The Dead Daughter

by Thomas Fincham

  “It was stolen.”

  “When?”

  “About a month ago.”

  “Where did you keep it?”

  “In a locked box.”

  “And what happened?”

  “I came home one day, and I couldn’t find the box.”

  “Did you ask Sharon?”

  “She had no idea.”

  “You believed her?”

  “Yes, she had no reason to take it.”

  “Who else knew about the gun?”

  “My father-in-law, Barron.”

  “Why did you tell him?”

  “He was the one who encouraged me to get one.”

  “Why?”

  “Barron supported a bill that would restrict the average person from owning military grade firearms. Once he did, he started getting death threats.”

  “Does he own a gun?” Callaway asked.

  Paul shook his head. “No, because of the optics. The gun-loving public would call him a hypocrite. If he could buy a gun to protect himself, then why couldn’t they?”

  Callaway frowned. “But he was against owning military weapons, not regular weapons.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You were either pro-gun or anti-gun. You were never in the middle, according to some people.”

  “When the Glock went missing, did you ask your father-in-law?” Callaway asked.

  “Of course,” Paul replied. “He told me to file a police report, which I did.” Paul’s face contorted into a mask of dread. “The DA’s office is ready to lay additional charges on me. Even if I manage to avoid the death penalty, I’ll spent the rest of my life in prison. So what’s the point of all of this?”

  Callaway looked him straight in the eye. “If you hold tight and don’t do anything stupid, I just might be able to get you out of this mess.”

  EIGHTY-ONE

  Jay Buchwald worked at a cell phone kiosk in a shopping mall. He was tall with curly blond hair, stubble on his chin, and studs in his ears. He was dressed in a dark blue uniform, and he was showing a smartphone to a middle-aged woman.

  Callaway had found Buchwald’s name through Kyla’s social media web page. Buchwald had clicked thumbs-down on her announcement post. When Callaway had reached out to him, Buchwald was more than willing to meet him.

  Callaway walked around the kiosk. The glass case had several cell phone models on display, along with their respective covers. A colleague of Buchwald’s approached him to help. Callaway pointed to Buchwald, and the colleague understood and moved to the next customer.

  The middle-aged woman smiled whenever Buchwald showed her a feature on the phone. She agreed to purchase it. Buchwald quickly rang up the sale. He also managed to sell her a cell phone screen protector and cover.

  Buchwald turned to Callaway. “You’re the PI, right?”

  “I am.”

  Callaway looked around the mall. “Is there some place we can talk in private?”

  “I have to grab lunch. The restaurants are on the first floor. You can join me, but I can’t talk long. We get really busy at this time.”

  “We’ll talk on the way there.”

  As they walked through the mall, Callaway said, “When we spoke, you mentioned you had dated Kyla. How long ago was that?”

  “We dated for over a year, but she broke it off abruptly. It was at least three months ago.”

  Callaway’s brow furrowed. “Kyla was nine weeks pregnant, so the baby couldn’t have been yours.”

  Buchwald stopped. “When I saw it on the news, that’s the first thing I thought of. I had no idea that she was even pregnant. But then, when I did the math, I knew I couldn’t be the father, you know.”

  “Did Kyla ever talk about Pedro?” Callaway asked.

  “Sure. She talked about him a lot. They were good friends.”

  “Were they ever involved?”

  He shook his head, almost violently. “Are you kidding me? That entire thing on the news about Kyla being pregnant with Pedro’s child is all bullshit.”

  “So, it wasn’t true?”

  “Of course not. Kyla was an only child. She had no siblings of her own, so Pedro was like a brother to her. And he watched over her like she was his sister. When Kyla and I started dating, Kyla insisted I meet Pedro. She actually wanted to see what he thought of me.”

  “If the baby is not Pedro’s, then whose could it be?” Callaway asked.

  “It’s not mine, that’s all I care about.”

  Callaway rubbed his chin. “Did Kyla give you a reason for your breakup?”

  “No. She just called me one day and said she had been doing a lot of thinking, and that it was time we saw other people. I was floored. I thought we had something special between us.”

  Buchwald’s twenty-one. Everything feels special or important at that age, Callaway thought.

  “Did you know about the money she was going to get when she turned your age?” Callaway wanted to push Buchwald’s buttons to see if he said something he should not.

  “Kyla never mentioned it to me,” he replied. “She didn’t like talking about money anyway. I think she saw herself as an average kid.”

  “But you knew she came from wealth, right?” Callaway said.

  Buchwald scoffed. “Hey, listen, I had no idea she was pregnant or that she was gonna get a ton of money, and I most certainly did not hurt her, if that’s what you’re trying to get at. I just liked her lot. She was a lot of fun to be with.”

  “What was her relationship with her parents like?” Callaway asked.

  He shrugged. “She got along well with both of them.”

  “What about her father?”

  “From what I could tell, she had a great relationship with him.”

  “Did you ever meet him?”

  “Sure, once. A friend of mine was having a party, and her father dropped her off. We spoke briefly. I thought he was a cool guy. I just never thought he would kill her, you know.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “Okay,” Buchwald replied as if not believing him. “Hey, I better go. I’m kind of late.”

  “Is there anything you can tell me about her that’s not on the news?” Callaway asked.

  Buchwald thought a moment. “They never mentioned that Kyla was a little insecure.”

  “Insecure? What do you mean?”

  “She was always complaining about how she looked. She thought she was overweight. I didn’t think she was. She didn’t like the shape of her nose. It was a little flat.”

  Much like Gus Holden’s, Callaway thought.

  “I thought it was cute,” Buchwald said. “She wanted fuller lips. I thought they were fine. She always joked she would get her uncle to fix her up.”

  Callaway was confused. “Fix her up?”

  “Yeah, her uncle is a doctor. I think he has his own clinic.”

  Dr. Richard Lester, Callaway thought.

  EIGHTY-TWO

  The Lester Center for Cosmetic Surgery was located in an affluent area of Milton. There were luxury clothing stores, designer shoe and handbag outlets, and a couple of high-end car dealerships.

  A secretary greeted Callaway when he entered the clinic. From afar, the secretary looked like she was in her late twenties, but after a closer look, Callaway saw she was really in her mid-forties. Her eyes gave her real age away. They had a story to tell, and that could only happen for someone who had lived a longer life.

  Callaway introduced himself. He was told Dr. Lester was with a patient. Callaway said he would wait. He was then told the doctor had a busy schedule and to make an appointment. He asked the secretary to let the doctor know who was waiting for him. If the doctor wanted him to come back at a later time, he would.

  Callaway knew it would not come to that.

  He grabbed a magazine and took a seat. The secretary returned and told him the doctor would be with him shortly. He gave her a smile.

  Twenty minutes later, Dr. Lester came out. “Mr. Callaway, I’m surprised to see you here. Why don�
�t you come into my office?”

  They went through a door and headed down a hall that lead to a small room. In Dr. Lester’s office, certificates and degrees covered the wall behind an expensive oak desk. Artifacts from all over the world were displayed in the room. Callaway saw an African headdress, a Native American carving, and a religious statue from Thailand.

  “I’m glad you’ve changed your mind, Mr. Callaway,” Dr. Lester said.

  “Changed my mind?”

  “About the photos you took of my sister that night,” he said with a smile. “Name your price, and I will write you a check.”

  “No, I’m not here about that.”

  His smile faded. “Then why are you here?”

  “It’s about Kyla.”

  Anger flashed in his eyes. “I know you work for my brother-in-law, and while I commend your loyalty to him, I don’t appreciate you showing up at my clinic or my home asking questions about my niece. Your visit to Sharon really shook her up. You can’t imagine what it’s like losing your only child. She is fragile, and what happened has really put her close to the edge.”

  “Close to the edge?”

  “She has contemplated suicide, Mr. Callaway,” he snapped. “I’m seriously concerned for her mental state.”

  Paul’s also on a brink of a mental meltdown, Callaway thought. Not that you would care, though.

  “And when you show up asking questions, it doesn’t help her to move on to the next stage of the grieving process.”

  Dr. Lester took a deep breath to calm himself. “What my brother-in-law did has destroyed our family. The way he brutally murdered my niece…”

  “Alleged to have brutally murdered your niece,” Callaway corrected him. “He hasn’t been found guilty yet.”

  “I hear the evidence is overwhelming against him.”

  Callaway was quiet.

  Dr. Lester looked at his watch. “I am already running behind on another appointment. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

  “Please Dr. Lester, I drove all the way here. I will bill Paul for the hours I put on his case, even if they lead nowhere.”

  Dr. Lester seemed amused by that. “Okay, fine. What would you like to know?”

  “Did Kyla come to you about getting plastic surgery?”

  Dr. Lester’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a personal matter. I’m not sure what this has to do with anything.”

  “I’m just curious.”

  He sighed. “Yes, she came to me. She complained about the way she looked. She wanted me to remove fat around her waist. She wanted me to make her lips more plump. She wanted me to thin her nose. She wanted stuff that most women her age are sensitive about. They are insecure, and they think having a certain look will help them overcome it. As a surgeon who makes his living on women’s insecurities, I will tell you that no amount of cosmetic surgery will make you confident. If you were not happy with yourself before surgery, you will never be happy after it. And so I talked Kyla out of it. I knew Sharon would not have approved of it. Kyla was still young, and she would eventually grow into the woman she hoped to be.”

  “Did you know she was pregnant?” Callaway asked.

  He blinked. “Why would I know that?”

  “I figured as a doctor, she would have confided in you.”

  He shook his head. “From what I heard, she confided in no one. Our family was blindsided when we heard it.”

  “Sorry to have wasted your time, Dr. Lester,” Callaway said.

  Dr. Lester stared at him. His face relaxed. “I understand what you are trying to do for Paul, but my family just wants this ordeal behind us.”

  “I can see that from the press conferences your family keeps holding.”

  “They are my father’s idea, I’m afraid. He has a re-election to consider.” Dr. Lester got up to open the door for Callaway, signaling the end of the interview. Dr. Lester offered his hand, which Callaway shook. “Good luck in your investigation, Mr. Callaway. I wish you the best.”

  When he removed his hand from his, Callaway noticed something.

  “Didn’t you have a bandage on your hand?” he asked.

  Dr. Lester looked confused. “Sorry?”

  “I clearly remember that when you came to my office, your hand was covered.”

  “I might have gotten my hand caught in the door, or something foolish like that. I can be clumsy sometimes.”

  EIGHTY-THREE

  Callaway returned to his office feeling deflated. So far, he had not come up with anything that could help Paul. He should not have made any promises to him. Callaway was used to catching cheaters in the act, not getting people off a murder-one charge. Only once had he captured a killer, and that was with the help of Echo Rose. He was in way over his head. If Roth could not do anything for Paul, what made him so sure he could do something?

  He rubbed his temples. He felt a headache coming on. He could use a drink about now.

  He turned on the TV and froze in his chair.

  Judy Barrows was standing on the courthouse steps. Flanked on either side of her were Holt and Fisher. Holt had a grin on his face while Fisher looked like she would rather not be there.

  Callaway turned up the volume.

  Barrows said, “In light of new evidence, the District Attorney’s Office has laid additional charges against Paul Gardener. These charges are on top of the first-degree murder of Kyla Gardener. They relate to the death of Pedro Catano. I would like to add that neither Mr. Gardener nor his lawyer, Evan Roth, were in court. However, a representative from Mr. Roth’s office was there to hear the charges on his behalf. A written copy has been sent from my office to Mr. Roth’s firm. A court date has been set for Thursday.”

  Only two days away, Callaway thought. Damn.

  “Mr. Gardener is required to enter a plea of guilty or not guilty to these additional charges. Failure to do so may result in the judge taking actions at his or her disposal.”

  Callaway shut the TV off and closed his eyes.

  The rope around Paul’s neck had tightened even further. He had two days to make a decision, whether he liked it or not. Roth would encourage him to plead guilty. He had no interest for this case to go to trial. Paul could not afford one, and Roth did not want to lose one.

  At this stage of the investigation, Callaway doubted very much that a deal was still on the table. Holt would make sure it was not.

  There was no incentive for the prosecution to agree to one anyway. The cards were stacked in the prosecution’s favor.

  It was not a matter of if Paul would spend time prison, it was a matter of how long he would be there.

  If for some strange reason, Paul did not cave into the pressures and still went to trial, he would be looking at the death penalty.

  Callaway could feel the pressure. It was suffocating. He no longer wanted a drink. He just wanted to get far away from Milton.

  EIGHTY-FOUR

  Time was running out, and Callaway knew he had not a minute to spare. He had gotten himself into this, and he had to find a way out.

  He left the office, but instead of going to a bar, he headed to a convenience store and bought a cup of coffee from the vending machine. The coffee was old and stale, but he needed the caffeine to jolt his senses.

  He came back to his office and sat down behind his desk. He opened the file Roth had given him. He took a sip from the cup and nearly spat the coffee out. The beverage tasted bitter. He threw the cup in the garbage.

  He turned his attention to the file and started from the beginning. He wanted to make sure he had not missed anything.

  An hour later, he dropped his head into his palms and closed his eyes. He had found nothing that could help him in his cause. He had gone over everything twice and still had come up empty.

  The entire file was strewn across the office floor. He wanted to grab the papers and toss them out the window.

  He felt defeated. He had lost, and the real killer had won.

  Callaway was certain of Paul’s innocence, and he
wanted to prove it not only to Paul but also himself.

  He sighed. How am I going to break this to him? he thought. I don’t want to push him over the edge and make him kill himself.

  He opened his eyes and saw a photo lying at the foot of his desk. He leaned down and picked it up.

  It was a close-up photo of Kyla’s face, taken when she was found in her bedroom.

  A light went on in his head.

  He rushed out of the office and walked down the block to a pay phone. He did not want his telephone number displayed on the other end. He dialed a number, and after a short conversation, he hung up.

  In his mind, the pieces began to fall into place. He could not believe he had missed this detail when he first saw it. If he had put it together earlier, he could have solved Kyla’s case by now. But he still needed to confirm what he felt to be true.

  He remembered the places Kyla had visited from her social media page. He decided to go check out the last place she had gone to on the day of her death.

  The restaurant was upscale but not snobbish. An eclectic range of clientele were already seated inside when Callaway approached a waiter and asked to speak to the owner.

  After explaining what he wanted, the owner shook his head. “We don’t let just anyone see footage from our security cameras.”

  “But it’s a matter of life and death,” Callaway said.

  “I’m sorry. If you want to see it, then you’ll need to come back with a warrant.”

  “I’m a private investigator.”

  “Exactly. You’re not a cop.”

  Callaway could tell the man was not going to budge.

  He left the restaurant, feeling deeply frustrated.

  EIGHTY-FIVE

  Callaway waited outside the restaurant, watching as a car pulled up to the curb.

  Fisher got out. Callaway had seen no other option, so he called her. She was reluctant at first, but after he begged her, she agreed.

  “This better be important,” she said.

  “It is,” he said.

  They went inside the restaurant. The waiter recognized Callaway and flagged down the owner.

  “She’s a cop,” Callaway said to him.