot,” Callaway said.
“Okay, sure, but I can always tell when something’s on your mind.”
Callaway spent five minutes telling Jimmy about the Frank Henderson situation.
“You took on a case for only five hundred bucks?” Jimmy asked.
“I’m kind of desperate. I need the money.”
“Don’t we all,” Jimmy said wistfully.
Callaway nodded and stared at his empty bottle.
“Okay, kid,” Jimmy said. “I’ll help you.”
Callaway looked up, surprised. “You will?”
Jimmy smiled. “Sure. It’ll be like the good old days. Just the two of us against the world.”
Callaway liked the sound of that.
THIRTY-SIX
Becky opened the door and found the house smelling of food. Her mom was usually not home at this time of day, so she was surprised when she saw her in front of the stove.
“What’re you doing?” Becky asked.
“I thought I’d make my baby her favorite meal.”
“Okay,” Becky said, still not believing what was going on. Ever since her dad died, her mom had been working around the clock. Becky had gotten used to eating out or putting together a meal of her own.
When she looked back on the past year, before her dad’s accident, Becky lived a sheltered life. She had parents who doted on her. They had each other to lean on, and this helped them protect their only child. Now that one of them was gone, the other was barely holding on by a thread.
Becky had a lot of growing up to do the moment her dad was gone. She had to be the anchor for her mom.
Her parents had met on a train. He used to take the train each morning when he was apprenticing as a woodworker. She took the train as a student on her way to earning a diploma in sociology. The woodworking never took off, so her dad got into construction. The sociology diploma never opened many doors for her mom, so she took any job available. But during the time when they were each building toward a career, they saw each other regularly on the same platform.
Becky’s dad dropped out of school at a very young age to help his mother pay the bills, which meant he never got a formal education. When he saw Becky’s mom waiting for the train, clutching a textbook in her hand, he was instantly attracted to her. When he approached her, he was shaking. He said something incoherent and then quickly walked away, feeling ashamed. She found his awkward approach charming, and the next time they were at the same platform, she approached him. She saw a man who was big and strong but also had kind eyes and an easy smile.
They got married soon after, and they had a little girl. They wanted more children, but Becky was born after several miscarriages. In fact, the pregnancy was fraught with so many health issues that Becky’s birth was a miracle.
Her parents had created a beautiful and happy life, until it all came crashing down one terrible day. Becky was in class when the school principal called her to his office. What he told her pulled the ground from underneath her. She thought it was a cruel prank, but the look on the principal’s face told her it was not.
Becky knew things would never be the same from that day on.
“What’re you cooking?” Becky asked.
“Cheese and spinach lasagna,” her mom replied. She cut a piece and placed it on a plate. “I know it doesn’t compare to how your dad used to make it, but I gave it my best shot.” Her mom was eager to know what she thought.
Becky took a bite. The lasagna was moist and full of flavor. “It’s perfect, Mom.”
Her mom smiled. “That’s a relief. You don’t know how long I’ve been trying to get it just right.”
She went to the stove to fill her own plate.
Becky took another mouthful and said, “So what are you really doing home so early?”
“There was a water issue in our building. It wasn’t safe, so they let us go home.”
“With pay?” Becky asked.
“No, unfortunately. I’m just an hourly worker, so it’s without pay.”
There was silence between them. Becky knew they were struggling financially. Any time her mom didn’t work, they would fall behind on the bills.
“Mom?” Becky said.
“Yes, dear?”
“I miss dad.”
Her mom stared at her and she began to shake.
Becky went over and hugged her. Her mom held her tight.
“I know, baby,” she said. I miss your dad too.”
They both cried at losing someone who meant the world to them.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Osman was on the phone as he hurried down the street. He had called all his contacts, and after two hours, someone had the information he was looking for.
The crack house was above a tattoo parlor. To get to it, you had to go through a narrow alley next to the parlor, turn right, and then go up a flight of stairs. Osman would have never known the house existed had his cont
act not told him.
He raced down the street, found the tattoo parlor, and then proceeded to find his way to the crack house. He grimaced as he tiptoed over syringes and drug paraphernalia. This was another reason he could not wait to leave the business behind.
He sold drugs to just about everyone, but he disliked seeing them as they jacked up. He feared getting poked by one of the contaminated needles. He didn’t believe you had to try your product in order to sell it. This was not some car, computer, or kitchen appliance he was promoting. This stuff already had an established market. The buyers wanted to get their hands on his products as soon as they could.
In his experience, it was not the addicts who made good customers, it was the casual or recreational users. The addicts were certainly repeat customers, but they were usually without money. They would beg, steal, and sell themselves to raise the cash needed to satisfy their addiction, but their money was only enough for that one hit. Afterwards, they were back on the streets hustling to get more money.
The casual or recreational users didn’t know what the drugs went for on the open market. They never haggled with him, and they always paid what was charged. They also came from a variety of backgrounds. Osman sold drugs to executives, lawyers, and even politicians. Once they had their drugs, they couldn’t wait to get far away from him. They didn’t want anyone to see them associating with a drug dealer.
Osman was not offended. He never liked these people to begin with. They thought they were so high and mighty, but in reality, they were weak and pathetic. They thought the drugs gave them super abilities in order to function at a high level, but their addiction made them dependent on the drugs instead.
Osman was able to resist the siren call of drugs, which made him far tougher than all those people combined, even if they never realized it.
He made his way up the stairs and to a weather-beaten door. With his gloved hand, he turned the handle, and as he expected, the door was locked.
He banged his fist on the door and waited.
The door opened an inch a minute later. A young man with shaggy hair and glassy eyes said, “Can I help you?”
The Falling Girl (A Private Investigator Mystery Series of Crime and Suspense, Lee Callaway #3) Page 8
