One moment, one single instance had the ability to change the course of your life, but you had to pick yourself up, brush yourself off, and, even being on unsteady legs, you had to take that first step because that step was the hardest.
Chapter Ten
Detective Donnelly
I’d seen countless crime scenes, but the one at the Callahan place was gruesome. Kneeling next to Kenneth Callahan’s body, someone had done a number on him. Lifting his hand, from the look of it, he’d given almost as good as he got. It was rumored that he beat his kid. No one ever did shit about it, particularly not being the influential person that he was. Didn’t help that Brock had never come forward to report the abuse, hard for a kid to be put in that situation. Harder still that his mother never stepped forward, never shielded her kid from her husband. You weren’t supposed to get emotionally invested in investigations, needed to see the scene in black and white and not have it colored with bias, but it was hard to look at Kenneth Callahan and not feel sympathy for his kid. Brock was older now, but the abuse rumors had been around for a long time, long enough that he’d have just been a kid facing down all six three of his father. There was a part of me that thought good for him for giving it back.
I stood, taking in the rest of the scene. “Any word on Ashley Callahan?” I asked the room.
“No, but DNA on the glass is hers…she was arrested for a DUI, have her info on file.” Toby, one of the crime scene investigators, offered. “We also have this. One set of prints that match the victim, blood and hair on the butt of the gun, familial match to the victim.” He held up a 57 magnum.
“Kenneth held a gun on his own kid and hit him with it?” I asked incredulously.
“Unless he was using it for self-defense,” Toby offered.
Since we didn’t yet know why Brock was here, it was possible Kenneth was only protecting himself, but knowing his history of abuse, my gut was saying it wasn’t defense but offense. I would really like to know where Ashley Callahan was, so she could fill in the holes. “Ashley was here then, at least for part of the evening.” I was talking out loud as I moved to the table where the bottle of wine and glass were in evidence bags. “So where did she go? Did she witness what happened here and took off?”
Toby shook his head. “Don’t know. We found something else. There are two contributors of DNA on the victim, one is a familial match; the other is not.”
That got my attention. My head jerked to Toby. “Someone else was here?”
“Not necessarily. The amount of the second contribution is small, almost like transfer.”
“So, in theory, Brock got into it with someone before coming here.”
“Yeah.”
It was time to retrace Brock’s last steps.
I stood outside the interview room, looking in at the sea of people. I wanted to talk with Declan Thompson because, according to Harry Kemp, Brock and he got into it at the garage only minutes before Ashley Callahan called him to come home. It wasn’t just Declan who showed, but a small army of lawyers and his parents. What the fuck? It was just a follow up conversation. We weren’t looking at him for anything. Fucking rich people.
I let them wait, as I went through what we knew from that day. Brock left Cedar Walker at school to work on a project. He was coming back to pick her up after his shift. Declan arrived at the garage, he and Brock fought about Cedar, which resulted in Brock taking a swing at him. Harry broke it up; Declan left, and the phone at the garage rang shortly after. Harry answered it. It was Ashley Callahan, asking for Brock to come home, and according to Brock, she had sounded scared. So it was likely she had been at the house, unless she’d called from her cell. What seemed pretty clear was Ashley had been used to lure Brock home, where his father was waiting with a gun. Not self-defense. So what the hell did Kenneth Callahan have to say to his kid that required he greet him with a gun?
I put that thought on hold and walked into the interview room.
“Unacceptable making us wait this long,” one of the lawyers whined as I closed the door.
They were here, the suits, because the Thompsons refused to give Declan’s DNA. Not that I asked for it because we weren’t looking at Declan for Kenneth’s murder. We just wanted details on what happened with Brock, leading up to the murder. Only reason you’d want to keep your kid’s prints and DNA out of the system was if you had grand plans for him. He was a prick; he’d make a great politician.
“Didn’t ask for any of you to be here and it’s an active investigation. Shit happens.” I pulled out the chair and dropped down into it. I didn’t look at anyone but Declan. He was an entitled little shit. Knew the type, wasn’t a fan. There was that color coming into the investigation, but I was only human.
“Tell me about your visit to Brock on the day in question,” I said.
He leaned back in his chair and grinned. “We had a disagreement over a girl.”
“Details. Who was the girl?”
“Cedar Walker. Brock was seeing her, but I didn’t think she was good enough for him.”
Good enough for him? Who the fuck put that thought in his head, because an eighteen-year-old sure as hell wouldn’t think that. “You visited Brock that day. Why?”
There was a smugness about him when he said, “Come on, Detective, you can figure that out. He had her. I wanted her.”
What a prick. So he was discouraging his friend to get the girl for himself? Something felt off, but my thoughts detoured to Cedar and how I had to tell her about her parents, the devastation on her face, the pain behind her eyes and then chasing that horrific news with her boyfriend killing his father. Poor kid. I knew her parents. She was just like her mom. Truth be told, I’d had a little crush on Sage Ward Walker, so I understood the appeal of the daughter.
“Brock took exception,” I said.
“Yeah. He took a swing, I hit back.”
Dustin Thompson, who I always thought looked like a fucking turtle, chimed in, “We want to press charges.”
Brock was looking at first-degree murder, and this prick wanted to add assault to the list because his prick of a kid had purposely taunted Brock. Asshole. “Yeah, I’ll make a note of that.”
“He needs to be held accountable. Where’s the investigation?” Dustin demanded.
“It’s ongoing, so I can’t talk about it.” I dismissed Dustin and looked back at his kid. “If you think of anything else…” I handed him my card. “Call me.”
Then I walked out of the room, desperately wanting a shower to get the fucking slime off. It was a murder case; the DA was going to be up my ass about getting the conviction. First, we needed the suspect, but if I was being honest, I wasn’t too eager to find the kid. If I gave him enough time, and he was as smart as I thought, he’d get lost. It wouldn’t be the first unsolved murder in New York and sure as shit wouldn’t be the last.