Isaacs' expression darkens."That's where things get interesting.Mrs.Farthington next door says she saw the van multiple times over the past two weeks.Says she almost called it in because it made her nervous."
"Almost?"
"Someone talked her out of it, told her it was probably just a contractor working on one of the other houses.Made her feel foolish for being paranoid."
The hair on the back of my neck stands up."Someone talked to her about the van specifically?"
"A well-dressed man in an expensive car.He showed up at her door the day after she first noticed the van.Very polite, very reassuring.He told her there'd been some break-ins in the area and that everyone was just being extra cautious."
Tempest and I exchange glances.That's not how legitimate security works.That's how you silence witnesses.
"She give you a description of this guy?"
"White, forties, expensive suit.Drove a black BMW."Isaacs pauses."Ring any bells?"
It does, but I'm not ready to share that information yet.Not until I'm sure.
"What else?"I ask instead.
Isaacs hesitates, glancing around the empty conference room."Look, you didn't hear this from me, but word from upstairs is that this case is about to get deprioritized."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning budget constraints, limited resources, other priorities.The kind of administrative bullshit that happens when someone with influence doesn't want a case solved."
The confirmation of what I already suspected hits like ice water in my veins.Someone powerful wants my sister's murder to disappear into the bureaucratic maze of unsolved cases.
"There's something else," Isaacs says, her voice dropping even lower."Your sister had been asking questions."
"What kind of questions?"
"About financial investigations.About how someone could track business dealings, shell companies, offshore accounts.She called our white-collar crime unit twice in the past month."
My blood turns to ice.Calla was looking into something financial.Something that got her killed.
"Did she say why?"
"Not directly.But she mentioned being concerned about someone close to the family.Someone whose business success seemed too good to be true."
The pieces start clicking into place, forming a picture I don't want to see but can't ignore.
"She hire anyone?Private investigator, forensic accountant?"
Isaacs nods and slides another piece of paper across the table."Guy named Eddie Walsh.Small-time PI, mostly handles cheating spouses and insurance fraud.Calla paid him five grand two weeks ago."
Two weeks ago.Right around the time Evangeline said Calla seemed stressed and distracted.
"Walsh still around?"
"As of yesterday.His office is above a pawn shop on Broadway."Isaacs' eyes are serious."But if I were you, I'd talk to him sooner rather than later.People connected to this case have a habit of becoming unavailable."
* * *
Eddie Walsh's office is small and cramped.The man himself looks like he's seen better decades, his rumpled suit hanging off a frame that's probably fifty pounds lighter than it was in his prime.
"Calla Peterson," he says when I show him her photo."Sweet lady.Didn't deserve what happened to her."
"You were looking into something for her."
