NINETEEN
Callaway held Nina’s hand tight as he led her up a flight of metal stairs. The Callaway Private Investigations Office was above a soup and noodle restaurant, and the only way to get to it was to take the stairs at the back of the restaurant.
There was no sign anywhere announcing the office’s existence. There was a telephone number taped to the black metal door, however.
The telephone number was a safeguard against certain people who may be looking for him. As a private investigator, he had caught clients’ ex-spouses in compromising positions. Naturally, they did not take too kindly to the invasion of their privacy, and they had wanted Callaway to know how they felt about it.
He had suffered a broken nose, a chipped tooth, and even had a gun pulled on him because of what he was hired to do. It was only business, he would tell them, but even he knew it was more than that. The end of a relationship from infidelity was as personal as it could get. People’s hearts were crushed, and their trust was forever damaged. For some, it would take years before they could start putting their lives back together.
His worst case, from an emotional standpoint, was the breakup of a couple in their seventies. The man was having an affair with his forty-year-old maid. What should have been the twilight of their life, enjoying their many years together, was spent bitterly fighting in court over the division of their assets.
Callaway unlocked the door and held it for Nina. The space inside was small and there were no windows. The office had no air conditioning. In the hot summer months, Callaway would leave the office door open with the fan running at high speed. The heating worked on and off during the winter months. Callaway would have to turn on an electric heater, which he hid under his desk so as to not offend his landlady. The rent was the cheapest in the city, so he doubted she was making any money by renting the office to him.
He had debated shutting down the office permanently, and he had even come close to doing so when he got a job as a security guard. But there was something about the P.I. profession that lured him back.
Is it the unknown that attracts me to it? he thought.
He never knew when the next job would come or what it would be. That feeling of uncertainty was both exhilarating and terrifying. He could get a case like David Becker’s that paid handsomely, or he could not get a single case for weeks or months. During those bleak months, he would question his decision to keep working as a private eye.
He shut the door behind him. There was a sofa in the corner. Across from the sofa was a flat-screen TV, given to him as a gift by a client for a job well done. It was his ritual that whenever he entered his office, the first thing he did was turn on the TV, which was tuned to a 24-hour news channel. He wanted to know what was happening in the city, which also gave him the opportunity to seek out new clients.
If there was a high-profile divorce, he would show up at one spouse’s door to offer his services. If a company wanted a leg up on the competition, he would be willing to dig up dirt on the other companies for a nominal fee.
Private investigation was not the most glamorous or thankful job, but it was one he was good at.
He offered Nina a seat on the sofa. He realized this was the first time she had ever set foot in his office.
“So, what do you think?” he asked apprehensively.
TWENTY
Fisher waited anxiously by her apartment building’s elevators. Only recently had all three finally become functional, but even then, they were old and slow.
Her building was in constant need of repair. The windows were not insulated, the water heater had to be recently replaced, the roof required new shingles, and the corridor carpets had not been changed in decades. There was even an odor emanating from the walls that greeted tenants and guests whenever they entered the building. According to Fisher, the smell was a combination of the uncleaned carpet and the food tenants were cooking.
Fisher had debated moving out, but with the housing market on fire in Milton, which in turn was causing rents to rise, Fisher was relegated to renting.
She was trying to save for a down payment to purchase a house, but the way the market was going, no matter how much she saved, rising prices were still keeping her goal out of reach.
One of the elevators opened, but it was packed with people who had gotten on in the underground parking. She could squeeze herself in between a mother with a stroller and a man with a gym bag, but she decided to take the stairs instead.
Fortunately, she lived on the sixth floor.
Her apartment was painted in bright colors. She had painted the place right after she had moved in. The beige walls had turned an ugly yellow, which was making her feel sick.
The living room and kitchen were on the left, and the bedroom was on the right. At the far end, near the windows, was a room that was once a balcony. The previous tenants had enclosed the space, giving her a small, but extra, room she used as either a meditation room or an office.
Her walls were covered in family photos. She walked over to one which showed all four children standing before their parents’ minivan. She remembered the minivan was an older model that needed constant repairs, just like her apartment building. There were many times the car heater would stop working, and the family would be forced to wear extra layers just to go on a drive. The rear sliding door would constantly come off its hinges, and it required extra strength to shut it completely. The gas gauge was broken, so her dad would have to keep an eye on the odometer to see how much gas was consumed.
Even with all the issues, the long drives the family took together were the happiest moments of her life.
Aren’t the fondest moments of a person’s life in their childhood? she thought.
She stared at Casey. He stood next to her in the photo. He was only four when the photo was taken. He was smiling wide, revealing a missing front tooth. Sam, the second oldest, had whipped a baseball in his direction, knocking the tooth out. Sam was severely punished by their parents, but Fisher knew his fast toss was his way of telling their parents that he and Mike should not be forced to play with Casey, who was much younger than them.
Fisher was left to play with Casey.
She quickly packed a hand carry. She then removed her weapon from her holster. She could not carry a firearm on a commercial airplane. To do so, she would have to get the Milton P.D. to submit an armed travel request/notification through N.L.E.T.S., the National Law Enforcement Telecommunications System computer network. After which, there would be a list of other procedures she would have to follow in order to comply with the safety regulations.
Fisher was not flying to Lockport on police business, and as such, there was no way she could ask her employer to provide her with such a request.
She could carry an unloaded firearm in her checked luggage. But as she was going for a short visit, she did not want to carry another bag with her. She decided to lock her weapon inside a safe in her apartment. She would, however, take her badge with her in case she needed it.
Fisher had managed to get a last-minute flight to Lockport. She checked her watch. She still had an hour to spare before check-in.
She sat on the edge of the bed and shut her eyes.
She wished Casey had told her what the problem was. That would have helped ease the pain she was feeling in her chest right now.
TWENTY-ONE
Nina wiggled her nose and squinted. Callaway had asked her what she thought of his office. She looked around the space and said, “It’s cozy.”
He knew that was a word she had picked up from her mother. Whenever Patti thought something was too small, she would refer to it as “cozy.”
Callaway always hoped that one day he would have a big office in some newly built glass and steel tower overlooking the waterfront, even though he knew that dream was not very practical. The people that came to him wanted anonymity, and a fancy office building would feature CCTV and a twenty-four-hour security guard. He doubted clients who wanted their spouses
tailed would want their visits recorded.
He took a seat behind a desk with a laptop. The laptop was ten years old, but it was still functioning. Why spend good money when it’s not broken? he always thought. However, it took a good fifteen to twenty minutes for the laptop to boot up.
He wished he had a drink to offer to Nina, but he did not have anything. “Do you want to watch some TV?” he asked instead, holding out the remote for her.
She shrugged and took the remote.
While she flicked through channels, he shut his eyes.
His mind flashed back to last night. He was here, working on his laptop when he heard footsteps on the metal stairs. Prior to that, he was seriously considering looking for another security guard position. Work had dried up and whatever money he had made from his last job was running out fast. His office rent was coming due, and even the online want-ad sites were not showing any promise.
He hardly received any visitors, so he became alarmed. He unlocked a desk drawer and drew the registered firearm he always kept there.
He heard a knock at the door.
“Who is it?” he yelled.
“Lee Callaway?” asked a muffled male voice.
“Who wants to know?”
“Can I speak to you?”
“About what?” By now Callaway’s ear was touching the door. He could hear the rhythmic sound of rain hitting the metal stairs.
“It’s about a job,” the man replied.
If Callaway was not desperate for money, he would not have opened the door. But he did, and he found himself face to face with a man in a trench coat.
“What kind of a job?” Callaway asked.
“Do you mind if I come in?” the man asked.
The rain was coming down hard, and the man was soaked from head to toe. Callaway hesitated, but the man’s expensive leather shoes caught his eye.
Would such a well-dressed man want to hurt me? he thought.
He let the man in. His eyes widened when he saw the gun in Callaway’s hand. Callaway apologized and quickly put the weapon back in its drawer.
He did not offer the man a seat. For some strange reason, he was more worried about his sofa getting wet than what the man had to say. He now regretted he was so thoughtless, knowing what lay in store for the man.
“My name is David Becker,” the man had said. His green eyes were weary, and Callaway sensed the man was scared.
“How did you find me, Mr. Becker?” Callaway asked.
“Call me David.”
“Okay, David.”
“I know an acquaintance of yours.”
“Who?”
“Evan Roth.”
Roth was a high-profile defense lawyer, and he was the best of the best. Callaway had saved one of his clients from prison. In return, Roth had helped get Callaway out on bail when Callaway was charged for murder.
“How do you know Roth?” Callaway asked.
“He and I go to the same courthouse, so we cross paths on a regular basis.”
“You’re a lawyer?”
“I am,” Becker replied with a nod. “When I told Evan I had a problem, he told me to contact you.”
“So, what can I do for you?” Callaway asked.
“I need you to find someone.”
“Who?”
Becker removed an envelope from his suit jacket and held it out. “The name is on the back of the envelope.”
Callaway took the envelope. His eyes widened when he saw the bills inside. “That’s a lot of money.”
“It is, and that’s why I need you to work extra hard to find this person.”
“How can I reach you?”
“Don’t worry, I know where to find you.”
Before Callaway could ask another question, Becker turned and walked out the door.
Callaway remembered sitting in his office, dazed and confused. He could not believe his luck. A minute ago, he was contemplating looking for work elsewhere, and here he was holding enough money to get him comfortably through the next couple of months.
The sound from the TV snapped him out of his thoughts. Nina was watching an animated cartoon. She was right, though. He was known to daydream.
With the laptop up and running, he punched in the name David had written on the envelope:
Lana Anderson.
TWENTY-TWO
Alison Becker wailed as she mourned the sudden death of her husband. Holt was at the Becker residence. He wished Fisher was there with him. She was better at this than he was, and not because she was more in tune with people’s feelings than he could be. It broke his heart to see someone in tears. Behind his big, gruff exterior was a sensitive and emotional man who hid his feelings from the world.
He had dealt with his share of tragedies, and when his nephew was coldly murdered, he nearly fell apart. He was happiest when he was working on an investigation. Investigating kept his mind focused on the task at hand. He was able to forget all he had lost over the course of his lifetime.
Alison’s sister came over and wrapped her arms around her.
Word of Becker’s death had reached the family via the media. Holt was relieved that he did not have to break the news to Alison. But at the same time, he felt it was his responsibility to assure the grieving family that he would do everything to find out what happened.
Alison looked up at him, her eyes red and raw. “Why would David do this?”
“I don’t know, Mrs. Becker,” Holt replied. “That’s why I’m here.”
She shook her head. “David was not suicidal.”
Holt knew in an event like this, denial was the first emotion. People did not want to believe their loved one would take their own lives. “Was your husband upset about something?” he asked.
Alison fell silent. She looked at her sister and began to cry again.
Her sister said, “David and Alison were seeing a marriage counselor.”
“Can I ask why?” Holt gently asked.
Alison swallowed. “David and I had separated, but,” she quickly added, “after going to counseling, we were planning to get back together.”
“What were the reasons for your separation?” Holt asked. “I only ask to understand why David would choose to end his life like this.”
She wiped her face with a tissue. “David was under a lot of stress. His practice had shut down.”
Holt moved forward in his chair. “Your husband was dressed as if he was going to the office.”
She smiled, but her eyes were still moist. “David liked getting ready each morning, even if it was his day off. There was never a day that went by where he didn’t shower or shave. It was something he’d picked up from his father. He wanted to be prepared for whatever happened during the day.”
“Why did his practice shut down?” Holt asked.
She sighed. “David was a real estate lawyer. He represented some of the biggest real estate companies in Milton. But then there were accusations leveled against him.”
“What kind of accusations?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to get into it right now. My children are at school. I have to go pick them up and let them know their father is dead.”
Holt extended his condolences again and then excused himself.
As he was making his way down the driveway, Alison’s sister came out of the house. “Detective Holt?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“There is something you should know.”
“Okay.”
“David had moved out of the house. He had rented a condo not far from here.”
Holt mulled this over. “Can you give me his condo’s address?”
She did.
He thanked her and was about to get in his car when he saw a white van pull up to the curb. Holt knew the media was going to descend like vultures. Soon, the front of the house would be swarming with reporters, news vans, and video cameras.
Holt wanted no part of such a circus.
He quickly got b
ehind the wheel of his car and drove off.
TWENTY-THREE
Fisher rolled her hand carry down the “arrivals” concourse. When she exited a set of doors, she found Casey Fisher standing with a smile on his face. In his hand was a sign that read: Fisher & Sons Inc. It was an old joke he loved to use repeatedly, but it was never meant to be cruel. It was his way of poking fun at her because she was the only girl in the family.
Casey was tall, with a full shock of hair, and smooth skin. He usually had a twinkle in his eyes that said he was looking for trouble.
Today, however, he looked weary, and she could see in his eyes that he had not slept properly in days. The smile was forced, something he did to hide whatever pain he was feeling.
The last time she saw him was six months ago. He was happy and excited about his future. Casey had overcome a lot of personal demons to get to where he was. Fisher finally thought her brother had broken through whatever was holding him back.
She walked over to him. He immediately wrapped his arms around her.
She hugged her baby brother as a tide of emotions washed over her.
“Thanks for coming at such short notice,” he said.
“Tell me what’s going on,” she asked, eagerly.
He looked around. “Not here.”
He grabbed her hand carry and led her down the terminal. As they walked, she realized he was holding her hand.
When they were younger, Fisher would hold his tiny hand as they walked to school. Wherever they went, he always grabbed her hand, not one of his brothers. But as he got older, he disliked her touching him. He was a big boy and he did not need his older sister to take care of him.
Right now, he was holding her hand as he did as a little boy.
Her heart sank. What have you gotten yourself into, Casey? she thought.
They walked to his car, an older model blue Hyundai Accent which was parked at the end of the underground garage.
“I’m glad to see you got rid of your BMW,” Fisher said. Casey was not great when it came to money. He was forever buying the latest gadgets, clothes, and electronics. His red 2-door BMW convertible was eating up most of his cash. There were a few occasions where Fisher had to send him money before the car was repossessed.
The Missing Mistress Page 5
