The Caller jl-2

by Alex Barclay

  ‘Did he tell you why he was there, why he was doing this to you?’ said Joe.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he speak at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What do you think he had left in the foyer?’

  ‘I couldn’t see.’

  ‘What did you do after the attack?’ said Joe.

  ‘I cleaned myself up, I took some sleeping pills and I went to bed.’

  ‘Didn’t you need stitches?’ said Danny.

  ‘Probably. I managed. Well,’ he said pointing to his chin. ‘Maybe not. But I didn’t want to see anyone, didn’t want to go to a doctor. I just wanted to get into bed and sleep through it all.’

  ‘Why did you not come forward earlier?’ said Joe.

  Blake sighed. ‘There are several reasons, I guess. The first is, like anyone, I didn’t ask for this, it was forced on me. If you’re a private person to start with, you’re definitely not going to want to be public at the most personal, damaging time of your life. Do you know what I mean? When I see people on TV with a microphone thrust into their face as they’re walking away from an explosion or a shooting, I can’t bear it. I turn it off. Everyone wants to be inside everyone else’s pain these days. I don’t think it’s right. Do you remember when you could watch the news or read the papers and you would barely see blood or dead bodies and it was all just too sanitised? Then they gradually began showing us more of the reality of war and violence and it worked to an extent, it woke people up to what happens in the world. But that point has been made. Now it’s all about satisfying this imagined prurient curiosity we all have. We want to see how violent death looks on someone’s face. We want to see how losing your wife two minutes ago looks on someone’s face. It’s not right. I would never want to be looked at that way. I think it’s the worst kind of invasion. Worse for me than this Caller entering my home.’

  ‘This will be kept within the task force,’ said Joe. ‘You don’t have anything to worry about.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m also thinking of my neighbors. Another reason I didn’t come forward – this is going to sound nuts – was the residents’ association around here. They work so hard for everyone, making sure the neighborhood is not compromised in any way. It would devastate them if they knew about this. Also, if in any way… you know… I invited this on myself-’

  ‘This is not your fault,’ said Danny.

  ‘Other people might feel differently.’

  ‘And why did you come forward now?’ said Joe.

  ‘When I saw that press conference, I felt I would have support. I would have the backing of the Police Commissioner and the detectives investigating this. And I guess I felt I could speak out for the guys who didn’t make it.’

  ‘We appreciate you talking to us,’ said Joe. ‘We don’t always have a victim who gets away.’

  ‘Why do you think he’s targeting us?’ said Blake. ‘Me and the other victims.’

  ‘He mightn’t like what you represent to him,’ said Danny.

  ‘But-’ said Blake.

  ‘We’re not sure why,’ said Joe. ‘We’re looking at different things. Talking to you helps us get closer to what that might be.’

  ‘Do you think he’s crazy?’

  ‘Did he seem crazy to you?’ said Joe.

  ‘Uh, I guess not. I don’t know. Isn’t he crazy to do what he’s doing?’

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Joe. ‘We’ll know when we find him.’

  ‘Do you think you’re getting close?’

  ‘We have lots of information we’re working on, some very reliable directions to go in.’

  ‘Do you think… look, I guess what I want to know is… do you think he’ll come back for me?’

  ‘I see no reason why he would do that, Mr Blake. He left when he had the chance. I don’t think he’s going to come back around. Why would he?’

  ‘The house appears to be very safe,’ said Danny. ‘Look, if you’re ever worried about anything, take our cards, call us.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He stood up. They shook hands and walked to the front door.

  ‘Did you have that security system all along or just… after?’ said Joe, pointing to the keypad by the door.

  Blake nodded. ‘After.’ He shrugged. ‘But even if I had it before, it wouldn’t have mattered if I was going to go inviting the guy into my house anyway. I mean, a security system is only as good as the guy with the codes.’

  ‘We had a guy once who wrote the combination to his safe on the ceiling above it,’ said Danny. ‘We have people who never change the factory settings, which are the same in a lot of places. That’s one thing you got to do.’

  ‘Oh, I do everything that has to be done,’ said Blake. ‘I keep closing the gate and the horse has bolted so long ago…’

  ‘You do whatever you need to feel safe,’ said Danny.

  ‘Thanks for coming. I guess I’m lucky I can hole myself up here and not have to face the world if I don’t want to.’

  Joe thought of Anna and felt a stab of guilt for making a link. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Blake.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Danny.

  ‘No problem,’ said Blake. ‘Take care.’

  THIRTEEN

  Rufo sat in his office chewing cherry Gas X, thinking it was time to give up on raw broccoli. Just because something was good for you, didn’t mean it tasted good. Or that your body reacted well to it.

  ‘So,’ he said when Joe and Danny walked in. ‘How did Brooklyn Heights work out for you?’

  ‘The guy’s name is Blake,’ said Danny. ‘Rencher did a work-up on him and he’s clean. Lives in a nice house – he’s got a foyer. He has never been in trouble, pays his taxes. He looked expensive-’

  ‘Yeah, but did you see those Target bags in the hallway by the bike?’ said Joe. ‘Maybe he doesn’t like to spend his money too much.’

  ‘Either way,’ said Danny, ‘he’s another rich guy who finally realizes it doesn’t protect you from shit. I feel sorry for him, don’t get me wrong. There’s something just so fucking tragic about him.’

  ‘Gay, straight?’ said Rufo.

  ‘Straight.’

  ‘What makes him think he was a victim of our perp?’ said Rufo.

  ‘He talked about letting the guy into the house,’ said Joe, ‘no struggle, he was bashed off the corner of a work surface, guy had a gun-’

  ‘But,’ said Danny, ‘the wallet ruse wasn’t used on him – the guy said he was a realtor.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Joe. ‘But it’s just not like on TV. No-one is going to work the same way every time. It’s not natural. Like no-one does anything exactly the same way every time…’

  Danny nodded.

  ‘I think what’s important to the perp is bashing in the vics’ faces and finishing them off with a twenty-two,’ said Joe. ‘They’re the two things that have not changed in each homicide. He doesn’t care how he gets there. So he chooses one mode of entry, restrains them one way, one time, another way the next.’

  ‘Maybe the only thing he cares about is bashing in their faces,’ said Rufo. ‘And shooting them is just to make sure they’ll never identify him.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Jesus, Blake’s face was something else…’ said Danny. ‘I mean, I was firefighting.’

  Rufo looked at him. ‘You were what?’

  Joe answered. ‘Firefighting. It’s when there’s a bunch of reactions Danny wants to have, but can’t because they’re not appropriate. He imagines them as fires inside his mind that he has to put out-’

  Danny nodded. ‘First I wanted to shout out “Holy shit!” Then I wanted to puke. Then I wanted to reach over and just feel that weird skin. Then I wanted to take a picture with my phone. So,’ he said reasonably, ‘I had to put my energies into controlling these impulses. Firefighting.’

  Rufo shook his head. ‘Do you have one of those firefighter’s poles inside too so’s we can get the happy pills into you quicker? You’re a fucking nut job, Markey. Really, I’d like to know what one of New Yor
k’s finest looks like to another human being when all this firefighting shit is happening.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, boss,’ said Joe. ‘He’s worked it into some sort of sane-looking stare.’

  ‘Sometimes I tilt an eyebrow,’ said Danny, ‘touch a few fingers to the chin area.’

  Rufo shook his head. ‘I spend my whole time shaking my head around you, Markey. It’s an impulse I just can’t control.’

  ‘Hey, I think I can work with you on that,’ said Danny.

  ‘Get out, get out of my office,’ said Rufo, smiling.

  Victor Nicotero was sitting at his kitchen table with a beer, a notebook and a silver pen. Joe walked right in.

  ‘Nice security system,’ he said.

  ‘Patti,’ said Old Nic shaking his head. ‘The woman is like a force of nature. Closing doors, turning off lights, they’re just not things she thinks about.’

  Joe laughed. ‘It was wide open.’

  ‘Your serial guy could have butchered me to death.’

  ‘I think he likes the city too much.’

  ‘Let’s go out on the deck. I’m done here.’

  ‘You’re writing it all longhand?’

  ‘Longhand,’ said Nic. ‘I’m writing it. That’s what it’s called – writing. Whether my hands are long or short doesn’t come into it.’

  Joe took a beer from the fridge and sat out beside him.

  ‘Would you like to move in?’ said Nic.

  Joe smiled. ‘And live with your grumpy ass? No. I’ll take my chances with an out-of-control teenager.’

  ‘Easy when there’s a beautiful French woman tied into the deal. How are things there? You take my advice?’

  ‘Course I did. And things were better,’ said Joe. ‘And then she storms out of dinner last night.’

  ‘Hormones,’ said Nic. ‘They go nuts. Every frickin-’

  The kitchen door banged open behind them and heavy footsteps tracked through to the sliding door. Joe and Nic looked up. Bobby leaned out, a cheap bouquet of flowers in his hand. He frowned, then glanced around the garden.

  ‘Is ma here?’ he said. He barely nodded at Joe.

  ‘She’s at the store,’ said Nic. ‘Do you want a beer?’

  ‘Uh – no, thank you. Ma wanted me to fix some door in the bedroom, there’s some problem-’

  ‘I took care of it,’ said Nic. ‘Sit down, it’s a nice evening.’

  ‘You took care of it?’ said Bobby. ‘When did you do that?’

  ‘This afternoon. She’s been bothering me about it for weeks.’

  ‘Yeah, which is why I came over,’ said Bobby.

  ‘You were here with her at the weekend – why didn’t you do it then?’

  ‘What are you talking about? You were the one who was supposed to-’ Bobby glanced towards Joe who had picked up a magazine from the table.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ said Nic.

  ‘No,’ said Bobby and Joe at the same time.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Joe. ‘I thought you meant me.’

  ‘I meant both of you,’ said Nic.

  ‘I can’t hang around,’ said Joe.

  ‘No, you stay where you are,’ said Bobby. ‘I’m going to go see the kids, now that I’m out here. These are for ma,’ he said, raising the flowers. ‘I’ll leave them by the sink.’

  ‘OK,’ said Nic. ‘You take care.’ He let out a breath and turned to Joe. But Joe sat in silence, staring into the distance, thinking about Shaun.

  ***

  The next morning, Joe made it in to the office early to get his suits ready for the dry cleaning service that picked up three times a week. He liked to keep two full sets of clothes in his locker, but he was down to one. He was walking back to his desk when his phone rang.

  ‘Joe, it’s Giulio.’

  ‘Hi. Everything all right?’

  ‘Yes. I saw your name in the paper the other day.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yes. It’s a shame.’

  ‘What’s a shame?’

  ‘All that attention.’

  ‘What attention?’

  ‘Can’t they leave you out of it?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The media.’

  ‘Dad, I haven’t even spoken to one journalist. They do their thing. I’m someone who was involved in some prominent cases. They make something of it, that’s not my fault.’

  ‘What I mean is you’re in the spotlight again, people are dredging up what happened to you and Anna and Shaun. You’ve got to think what this is doing to the family every time you put yourself out there.’

  ‘Here we go,’ said Joe. ‘I am not “putting myself out there” for the hell of it. I am heading up an investigation. It’s not like I heard there was a few homicides and some media attention and I said, “Great, yeah, sign me up for that, please make me the case detective.”’

  ‘I’m just saying-’

  ‘I know what you’re saying. Your facts are wrong. You can’t control the whole world, OK?’

  ‘I’m… concerned.’

  ‘Yeah, great. Look, I gotta go.’

  Joe put down the phone and walked over to the coffee machine. It stank of sour milk and burned coffee. There were rings on the surfaces and coffee grounds scattered on the floor.

  ‘Everyone, clean up, already,’ he shouted. ‘Stop leaving this for Ruthie to do. She cracks because she can’t stand the mess. It’s not her job. She is too busy doing every other fucking job for you lazy sons of bitches!’

  ‘Thank you, Joe!’ shouted Ruthie from the reception desk.

  ‘Sorry, Mom,’ shouted Martinez.

  Joe grabbed a paper towel and started wiping the surfaces. He bent down to pick up a ball of paper that had missed the bin. It was a stray printout from the Pages program he used. He opened it out. Someone had written ‘Season’s Greetings’ across the top in red felt-tip pen and drawn Santa hats on all the victims. Handwritten under the photo of Gary Ortis was: ‘Greetings from the Ortis family. This year Gary was murdered! His battered body was found in his hallway! He spent hours being tortured! And his killer’s still on the loose! Haaappy Holidays!’

  Joe looked around the room at the people who first came together on this case: Denis Cullen – a man who would rather stare at figures all day so he could save his energy for visiting his sick little girl. Tom Blazkow – tough and thorough, Aldos Martinez – dedicated, but narrow-minded, Roger Pace – nothing more than Bobby Nicotero’s long skinny shadow, Fred Rencher – good guy, but not too sharp. And then Bobby Nicotero – Joe glanced down at the page – and his girlie handwriting.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Lucchesi, that’s your freakin’ phone,’ shouted Martinez from across the room.

  Joe threw the paper back into the bin and went to his desk.

  ‘Detective Lucchesi? Preston Blake.’

  Joe couldn’t tell whether it was the line that had a hiss in it or Preston Blake’s voice.

  ‘Oh, hi ‘You fucking asshole.’

  ‘Mr Blake?’ said Joe, sitting down.

  ‘You clueless son of a bitch.’ He was sobbing.

  Joe looked around the room, but couldn’t find anyone to get eye contact with. His cell phone vibrated on the desk in front of him. It was Danny.

  ‘Mr Blake, could you hold a moment?’ said Joe, punching the button anyway.

  ‘Joe? It’s Danny. I’m on my way in. Have you seen the front page of the Post? Do not take a call from Preston Blake until you do.’

  ‘What the hell is going on? And you’re too late – I’ve got him on hold.’

  ‘Uh-oh. Go to Martinez’s desk. He’ll have a copy. Blake has been named by the press as “the one who got away”. How the hell did that happen?’

  ‘How do I know?’ said Joe, walking over to Martinez’s desk and picking up the newspaper. ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘We were the only ones who knew. I mean, very few people knew I was there. Rencher, Martinez, me, you, Rufo.’

  ‘Think you can hang up on him? Think the line might be faulty?’
/>
  ‘I’d love to.’

  ‘Or tell him you think you hear someone at his front door.’

  Joe laughed. ‘I’ll do the honorable thing…’

  ‘What? Put him through to Rufo?’

  ‘Something like that. Gotta go.’

  ‘Call me after.’

  Joe took the handset back up. ‘My apologies, Mr Blake. Could you give me the opportunity to read through the article before we have this conversation?’

  ‘Let me save you the trouble. “ Preston Blake, seen here in happier times ” – insert smiling photo – “ before he became the alleged victim of The Caller, the only one lucky enough to survive his horrendous attack.” And “ Preston Blake has been living the life of a recluse in his luxury Brooklyn Heights brownstone, rumoured to be the location of his vicious assault six months ago. Mr Blake refused to comment on The Caller’s latest victim, following the discovery of the mutilated body of Ethan Lowry on September 7th.” And let’s skip down here: “ While unclear how prolonged his ordeal was at the hands of The Caller or how extensive his injuries, Mr Blake has been visited by Manhattan North Homicide Detective Joe Lucchesi for assistance in his inquiries. Detective Lucchesi came to prominence -” and then there’s a bit about your tale of suffering and woe. You have my sympathies for that, as do your wife and son, but I am furious here. I am betrayed and exposed.’

  ‘I feel for you, Mr Blake. I really do. But I can promise you I had nothing to do with this disclosure. I have respected your wishes throughout this whole process. Would you like us to have someone watch the house? Would you feel safer?’