The Dead Daughter

by Thomas Fincham

  “Kyla Gardener was nine weeks pregnant.”

  Fisher almost dropped her cup. “She was?”

  Holt’s smile widened. “She sure was. I have the tests right here to prove it.”

  Fisher pondered this new development. “Okay, but why are you smiling?”

  “It’s simple. Kyla wanted to marry Pedro because she was carrying his child. When Gardener found out about it, he went into a rage, and he killed Kyla and then Pedro. He knew if Pedro married Kyla, Pedro would also be in line to get the money. Gardener must have also known Kyla wasn’t his biological child. This made getting rid of her all the more easy.”

  Fisher stared at her cup in silence.

  Holt said, “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “We have the motive we were searching for all along.”

  SIXTY-ONE

  Callaway parked the car across from the apartment building. It looked different in daylight. The exterior was gray, and the main doors were white.

  The last time he was here was at night. There was hardly anyone he saw. Every once in a while, a car would enter the property and disappear around the back. He figured that was where the tenant parking was.

  It was an entirely different scenario than before. Several cars were lined up by the apartment’s front entrance. They were waiting to drop off or pick up passengers. Even the visitor’s parking lot was full.

  He had driven by the Gardener residence on his way here. There was still yellow police tape across the front door. On the front lawn was a makeshift memorial for Kyla. Someone had stuck a piece of four-by-four on the ground with her photo taped on it. Around it were flowers, cards, even teddy bears that neighbors, friends, and strangers had left behind.

  He had wanted to go inside the house and see the crime scene for himself. He was not sure what he would find if he did, but curiosity was getting the better of him.

  He watched as people walked in and out of the apartment’s front lobby.

  I shouldn’t be here wasting my time, he thought. I should be in my office drumming up more business.

  Somehow, it felt like his assignment from Paul was incomplete, as if there was still more he had to dig up. But what? Paul’s lawyer and the prosecutor had his photos. If there was anything relevant in them, they would have followed up on it by now.

  Why haven’t they? he wondered.

  Maybe neither of them cared what Sharon was up to that night. They were more focused on Paul and what happened at the Gardeners’ home. If his wife was being unfaithful, that was a personal matter between a husband and wife, not related to the crime itself.

  Callaway did not entirely agree with that. Every action had a reaction. What if Sharon had not left her home that night? Would Kyla still be alive? Callaway had to believe the answer was yes.

  Sharon would have prevented her husband from hurting their daughter. Even if she was under the influence of the sleeping pills and had no idea what was happening in the room next to her, the alarm system would have still been operational. That would have deterred Paul from doing anything rash out of fear that the cameras would capture something. He could disable the security if he wanted to, of course, but that would mean Paul was not intoxicated and had the presence of mind to plan the entire crime.

  There were so many what-ifs, but none of them changed the fact that a young woman was brutally murdered.

  He started the car, but instead of driving away, he pulled into the building’s visitor parking lot. He found a spot and got out. He walked to the main doors, wondering how he could get into the building.

  He spotted a girl holding the door for her mom. The mom was pushing a baby stroller. Callaway rushed over and helped the girl with the door. He smiled and the girl smiled back. He watched as the mother and daughter walked to a waiting car.

  He went inside and scanned the lobby directory. He did not see a name he recognized. He was about to leave when his eyes caught a stack of mail sitting on a ledge below the directory. He was not sure why, but he reached for it. There were about a dozen envelopes.

  He flipped through the envelopes, wondering what he was looking for.

  When he saw the name on one of the envelopes, he stopped.

  Dr. Richard Lester.

  Callaway’s eyes widened. So that’s why he paid me a visit, he thought. He wanted to buy the photos to spare him embarrassment, not his sister, because the photos would reveal she used his apartment as the place to meet her lover the night her daughter was murdered.

  SIXTY-TWO

  Paul’s hands shook as he wiped his eyes with a tissue. Roth had just broken the news to him. He wanted to do it in person, and so he had a taxi pick him up and bring him to his office. Roth did not want to go through the press waiting outside Paul’s mother’s house. By now, the news would be spreading like wildfire, and the questions would be unrelenting.

  When Roth had received the call from Barrows, he did not believe it at first. It was only when she sent him a copy of the lab report of the blood and DNA tests that he was able to confirm it. She did not have to inform him of the lab results. She said she was doing it out of professional courtesy.

  Roth knew she was not.

  Barrows wanted him to know that her case was strengthened by the new discoveries. The prosecution might even consider going for the death penalty unless Roth was able to convince his client to plead guilty, which he had no intention of doing. Until now.

  But there were a few things he wanted to clear up first. “Paul,” he said, starting gently, “Did you know Kyla was not your daughter?”

  Paul looked up. His eyes were red. “I had no idea. I swear. Maybe I should have sensed something was wrong when Sharon wanted to get married the moment she broke the news to me that she was pregnant. I didn’t ask a lot of questions. We had only been intimate once. But I didn’t care. I was over the moon with excitement. I was going to be a father, and guys like me don’t marry girls like Sharon. She was beautiful, confident, and she came from a family with money. I was struggling to pay my bills and my student loans. I remember it being the happiest time of my life.” His chin dropped to his chest. “I had no idea she only wanted to get married because the baby she was carrying was someone else’s. I need to speak to Sharon. I need to speak to my wife right now.”

  “Your ex-wife.”

  Paul looked at him, confused.

  “Sharon’s filed for divorce. I was going to tell you when the time was right. You already had a lot on your plate.”

  Paul was silent. He stared at nothing in particular. A few minutes passed before he lifted his head and said, “Then I need to talk to my ex-wife. I need answers. I’m owed that much at least.”

  “She doesn’t want to talk to you, Paul. The documents were delivered to my office, not your mother’s residence. I think she is hoping to use me as an intermediary, as I am currently your lawyer. I don’t specialize in divorce cases, but I’ll take care of this for you at no extra charge.”

  Paul was suddenly offended. “I can pay you. I have the money.”

  “No, you don’t,” Roth said. “The retainer is almost gone. Your business is on the brink of insolvency. And with a divorce on the horizon, a judge may freeze your personal assets until both you and your wife reach a settlement.”

  “What are you saying?” Paul asked.

  “If this case goes to trial, you might not be able to afford me.”

  SIXTY-THREE

  Callaway walked up the metal stairs to his office when he saw Fisher was waiting for him by the front door.

  “Okay, what did I do now?” he asked, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Is Holt waiting in a squad car around the corner?”

  “Very funny, Lee,” she said. “If I came to arrest you, I don’t need Holt. I can haul your ass to the station all by myself.”

  Callaway shrugged. “I can’t argue with that. So is this a professional visit, or a personal one?”

  “A little bit of both.”
<
br />   “Okay.”

  “I came to tell you that we have enough evidence to seek the death penalty in Paul Gardener’s case.”

  Callaway grimaced. “I bet it was Holt’s idea.”

  “It was, but I can’t find any reason to disagree with him.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I’m telling you because Gardener is your client.”

  “He used to be my client. He’s not anymore. We had this discussion before, remember?”

  “So you don’t care what happens to him?”

  “I don’t,” he said.

  He moved past her and unlocked the door to his office.

  “In that case,” she said, “sorry to have wasted your time, Lee.”

  She started to move down the stairs.

  Callaway sighed.

  “Stop,” he said. “I do care.”

  Fisher walked back up.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But my gut is saying it’s all too convenient.”

  “Convenient?”

  “The body in the house, the knife in his car, his prints on the knife, the fight he had with his daughter on the morning of her death. It smells like it was staged.”

  She raised her eyebrow. “Staged?”

  “Yeah, like someone wanted Paul charged for the crime.”

  “You’re beginning to sound like his defense,” she said. “You might not have heard this on the news yet, but on top of everything you just said, Kyla was also pregnant, and she’s not Gardener’s biological child.”

  “Whoa,” Callaway said in disbelief.

  “Whoa indeed.” After Fisher let her words sink in, she said, “The case is overwhelming against your client.”

  “But you don’t believe he did it.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What makes you say that?”

  “Why else would you drive all the way here to tell me?”

  She sighed and looked away. “I don’t know about the whole ‘staged’ angle, but I do know something doesn’t feel right about this. Holt’s got his man, but I don’t feel I do.”

  “I was there that night,” Callaway said.

  “We all know that.”

  “But what you don’t know is that I was there long before Paul or even Sharon showed up.”

  “Okay.”

  “When you are following a target, you have to be at a spot early, and you have to be willing to stay late. I watched that house like a hawk. I saw Sharon drive up to the house. She had grocery bags with her, so I assumed she had gone out shopping. I saw Paul pull up into the driveway. He was dressed in a suit, so I assumed he was returning from work.”

  “Where’re you going with this? I don’t have all day.”

  “But I never saw Kyla come home.”

  Fisher shrugged. “Were you there all day?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then how do you know she wasn’t home already?”

  “When I arrived at the house, the sun had started to come down. While I waited in my car, I watched as the streetlights were turned on. But you know what’s odd? No lights inside the house came on during that time. Only when Sharon showed up and went inside did the house become illuminated.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “What if Kyla was never at home that night?”

  “How’s that possible? She was found by her mother in her bedroom the next morning.”

  “I don’t know, but I’m telling you, no one was home when I got to the house.”

  SIXTY-FOUR

  A tearful Luiz Catano stood outside his apartment building, facing a battery of cameras and a throng of reporters. He was flanked on one side by his wife and two daughters, and on the other by Senator Barron Lester.

  Senator Lester spoke first. “I never imagined I would have to stop my campaign yet again to speak on another tragedy that has struck my family. The death of Pedro Catano has affected us deeply. Luiz has been a loyal employee of ours for years. He was there before I became a senator of this great State. He was even there before I started my private hedge fund, which made me a very successful man. Luiz’s loss is our loss, and so, I will be covering all funeral expenses. I will also set up a trust fund so that Luiz’s remaining children have the opportunity for a higher education.”

  Senator Lester moved aside to let Luiz speak, “I would like to thank Senator Lester for coming to my home and for telling me how sorry he is about Pedro. I have worked for the Lester family for almost thirty years. When I came to this country, I had no money in my pockets. Mr. Lester gave me a job, and I was able to raise my family. Pedro was…” He suddenly choked up in tears. “Pedro was going to work for the Lester family too, but now he is gone.”

  Senator Lester put a hand on Luiz’s shoulder to comfort him.

  “I can tell you the Lester family are good people. They care about people like me. But I don’t think Mr. Paul Gardener is a good man. I think he hurt Pedro and I think he hurt his daughter.”

  Senator Lester quickly took over. “I apologize for Luiz’s outburst. He is suffering like any father would be under the circumstances.” Senator Lester held up a newspaper. “What’s written in here has caused us a great deal of stress. The facts speak for themselves. The evidence against my son-in-law is irrefutable, I’m afraid. That’s why I am imploring him to do the right thing so that we can put this tragedy behind us. I yet again thank the Milton Police Department for the excellent job they have done. I yet again ask the media for some privacy. The Catano family has lost a son. We have lost a daughter. Let us grieve in peace. Thank you.”

  SIXTY-FIVE

  Callaway was back at Paul’s mother’s house. Instead of taking the back route, he decided to go through the front. The press had doubled from the last time he was here. They had not only clogged the street leading up to the house but had also taken over the house’s front lawn.

  He parked two blocks away—there was no parking any closer—and made his way toward the house.

  The press came alive the moment they saw him approach. Cameras turned in his direction. Reporters jumped out of their cars and vans. Photographers began snapping photos.

  He almost wished he had hopped the neighbors’ fence, but he knew the chance of not getting seen this time was slim to none.

  The pressed converged around him like a mob, but they did not impede his path. They yelled questions, they took photos, they rolled their cameras.

  He merely smiled and walked straight up to the house. He rang the doorbell. He could feel the press crowding in behind him. They wanted a photo of Paul Gardener.

  The front door opened an inch, and Callaway slid inside. Paul was behind the door. Callaway had called before coming. Paul was not in the mood to see anyone, but Callaway was persistent.

  Paul stood motionless in the dark hall, as if he feared coming out into the light would burn him. Callaway did not blame him. If he were in his place, he too would want to hide from the world.

  “How’re you holding up, Paul?” Callaway asked.

  Without replying, he moved to the living room. Callaway followed him. Paul stopped at the fireplace and turned to him. He had aged significantly from the last time Callaway had seen him. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes were dead, and his lips were curled in a frown. He looked like a man who was defeated.

  “Did you see the news?” he asked.

  Callaway knew he was referring to the press conference outside Luiz Catano’s apartment building. “I did.”

  “It’s a charade by Sharon’s family to push me further into the corner,” Paul said. “They would rather I disappear than affect the family negatively in any way.”

  “Or affect Senator Lester’s campaign for re-election.”

  Paul considered this. He nodded. “I’m thinking of pleading guilty. Roth has advised me to consider it.”

  “He has?”

  “He doesn’t think I can afford a lengthy trial.”

  “And can you?”

  “No,” he said slowly. �
��Ever since this nightmare started, I haven’t gone back to work. I have no idea how much worse things have gotten. You may not know this, but my software company is underwater.”

  Callaway was aware before he took Paul as a client. He liked to conduct a background check on each client to find out more about them. But he always assumed Paul was good financially because of the Lester family name. He never imagined they would cast him aside like a leper.

  “But if you confess to the crime,” Callaway said, “you could be looking at a long sentence, even life.”

  “What choice do I have? I don’t have the money to fight them.” Paul put his face in his hands. “What if they are right? What if I did kill my daughter in a fit of drunken rage?”

  SIXTY-SIX

  “Did you kill your daughter?” Callaway asked.

  “I don’t know,” Paul said. “I don’t remember much from that night.”

  “What if you had?” Callaway asked.

  “It’s something I’ve agonized about over and over in my head.”

  “She wasn’t your biological daughter,” Callaway said.

  “I loved her and adored her,” Paul said firmly. “I didn’t know the truth until now, so why would I hurt the little girl I raised as my own?”

  There’s that conviction again, Callaway thought.

  “Before you do anything that could change your life forever, let me look into this,”

  Callaway said.

  Paul stared at Callaway. “You want me to hire you?”

  “Yes, I’m much cheaper than a high-priced lawyer.”

  “I don’t have much money left over. Whatever I had went to retain Roth’s services.”

  “Whatever you do have will help in my investigation.”

  Paul walked over to the window. He did not dare open the drapes. The mob outside would descend on the front porch like a horde just to snap a photo of him. He said, “If this is your attempt at squeezing money out of someone who is desperate, then I loathe what you are doing.”

  “I can squeeze far more money out of cheaters and philanderers. They will pay up on the spot just to make me go away, so this is not about money. But I do need it for out-of-pocket expenses. And I will waive my own fee.”