The Caller jl-2

by Alex Barclay

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, I thought I could be prepared. For prison. For anything. But I made a mistake. I was wrong. I tried. It didn’t work. And all I wanted then was to stay free. And I would have stopped killing… after you.’

  ‘Please don’t-’

  He stared at her. ‘I didn’t start out this way. I just… something snapped. I wanted confirmation. That’s all. I tried to make friends with people…’

  ‘You must have some people who care about you.’

  ‘Not everyone has friends. Not someone like me. Maybe beforehand… but not now.’

  ‘Maybe you left it too late.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘For help.’

  ‘That would suit you to think that way.’ Mary said nothing.

  ‘You’re nearly normal, aren’t you?’ said Blake. Mary nodded.

  ‘That’s got to be hard.’

  She stared at him.

  ‘We’re tied together by lies,’ he said.

  ‘You and me?’ said Mary.

  He nodded.

  ‘No,’ said Mary. ‘We’re not. Lies were just – something to you.’

  ‘They are me. But… they’re everyone.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  He laughed sadly. ‘That’s my point. It is true. You called me a freak, remember? You kept screaming at me to get out and calling me a freak. I lost it. I know I did. But I’m not a freak. It turns out really I’m not. Everyone lies like me. No-one wants to admit it. I’m just proving it. Push people far enough and they’ll tell you the truth. But why do you have to push so far?’

  Lies had been a huge part of Mary Burig’s life and what had led her to this point, what had brought Preston Blake into her world. It was the evening before her final exam. She sat in one of four quiet corners at Tewkes, the deadest bar in Boulder. Her Biopsychology textbook was spread out on the small round table in front of her with notes written in the margin. She knew how her mind worked. Intense bursts of studying right before an exam paid off. She kept up with most subjects all year, but for the ones she didn’t, she could concentrate all her energies in a twelve-hour session and still come out on top. She waited an hour, focused on reading, wired on coffee.

  Then Jonny Tewkes walked in, the son of the owner, followed by most of his class on the trail of free beer. Mary kept her head down. But Jonny had seen her and walked over, pulling out the stool opposite her and closing the textbook shut.

  ‘Mary Burig. Now is not the time.’ He smiled.

  She smiled back. ‘No. It’s way past the time.’

  ‘When’s the exam?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Then you’re done. You need to relax for the evening. In preparation.’

  Mary rolled her eyes.

  ‘You do psychology, right? So isn’t it proven that sex releases endorphins and they make you relaxed and happy?’

  ‘So we’ve just skipped straight to that then?’

  ‘Not at all. I’m obviously going to get you drunk first.’

  ‘You really are such a loser.’

  ‘A sincere one. I can not stop thinking about last week.’

  She smiled. ‘Me too.’

  ‘So, what’s your problem?’

  She opened her book. ‘This.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Look,’ said Mary. ‘Let’s hook up tomorrow night, OK?’

  ‘I can’t keep this up for twenty-four hours.’

  She smiled. ‘From what I saw…’

  A waiter came over with a beer and a glass of white wine.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Jonny.

  ‘One mouthful,’ said Mary, reaching for her wine.

  Mary didn’t make it to her final exam. She didn’t graduate. And after months of partying with Jonny Tewkes, she moved in with him to the apartment above the bar and took a job as a waitress. But alcohol-fuelled sex and constant conversations about having it, could sustain her only so long. And Jonny didn’t have much more to offer.

  Mary left. She moved to New York. She opened a small office in SoHo that David paid for. The plaque on the wall had read Mary Burig, Psychologist. It sounded right to her. Her friend reproduced a University of Boulder Certificate and created a Masters certificate to go alongside it. He knew she was bright. She’d helped him get off drugs in his sophomore year. He knew she could help other people. David didn’t agree with what his sister was doing, but he covered for her then and right through their first meeting with Julia Embry.

  Mary stared at Blake. One word flashed into her mind: CORRUPT, a mnemonic from college for the symptoms of Antisocial Personality Disorder: Cannot follow law. Obligations ignored. Remorseless. Recklessness. Underhandedness. Planning Deficit. Temper. Mary realized she also ticked some of those boxes.

  Blake raised his voice. ‘Did you hear me?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Mary. ‘I was thinking.’

  ‘I wonder how your brain works now,’ said Blake.

  ‘So do I,’ she said. She looked away. ‘Did it make a difference?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Killing those people. Did it prove to you what you wanted it to prove? That you’re normal, that everyone else is just like you, that you’re not… a freak?’

  ‘Everyone is just like me,’ he said. ‘Everyone lies. Everyone who told me I was a freak was wrong.’

  ‘Why am I here?’ said Mary.

  ‘Because I wanted to see you. Because I want to get away with my crimes now. Because I think it might be too late.’

  ‘You can’t blame me for what you’ve done,’ said Mary.

  ‘I want to give you something,’ he said.

  Mary started to shake. She was watching the gun in his right hand.

  ‘And what I will give you is time,’ said Blake, standing up. With his left hand, he started to pull something from his pocket. She could see a flash of silver in the moonlight through the window. He was handing her back her phone. Giving her a lifeline. Letting her go. She reached out and took it from him.

  Suddenly, the door behind him flew open and he jerked around. Mary shut her eyes tight, aware of an explosion of light and gunshot. The window behind her shattered. She flung herself flat on the floor and clawed her way towards the door. Screams, more gunshot, footsteps, a terrible smell. She could feel something warm on her face, something trickle down her cheek. She wiped it away before it could reach her mouth. As soon as she got into the hallway, she ran. She could hear the random workings of the building that went on all day and all night, sounds she would never notice, only that now she was alone and it was dark and she was afraid. She cried quiet, desperate tears.

  She made it to the elevator bank. A sign told her it should not be used in the case of a fire. She thought about how quickly it would get her down to the first floor, to the lobby, to the outside. Then she imagined being trapped in there. Anyone could push a button on any floor and step into that tiny space with her. She turned her head and knew the only way to go was back towards the emergency stairs, back through the half-finished renovation. She ran, under the eerie black void of missing ceiling tiles, exposed wires, conscious that all around her were doors to empty apartments.

  She burst through onto the landing and decided to go up a floor instead of down. She gripped hard to the banister, dragging herself up. She could hear her name being called urgently, over and over, echoing up the stairwell. She pressed her hands against her ears. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Everything was closing in on her. She didn’t know what she’d seen. She could add it to all the other jumbled up thoughts and images her mind could no longer process. She hated it. She hated it so much.

  On the third floor she found a vacant apartment and closed the door gently behind her. She was confused by its orientation; as she made her way to the window, she didn’t know what view she would see. But what was there made her heart want to burst – the room overlooked the flower-bed she had planted with David. She never knew what memory could take root, why one memo
ry could stay and another would not. Tears streamed down her face. She wiped them away and in the dark, couldn’t see that they were mixed with blood. She stayed at the window, thinking of her brother, his kindness, his smiling eyes, his A shadow crossed the wet grass and Mary slammed herself back against the wall. Her chest was tight with panic. She slid down the wall, then gripped the window sill and slowly pulled herself up to take another look out.

  She slumped back down and stayed that way for over an hour before she decided she had to do something.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The banquet hall was a sea of pink balloons, floating out of the centre of round tables with bright white cloths. The tables were starting to fill with women and young children. The older teenagers and men gathered at the bar.

  Rufo stood alone near the buffet table, dressed in a three-button tuxedo, drinking a vodka.

  ‘Boss,’ said Danny, slapping his back, ‘now’s the time to get that “after” picture taken for the slimming magazine.’

  Rufo cupped a hand around his ear. ‘Is that a compliment I’m hearing?’

  Joe walked over, ‘Jesus, Sarge. Nice threads. New hair cut.’

  ‘See?’ said Rufo turning to Danny. ‘That’s the way to do it.’

  ‘Brown-nose one-oh-one,’ said Danny.

  ‘You got to admit that’s a great tux,’ said Joe.

  ‘Get a room, you guys,’ said Danny.

  ‘This,’ said Rufo, ‘is Armani. Two thousand dollars, I swear to God. This guy I was doing security work for? When he saw me drop all the weight, gave it to me as a gift.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Danny. ‘No strings attached. Rrrrring rrrring, rrrrrring rrrring.’ He put an imaginary phone to his ear. ‘Hello? Sergeant Rufo? Hi, yeah, listen I got a few parking violations, first degree murder charges I could use your help with…’

  ‘No-one can just do a nice thing for someone in your world,’ said Rufo.

  ‘I’m going to the bar,’ said Danny. ‘Drink? That’s a nice thing.’

  Joe nodded.

  ‘I got one on the way,’ said Rufo.

  ‘Maddy’s a sweet little kid,’ said Joe. ‘I hope she’ll make it.’

  ‘Doesn’t bear thinking about otherwise,’ said Rufo.

  Danny was surrounded on all sides by oversized college kids gripping their ID, their golden ticket to getting wasted. He was grateful only when they hid him from someone he really did not want to see. He grabbed his drinks and rushed back from the bar with his head bowed.

  ‘I just saw one of my exes,’ he said, handing Joe his beer.

  ‘Yeah?’ said Rufo.

  ‘It happens all the time,’ said Joe.

  ‘Someone from when Gina and I were on a break,’ said Danny. ‘This girl was nuts. Every night out with her, she would end up, a drink in each hand, dancing on a table. You could be at a wake, she’d find a table to dance on. I carried her home more times than I can remember. In the end, I couldn’t take any more and it broke her heart. I had to say to her, ‘Ba-’

  ‘Barbara,’ said Rufo, smiling to a woman in an emerald green gown, taking her hand and guiding her past Danny towards him. He kissed her on the cheek. ‘This is my… partner, Barbara Stenson. This is Danny Markey. And you’ve already met Joe.’

  Danny opened and closed his mouth twice before he spoke. ‘Uh, nice to meet you, Barbara.’

  ‘You too, Danny,’ she said, squeezing his hand too tight.

  ‘Can I get you anything to drink?’ said Joe.

  ‘This is my third soda and lime,’ said Barbara, ‘and there’s only so many you can drink. I quit drinking a few years back and I still wonder how I could physically put away so much liquid in one night.’ She laughed.

  ‘There was Barbara spending years knocking back vodkas while I was busy eating all the pies,’ said Rufo. ‘I wonder would we have liked each other if we met back then.’

  ‘Sad thing is we wouldn’t, because back then when my nights were all a blur, I wound up with the biggest losers.’

  Joe laughed louder than anyone.

  Barbara squeezed Rufo’s arm. ‘I needed to wait a few years to catch myself a good guy.’

  ‘Joe, why don’t we leave these two lovebirds alone?’ said Danny.

  Joe was still laughing as they walked away. ‘So you think you broke her heart?’

  ‘Can you fucking believe she’s with Rufo?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I can,’ said Joe.

  ‘There’s too much love in the room tonight,’ said Danny. ‘I can not handle it.’

  ‘Let’s see what food’s on offer here,’ said Joe, wandering to the top of the buffet table.

  ‘I’m in the mood for a little roast beef,’ said Danny. ‘Lots of it.’

  ‘I’m thinking turkey,’ said Joe.

  Joe and Danny sat at a table with two beers and two plates piled with food. Danny was eyeing Barbara Stenson smiling and laughing with Rufo.

  ‘What does she find so funny?’ said Danny.

  Joe glanced over. ‘Probably the fact that you keep staring at her. That you treated her like shit and now she can come back to haunt you. That you might actually be at her wedding to your boss… there’s lots of things she could be laughing at right now. The idea that-’

  ‘Shut the fuck up.’

  ‘Think about it,’ said Joe, ‘she marries Rufo, he’s at home bitching about work, she’s never going to take your side-’

  ‘I’ve got to tell him-’

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’

  ‘Is that your phone?’ said Danny.

  Joe stared at him.

  ‘I’m serious,’ said Danny, ‘it’s vibrating against my chair.’

  Joe reached back to his jacket hanging on the back of his chair. He pulled out his phone and answered.

  ‘Hello? Hello? Hello…’ He shook his head at Danny. He was about to hang up. ‘Mary? I can’t hear… you’re where?’ He listened. ‘OK. Your door’s locked, right? Stay right where you are. Don’t move, OK? And when you hang up what I need you to do right away is call 911. Can you do that? They’ll keep you on the line-’ He paused. ‘No, no. They’ll send some patrol officers over. And we’ll be right behind them. You hang in there, OK? You’ll be fine.’ Joe turned to Danny. ‘Jesus Christ, that was Mary Burig. She said something about the perp being in her building. And she’s on her own. But… you know, it’s Mary

  …’ Joe shrugged. ‘Come on. We better go check it out.’

  Mary’s thumbs hovered over the buttons 9 and 1. Outside in the hallway, someone was calling her name. Her heart pounded. She put the phone down.

  Joe and Danny pulled into the empty parking lot outside the Colt-Embry Homes. There were no patrol cars. The building was in darkness.

  ‘What the fuck?’ said Joe.

  ‘Maybe they pulled up around the back,’ said Danny.

  ‘Why would they?’ said Joe. He turned to Danny. ‘Shit. She never fucking called them.’

  He grabbed the radio. ‘Manhattan North Homicide portable to Central K. Be advised we’re at Colt-Embry Homes on 21st Street in Astoria. We have a possible murder suspect at the location. We need backup.’

  They ran to the side of the building. The front door was ajar. The lobby was empty, the lights off. Joe pointed behind the desk to where the ceiling of the short corridor was exposed, its floor tiles hanging by thick cables along both sides of the wall. Behind it was the fire door and stairs that would take them to Mary’s apartment on the second floor.

  Joe walked up the stairs first, trying to limit the noise from his new dress shoes. Danny followed him.

  ‘We’re going direct to her place?’ Danny whispered.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Joe.

  They reached the second floor landing. Joe stopped to retie the laces of his left shoe.

  ‘Fuck these shoes.’

  They walked down the hallway. Twice, his right foot lost its grip, but he managed to keep his balance. He forgot to give his shoes to Anna before he came out. She would have score
d the bottom of them with a pen-knife or roughed up the surface with an emery board. He brought his mind back to focus. The only thing he could hear were Danny’s footsteps beside him and the buzz of the fluorescent light above.

  Mary heard footsteps approaching from the end of the hallway and the jangle of Stan’s keys. She pushed open the door slowly and placed one bare foot onto a tile she was expecting to be cold. It was warm and wet. Her foot slid from under her. As her head hit the cold hard floor, the last thing she saw was Stan’s utility belt… covered in blood.

  Joe and Danny opened all the vacant rooms along the second floor hallway and found no-one. Mary’s apartment door was wide open and her belongings strewn everywhere. Drawers were opened, cushions were turned over, bags were emptied.

  ‘This does not look good,’ said Joe.

  ‘Mary?’ said Danny. ‘Mary?’

  It didn’t take long to search the small apartment. They found nothing. They ran upstairs to the floors above, throwing open the unlocked doors. They moved down the stairs, pushing through the back door into the lobby.

  ‘Whoa,’ said Joe, pointing at a streak of blood on the tiled floor.

  ‘That was not here when we got here.’

  ‘No way,’ said Joe.

  They ran towards the door.

  ‘Where is she?’ said Danny.

  Joe glanced out into the dark. ‘And where the hell’s our backup?’

  ‘Look at that,’ said Danny.

  Two uniforms were taking their time walking up the path. Danny gestured them forward. They ran towards him.

  ‘The woman who called this in is not here,’ said Danny. ‘But we haven’t searched the entire building. Perp goes by Preston Blake or Alan Moder, he’s six foot tall, mid thirties, medium build, dark hair, heavily scarred chin, may be accompanied by a female, Mary Burig, late twenties, five four, slim build, long dark hair, very pale blue eyes. Unknown method of escape.’

  Magda Oleszak ran through the parking lot of the Colt-Embry Homes, past the patrol cars that had just arrived and straight into a uniform standing at the door.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she said.

  ‘Who are you?’ said the officer.

  ‘I work here. My name is Magda Oleszak. I’m looking for my friend. We were going to the movies, over two hours ago. I thought she was in the group. Someone said she was. I should have checked. Is she OK? Is she in there? Why are you here? Her name is Mary.’