The Invisible Wife Page 3

  Another mother had grabbed four doll boxes and was racing to the cashier when another mother literally tackled her to the ground. Callaway had to admit it was a clean tackle. If she were playing football, there would be no penalty. The woman who did the tackle was close to two hundred pounds, and yet she had moved as fast as a gazelle. Callaway was deeply impressed, but he had to pull the women apart before they hurt each other. He warned them to behave, but his warning fell on deaf ears. After some expletives and pointed fingers, the mothers went their own way.

  The chaos lasted thirty-five minutes. After all the princess dolls were sold, the store rapidly quieted. Callaway was left feeling like he had just been through a war zone.

  I may have PTSD now, he thought.

  The store’s employees, however, were not the least bit jaded. They looked like they were used to this type of behavior.

  His turn at the counter came and he ordered a combo that consisted of a chicken wrap, fries, and a drink. He grabbed his lunch and left the food court. He scanned his card and entered a door for mall employees only. He went through a tunnel, down two flights of stairs, and entered a room in the back with no windows.

  The room was used as a cafeteria by the mall’s employees. There was a vending machine, a small television, and several tables and chairs. Two cleaning staff were seated at one table. They were conversing with each other in a different language. They nodded and smiled at Callaway. He smiled back and took the table in the corner.

  As he gorged his meal, he pulled out his cell phone. He smiled as he began to scroll through photos on his phone. They were mostly of his daughter, but some were of his ex-wife too. They were the reason he was wearing this awful uniform and arguing with deranged mothers.

  He had vowed to get his life in order, starting with getting a steady job that came with benefits. He hoped this would allow him to spend more time with his little girl.

  He was not like that before. He preferred having zero responsibility when it came to parental duties, but an encounter with his mentor, Jimmy Keith, changed all that. He learned that no man was an island, and that without someone to care for, there was no point to life. He could not spend his days looking for excitement and adventure with strangers when he could be having an exciting adventure with his family.

  TEN

  Andrea Wakefield’s eyes darted over the victim’s body as if she was recording and storing all relevant information for a later time. As a medical examiner, her opinion held a lot of weight.

  Wakefield was petite with short, cropped hair and she wore round prescription glasses that constantly slid down her thin nose.

  She pushed her glasses up and said to Fisher, “Did you know that seventy percent of lottery winners end up bankrupt within a few years of winning the lottery?”

  “I had no idea,” Fisher said.

  “Do you want to know why?”

  “Why?”

  “They can’t handle the responsibility of so much money.”

  “I don’t understand,” Fisher said.

  “They never spent their lives building wealth, and so, when it’s given to them, they don’t realize that without restraint it will all go away. They splurge on extravagant items such as boats, or in some cases, planes. They buy houses that are too big for them. They invest in businesses they have no knowledge of, and then there is the matter of family, friends, and strangers constantly begging them for money. There was a lottery winner in Ohio who shot himself in the head because he could not deal with people asking him for money. Winners don’t realize how complicated their life ends up becoming.”

  “I didn’t know you were so interested in the lottery,” Fisher said. She had worked with Wakefield for years, but she hardly knew much about the woman, apart from the fact that she was one of the most well-respected medical examiners in the state.

  “Contrary to what most people think, I find human beings fascinating.”

  Fisher glanced over at Holt, who was standing two feet away from them. According to him, Wakefield preferred the dead over the living. His opinion had something to do with the fact that she spent more time at the morgue dissecting cadavers than interacting with people.

  “Do you play the lottery?” Fisher asked.

  Wakefield shook her head. “I wouldn’t know what to do with all that money.”

  “Well, if I won,” Fisher said, “I’d buy myself a house, make sure my family is taken care of, and the rest would go to charity.” Like millions of Americans who played the lottery, Fisher had also spent a great deal of time thinking about what she would do if she won.

  Holt coughed, signaling his impatience.

  Wakefield turned to the body. “From my initial assessment, I would have to say death was caused by stabbing.” She unbuttoned the victim’s shirt. “As you can see, there are puncture wounds all along the chest. The amount of blood found at the scene further supports this conclusion. Naturally, I will provide an official cause of death after the post-mortem.”

  “Of course,” Fisher said.

  Holt asked, “Time of death?”

  Wakefield looked at the body once more. “My educated guess would be ten to twelve hours.”

  Fisher turned to Holt. “That’s last night.”

  “We will have to find out who may have been in contact with him around that time,” he said.

  Fisher turned to Wakefield. “The scratch on his face. What can you tell us?”

  Wakefield squinted. “It doesn’t appear to have been made by a fingernail, that’s for sure.”

  Fisher’s eyes frowned. There went their chance of procuring DNA evidence.

  Wakefield said, “The scratch is too wide to have come from a fingernail, and from a cursory look, it is also quite deep. The assailant would have had to dig his or her fingernails deep into the skin and then move it across the cheek to get that mark.”

  “Is it possible that they did?” Fisher asked. She still held out hope for something.

  Wakefield thought a moment. “Sure, I suppose, but why is there a single mark and not more?”

  Fisher knew what she was getting at. If someone did forcefully scratch someone, there would be multiple marks from multiple fingers, not just one.

  “What else can you tell us?” Holt asked.

  “The victim’s right thumb is missing,” Wakefield replied.

  “We can see that for ourselves,” Holt said.

  “Oh right. Of course,” she said, realizing the obvious in her earlier comment. “That’s all I can see for now, but I will have more once I complete the autopsy.”

  “Thank you,” Fisher said.

  ELEVEN

  Fisher thought it was time to talk to the woman in the backseat of McConnell’s cruiser. Fisher always preferred to examine the scene before she spoke to witnesses. She did not want their comments to contaminate her observations. She wanted an unadulterated view of the situation. This also helped her see if any witnesses were being untruthful or uncooperative.

  She once had a case where the witness mentioned finding the door to a shed was locked when he had arrived at the scene. Fisher instantly knew that was a lie. From her initial inspection of the scene, she knew the door could only be locked from the outside. There was no way the victim could have shot herself in the head, disposed of the weapon, and then went outside and locked the door. Only her killer could have done this.

  Suzanne Burley had dyed hair, smooth skin, perfect teeth, and full lips. She was twenty years younger than Big Bob, but with all the cosmetic procedures, she looked even younger.

  Suzanne wiped her eyes with a tissue and asked, “Who would do something like that to my husband?”

  “We don’t know yet, but we are trying to find out,” Fisher replied. “What can you tell us about this morning?”

  She swallowed. “Before coming, I phoned Big Bob…”

  “You call your husband Big Bob?” Fisher asked, curious.

  “Yes, everyone did. He likes being called that.”

 
“Okay, go ahead.”

  “When he didn’t answer his phone, I drove over to the house.”

  “You don’t live here?”

  Suzanne looked away in embarrassment. “We are separated.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “I’m renting a house five miles from here. It’s under Big Bob’s name.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you guys separate?”

  “I love Big Bob, but after five years together, we kind of started drifting apart.”

  “How did you two meet?”

  “I was the makeup artist on his commercials,” Mrs. Burley replied. “I could tell he was interested in me by the way he talked. He was married at the time, so we didn’t hit it off right away. After he won the lottery, he called me up one day and asked if I wanted to go out to dinner with him. I agreed, and during dinner he told me he was thinking of leaving his wife. We dated for a couple of years, and then he proposed to me and we got married.”

  “Were you attracted to him before you found out he had won the jackpot?” Fisher was trying to gauge her motives. A spouse was usually the main suspect in a murder investigation, especially one where the victim had a lot of money.

  Suzanne laughed. “I know people call me a gold digger, and I don’t blame them. Big Bob was not my type. He was older, married, and he had kids. But what most people don’t realize is that Big Bob had money before he even won the lottery. I know this for a fact because, for the commercials, we reminded customers that his dealership was number one in the state, which it was. And those commercials were really popular at that time.”

  They were, Fisher silently agreed. Everyone in Milton was familiar with them.

  “So, money wasn’t a factor in your decision to marry Big Bob?” Fisher prodded.

  “It was,” Suzanne replied, “I won’t lie, but when I met Big Bob, I had come off a bad relationship which involved verbal and physical abuse. I was thirty-five with no kids and no job prospects. The makeup work was always on a contract basis. So yeah, I knew someone like Big Bob would take care of me.”

  “After you got married, I assume you quit your makeup work. So, what did you do?” Fisher asked.

  “I thought about going back to school. I wanted to become an interior designer, but when Big Bob built the house, he asked me to decorate it.”

  That explains the gaudy décor.

  “Did your husband have life insurance?” Fisher asked. It was a big motivator for spouse-related murders.

  Suzanne shook her head. “Big Bob didn’t believe in them. He had enough money that if something ever happened to him, it would be plenty to take care of his loved ones.”

  “Did he have a will?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what do you get in the event of his death?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the things he bought me.”

  Fisher blinked. “That’s it?”

  “I mean, we have a pre-nup that protected me if the marriage broke down.”

  Fisher pondered her next question.

  “Okay, tell me what happened when you came to the house.”

  “After calling Big Bob, I came over.”

  “Is the Rolls Royce yours?”

  “No, it’s Big Bob’s.”

  “I don’t see your car parked outside.”

  “A friend drove me over.”

  “Okay, please continue.”

  “I still have a key, so I let myself in.”

  “The door was locked?” Fisher asked.

  Suzanne’s brow furrowed. “Actually, it was not. I was surprised Big Bob would be so careless. I mean, after what happened with the robbery, he had become extra vigilant with security.”

  “Where were you during the robbery?” Fisher asked.

  “I was at my mother’s home in Tampa. Big Bob was home alone. I flew home the moment I heard about it.”

  “Okay, so when you went inside the house, what did you do?”

  Suzanne’s eyes welled up and she put a hand over her mouth. “I saw Big Bob on the floor of the entrance. He was all bloody and… and…” She choked up. “I ran out and called nine-one-one.”

  “Why were you at the house?”

  “I had to pick up some of my belongings I’d left behind.”

  That explains the half empty closet in the master bedroom, Fisher thought. “You said your husband took security seriously…”

  “Yes, he did,” Suzanne quickly replied.

  “So, I’m assuming the house is equipped with an alarm system.”

  “It is.”

  “Do you know the code?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Do you think your husband changed it after you moved out?” Fisher asked.

  Suzanne thought a moment. “He may have, but like I said, the door was unlocked.”

  “But what if he had changed the alarm code and the door was not unlocked? Then what would you have done?”

  “I would have kept ringing the doorbell until Big Bob let me in.”

  “One last question. Do you know if anyone else knew the code for the alarm system?”

  Suzanne shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

  TWELVE

  Fisher walked over to McConnell, who was standing on the other side of the driveway. McConnell’s smile widened when he saw her.

  “What’s the situation inside?” he asked.

  “We still have a lot of evidence to gather.”

  “So, it’s going to be a long morning,” he said.

  “What? You got someplace to be?” she teased.

  He shrugged. “I was going to take a special lady out for breakfast. I know this place where they have all-you-can-eat waffles and pancakes.”

  She smiled. “There is always the next time.”

  McConnell beamed.

  “Sorry about Holt,” Fisher said. “He can be a little protective.”

  “Don’t be. It’s nice that he is concerned about you.”

  The first time Fisher saw McConnell was at the annual police games. He had won the hundred-metre track. The second time was at the crime scene of Holt’s nephew. The third time she saw him, she knew she liked him. She found herself blushing whenever he was near her. She waited for him to make the move, but he never did.

  She bumped into him at the station some time later. He was heading out to his cruiser. He smiled at her as he walked by. She did not want to lose the opportunity. She asked him out for coffee. He immediately said yes.

  Later, she asked why he never made the move on her. She was certain the attraction was mutual. He told her he wanted to, but he was not sure how she felt about dating someone with a lower rank than him. He was a patrol officer, and she was a detective.

  It was not a secret in the department that Fisher was ambitious. She moved up the ranks faster than most people on the force, and she had her sights set on becoming captain one day.

  McConnell, however, was laid back. He was content in his position. He grew up on the West Coast, skateboarding and surfing. He had no major plans in life other than to fully experience whatever came his way. Fisher found this refreshing. In a way, their relationship balanced each other.

  “See you tonight?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. It’ll depend on how the day goes.”

  “No problem. You do what you have to,” McConnell said. This was another reason why she felt comfortable with him. He understood the responsibility that came with the job.

  She did not have a set schedule like a 9-to-5 job. On a new investigation she could work from early morning until late at night. Sometimes she would even sleep in the department’s break room if she had work to catch up on.

  This did not make for an ideal situation when it came to relationships. She was known to cancel dates at the last minute if something urgent came up—and in her job, everything was urgent. Then there was the job itself. Even though she was a professional and had learned to distance her feelings from a case, it still weighed on her mind, body, and soul.
Death was not something one could easily ignore. Only when a case was solved could she expunge herself from the burden that came with being a homicide detective.

  She was not sure how far her relationship with McConnell would go, but right now she did not care. She was just happy to have someone in her life.

  She smiled at him once more. “I’ll call you later, Officer McConnell,” she said.

  He smiled back. “Good luck, Detective Fisher.”

  THIRTEEN

  Callaway stood by the store’s main doors and watched as shoppers entered and exited. He had to make sure no one left without paying for their purchases.

  The rare princess dolls were sold out. The empty shelves would soon be filled by another item. A few customers came in hoping to still buy the doll. He would give them a sad look that said, “If you snooze, you lose.”

  After the chaos came the boredom. A security guard’s job was not particularly exciting—excluding what happened that morning, of course. Callaway would spend his shift’s remaining hours pacing the store, making himself noticed. He was more of a deterrent to would-be shoplifters than anything else. He did not have a gun or a Taser. When he was hired, he was given a walkie-talkie and a flashlight. He could always bonk a thief on the head with the flashlight, but he was not sure what to do with the walkie-talkie. He was not really a mall cop. He was a store employee. His jurisdiction ended at the door. Whatever happened beyond that was not his responsibility.

  The mall cop was a guy named Jerry—that’s what it said on his name tag. He was a really prickly guy. Jerry looked down on people like Callaway. He felt he alone was enough to protect all the mall’s businesses. He did not realize he could not be everywhere. There were over a hundred shops.

  Callaway, on the other hand, could focus his attention solely on one location. So far in the past few days he had worked, Callaway had caught two people trying to shoplift items. The culprits were both eleven years old, and the items in question were a hairband and a bracelet. They cost less than ten dollars, but Callaway’s intervention went beyond the price of the items. If he had not apprehended and scolded the would-be shoplifters, they would have grown up to become master thieves. Art galleries and museums around the world should be calling and thanking him for how he prevented young minds from going down the dark path.