The Caller jl-2 Read online

  He reached down and opened the drinks cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey.

  ‘You total asshole,’ said Gina, rushing over to him from the door. She whacked him across the shoulder. ‘You asshole. You scared the shit out of me.’ She hit him again. Then she hugged him tight. Tears spilled down her cheeks. ‘You asshole.’ She kissed him on the lips. He kissed her back.

  ‘Where are the kids?’ he said, looking behind her.

  ‘With my ma.’

  ‘You’re not going to leave me, are you?’ said Danny.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Now, get me a glass… you asshole.’

  The following morning, Joe and Danny were back in the office at eight. Joe took out his notebook and found Sonja Ruehling’s number.

  ‘Mrs Ruehling, it’s Detective Joe Lucchesi. We were wondering if we could speak with you again as soon as possible.’

  He nodded to Danny.

  ‘We just have some questions to clear up, that’s all,’ said Joe. ‘Yeah, OK. Sure. We’ll see you there.’

  They drove to a coffee shop near Sonja Ruehling’s office on 43rd Street. She was waiting for them in a corner with three large coffees in front of her.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Joe. ‘OK, we need to know a little more about Alan Moder. We’re having problems tracking him down.’

  ‘Alan? OK. You mean what he looks like and stuff?’

  ‘Whatever you got,’ said Danny.

  ‘OK. Dark brown hair, brown eyes, long face… long body too, actually. A cyclist’s build, he cycles or, at least, he did. He was from Maplewood, New Jersey. He’s, well, he would be… I guess, thirty-three years old now.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Joe, glancing down at his notes, ‘he’s thirty-five.’

  ‘Ugh,’ she slapped the table. ‘The guy is, like, unbelievable.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Joe.

  ‘He’s such a liar,’ she said. ‘He’s thirty-five. I mean, that’s not what’s bothering me, but it’s like, even now, he is getting to me with his bullshit.’

  ‘He was a bullshitter,’ said Danny.

  ‘He was a pathological liar,’ said Sonja. ‘I know it’s one of those terms that’s thrown about out there, but he really was. He could not help himself.’

  ‘What do you mean exactly? What did he lie about?’

  ‘Everything,’ she said. ‘What time he got up in the morning, what he had for breakfast… like, you would come down in the morning and there would be a pan with bits of scrambled egg at the bottom and he would say, “I just grabbed a bagel.” Or I’d say, “where’d you get the shirt?” and he’d say one store, then I’d see the label and it would be from somewhere totally different.’

  ‘Men,’ said Danny.

  ‘It’s not that. It sounds like none of this was a big deal, but it was. I didn’t know where I stood with him. And I’d make excuses. If little things in his stories didn’t add up, I’d put it down to bad memory. A lot of guys have bad memories, right?’

  ‘I do,’ said Danny. ‘Drives my wife crazy.’

  Sonja smiled. ‘And can you imagine how good a liar you can get by practising with all the little lies? How much easier it would be, then, to lie about the big things?’ She shook her head. ‘It makes me so mad. He would be there all the time defending himself. It would wear you out. And in the end, you start to feel like you’re the freak. That was the worst part.’

  ‘You said the other day that it ended badly,’ said Joe.

  ‘When I caught him cheating, I left. I had suspected, but I thought I was being paranoid, of course.’

  ‘Did you confront him there and then?’

  ‘No. That’s not my style. I turned and walked out. I left him a note. And I was gone.’

  ‘Did he try contacting you afterwards?’

  ‘For a few weeks after, once or twice, nothing too heavy. In the meantime-’

  ‘Was he ever violent?’

  ‘What?’ she said. ‘No.’ She looked at both of them. ‘You don’t think… ohmygod… you don’t think he had something to do with Dean do you?’

  ‘We’re just talking here,’ said Joe. ‘Sorting through some information.’

  ‘Well he was never violent. I mean, that time in the restaurant when he went nuts, but there was never anything physical…’ She slowed down as she realized she was probably saying something they had heard over and over from innocent people found sucked into homicide investigations.

  ‘Sorry, I interrupted you,’ said Joe. ‘What were you about to tell us?’

  ‘Just that for a while after we broke up, I was obsessed with finding out why Alan was like that, more to convince myself that I wasn’t crazy for going out with him, do you know what I mean?’

  ‘Makes sense,’ said Danny.

  She nodded. ‘It turned out most of what he told me was bullshit. He said his father was a multimillionaire, they owned homes around the world, his mother worked in the United Nations as a translator. The detail he gave me was unbelievable-’

  ‘We see that all the time,’ said Joe. ‘Liars give way more detail than people who are just telling the truth.’

  ‘I mean, some parts of it were true,’ said Sonja. ‘His family did live in a huge house in a nice part of Maplewood, but they hadn’t a lot of money. His father had built the house – he had a construction company. Then it went bust, so they had the house but no money, even though they looked like they did and their parents seemed to encourage them not to say or act otherwise. So I think from very early on in Alan’s life, he was trained to lie. And I think it went from there. He had, like, six brothers and sisters, but was only close to this one sister. But she died. He wasn’t responsible, but he felt he was, because he covered for her the night she was going out. She and a group of friends were going to hang out by this quarry which, if her father had known, he would have forbidden her to go to, because it was unsafe, there had been major rain that week. Anyway, Alan covered for her and she fell while she was at the quarry, the ground gave way, whatever. And she died shortly afterwards.’

  ‘How do you know that was true?’ said Joe.

  ‘Well, that was the final straw for his parents. They cut him off completely. I knew it had to have been something big for them to do that. Dean Valtry confirmed the story, he knew people involved. Also, I spoke with Alan’s mother, so I had it all squared away. I felt terrible for him because of it all. But wouldn’t you think that would stop him lying? That’s how obsessed he was.’

  ‘Do you think he could be any different now? Any more likely to tell some of the truth?’ said Danny.

  She smiled. ‘I’d say it’s even more difficult now to work out if he’s lying. I’m not a stupid person. And he fooled me. That was years ago. He’s a seasoned pro now.’ She shrugged. ‘Also, there’s more than one way to lie: sometimes, he’ll tell you the whole truth, sometimes a doctored truth and then there’s the all-out fantasy stuff.’ She looked at the two detectives. ‘For Alan, there is no distinction between telling the truth and telling a lie, so when he’s sitting right there in front of you, you will not see a flicker of a change across his face, nothing that you would be familiar with in a regular person. You won’t see a tic, he won’t touch his face a certain way, he won’t blush, he won’t sweat, he will calmly sit in front of you and lie through his teeth.’

  Back at the office, Joe’s phone rang.

  He picked up. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Detective Lucchesi? It’s Taye Harris, fire marshal.’

  ‘Hi, good to hear from you.’

  ‘Just to fill you in, we found three propane cylinders in the rubble and some scraps of tape. So I’d say your guy left the cylinders in a taped-up room, releasing gas. So you wouldn’t have got any odor even if you’d have been up there. That rear room was the source point. It was used as a gym. You were lucky you weren’t hit with any of that equipment falling down. ‘

  ‘How did it all happen?’ said Joe.

  ‘The switch your partner flicked. It’s real easy to cre
ate an explosion. Looks like your guy used a light bulb. You soak a bit of twine in gasoline, wrap it around a light bulb base, just above the screw. You light it, let it burn a little, then dip it in water. That creates a crack. The bulb is intact, but basically, once you switch it on, you’ve got a naked flame in the room. He just set up the switch in the basement, made it look like it was going to light down there…’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Joe.

  ‘Guys do it in prison,’ said Harris. ‘Nice way to take someone out. They crack the bulb and fill it with glue they’ve robbed from the shoe department or the woodwork room, wherever. When the cell doors are unlocked at meal times or exercise times, a guy will hang back, slip into the other guy’s cell and swap the regular bulb for the one with the glue. The guy comes back to his cell, turns the light on, there’s an explosion, he’s covered with flaming glue he can’t get off and basically, he’s burned alive. Sometimes they won’t bother with the light bulb, they’ll just throw some glue over the guy, then throw a match after it. I don’t care how many tattoos you have, everyone’s terrified of being burned alive.’

  Joe glanced over at Danny.

  Heavy rain pounded the green awning of the Bay Ridge Manor. Denis Cullen stood underneath, smiling as he saw Joe and Danny running in, holding their jackets over their heads.

  ‘Thanks for coming, fellas,’ he said. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here after yesterday-’

  ‘Don’t worry about us,’ said Joe, putting on his jacket. ‘It’s a pleasure.’

  ‘This is my daughter, Maddy,’ said Cullen. She stood with her arm around him, leaning lightly against him, pale and thin, with bright blue eyes.

  ‘You look beautiful, sweetheart,’ said Danny. ‘It’s very nice to meet you.’

  She gave him a huge smile. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You too. What happened yesterday?’

  ‘Someone gave Detective Lucchesi here a pretty big fright,’ said Danny. ‘He was crying, you should have seen him. Like a baby.’

  She laughed.

  ‘Your daddy’s done some pretty cool things in this investigation we’re working on,’ said Joe.

  Maddy smiled again and hugged Cullen’s arm.

  ‘My wife gave me this for you,’ said Joe, reaching into the pocket of his tuxedo. He handed her a bracelet of pink beads.

  ‘That’s so sweet, thank you,’ said Maddy. ‘How did she guess I was wearing pink?’

  ‘The wives are the real detectives,’ said Cullen. ‘We know that from Mom, don’t we, sweetie?’ He squeezed her shoulder gently. She laughed.

  ‘Go ahead in,’ said Denis. ‘Get a few drinks into you.’

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Magda Oleszak looked out from under the hood of a black waterproof jacket as she pulled the zip closed under her chin.

  ‘Are we crazy going out in this?’ She turned to the support staff standing next to her in the lobby of the Colt-Embry Homes.

  ‘No,’ shouted the residents.

  Magda smiled. ‘OK then. Let’s get soaked.’

  Mary made a move for the door. Magda grabbed her arm gently. ‘Are you sure you won’t join us for dinner?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mary.

  ‘Or I can come with you?’ said Magda. ‘And we can meet the others before the movie?’

  ‘I’ll be OK.’ Mary held up her phone and switched between a screen with written directions to the church and one with a map from there to the movie theater. ‘I just want to be alone. But thanks, Magda. I’ll see you all at eight.’ She gave a small wave, pulled up her hood and dashed out into the rain.

  St Martin’s Church was empty but for the last of the congregation from evening mass. They were spread out across the pews that bordered the centre aisle or standing by the altar, putting money in slots to light candles. The smell of incense and wet umbrellas hung in the air. Mary kneeled in one of the pews near the back, setting her bag on the seat behind her. She prayed to each of the statues mounted high on plinths along the walls. She lost herself in the words, shutting out the sounds around her. She felt close to David, close to her parents, far away from all the bad things that had happened. She knew the intensity of her faith was a side-effect of her injury, but at least it was a positive one. She was at ease reciting childhood prayers that had been locked away safely in her long-term memory. She loved discovering new prayers, reading them from little cards, comforted by how right it was to find positivity in the darkest times.

  After half an hour she picked up her bag and walked to the door, reaching into the front pocket to take out her phone. It wasn’t there. She patted the other pocket. Nothing. Her heart immediately started to speed. She glanced around to see if anyone was watching her but then, she didn’t care. She shook the contents of her bag all over the damp tiles: makeup, notebooks, loose pages, a hairbrush, Band-Aid, headache pills… things rolled away from her, paper blew into the air, but all Mary could see was that her phone wasn’t there. Her phone was her memory. And now it was gone.

  ‘No,’ she said out loud. ‘This is not happening to me.’

  She pulled the lining of her bag out, checking it for holes. She started to cry. Her panic rose, pounding through her body. Her fingers trembled as she tried to drag everything back into the bag. She managed to stagger down the steps of the church, out the gate and make her way onto the street, where she grabbed the first person she saw.

  ‘I’m looking for the Colt-Embry Clinic,’ she said.

  The person shrugged and walked on. The fourth person Mary asked pointed ahead, directing her left and then giving more instructions that Mary knew she wouldn’t remember. She pulled her notebook out and wrote it all down, ignoring the woman’s reaction. She walked quickly, then jogged, her eyes moving back and forth between the notebook and the pavement in case she had dropped the phone on the way to the church. She arrived at the apartment building to the warmth of the light at the empty reception desk. Everyone had left. She steadied her key with both hands as she unlocked the main door and ran in. She made her way quickly to the elevators, pressing the button for her floor, desperately trying to talk herself calm. Her phone would be on her bed, she left it there, or it would be on the floor, or it was by the sink in the bathroom, or it was on the kitchen counter top or it was gone. Maybe it was gone. It was definitely gone. But didn’t she have it in the lobby? She couldn’t recall. All her fears gripped her internally, there was no outward show. If anyone saw her, all they would think was that she was determined, not that her lifeline was gone and she could fall apart at any moment. She imagined being found again by Stan or Magda or Julia curled into a ball on the floor like a crazy woman.

  She made it to the second floor, rushed past the library. She got to her apartment door and was pushing on it before she even had the key turned. She burst in and ransacked the place, pulling out drawers, turning over cushions, sweeping things onto the floor, falling to her knees to look under every space a phone would or would not fit. She stopped suddenly. She could hear a noise coming from further down the corridor. But she didn’t care. She just needed to find her lists, her names, her whole life, lost in one tiny silver product.

  She didn’t hear him come in behind her. He was so quick, he held her in his arms and had his hand clamped around her mouth before she had time to scream.

  For the second time in his life, Preston Blake sat in a small room with Mary Burig. His skin was covered in a film of greasy sweat that bled into his scalp, leaving his hair limp and flat against his forehead. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed furiously at his face, throwing it, damp and grey, to the ground when he had finished. He studied Mary, searching for signs of recognition.

  Mary could feel the tightness of dried tears on her skin. They had streamed down her cheeks as he carried her away, brought her to one of the vacant apartments, sat her on the chair. The walls had been painted that day. The carpet was covered in sheets. Most of the furniture was gone or protected with plastic covers. There was a ladder and paint pots in the corner, some
machine she didn’t recognize, brushes, newspapers, mugs, a radio. An overpowering smell of onion filled her nostrils. She looked around the room and saw one halved on a plate in the corner to absorb the paint fumes. It was dried out and useless. She couldn’t stop shaking. She still had her coat on and pulled it around her to keep her warm, even though she knew that the cold wasn’t the problem.

  The memories Mary had of the man sitting opposite her were fragmented, the same broken narrative she tried to put back together before her seizures. A plug-in light, glowing on a baseboard, a tall figure standing in her office doorway, his voice strangled, his breathing shallow, “ I need your help I need your help I need your help, sit down. Don’t do anything else. Just fucking listen to me, OK? Just listen to me. I’m looking for a little help here, OK? OK? I think I’m losing my mind. I just need you to listen to me. OK? Listen. That’s all. That’s your job, right? To listen and to help.” Recoiling from him, he must have been only six or seven years older than her, but looked so much older, worn down… beyond her knowledge, “ Are you listening to me? Help me. I don’t want to be who I am. Please help me. Stop me. His teeth. Liar. He was a fucking liar. I can rebuild some of the damage. But he’s gone, he won’t come back. I’m going to do it again. I’m going to kill again.” Then David arriving, angry, protecting…

  Mary shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t remember.’

  Blake tilted his head, saw the confusion in her face.

  ‘What are you going to do to me?’ said Mary.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Did you kill my brother?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’ Her voice was pleading and desperate.

  ‘I made a mistake.’