The Falling Girl (A Private Investigator Mystery Series of Crime and Suspense, Lee Callaway #3)

by Thomas Fincham

  Fisher sighed. She knew her emotions were overtaking her judgment. If her superiors found out they had a full confession, they would be irate as to why charges had not already been laid.

  She suddenly regretted not taking Holt up on his offer to return to Milton and help her. He would be able to see this more objectively.

  Or would he? she thought.

  Holt had no appreciation for PIs There was nothing they could do that a police officer could not. He believed PIs skirted the law in order to “solve” their cases. A police officer’s objective was to provide justice, but a PI’s objective was to make money, regardless of how they completed their duties.

  Fisher did not hold the same sentiment. She knew the value of having an extra pair of eyes. Plus, Callaway was a good investigator. He was as determined as her to solve a case.

  Then there was Holt’s personal opinion of Callaway. To say Holt didn’t like him would be an understatement. Holt would relish the chance to poke him in his time of weakness.

  She shook her head. She would have to handle this on her own. She still had seventy-two hours to build her case, enough time before Holt returned.

  She pulled Cameron Kilgane’s card from her pocket. Cameron had told her about Scott’s blackmail, and in return, Fisher had given her word she would let Cameron know the moment they had caught a break in the case.

  This was more than a break. This was a full confession.

  Fisher didn’t want to make the call, but she knew someone in the police department would eventually leak Jimmy’s confession to the press. Might as well be her.

  She dialed Cameron’s number.

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  Becky waved goodbye to Ester and walked out of school. She normally had lunch with Ester in the school cafeteria, but Ester had choir practice. Becky didn’t want to eat alone, so she decided to go home for lunch.

  Becky went around to the back of the school. She cut through the football field and made her way up a side path that led to another street. Her house was seven blocks away, but by taking this shortcut, she could cut two blocks from her journey.

  She was carrying her backpack, and she had her headphones on. They were blaring pop songs. She loved listening to them at full volume. They made her feel empowered on her walk to school and back. She knew she was damaging her eardrums, but it was a ten-minute walk, so she figured it was okay for such a short time.

  She sensed movement behind her. She turned and saw Daniel Bailey running toward her. He mouthed something, but she couldn’t hear him because of the music.

  She pulled the headphones off. “I’ve been calling out your name since the moment I saw you on the football field,” he said.

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” she replied.

  He caught up to her. He was out of breath. “Man, you walk fast.”

  Becky had always been a brisk walker. Whenever she daydreamed, people had to jog to keep up with her.

  “Do you mind if I walk with you?” he asked.

  Becky blushed. She had a crush on Daniel. He always smiled at her when he saw her. Only Ester knew her secret. Did she tell on me? Becky instinctively thought. I’ll kill her if she did.

  “Sure,” Becky replied, turning away. She didn’t want Daniel to see her face burning.

  Daniel got next to her. They walked in silence for a couple of minutes before Daniel asked, “You live nearby?”

  “I’m only a couple of blocks away. And you?”

  “I’m actually on the other side of the school.”

  Is he walking this way just for me?

  “One of my friends lives on Strathmore,” he added. She knew it was a few streets away from her house. “I have to pick up my laptop from him, and when I saw you, I thought I’d tag along.”

  They walked a few more minutes before she asked, “What’s wrong with your laptop?”

  “My friend is going to install a new operating system. I’ve had the laptop for years, and I’ve never bothered to upgrade it. It’s been freezing up on me the past few weeks. I’ve lost a couple of projects I’ve been working on for class.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, genuinely sad for his plight.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now,” he said.

  Her mouth went dry. “You have?” She barely got the words out.

  “Yeah, right after I heard what happened to your dad last year.”

  Is that why he always smiled at me? she thought. He was feeling sorry for me?

  “I lost my dad in a car accident,” he said. “I know how it is to lose someone so quickly.”

  “Oh.”

  “I wanted you to know that if you wanted to talk, or hang around, or whatever, I’m cool with that.”

  She smiled. “I would like that.”

  “Cool, cool, cool,” he said, stammering.

  She could tell he felt the same way about her. It must have taken a lot of courage for him to approach her.

  They walked half a block. His phone dinged. He pulled it out and scrolled through the screen with his finger. “Wow.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “My friend just messaged me. The police caught someone in Dillon Scott’s murder.”

  Becky turned pale. “They have? Are you sure?”

  “If you don’t believe me, you can check on your phone yourself.”

  “My phone battery is low,” she said sheepishly. The truth was that Becky was avoiding all forms of news. She preferred being in the dark over knowing what was happening with the case.

  “Okay,” he said, and he kept staring at the screen.

  She hesitated, but she wanted to know. “Who did they catch? Does your friend know?”

  “Some private investigator… his name is… Jimmy Keith.”

  Her knees suddenly buckled. She grabbed Daniel’s arm for support.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  After she got her bearings, she said, “I’m fine. I just feel a little lightheaded. I have to go.”

  She hurried ahead.

  “Hey, wait, I can walk you home,” he said.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll talk to you later.”

  She didn’t wait for his response. She was already running toward her house.

  SEVENTY-FIVE

  Callaway was at a bar, drowning his sorrows in a glass of scotch. He was in tears as he took one sip after another.

  He was devastated. He could not believe what was happening. Jimmy was not just a mentor to him, he was more like a father.

  Callaway came from a long line of law enforcement officers. His grandfather and uncle were state troopers. His father was a prison warden, while his older brother was a captain for a local county police department.

  Callaway continued the family tradition, but he soon realized he was not cut out for it. To the dismay of his brother, he quit, but it was only after his father had passed away. He couldn’t bear to see disappointment in his old man’s eyes. Once he was gone, Callaway was free to do whatever he wanted with his life.

  The only problem was that he didn’t know what to do with himself. He was lost when he walked away from the sheriff’s department. This was also around the time he left his wife and infant daughter.

  He never regretted leaving the sheriff’s department, but what he did to his family at a time when they needed him most was unforgivable.

  Jimmy is not the only selfish prick around here, Callaway thought. I am just like him.

  Maybe that’s why Callaway was drawn to a man like Jimmy Keith. Jimmy epitomized a life of self-indulgence, danger, and recklessness. Jimmy lived for the day, and he lived for himself. He did care about what happened to those around him, just as long as it did not interfere with his life of fun and excitement.

  It now dawned on Callaway that Jimmy lived a life bereft of responsibility. Jimmy disappeared if things got too personal, which explained why he didn’t return Callaway’s calls these past few years.

  Callaway wanted to work w
ith Jimmy forever. He had even suggested they open up their own agency together. Jimmy was not too keen on the idea. He liked working alone. He also thought it was better for Callaway to strike out on his own. Callaway figured Jimmy was teaching him to be more independent. What he did not realize was that Jimmy was pushing him away.

  For a man who ran away from his problems, why did he confess now? Maybe murder was something he could not just walk away from.

  Jimmy had a lot of faults, but the man also had a lot of good in him. Callaway had seen it with his own eyes, or else he would have left Jimmy a long time ago. Jimmy was kind to the less fortunate. If he had a dollar in his pocket and someone was begging on the street, Jimmy would give him that dollar. Callaway would ask him why he would do that when it was his last penny, and Jimmy’s response would be, “The guy needs it more than me.”

  Jimmy also took on cases where he knew the money did not compensate the amount of work required to complete the job. If there was a wrong that needed to be righted, Jimmy would go out of his way to make it happen.

  Perhaps Jimmy knew he was wrong to hide Scott’s murder, and he saw no other option except to come clean. How else could one explain what he did? Fisher had nothing that linked him to Scott’s death. There was even the possibility she might have never solved the case.

  Callaway shook his head and downed the remainder of his scotch. He waved the bartender over.

  “You sure you should be drinking this early in the day?” the bartender asked.

  Callaway dropped another large bill on the counter. “Keep bringing them, okay?”

  “Sure,” the bartender said, and he returned with another glass.

  Tears streamed down Callaway’s face as he took another long gulp. The scotch burned the back of his throat, and he winced. If he had to go through the five hundred dollars the Hendersons had given him, he would. The alcohol helped numb the pain.

  His mind was swirling with all sorts of emotions. One second he would be angry, the next he was sad, and then it would quickly turn to regret. Emotions were coming at him full-force.

  Someone entered the bar. He felt a shadow behind him. He turned and saw it was his ex-wife, Patti.

  “Lee,” she said. “I just saw the news about Jimmy.”

  There was genuine concern in her eyes. His lips quivered, and then he broke down crying.

  Patti came over and hugged him.

  Callaway let her. He didn’t want to be alone.

  SEVENTY-SIX

  Rain pelted the windshield in a rhythmic motion. The rain had started light, then it turned hard in a matter of minutes.

  Inclement weather was not forecast when Fisher decided to drive twenty miles to a location outside the city.

  She was parked at the edge of a cliff. A sign on the way over warned drivers to be careful. The cliff itself was not steep, but the turn was sharp. There were reports of cars skidding off the cliff.

  Fisher was familiar with the location because she had been here once before, on the night of her high school prom.

  Barry Kessel was the football team’s star defenseman. He was built like an ox. When he asked her to be his date, her friends told her not to accept. Barry was not the most handsome man. He looked more like a Neanderthal. He even had a bushy unibrow.

  Fisher felt sorry for him, so she agreed. But there was another reason why. The boy she had a crush on had asked another girl to be his prom date. Fisher was heartbroken. She even considered not going to the prom.

  The night was awkward. They hardly spoke, and the one dance they had together made them the center of attention for all the wrong reasons. She looked like a princess, and he looked like an ogre.

  Afterwards, she couldn’t wait to go home, but then he asked her to go on a drive with him. She hesitated, but when she saw the eagerness in his eyes, she agreed.

  The moment they arrived at the spot on the cliff, she immediately regretted her decision. If he chose to have his way with her and then dump her body over the cliff, she would be helpless to stop him. She only wished the students at the prom remembered her leaving with him. They could identify him as her killer.

  To her surprise, unlike the other boys in her class, who were prepared to make a move on their dates, he was a complete gentleman. He had brought her to this spot because it overlooked Milton. He had been here countless times. He would sit and think about his future as he looked at the city.

  They talked for hours. She found that behind the rough exterior, he was a kind soul. He disliked football, but he only played it because it stopped other kids from making fun of him. He was thoughtful, intellectual, and he had a wry sense of humor. At the end of the night, she even gave him a kiss. That made him feel special.

  The last she heard of Barry Kessel, he was a professor at Columbia, and he was married with three children. Fisher knew if he could make her feel special for one night, he must make his family feel special every day.

  The rain slowed when she got out of the SUV. She went over to the edge of the cliff and peered down.

  I should call for backup, she thought. I shouldn’t be doing this alone.

  The dirt on the side of the cliff had turned into mud. Scaling down could result in her slipping and falling hundreds of feet to her death.

  She could always come back on a nicer day, but she didn’t want to waste time. She had seventy-two hours to complete her investigation, and she had to confirm or deny that something vital lay at the bottom of the cliff.

  She went back to the SUV, removed a nylon rope from the trunk, and tied one end to the SUV. She tied the other around her waist.

  She slowly and carefully began to scale down the side of the cliff. Her feet dug into the dirt and mud, causing her legs to work extra hard. Her thighs burned, but she made it to the landing twenty feet below. She pulled out a flashlight and shined the light around.

  She spotted what she had come to find. The white kitchen towel had turned dull and brown.

  She reached over and grabbed the towel, pulling it closer until she was holding it. She unwrapped the towel and found an ivory bookend shaped like a Roman column.

  The bookend had been cleaned of fingerprints, but that didn’t matter. The bookend was an obvious match for the other found at the scene of the crime.

  Fisher had found the bookend exactly where Jimmy had told her it would be.

  Jimmy was telling the truth.

  He had murdered Dillon Scott.

  SEVENTY-SEVEN

  Becky entered the house. She spotted her mom in the living room. Becky had forgotten her mom started work late that day.

  “I didn’t know you were coming home for lunch,” her mom said with a smile.

  Without replying, Becky raced up the stairs and went straight to her room. She shut the door and fell on the bed. She covered her face with a pillow and began to sob uncontrollably.

  It was not supposed to be like this. He had assured her everything would be okay. He told her he would take care of things, so how did this happen?

  A part of her wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, telling the world the truth as she did, but she could not. Her mom had been through so much already. She didn’t deserve to be in the middle of her daughter’s mess.

  She pushed the pillow aside. She couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone had gripped her throat and was squeezing tight. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

  She sat upright. Her chest tightened as if she was deep underwater and the pressure was crushing her like a can. The walls were caving in on her. She wanted to get out, but where could she go? Who could she turn to now?

  He made her promise him she would let him handle the matter. She would not get involved. She had kept her end of the bargain, but how could she keep her mouth shut now? She couldn’t hide the truth forever. It was bound to come out.

  What if it doesn’t? she thought. What if no one ever knows that I was responsible for what happened?

  She hugged herself and began to cry again. She was scared, even
more so than the time she heard her dad was gone. She feared for the future without him. He was the foundation that kept her and her mom steady.

  Somehow they had managed to get through the year. Her mom grieved in silence, but Becky had a shoulder to cry on.

  Now even that was gone.

  There was a knock at the door. “Honey, are you okay?”

  Becky wiped her eyes. “I’m… I’m fine, Mom.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Mom… I just need…”

  “Becky, please…”

  She hesitated for a moment, but she relented. “Okay, Mom.”

  Her mom entered. The moment she saw her, she said, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  Becky covered her face with a pillow. She could not face her mom. Not like this.

  Her mom came over and sat next to her. “You can talk to me, you know that, right?”

  “I know, but I can’t.”

  Her mom waited a moment before she asked, “Do you want me to cook you something special?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Okay, so you’re not hungry, and you don’t want to talk. I’m certain you’re upset about a boy? Is it Daniel Bailey?”

  Becky pushed the pillow aside and asked, “How do you know about Daniel?”

  “I’ve heard you mention his name on the phone.”

  Becky scowled. “Have you been eavesdropping on my conversations?”

  Her mom smiled. “When you and Ester talk on the phone, you don’t realize there are other people in the house. These walls are made of drywall, not concrete.”

  Becky placed the pillow back over her head. “This is not about Daniel.”

  “Then what is it about?”

  “Please leave me alone, Mom.”

  Silence hung between them.

  Her mom sighed. “After your dad died, the only thing I wanted to do was stay inside my room and cry. I did that for many days. I’m sure you heard me.”

  Becky did, but she never told her.

  “Your father was not only my husband, he was also my best friend. I couldn’t see myself going forward alone. I thought about swallowing a bottle of pills to end my misery.”