“So?”
“So why didn’t he wipe the knife after he hid it?”
“Maybe he never expected anyone to find it.”
“But there was blood on the door of the Audi, which lead us to the knife in the first place.”
Holt shrugged. “Maybe he got careless.”
Something still doesn’t feel right, Fisher thought. I can’t argue with a lab report, though.
Holt picked up the phone and punched in a number.
“You’re calling the DA?”
“I already told her. Barrows is beyond ecstatic. But I think we need to turn up the heat on Gardener.”
“So who are you calling?”
“The Milton Inquirer.”
She was surprised. “Why?”
“Even with the knife in our possession, Gardener refused a plea deal. He had to have known we would eventually match his prints. And the blood on the knife could only have come from the victim. I bet he knows something we don’t. He must have an ace up his sleeve.”
Fisher sighed. “You’re giving him too much credit.”
“He is far more cunning than he looks,” Holt said. “I have a contact at The Milton Inquirer. He will relay the fingerprints report to the press as an anonymous tip. Let’s see how Gardener handles it when the entire city knows he did it.”
FORTY-SEVEN
Callaway was back at his office when he checked his voicemail. There was a message from Mike Grabonsky.
Mike had secured a buyer for his investment property. The price was not as high as he had hoped, but with creditors on his back, Mike was grateful to unload the property. He felt an obligation to tell Callaway and was grateful for what he had done for him. Callaway felt it should be him thanking Mike. The five thousand dollars went a long way in helping him clear up his debts too. Sometimes, his job enabled him to do some good for a change. There were only so many cheaters he could follow.
Mike was a decent person who got caught in a situation he did not know how to get out of. When Baxter came looking for him, his primal instincts of fight or flight kicked in. He chose the latter option. Neither made for a good choice. Mike could never have taken on Baxter if he chose to fight him, and sooner or later, Baxter would have found him anyway. The best option, the one Callaway took, was to go back and work out a deal that was beneficial to everyone. It required some clever maneuvering, but Mason got his money, Callaway got his fee, and Mike got back to his family in one piece.
Callaway turned on the TV.
He froze when he saw who was on the screen.
Sharon Gardener stood in front of a large house. Callaway recognized it as her brother’s. Next to Sharon was Senator Barron Lester, her father. He had his arm around her shoulders. Microphones and tape recorders were pushed in front of her.
What the hell? Callaway thought as he turned up the volume.
Senator Lester spoke first. “We were just informed of new information that has surfaced regarding the death of my granddaughter, Kyla. We have further confirmed this information with the Milton Police Department, and I have to say it is true. My son-in-law Paul’s fingerprints were found on the knife used to murder Kyla.”
Callaway grimaced.
Sharon Gardener spoke. “Paul, if you are watching this, we want this ordeal to be over for us. We just want to bury Kyla in peace.”
She broke down in tears and disappeared from view.
Senator Lester took the microphone again. “As you can see, this is a devastating time for our family.”
Wasn’t Paul a member of your family too? Callaway thought. Now you are no longer leaving him to sink or swim. You are leaving him for the sharks to feed on.
“We never thought in our wildest dreams that something like this could happen to us. We have issued our statement, and in doing so, we ask the media to respect our privacy. Thank you for coming.”
Senator Lester moved away from the cameras as reporters began shouting questions. “Do intend to keep running for re-election?” one reporter asked.
Senator Lester turned and said, “Even though this is a tough time for us as a family, I will continue to fight for the people of this state. I know there are families who are going through worse times than us. They have lost loved ones to gun violence, gang violence, and many other forms of violence. With health care being underfunded, threats to reduce social security, and taxes for the rich being cut, there is still so much work to be done. I won’t stop—”
Callaway shut the TV off. I’m in no mood for a campaign speech, he thought.
FORTY-EIGHT
Roth had watched the impromptu statement from the Lester family with a scowl on his face. They were trying to distance themselves from Paul. Even Sharon’s last name at the bottom of the screen did not read Gardener but Lester, her maiden name.
After the family’s statement ended, he immediately called Barrows and gave her a piece of his mind. She denied any involvement, but he did not believe her. It was a tactic he would have used if he were in her place.
They were pushing Paul into a corner so that he would confess to the crime. Even if he refused, the media would jump on the recent development and roll with it. The jury pool was now tainted because the bias against Paul was going to quickly rise. Roth would have to file a formal request for the judge to move the trial to another city, far away from Milton.
In case the judge denied his request, he had to find a way to mitigate the damage that had been done. The first thing he did was call the producer of a local news program. Roth had represented the producer in a sexual harassment case involving him and a female colleague. Roth was able to work out a settlement that satisfied both parties. After speaking to him, the producer was more than willing to accommodate Roth on such short notice.
As Roth was hooked up to a microphone, the program host, a woman in her mid-thirties with blonde hair and long legs, said, “We didn’t have time to prepare cue cards, so I’ll let you do most of the talking.”
Roth gave her a smile. “That’s perfectly fine by me.”
He had come with a prepared statement, and he did not want some eager host to contradict him. The pre-recorded segment would appear later in the day, when the program aired in its allotted time slot. It would not be a live rebuttal to the family’s statements, but it would still have an impact.
When the cameraman gave the signal, the host introduced herself and then Roth. She then turned to him. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity,” he said. “I wanted to speak for my client, Paul Gardener, in order to clear up some misconceptions that have been blatantly distributed to the media. My client is innocent of the crime he has been accused of. Contrary to what the prosecution or anyone else says, he loved his daughter, and he had no motive to harm her. The truth is that the facts don’t add up. The prints on the knife found at the scene may belong to my client, but it still does not mean he committed the crime.”
“Doesn’t it?” the host asked.
Roth smiled. He had given her an opening and she took it. “Of course not. It doesn’t make sense for my client to kill his daughter in cold blood, then place the murder weapon in his car, and then go back inside his house and take a nap. If he did it, he would be scrambling to clean the crime scene of any evidence that might incriminate him, not be concerned about catching up on his sleep. This speaks volumes about his innocence.”
“What about the fact that your client was intoxicated when he committed the crime?” she asked.
Another easy question, he thought.
“If he was drunk, as they have repeatedly said in the media, then how did he have the presence of mind to know that he needed to hide the murder weapon? Also, if the crime was committed in a drunken rage, there would have been more blood at the scene. The fact that no drops of blood were found anywhere else in the house also supports my client’s innocence.”
“Do you think, perhaps, that your client might have been set up?” the host asked.
Roth paused. I never considered t
hat before, he thought. She might be onto something. “That’s a strong possibility,” he said, casually. “We will definitely look into this as time goes on.”
“Before we end our segment, is there anything you would like to add?” the host asked.
Roth looked into the camera. “I would like to say that Mrs. Sharon Gardener,” he said, emphasizing her last name, as she was still married, “has gone on TV and accused my client of committing this terrible crime. I would like to ask her this: Where were you on the night your daughter was murdered? Why did you turn off the security cameras that would have shown the real killer and made sure this ordeal could be over for my client so he can be involved in his daughter’s burial?”
The host smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Roth, for speaking to us.”
Roth smiled back. “Thank you for having me.”
The prosecution had served him a fastball, and he had hit it out of the park.
FORTY-NINE
Callaway frowned in dismay. Reporters had staked out Paul’s mother’s house, and it looked like they were going to be there for a while. They had brought tents, lawn chairs, and even a Winnebago.
After the news broke about his fingerprints being on the knife, the press had descended like vultures. They wanted a glimpse of Paul Gardener, whom they had dubbed “The Baby Killer.” Callaway thought that was an odd moniker, given Kyla was close to the Minimum Legal Drinking Age. But if he thought about it, she was once Paul’s baby. And the name given to him was sensational and sure to sell loads of newspapers and magazines. Even the local news channel had been repeating the Gardener story nonstop for the last couple of hours.
There was no way Callaway could go through the front door. The press would go ballistic. He was surprised that, so far, his name had not appeared anywhere, even though he was the one who had discovered Sharon Gardener’s infidelities. If he was seen meeting with Paul, he would definitely make the six o’clock news. While he believed all publicity was good publicity, Paul’s case was an exception. Being associated with “The Baby Killer” was career suicide.
He decided to find another way in. The back of the house had a throng of reporters gathered behind the fence surrounding the property, so the only other option available was the neighboring houses on each side.
The one on the left had a large Beware of Dog sign on the front lawn. Callaway could not risk getting bitten or have the dog bark, betraying his whereabouts.
He chose the house on the right, but instead of going through there, he went through the house next to it. In a single leap, Callaway was up and over the fence gate that led to the backyard. He then hopped the fence and into the next neighbor’s yard. He looked around, in case anyone was looking, and hopped the next fence too. He was now in Paul’s mother’s backyard. He approached the house and knocked on the back door.
Paul’s mother appeared in the kitchen. She saw him and immediately put her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. Callaway waved at her and smiled. Still horrified, she was reaching for the phone when, to Callaway’s relief, Paul appeared behind her.
He spotted Callaway and took the phone away from his mother. He said something to her, which calmed her nerves. Paul then let Callaway in.
Once seated in the living room, Callaway waited as Paul’s mother made coffee. She thought he was a reporter, and she was about to call 9-1-1. “I’m so sorry,” she had said to Callaway. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Coffee would be good,” Callaway had replied.
Callaway watched as Paul stood by the window. Every so often, he would pull the blind aside an inch and peek out at the people trespassing on his mother’s front lawn.
“We’ve called the police many times,” he said. “They would come, push the press off our property, but the moment the cops leave, the reporters would take up position again. Why can’t they just leave me alone?”
“You’re the man of the hour, I’m afraid,” Callaway replied.
His mother brought Callaway a steaming cup and placed it on the coffee table before him. She also placed a plate filled with cookies. Even with everything happening around her, she was still a good host.
When his mother had left the room, Paul turned to him and said, “Why are you here, Mr. Callaway?”
“I came to give you this,” Callaway said, holding out a USB drive.
“What is it?” Paul asked.
“They are the images I took of your wife leaving the house. I couldn’t give it to you when you were in jail, or else the guards would have taken it,” Callaway replied.
Callaway preferred film over digital because the images could not be altered. He used to pay a guy to use his darkroom at a film-developing studio. Callaway could not trust anyone to do it for him. The images were too sensitive and were for his client’s eyes only. But with the advent of digital photography, the guy went out of business. Callaway had to resort to creating his very own darkroom in the bathtub of his apartment, but then he got evicted and that was no longer an option either. He turned to digital photography out of necessity.
Paul looked at the USB. “Didn’t you already give them to my lawyer?”
“I only gave him some. These are the rest of the photos.”
Paul shook his head. “They are of no use to me now.”
“I figured I should give them to their rightful owner.”
“And also get paid, correct?”
Callaway looked away. He suddenly felt sheepish.
“Don’t feel bad for me,” Paul said with a short smile. “This isn’t your fault. I probably wouldn’t be out on bail had it not been for those photos you took. The judge considered my wife’s testimony—to be more precise, her forever changing testimony—in releasing me.”
Paul left the room and returned with an envelope. “It was five hundred, right?”
Callaway nodded and placed the envelope in his pocket without counting the money. He stood up and said, “Your brother-in-law dropped by my office, and he offered me a nice sum for them.”
“Richard?” Paul asked, surprised.
“Yes.”
“He’s far more dangerous than my wife.”
Callaway waited for him to explain.
“My wife’s brother and her father run everything for the family. The father and son are very close. They always have been, ever since I’ve known them. Sharon is spoiled and naive, but Richard and Barron are calculating and ruthless. They will do anything if it benefits the family. The whole thing on TV with Sharon and Barron was most likely Richard’s doing. They wanted the public to see me as the bad guy and the family as the victim. I’m just collateral damage in their PR campaign.”
“Your daughter is the real victim here,” Callaway said.
Paul’s eyes welled up with tears. “Yes, you’re right. I can’t complain about myself when she is gone forever.”
FIFTY
Callaway left through the back door, twice hopped over the neighbors’ fences, then walked down the street to where his car was parked.
He felt sorry for Paul. He was a prisoner in his mother’s house. Callaway almost wondered if being out on bail was such a good idea. At least in prison, you could shut out the noise from the outside.
He was approaching his car when a large shadow fell over him. He turned and was face-to-face with Detective Greg Holt.
“Oh, it’s only you,” Callaway said, relieved. “I thought it was a reporter.”
“What are you doing here?” Holt growled.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I am keeping an eye on a suspect.”
“Paul Gardener?”
“Good deduction.”
“Well, you’re wasting your time. He isn’t going anywhere. Those reporters outside his house will make sure of that.”
Callaway squinted as something occurred to him. “Let me guess, it was you who went to the press about the knife.”
“I won’t confirm anything.”
“You’re not denying it either.�
��
“I heard Gardener was no longer a client of yours,” Holt said.
“He’s not.”
“In that case, I would advise that you stay away from him.”
“Why is that?”
“He’s going down for murder, and you don’t want to be too close when he does.”
“How can you be so certain he did it?”
“The facts speak for themselves.”
Callaway scowled. “I don’t know about the facts, but have you spoken to him?”
“Of course, we had to get a statement from him.”
“And in it, he said he didn’t do it.”
Holt snorted. “They all do until they are found guilty. You ask any convicted felon and he’ll tell you he is innocent.”
“Okay, let me ask you this. When you spoke to him, did he come across as a smart person?”
Holt eyed him. “Okay, I’ll bite. He seemed smart enough.”
“Well, he had to be. He built a business that was worth close to ten million dollars at one point.”
“It’s not worth that much anymore. In fact, from what I read, it’s bleeding cash.”
“It’s not his fault the economy turned on him.”
“What’s your point in all of this?” Holt asked.
“For a person who seemed smart enough, as you just said, why would he not hide the knife where it can never be found?” Callaway replied.
“Simple,” Holt said. “He never expected he would be caught.”
Callaway frowned. “I doubt that. His wife lived in the very house he supposedly murdered his daughter in. The chance of his crime being discovered was very high.”
“In my years of experience, sometimes even geniuses do very dumb things,” Holt shot back.
They were silent a moment.
Holt said, “There is something else you failed to consider.”
“And what is that?” Callaway said.
“What if he wanted to be caught?”
The Dead Daughter Page 13
