Chapter Sixteen
Back in the hotel room, JJ had her laptop and Baz’s set up on the desk.
She had a search running on his for any information on Juliet Prince’s adoption.
Someone hadn’t wanted that information to be found based on how deep she had to dig.
The fact that Holly had gotten as much information as she had proved that she was coming along in her training.
It made JJ proud.
But it wasn’t enough to acknowledge that Martin Calloway and Shawna had a child and gave her up for adoption.
They needed to know more. Like who Shawna was and what happened to her.
If they could find her, she would likely have a wealth of information to share.
And if she was still a prostitute—probably old and withered at this point—it would likely only take money to get her to spill.
Unfortunately, JJ was having no luck finding the woman who had birthed that child. She’d found a social security number, but it appeared someone had stolen her identity at some point, so what she was finding didn’t appear to belong to Shawna at all.
Which meant she needed to dig deeper into Martin Calloway.
But not yet.
At the moment, she was manually sifting through the life of one Walter Gallagher, director of the Gallagher-Hightower Funeral Home.
It was an exciting life from what she could tell.
Walter was divorced from wife #1—had been for six years—and in the process of getting a divorce from wife #2, whom he’d been married to for less than three.
At seventy-two, it appeared good ol’ Walter had another future Mrs. Gallagher already picked out if his social media was anything to go by.
“You dog, you,” she muttered, tapping some keys to get into the really interesting part of his life: his finances.
It took a bit of creativity to cut through some firewalls, but JJ managed, as she usually did. And when she reached her final destination, she sat back and grinned.
“Pay dirt!” JJ thrummed her fingers on the desk. “Man oh man, Walter. You’re not only rollin’ in it—which explains the thirty-year-old girlfriend—but you’ve got your hand in some yucky, yucky pies.”
Grabbing her phone, JJ pulled up Baz’s number and dialed.
“Tell me you found something,” he said in greeting.
“I found something.”
“Is it gonna make this conversation enjoyable?”
JJ smiled. “I’d like to think so.”
She rattled off the details she’d unearthed as quickly as she could, not wanting to keep Baz from talking to the man. They only had so much time before visiting hours, and she knew he wanted to spend as much time with the babies as she did.
“That works,” Baz told her when she finished. “I’m gonna head in now and insist he talk to me.”
“Good luck. Call me when you’re done.”
“You can count on it.”
When the call disconnected, she stared at the screen, wondering how the hell so many crooked people could exist in the world.
“Once we’ve found Kylie, I think I might revisit you, Mr. Gallagher. You and Dr. Weaver. It’s high time you both made a considerable contribution to a worthy charity.”
Stretching her fingers, JJ settled in to do a little more digging. This time, she was going to go right for the devil himself.
When he disconnected the call with JJ, Baz got out of his truck and looked around.
The parking lot of the funeral home was large enough to cater to big groups.
There were a few spots up near the building marked for family, and a few that didn’t have a designation.
He had opted for one of them. Based on how empty it was, he didn’t think it would be a problem.
He considered going in and pretending to be interested in a funeral package.
But if he did that, he would likely have to talk to a salesperson, and he was interested in going directly to the top.
A quick call a short while ago had told him that Walter Gallagher was in, so he hoped he didn’t get the run around.
Opening the door, he was greeted by soft music and a large open space. In front of him, at the far back of the building, he could see floor-to-ceiling, stained-glass windows through a set of large wood doors that were propped open. The room also had rows of pews sitting in front of a podium.
On his side of those doors was an enormous lobby with a few decorative chairs and tables on each side for people to sit should they need to. Off to the left, there was a desk currently occupied by a blonde with big blue eyes and a wide, friendly grin.
She got up from her seat and started toward him. “Good morning. My name’s Lacey. Can I help you?”
“I’m here to speak to Mr. Gallagher.”
She smiled brightly and sounded cheerful when she asked, “Do you have an appointment?”
“I do not.”
That smile immediately flipped upside down. It was a dramatic flip, the kind one might use when talking to a small child. “I’m so sorry. Mr. Gallagher doesn’t take meetings without an appointment.”
Baz kept his smile in place, though he knew it didn’t reach his eyes. “He’ll need to make an exception today.”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“Lacey?”
“Hmm?”
“Could you please get Mr. Gallagher? You can tell him I’m here to discuss Kylie Walker.”
“Is she scheduled for a funeral?”
Baz considered pushing past her, but maintained his cool. “Please. Mr. Gallagher. Now.”
It was obvious that it pained her to do so, but Lacey turned and walked away.
She disappeared down a long hallway, then through a door on the left.
Because he wanted to ensure Mr. Gallagher didn’t make a run for it, Baz stood at the mouth of the hallway and watched the exits, both the one he came through at the front and the one at the end of the hallway.
Lacey appeared a moment later, nodding her head as she backed out of the room. She hurried toward him, her smile long gone.
“He’ll see you.” She pointed down the hall. “First door on the left.”
“Thank you.”
Not wasting time, Baz followed her directions and ended up at the doorway to a large, elaborately decorated office. And by elaborate, he meant ugly.
The older man—he presumed Walter Gallagher—pushed back his chair and slowly got to his feet.
His nearly snow-white hair was brushed back, his thick eyebrows ungroomed.
His dark blue suit had thin silver pinstripes that matched the silver shirt beneath.
His silk tie was slightly askew, but a perfect match to the suit.
“I’m Walter. How can I help you today?”
Baz stepped forward. “My name’s Sebastian Buchanan. I work for Sniper 1 Security. Your name came up during one of our investigations. Would you mind answering a few questions?”
“I can certainly try, but I can’t promise I’ll know anything. Lacey informed me that you want to talk about—” He waved a hand. “I apologize. I’ve already forgotten the name.”
Baz watched Walter’s face closely when he said, “Kylie Walker.”
There. The way his eyes squinted and his jaw ticked. It told Baz that he recognized the name. It also told him that the next words out of Walter’s mouth would be a lie.
“I’m sorry. The name isn’t familiar.”
Baz gestured toward one of the chairs. “Mind if I sit?”
He didn’t wait for Walter to answer before stepping around him and sitting in the chair closest to the door. It forced Walter to come around his desk.
“What is it you need to know about … is Kylie a female name? Or male?”
Baz sighed as he leaned back and propped his ankle on his knee. “You can cut the shit, Walter. We both know you’re well aware of Kylie Walker. Or maybe you just remember her name because it came with a rather large sum of money into your bank account on January 9, 2021.”
Walter’s bushy eyebrows snapped down. “I beg your pardon.”
“Beg all you want. I know you received the money. And I can likely assume you’ve got a business card in that desk of yours. It’ll be from an FBI agent who asked you to do something for him.”
Walter stared at him for a moment, his light blue eyes skimming. He was buying time, probably trying to figure out if he should keep lying or give up the ghost.
Baz knew which he preferred.
Unfortunately, Walter went the opposite route. “Again, I’m sorry. I don’t recognize the name.”
Baz stood and walked to the door. He leaned out, projecting his voice down the hall. “Lacey! Could you please come in here?”
“What are you doing?” Walter asked as he got to his feet.
He moved much faster than he had when Baz walked in.
“Since you don’t remember, I figure I’ll ask Lacey. I’m sure she can look at the books, can’t she?”
“Of course not. She handles sales.”
“Did you need me, Mr. Gallagher?” Lacey asked when she came to the door.
Baz watched the interaction. Lacey definitely wasn’t the future Mrs. Gallagher. For one, there wasn’t a ring on her finger, and two, she looked terrified to talk to Walter.
“Never mind.” Walter waved her off. “Go back to your desk.”
“Yes, sir.” She backed out, her gaze darting to Baz briefly before she looked down and hurried back down the hall.
“Close the door,” Walter insisted.
Baz stepped back into the office and closed the door.
“I just remembered who you’re talking about. She was a special project that I dealt with. No one else on staff was aware. I was working with the FBI and was ordered not to share any information with anyone.”
“And they paid you?”
“Yes. A very small, reasonable amount to handle the appropriate paperwork. Five thousand, if I recall correctly.”
Baz sighed. “Try seventy-five thousand. And you didn’t handle paperwork, you faked a funeral.”
For the first time since Baz walked in, Walter was speechless.
“Tell me this: how did you manage to convince the family to keep the casket closed?”
Walter pursed his lips for a second. “I informed them the family would likely be upset by the condition of the body. There were small children, I believe. They would’ve likely been distraught if they saw her.”
“Is that what you were told to say?”
“Yes.”
“Is there a body in the coffin that your crew lowered into the ground?”
He shook his head as he opened the top drawer of his desk. He rummaged for a moment, then produced a card. “This is the man you need to speak with. He informed me this was a matter of national security.”
Baz took the card, but he didn’t bother to look at it. He already knew Martin Calloway’s name was on it.
He was the bastard responsible for all of this.
Martin Calloway was sitting at his desk in his home office when his phone rang. When he wasn’t at the FBI field office, he had the calls rerouted to his private line or his cell phone, depending on where he was. Since the private line was ringing, he knew the call wasn’t personal business.
“What?” he barked.
“Mr. Calloway?”
Forcing calm into his tone, he said, “Who is this?”
“Walter Gallagher. I’m with Gallagher-Hightower Funeral Home.”
Martin didn’t recognize the name. “What can I do for you, Mr. Gallagher?”
“You told me to call if anyone came around asking about Kylie Walker.”
He sat up straight, an odd buzzing in his ears.
Gallagher. Gallagher.
Ah, yes. The funeral home director who’d been more than happy to accept a generous bribe to do his bidding.
Choking back the anxiety that threatened to choke him, he said, “And did they?”
“Yes, sir. He just left. Said he was with a security firm. They’re investigating something. He didn’t say what, just asked a bunch of questions.”
“Did you tell him anything?”
“I told him the truth.”
For fuck’s sake. Was it too fucking difficult for people to make shit up these days? When you told them not to mention a thing, they somehow heard the opposite.
But there was nothing he could do about it now.
“Thank you for letting me know,” he told the man whose name he’d already forgotten.
“Is there anything I need to do?”
“Yes. Don’t talk to anyone else. Send them my way.”
“Of course, sir.”
Martin hung up the phone without saying goodbye. He was reaching for his keyboard when his cell phone chimed with a sound he wasn’t familiar with. He glanced at the screen to see a security alert.
“What the fuck?”
He tapped the link in the notification, and it brought him to a service he had signed up for a long time ago. It would tell him if and when someone ran a search on him. Something beyond what the usual credit bureaus allowed.
“Son of a bitch.”
He grabbed the phone receiver and dialed.
“Hello?”
“Allison, I need your help.”
As usual, she sounded entirely put out by him. “With?”
“Someone’s running a search on me.”
“And this surprises you?”
“Look, girl. You can stop with the smartass comments. You know what’s at stake if you don’t do what I need you to do.”
Her response was silence.
“Now, I want you to figure out who’s running the search and what they’re trying to find.”
“I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Allison.”
She sighed. “I’ll call you back, Martin.”
He didn’t get a chance to tell her that she’d better. He heard the telltale click of the disconnect, causing him to slam the receiver into the cradle.
He did not like people digging into shit that was none of their business. Especially not now when so much was going wrong.