Fenton frowned. “That’s a question I’ve been thinking about all morning.”
“Did you notice anything different about him in the last couple of days?”
Fenton frowned. “Different?”
“His behavior. Was it erratic, or out of character? Something that you found alarming, perhaps.”
Fenton shook his head. “I can’t be sure. I didn’t see David in his office for weeks or maybe even a month.”
“Hmmm,” Holt said.
“Ever since I caught someone in his office.”
Holt’s eyebrows arched. “Someone broke in?”
“I’m not sure, but I know David was not in that day. When I confronted the man, he abruptly left.”
“What did this man look like?”
“He was dressed in a black suit. I remember his skin was whiter than white, but it was his eyes that gave me the chills.”
Fenton shivered.
“What was he doing in the office?” Holt asked.
“He was going through the office cabinets.”
“Do you know what he was looking for?”
“I have no idea. I asked who he was, but he didn’t say a word and walked out. I thought about following him, but like I said, the man scared me. I called David right away and told him what happened. He drove over immediately,” Fenton said. “I didn’t see the man carry anything with him, but even then, David went through the office to see if anything was missing. I told him to call the police and report it, but I’m not sure if he did, because I didn’t see any police officers come by the place. After that day, David started coming to the office less and less.”
“Did you ever see that man again?” Holt asked.
“No, never.”
THIRTY-THREE
The light streamed through the branches and trees, almost giving the space a majestic feel. It would have made for a picturesque view had a murder not taken place in the vicinity.
Fisher was at Pine Trail. She wanted a firsthand view of the crime scene. Normally she would flash her badge and gain instant access, but she was not on duty and she was out of her jurisdiction.
A string of yellow police tape, spanning a quarter of a mile, surrounded the scene. Fisher had to park a good distance away and then walk to where Miranda Temple’s body was found.
When Miranda Temple had not returned home the day she met Casey, her family contacted the police. The police informed them they would only open an investigation if she did not return after twenty-four hours. Her family did not wait that long. They contacted local media, and when the news broke of her disappearance, people came forward and said they had seen her get in a blue Hyundai at Leaside Forest Park. One viewer even provided a partial license plate number. By the time the police tracked the Hyundai to Casey, Miranda Temple’s family had organized a search.
It was her brother who had discovered her on the slope next to Pine Trail.
Fisher could not imagine what he must have felt when he saw his sister’s body. Her heart went out to Miranda’s family.
Fisher winced. She could not believe Casey had gotten himself into something as tragic as this.
She peeked over the side of Pine Trail and saw how steep the slope was. It would not be hard for someone to slip and roll to the bottom, which, by Fisher’s estimate, was a good thirty feet down.
She noticed no streetlights on the trail, which would make it near impossible to see if someone was at the bottom of the slope during the night. She also noticed no security cameras. She was not really expecting them to begin with. Parks and trails rarely had them. The cost to install and maintain them would be prohibitive. But it would have been nice to have something tangible to work with instead of relying on people’s memories.
Witnesses said they saw Miranda with Casey. A fact Casey never denied. But it would be nice to know what happened after Casey left Miranda by the side of the road. According to him, she was alive when he drove off.
Why didn’t you just drop her at the bus stop? Fisher thought with a sigh. There would have been other people who could have confirmed your statement.
Several news vans were gathered near the area where Miranda’s body was found. Fisher decided against going further. She did not want someone recognizing her and asking questions.
She went back to her car and drove to Leaside Forest Park.
Casey was right. It took a little over five minutes to get there.
The park was an open grassy area as far as her eyes could see. It was surrounded by the Leaside Forest, hence the name. The leaves had started to turn orange and yellow. Fall was on its way and soon the area would have a golden glow.
She spotted people walking their dogs or pushing strollers on the cement path that snaked through the park.
On any other day, Fisher would have loved to jog through the park, maybe even try the mountain bike trail that went through the forest.
Right now, her mind was preoccupied with Casey.
She was not sure how she was going to get him out of the situation he had gotten himself into.
THIRTY-FOUR
Callaway stared at the building before him and frowned. The Better Living Nursing Home was in east Milton. The place was completely white with a flower garden in the front and benches all around.
Elderly men and women sat on the benches talking to each other or staring at nothing specific. A few of them sat in wheelchairs.
He had found that a Lana Anderson lived at this address. He never thought the address would turn out to be a long-term care facility.
Callaway parked in a visitor’s spot and got out. He walked inside and looked around. He spotted a woman in a white uniform.
“Hi there,” he said with his best smile. “I’m looking for Lana Anderson.”
The nurse eyed him up and down. “You are?” she asked.
He had not prepared a cover story, so he told the truth. “I’ve been hired by someone to find her.”
“Who?”
“I can’t say, but I must speak to her.”
“Does this have something to do with her will?”
“Her will?” he asked, confused.
“From what I heard, her family used to be worth a lot of money?”
“Used to be?”
“They were into real estate properties, but I think they sold most of it years ago.”
Callaway’s heart started beating faster.
David Becker was a real estate lawyer.
Did I just hit a home run at first bat? he thought. It can’t be this easy, can it?
The nurse said, “We’ve had her family drop by occasionally, asking how she is doing. I think they are waiting for her to die. As far as I can tell, she doesn’t have any money left, so I’m not sure why they want her gone so fast.”
“This has nothing to do with money,” he assured her. “I just need to ask her a couple of questions, that’s all.”
The nurse was about to say something when a resident started screaming at the TV in the main lounge.
“Terrence,” she yelled. “You have to calm down.”
Terrence threw his walking cane at the screen.
“You know we don’t tolerate that kind of behavior,” the nurse said.
Terrence gave her a rude sign with his middle finger.
“All right, you asked for it,” the nurse said, storming over to him.
Callaway took this as his cue and hurried down the hall. He was not sure how he would find Lana Anderson, but fortunately, all the rooms had the occupant’s name in big bold letters. Some even had family photos taped to the doors, so the resident would know which room was theirs.
The door to Anderson’s room was open, and he found her sitting in an armchair. She had stark white hair, wrinkled skin, and she looked frail.
Her eyes were closed.
Callaway hated having to disturb her, but he did not want to come back later and risk the ire of that stubborn nurse.
“Ms. Anderson?” he gently asked.
; Her eyes opened. “Yes?”
He walked up to her. “Someone asked me to find you.”
“Who?”
“David Becker.”
She looked puzzled. “David?” she slowly said.
“Yes. Do you know him?”
A smile crossed her face. “Of course, I know him. David is my son.”
Callaway’s jaw nearly hit the floor.
My task is complete!
“Yes, your son wanted me to find you.”
“Why isn’t David here with you?”
He paused. “I’m afraid David is gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yes. He’s dead.”
She put a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God!”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Her eyes moistened. “How did he die?”
“Um…” Callaway said, struggling to find the right words. “He killed himself.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
She covered her face with her hands and wept quietly. She then said softly, “David was different than the others. He was hardworking and honest. Deborah and Jane were conniving and cruel. All they cared much about was money. I blame their father for spoiling them. We had money, lots of it, and as the two eldest, they were given whatever their hearts desired. David came much later when things weren’t as financially rosy as before. But we still had properties all over the country, even if their value wasn’t what it used to be. Deborah and Jane had their eyes on them, and when Gill died of cancer, I was lost and confused. They took advantage of it and tricked me into bequeathing the properties to them. After my stroke, they threw me in this nursing home. David begged me to come and stay with him, but I knew I couldn’t leave. I was born and raised in Milton, and I plan to be buried next to Gill.”
Callaway blinked. Something doesn’t sound right, he thought.
“Where did David plan to take you?”
“Botswana.”
His knees almost buckled. “Did you say Botswana? As in Africa?”
“Yes,” Anderson replied. “David works for Doctors Without Borders. I can’t live in a foreign country, not at my age.” She covered her face again. “I can’t believe my darling David is dead.”
Callaway was stunned. I’ve just made a terrible mistake.
THIRTY-FIVE
Fisher decided to go to a fast food restaurant. She wanted a quick bite to eat, and to take some time to find out more about the case.
She had hoped Nunes would be more forthcoming when they met, but she could not blame her for being reticent. Fisher was the main suspect’s sister. On top of that, Nunes was in a relationship with the suspect.
Fisher would worry about that when the time came. Right now, she had to gather all the facts.
She ordered a combo from the drive-thru and then parked the car in the restaurant’s back lot. While she munched on the burger, she did an online search via her cell phone and reviewed all the news articles about the case.
She quickly realized most of the coverage was done by one reporter.
Heather Keele worked for The Lockport Chronicle. The paper was widely read, and as such, Keele’s reporting would go a long way in establishing public opinion for or against Casey.
What Fisher read troubled her.
Keele had dug deep into Casey’s past. She reported Casey’s brush with the law as a teenager. Casey was arrested for drunk driving, smoking marijuana, and vandalism.
Fisher knew the reason for her brother’s rebellious behavior.
A few days after he turned sixteen, Casey went to a party with his best friend. Afterwards, his friend, who had a license, decided to take Casey for a joyride. Sometime that night, they met up with a group of boys and made the ill-fated decision to drag race. Things did not go as they had hoped. The car Casey and his friend were in ended up crashing into another car. The driver of that car survived, but Casey’s best friend died on impact. Miraculously, Casey walked away with nothing more than a few scratches.
After that day, Casey was not the same. He went from being a sweet kid to a full-out punk. He grew his hair long, began dressing in black clothes, and he also dabbled with hard drugs.
Casey’s grief was too much for him to bear, compelling him to embark on a path of self-destruction. Fortunately, with the help of family and friends, as well as years of therapy, Casey was able to turn his life around.
Fisher feared that with the spotlight on him now, his life might unravel like before.
She moved on to other articles by Keele. Her portrayal of Miranda Temple was that of the girl next door. Miranda was a top student. She volunteered at the homeless shelter and she hoped to one day work for a non-profit organization. The accompanying photo of Miranda showed her in a cheerleader outfit, posing for the cameras.
She had smooth blonde hair, sparking blue eyes, and a smile that was inviting. Fisher could see why Miranda was popular at school. She looked like she made friends easily.
Keele’s view of Casey, however, was not glowing in the least. Fisher never expected Keele would be personally sympathetic toward her brother, but her reporting should be balanced.
Casey came across as a rogue teacher with a checkered past. There was even an assertion that perhaps Casey had tried to lure Miranda into a relationship. According to Casey, it was Miranda who was trying to seduce him. It did not help that she was seen getting into his car, so Fisher could not argue against Keele’s claims.
Fisher got the feeling that Keele was out to get Casey.
THIRTY-SIX
Holt was back at his desk at the Milton P.D. No matter how many times he saw the footage of David Becker falling to his death, he felt like he was watching it for the first time.
The Milton Department of Transportation had sent CCTV footage from the freeway and overpass, showing the incident from every angle.
Becker’s Mercedes pulled to the side of the overpass. He got out and looked over the railing. Another vehicle pulling up behind his Mercedes. The driver talked to Becker to discourage him from doing anything rash. Next moment, Becker heaved himself over the railing and was gone.
The footage from the freeway showed him dropping onto a sedan. The sedan braked, and a Ford truck slammed into it from behind, pushing the sedan into the concrete barrier. The driver of the truck got out to survey the scene. He then pulled a hysterical woman from the sedan.
Holt pinched the bridge of his nose. Becker’s death was exactly how witnesses at the scene said it happened.
So why am I investigating a suicide then? he thought. I have other cases that need my attention.
His desk was covered in files ranging from gang-related shootings, to fatal armed robberies, to hit and runs.
All the cases involved death, which meant there were grieving loved ones who wanted answers and justice. Until those who were responsible for their loss were punished, they would not get the closure they deserved.
They were relying on Holt to provide them that closure.
And here he was obsessing about a man who chose to end his own life. No one pushed him, no one forced him. He jumped on his own free will.
Or did he?
That was the question that troubled Holt.
If Holt had decided to kill himself, what would he do right before he did it? The answer was simple. He would call his family if only to hear their voices one last time.
Becker’s children were aged eleven and nine. Mrs. Becker stated that her husband had not called them anytime in the morning before his death.
The day before, he was supposed to take the kids out to the movies, but he cancelled at the last minute. He said something had come up and required his immediate attention.
What was more important than spending time with his children? Holt thought. Especially if he was preparing to end his life?
Holt turned his attention to Becker’s briefcase. He had already gone through the contents, pulling each item out one by one. There was nothing that stood out to him
.
He grabbed the loose papers and folders and began to place them back inside the briefcase when something flew out of one of the folders and landed on his shoe.
He reached down and picked up the piece of paper.
It was a bank slip.
He was about to stuff the slip in the briefcase when he noticed the date. It was from yesterday, and the amount made his eyes widen.
He grabbed his jacket and left his desk.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Callaway drove as fast from the nursing home as possible. The moment he realized his mistake, he spent a good twenty minutes explaining to Lana Anderson that her son was indeed not dead.
The staff were not pleased. Lana Anderson was eighty-eight years old, and the shock of losing her only son could have been detrimental to her health. It was only when they were able to contact her son in Botswana that they calmed her down. Callaway was grateful they did not call the police on him.
How was he supposed to know she was not the one? She had a son whose name was David and her family had made money from real estate. The signs were right there for him to assume he had the right person.
I must be more gentle next time, he thought. Or maybe I should just call it off?
He was blindly knocking on doors, hoping to reach the woman Becker had wanted him to find.
But what choice did he have? Becker did not leave him with much information to work with. He just had a name, one that lacked a middle name or initial to narrow his search.
Fortunately, there were two more Lana Andersons residing in Milton.
After he visited them, he would head back to Joely’s restaurant and take Nina to the zoo.
He slowed in front of a bungalow with vinyl siding. The mesh on the fence was cut in several places and the metal fence itself was tilting to one side as if it might fall any minute.
There was a fridge on the front lawn, and a child’s bicycle lay next to it.
This can’t be the right address, he thought. But I won’t know until I walk up and ring the doorbell.
The Missing Mistress Page 8
