The Fixer's Daughter Page 7

  Helen swallowed hard, accepting what until now had been just a possibility. “It was thinking either that or drugs. Her brother has friends who sell drugs. I’m glad it wasn’t drugs.”

  “It wasn’t drugs,” Callie emphasized. “And it’s very common. The girls hook up with older, wealthy men. An arrangement.”

  “I don’t think Frank would appreciate the distinction. He still wants to hire a private detective but I say no. I don’t want some grubby detective poking around, sitting us down and telling us the sordid details of her life.”

  “It will probably still come out.”

  “I can deal with the police about it, not get Frank involved. And you… If you have to write something, Callie… I hope you don’t, but if… I hope you can do it kindly.”

  It was moments like this that reminded Callie that mothers were often the strongest, most resilient members of the family. “I can call him a boyfriend, if I need to mention him at all,” Callie promised. “I mean, if he turns out to be connected to her death.”

  “Do the police know who he is? Is it the man who was dragging her body?”

  “I’m sure they’re looking into that.”

  ‘Why in God’s name did she do it?” Helen demanded. “She had a full scholarship, plus a stipend. We sent her money whenever we could.”

  “It’s the pressure of college.” This was Callie’s educated guess. “In high school it’s not as much. Everyone knows your life. You can’t pretend. But when you get to college, the need for status, to fit in with the cool, rich kids…”

  “That wasn’t Briana. She was down-to-earth. We talked every day. We texted. I don’t understand.”

  Helen sat on the bed, hands in her lap. Callie sat by her side and forced herself not to say anything comforting and banal. She knew from her mother’s death how meaningless that could be. Instead, she just listened as Helen told a few childhood stories about the girl who’d been raped and murdered and dragged through a field. Then Helen said she was tired and wanted to take a nap.

  Sherry Ann was in the kitchen, emptying the dishwasher. “Did you tell her?”

  “She knew something was up. I was stupid enough to confirm it.”

  “Well, she had to find out.”

  “Bri did her best to keep it from her.” Callie felt exhausted. “There wasn’t a hint of a boyfriend on her Facebook page.”

  “That’s normal. I mean, my nanna’s on Facebook. I don’t put anything there.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Callie gathered her things – her phone, notebook, pen – dropped them into her bag and shared one last mourner’s hug with Sherry Ann. She was halfway to the door, wondering about where to go out for a solo dinner, when a thought struck – actually, a series of connected thoughts, starting with the idea of where to eat. “Was Bri on Instagram?”

  Sherry Ann had finished with the dishwasher and was wiping down the kitchen island. “Instagram? Sure.”

  Callie joined her at the island, glanced at the closed bedroom door and lowered her voice. “You were talking about how sugar babies love showing off on Instagram.”

  “True. But how does that help? We can already see everything he bought her. It’s all in her bedroom.”

  “How about what she ate?” Sherry Ann stared blankly back at her. “In restaurants.”

  “You think she took pictures of food?”

  “It’s pretty common. An over-the-top meal in a great restaurant.”

  “I know the phenomenon, not that I understand. Why would I be interested in your food?” The debutante cocked her head. “Why are you interested in her food?”

  “Well, if she posted a food photo and we can identify the restaurant, then maybe they’ll remember her and her sugar daddy. Maybe they’ll have a name or a credit card receipt.”

  “Wow.” Sherry Ann ran both hands through her hair, pushing it away from her face. “That’s good. Are you going to tell your brother about this?”

  “No.” Callie was surprised at how forcefully the word came out. “He’s a cop. He can find out on his own.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The bartender, Rodrigo according to his shirt pocket, looked busy, in the way that bartenders always look busy. It must be part of their training, Callie thought, to appear overworked and make you consider it a privilege to get a drink. She nursed her depleted vodka/tonic, waiting until Rodrigo finished an order at the pick-up station – two cosmos, a beer and a red wine – before raising her glass in his direction. He still managed to ignore her.

  Among all the artfully posed Instagram shots showing off her newest clothing and jewelry and shoes, Briana had posted one restaurant photo, a close-up of a square white plate of linguine, topped with scallops in a brown sauce.

  Identifying the restaurant had been simple. Callie remembered the scallop dish fondly. And just to seal the deal, on the wall behind Briana’s plate, in soft focus, was the mural painted on white tile, a kitschy depiction of the Bay of Naples with the slopes of Mount Vesuvius in the background, suspended between blue water and sky of exactly the same blue. All through her childhood, Callie had stared, mesmerized at the mural. Anthony’s Trattoria was a surprisingly expensive and exclusive spot, a favored hangout of every local celebrity from the first George Bush onward. It was no longer so exclusive but, as Callie could see from the menu, prices had gone up rather than down. Oh, well. She’d needed to eat anyway, eat and drink and ask questions, three birds with one stone.

  She didn’t mind eating alone. In college there’d always been a few friends to share meals with, but on most evenings she came home to Sarah’s wonderful Southern dishes. For variety, she would go out with her boyfriend, Nathan, an argumentative liberal, a true commie by Buddy’s standards. Nathan had been her act of rebellion, and they managed to last a remarkable three years. After college, she’d had Nicole, her friend at the TV station as a dining companion. And, of course, Buddy and Gil at the ranch. It was only after her move to Dallas that she’d grown used to eating alone. Except for the rare and awkward date, her meals for the last three years had toggled between take-out meals eaten at the kitchen counter and solo appearances in restaurants like this.

  “Want me to repair that?” Rodrigo shouted down the length of the bar. Callie pretended not to hear him over the noise bouncing off the pressed tin ceiling. “Stoly and tonic, right?”

  She waited, making him come to her, then pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and held it on the bar. Was this the appropriate amount? In the old movies it was usually a five, but given inflation, she figured twenty would be about right, although the very idea of offering money made it seem shady and underhanded. She held onto the bill, making sure he noticed it.

  “Your scallops are out soon,” Rodrigo told her. “How is your drink?” His accent was Spanish sounding, but something a little softer. Portuguese, maybe.

  “Another one, please. Lighter on the vodka,” she added. All the insomnia articles advised against drinking too much in the evening, which seemed counterintuitive to Callie, since alcohol always made her sleepy. But she was willing to try.

  “Light vodka,” said Rodrigo. “I make it now.”

  “Rodrigo…” She caught him before he could turn away. “Quick question.” With one hand, she held out her phone, aiming into his line of vision a photo that she’d just downloaded. With her other hand, she tapped the twenty-dollar bill on the bar. “Do you know this man?”

  Rodrigo studied the image of Keagan Blackburn, a publicity shot from his corporate website. “No, I think not. Is he famous?”

  “Only if you were raised around here. Are you sure?”

  “I am sure I don’t know him. That was the question, yes?”

  “Yes. Okay. How about her?” With a swipe of the screen, Callie revealed a second photo – the birthday shot, Briana smiling and touching the leather braided necklace. Again, Rodrigo examined it. With this one, he took his time.

  “I do know her, yes.”

  “Really?” It was something sh
e’d had to do, to follow up on her only lead, but it seemed such a longshot, like one of those cop show moments when they show a photo to a bartender and he remembers every single customer from the past two months. “Are you sure?”

  “Sure, yes.” His eyes narrowed. “I remember the necklace, yes. I also remember deadbeat people who run out without paying.”

  “She did what?” Callie was surprised.

  “Maybe weeks ago.” Rodrigo’s brows furrowed. “She was here alone, right where you are. She tells me she is waiting for boyfriend. She wants to run a tab, since boyfriend will be here to pay. She says they come here before, so I say okay.”

  Callie tried to keep her excitement under control. “What did the boyfriend look like?”

  “No boyfriend,” said Rodrigo. “She waits for him. Two glasses of white wine. Maybe an hour. No one comes. She is upset. Then bar gets busy and just like that, she goes. It comes out of my pocket, you know, the money.” His eyes narrowed. “The girl is friend of yours?”

  “She actually did that?”

  “Yes, she did. Now I ask you a question. What is her name? You tell this girl to come back and pay me, okay?”

  “It’s Briana,” Callie said and instantly regretted it.

  “Briana,” he repeated. “Send me the photo. I will put it behind the bar here.”

  “No, don’t,” Callie blurted out. “I’ll pay for her.” Taking out another twenty, she slapped it on top of the first. “Does that cover it?”

  “Maybe it does.” Rodrigo snatched up both bills, stuffing them in his apron. “Why do you do this for her? Pay for her like this?”

  “She’ll pay me back,” Callie explained. “I don’t want to get her in trouble.”

  “You are good friend. Thank you.” He was warming to her now, his suspicion fading.

  “So, this boyfriend she had… Did they come in here before?”

  Rodrigo shrugged. “Who can remember? I only remember your friend because…”

  “Yes.” It was almost a sigh. “Briana the deadbeat. Maybe one of the waiters…” Callie glanced toward the rest of the restaurant and caught a glimpse of an imposing young man with short red hair walking through the front double doors. State McFee scanned the main dining room then the bar and saw her before she could turn away.

  “State!” She plastered on a smile and headed in his direction. “What a coincidence. Remember the scallops Mom used to order? They still make them. Can you believe it?”

  Her brother met her halfway, between two reserved but empty tables. He resembled their father right now, on those days when he signed their report cards – his rigid stance, the disappointment in his eyes. “I can’t friggin’ believe it.”

  “No, really. I ordered them at the bar. What are you doing here?”

  “We found the Instagram pic. Emily did. She didn’t have our upbringing, so it took her a while to track this place down. You, of course, knew. How did you even see it? Her account is set to private.”

  “I… ” It was time to rip off the band-aid. “I got in through Briana’s roommate.”

  “You went to see…” His disappointment was morphing into outrage. “I should’ve known you were sniffing around. I’m so dumb. All those questions about what I was working on. Is this what it’s going to be like, having you back in town?”

  “No.” She reconsidered. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re living under my roof and spying for some trashy free rag. When did this start? That day at the M.E.s? When you offered to buy me a drink? You come back after all this time and right away, on your first day back…”

  “It wasn’t like that.” She lowered her voice. People were starting to look. “I was still there when Briana’s parents showed up. I mentioned I was a reporter and… State, they want answers.”

  State followed her cue and also lowered his voice. “You know, it’s damn unusual for the media to be second-guessing the police on a hot case.”

  “It doesn’t seem very hot.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I? What the hell do you think you can do that we can’t?”

  Callie had asked herself this precise question. “I just want to make sure she’s not forgotten.”

  “She’s not. Meanwhile, you shouldn’t forget there’s a killer out there. Have you ever fired a gun? And I’m not counting shotguns, or the photo-ops with Dad on the gun range when you were ten.”

  “Not counting those? No.”

  “Have you told your publisher what you’re up to?”

  “Yes, and he’s on board.”

  “Lovely.”

  State started to approach the bar, but Callie led him away to a high top that a young server was just wiping down. She turned to the server. “Hi. I have a vodka tonic waiting at the bar. If you could bring it over, that would be great. Anything for you?”

  “A club soda,” State said. He waited until the server had walked away. “Does this mean I have to change the password on my computer?”

  “No, no. I would never snoop on family.” Callie pushed out of her mind the snooping she’d already done. “According to Rodrigo at the bar…”

  “Is Rodrigo the one I should talk to?”

  “He’s the one I talked to. He remembers Briana.” Callie leaned in. “He doesn’t remember Keagan Blackburn.”

  State pulled in his chin, like a boxer pulling back from a swing. “What? Are you just throwing out up random names? Mr. Keagan Blackburn has nothing to do with this.” He stared into his sister’s eyes, the eyes he had known almost his entire life. Then he flinched. “All right. Goddamn it, how did you know? Damn, I am going to have to change my password.”

  “No,” Callie protested. “It wasn’t you. Dad accidentally let it slip.” Not technically true, but close enough. “Dad’s consulting with him on this. Trying to hush it up.”

  “There’s nothing illegal with that. This whole thing about the public’s right to know, it’s not really a right. Not in a case like…” State stopped and bit his lip. “Dad let a name like that slip? Damn.”

  “He’d had a drink. I’m not even sure he was aware.”

  “The doer is not Blackb…” State couldn’t even say the name. “It’s not him. The man has an alibi for the time of her death.”

  “But not an alibi for dragging her body. That one he can’t get out of.”

  “You got me there.” The server was on her way and he waited until she’d delivered the two glasses and left. “Callie, this is off the record… And I never thought I’d be saying ‘off the record’ to my own sister.”

  “Off the record. I promise.”

  “The department is not satisfied with the level of Mr. Blackburn’s cooperation. DNA traces were found in the back of his Escalade, her DNA, so we know he transported the body.”

  “What about his DNA?”

  “Mr. Blackburn volunteered his fingerprints and a DNA swab when he was brought into the station.”

  “Did he do it voluntarily or was it part of an actual arrest?”

  State gave her their mother’s patented stink eye. “Mr. Blackburn is not under arrest. He’s lawyered up with Price, Evans and White, so we’re not going to get more than they’re willing to give.”

  “What’s his alibi for the time of death?”

  He laughed. “Why should I tell you? So you can go off and annoy a man like that and try to pick his story apart? It’s a good, iron-clad alibi.”

  Callie took her first sip of her second drink and regretted having ordered a weaker one. Was there some other approach? she wondered, some angle that State might actually talk about? She settled into a high top chair. “Where did Briana go when she left her apartment? Or is that a secret, too? A State secret.” It was an old pun from their childhood, one of a dozen or more involving the word state. “Come on.”

  State took his own sip. Then he removed a notepad from his jacket and flipped it open. It reminded his sister just how ‘old school’ he could be. “According to your friend Sherry Ann, Ms. Crawley left a
little before seven. She didn’t have a car or a bike. She didn’t call an Uber or a Lyft, although she may have hailed a taxi on the street. We’re checking into that. Otherwise, she took public transportation or she walked.”

  “Sherry Ann said she may have gone out for something to eat.”

  “None of the local places remember her. The ones that have cameras didn’t show her. If she was going out for food, she never got there.”

  “She was found without her cellphone. Can you track it?”

  “It hasn’t been used since. And, contrary to urban mythology, we can’t track a phone that’s not powered up. No such technology. Any more bright ideas?”

  “Briana borrowed some money not long before her murder. If she had this sugar daddy, why did she need to borrow?”

  “Something else Sherry Ann told you?”

  “Correct. She thinks you’re cute, by the way.”

  “I am cute. And we always check finances. Finances and boyfriends. The first things we check.”

  Callie waited. “And…?”

  “Do you have a specific question, Ms. Reporter? If you have a specific question, I may be able to answer it.”

  “Okay.” She thought about how to phrase this. “Briana was here two weeks ago, waiting at the bar for her boyfriend who didn’t show. He stood her up. I think maybe he was ending the relationship.”

  “No more sugar daddy?” State took another sip of his club soda. “That would explain her change in mood.”

  “That was 12 days before her death. My question is, wouldn’t she have some money in the bank, instead of having to borrow from her roommate?” State didn’t respond. He stayed frozen, glass in hand, gazing into space over his sister’s shoulder. “You just said you checked her finances. What’s up with her finances?” Callie resisted the urge to press him further, letting the silence between them do the work.

  State sighed. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

  “Good. I like those words.”

  He flipped a few more pages in his notepad. “We checked with her bank. Ms. Crawley, or someone using her passcode, emptied her checking account – 12,475 bucks – and transferred it to a new account, under the name Dylan Dane.” He spelled out the name. “Within hours of the transfer clearing, Mr. Dane, or someone using his passcode, withdrew the funds and closed the account. He went to her branch and took the cash, so the money trail ends there.”