The Caller (20 page)

Anna Lucchesi knocked lightly on Shaun’s bedroom door. He didn’t answer.

‘Honey? I know you’re in there.’

Silence.

‘I have something for you,’ said Anna.

‘Come in,’ he said, his voice quiet.

Anna pushed open the door. Shaun was lying on the bed, in black sweatpants and a blue T-shirt. His eyes were red and swollen. She sat down beside him and put a hand gently on the side of his face.

‘I know this is a difficult day for you,’ she said. ‘How are you holding up?’

He shook his head. ‘Not. I just want to be on my own.’

‘That’s not always the right thing,’ said Anna. She paused. ‘I miss Katie too, you know.’

‘I can’t believe it’s been so long.’ He started to cry.

‘I know.’ She rubbed his hair. ‘I got you this,’ she said, putting a new scented candle on the bedside locker. ‘I know it’s Katie’s candle you like, but just, if you like the smell, I thought …’

He put his hand on top of Anna’s. ‘Thanks, Mom. At least you remembered.’

‘Your father has a lot on his mind,’ said Anna. ‘You know that.’

‘I just know it’s not us,’ said Shaun.

‘That’s not true,’ said Anna. ‘Let me tell you something about your father you might not realize. He’s old-fashioned, Shaun. He might look cool—’

Shaun laughed.

Anna laughed back. ‘What? He does. Kids are so mean …’

‘OK,’ Shaun said. ‘He doesn’t look too nerdy.’

‘OK,’ said Anna. ‘But what I’m saying is, he’s old-fashioned. He believes in protecting us from all the horrible things he has to deal with. And you know what? He feels he didn’t do that last year. And he’s decided not to face that. I’m not getting all heavy with you, you don’t need to hear all this stuff. But you just need to remember your father is a human being. And he cares a lot about us.’

The darkness in the basement was absolute. The deafening roar had died away, leaving behind isolated sounds of objects shifting slowly from where they’d originally fallen – loads being taken,
then given up. A chunk of plaster had plunged from the ceiling above, trapping Joe and Danny under the work bench, pressed shoulder to shoulder, their bodies cramped and strained from choking and coughing.

‘What the fuck?’ said Danny.

He got no response. ‘Joe?’ He pushed against him with his elbow.

‘My throat,’ Joe managed. He coughed again, dry and hoarse.

‘You hurt?’ said Danny.

‘I don’t think so. You?’

‘My neck.’ His chin was forced against his chest. ‘Can you see anything?’

‘No. But …’

Danny managed to turn his head slightly to one side. ‘Shit, Joe. The gas.’

‘What gas?’

‘The cylinder. There. For the oven. It’s just lying right there.’

A small chunk of plaster crashed down from the ceiling sending up more dust and debris.

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Danny.

‘It’s OK,’ said Joe. ‘Anything that was going to fall down has fallen and the gas is only a problem if there’s a fire.’ He started coughing uncontrollably. ‘My throat. I …’ He tried desperately to suck in a breath, but nothing seemed to be working.

* * *

Blaring sirens shattered the quiet streets of Brooklyn Heights. The first fire truck arrived within five minutes of a call from one of the neighbors. The door to the basement was under the front stoop. The Forcible Entry team rushed to it – one with a Halligan tool to break through, the other, the can man, ready with a small fire extinguisher, a quick fix before the hose lines were ready.

The officer beside them shouted out. ‘Hello? Hello? This is the fire department. My name is Johnson. Is there anybody in there?’

‘Yes,’ shouted Danny. ‘Two of us. We’re police officers.’

‘Well, hang in there, we’re going to get you out of there.’

‘Hurry,’ shouted Danny. ‘My partner is not breathing …’ He paused. Joe stared at him. Danny continued. ‘… very well. My partner is not breathing very well.’

‘OK,’ said Johnson. He turned away and shouted. ‘Let the Chief know we got two police officers in here.’ He turned back. ‘What are your names?’

‘Danny Markey, Joe Lucchesi, Manhattan North Homicide,’ said Danny.

‘Anyone else in the building?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Joe, his voice weakened by his aching throat. ‘I don’t think so.’ He coughed.

‘The blast was deliberate,’ shouted Danny.

‘OK,’ said Johnson. ‘You think there’s a possibility of a secondary explosion?’

‘Nah, he’s done, he’s done,’ said Joe.

‘But the owner uses gas for his work,’ shouted Danny.

There was silence from outside. Joe and Danny waited. They heard the crackle of Handie Talkies and voices outside, hushed this time.

‘OK,’ shouted Johnson. ‘Guys, we got a small fire at the door we need to take care of, OK? Nothing to be alarmed by.’

Danny looked at Joe. ‘Oh shit. Oh shit. This is not the way I’m going. No way.’ He tried to lean forward and push at the chunk of ceiling that wedged them in.

‘Danny, Danny, calm down,’ said Joe. ‘We’re not going to be able to move that. The fire is not near us. Can you feel any heat? Can you smell anything?’

‘No. But anything could be in this fucking place – more gas, flammable shit. I don’t know. He could have planted more stuff. It’s an old building—’

‘Calm down,’ said Joe. ‘They know what they’re doing.’

‘This is my worst fucking nightmare,’ said Danny. ‘My worst nightmare.’

He clawed again at the plaster, then pushed with his palms. He struggled desperately to move his feet against it, to press his back to the wall and gain leverage. But his body stayed as trapped as it was when he crouched under the bench. Before long, he lost all feeling in his hands as he
slammed them uselessly over and over against the plaster. Then he hammered with his fists, splitting the skin across his knuckles, oblivious to the pain and the sweat pouring down his face and soaking into his shirt and trousers.

Outside, houses were evacuated along the block, residents gathered at the far end of the street behind the barricades, camera and videophones ready to capture the next disaster. Three fire engines and two more fire trucks arrived. A F.A.S.T. truck struggled to find space on the narrow street. Rescue 2 and Squad 1 followed – elite teams of experts with specialist equipment. Over twenty-five firefighters gathered in front of the building.

Joe could see more than Danny. There was a jagged gap wide enough for him to look through. In the darkness, a small glow had struck up in the corner by the door. Through the haze of dust, it looked warm and unthreatening. When his eyes adjusted, he could see the fire, every flame like a flickering warning signal, powerful and unpredictable. He tried to see what lay around the fire to feed it, but it was just a series of jumbled shapes, each object indistinguishable from the next. Through the confusion of the FE team trying to break the door down, metal on metal, heavy boots on concrete, urgent voices, was a sound like gushing
wind. Joe watched as the flames shot high, then low again, then spread out across the floor towards them. They had caught what looked like paper drums. The same ones Blake used to send off the bloodied clothes.

Danny had his eyes closed, but he couldn’t miss the light flaring behind them.

‘No,’ he said, simply. ‘No way. Tell me that’s not—’

‘They’re at the door,’ said Joe. ‘They’ll be inside any minute.’

Outside the Handie Talkie struck up and they both heard Johnson telling his men to back away from the door.

‘Aw Jesus,’ said Danny.

Tiny wisps of smoke drifted across the basement. The fire started to crackle. And very slowly, Joe started to feel heat at his shoulder. He felt Danny jerk beside him. He could see the whites of his eyes in the darkness. He was tearing up.

‘Listen to me,’ said Joe. ‘The fire department is here, OK? They are right outside that door and we’re their priority. They like to get people out alive. They’re going to put that fire out. They need to make sure they’re not putting themselves in danger first. Worst case scenario? The fire hits the gas tanks and then? We’ll be blown to shit. But we won’t feel a thing. What I’m saying is there is no chance of us burning alive in here. Trust me.’

‘Man …’ said Danny, ‘I don’t know.’ Then he took a huge breath and roared: ‘Johnson? Johnson? What the fuck is going on out there?’

But his voice was drowned out by the door crashing in. The FE team charged through, blasting the fire with extinguishers. The air was thick with smoke and dust, the floor littered with beams and exercise equipment and chunks of heavy ornamental plaster from the parlor floor above. They rushed to the work bench where Danny and Joe were trapped.

‘We’re going to clear this debris and get you out of there,’ said Johnson. ‘How you doing in there?’

‘Good,’ said Joe. ‘We’re doing good.’

Danny was slumped in the corner with relief, his hand over his face, the other hand still gripping Joe’s arm.

Johnson spoke into his Handie Talkie. ‘Chief, we got a partial collapse in the rear of the building. We just put out a small fire to the front of the first floor. Officers at the scene say there was an explosion while they were looking for a possible suspect. He could still be in the building.’

Joe shook his head. ‘Probably not.’

The three firefighters were joined by more, forming a line to pass out the broken plaster, timber and rubble that blocked in the work bench. As soon as the space was large enough, Danny and Joe crawled out and stood up slowly, their
faces covered with pale grey dust, their eyes rimmed red.

‘Thank you,’ said Joe.

‘Not a problem,’ said Johnson.

‘Yeah – thanks,’ said Danny. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’

Joe paused to look up through the shattered ceiling. He shook his head slowly.

They made their way through the basement door into the heat of Willow Street and crowds of firefighters, police and EMS crews, standing around between fire trucks, squad cars and ambulances. They were led to the back of an ambulance where they were checked over by an EMT.

‘You should really go to the hospital,’ she said.

‘No thank you,’ said Joe.

The fire marshal walked over to them. ‘Taye Harris. How you doing?’

‘Not doing too bad,’ said Danny, shaking dust out of his hair.

More firefighters gathered around them.

‘What happened?’ said Harris.

Joe shrugged. ‘We were inside, questioning a victim … he disappears, we go looking for him down in the basement.’

‘I flicked a light switch,’ said Danny, ‘then, bam.’

‘Looks like it was a BLEVE,’ said Harris.

‘Blevy?’

‘Boiling Liquid Expanding Vapour Explosion,’ said the marshal. ‘Something was rigged in there,
we’ll know more later. See – the third floor there – the one window above the front door.’

Danny frowned. ‘What?’

Harris pointed. ‘We call the basement the first floor. Next floor up is the second floor or parlor floor where the front door is and see, above that is the third floor.’

‘Right, I see,’ said Danny.

‘Well, the roofman says he thinks the explosion came from the equivalent room to the rear of the building. You were lucky the fire was so contained,’ said Harris. ‘If that had gotten into the cockloft, it would have run to the front and taken off. I think what happened was something shorted in the basement.’

Danny breathed out.

‘You know what we call that room?’ said Harris. ‘With the bay window? It’s small, there’s usually only one way out and in a fire where there’s no access to the interior stairs, you’re trapped. We call it the dead man’s room.’

Rufo jogged over to them, his small hands clenched. ‘What are you doing, Lucchesi, bullshitting here – get to the hospital, the both of you.’

‘We’re not going to the hospital,’ said Joe. ‘We’re fine. A few cuts and bruises, that’s it. I’ll fill out a Line of Duty injury report—’

‘Yeah, when you get back from the hospital. I’m not giving you the option,’ said Rufo. ‘Look at you, you’re covered in crap. You don’t know
what’s under there. You can’t see shit.’

‘I think I’d know if I’d been hit by something,’ said Joe.

‘Me too,’ said Rufo.’ Cos it would have knocked some sense into you. Now, go. To the hospital. Now.’

Joe and Danny looked at each other. ‘Fine. OK. I’ll drive,’ said Joe.

‘Thanks, guys,’ he said to the firefighters.

‘I’ll be in touch when I know more,’ said Harris.

‘Here’s my card,’ said Joe.

Danny and Joe went to the ER at Long Island College Hospital and were given the all-clear by a doctor within ten minutes. They washed their faces in the men’s room and were in Cody’s on Court Street within an hour and a half of being dragged out from under Preston Blake’s work bench.

Joe knocked back a shot of vodka. ‘What the fuck was that about back there?’ he said. ‘
My
partner is not breathing
.’

‘What if it was true?’ said Danny. ‘What if that fucking ceiling fell down on your head and killed you and you left a young son and a pregnant wife behind you?’ He stared at Joe. ‘Ain’t you happy to be alive?’

Joe stared back.

‘Weren’t you a few seconds away from being a dead man?’ said Danny. ‘How did it feel not to breathe?’

‘Jesus, Danny.’

Joe watched his partner. He was paler than he’d ever seen him, his face a sheen of sweat. His eyes were running all over the room.

‘Yeah, well …’ said Danny. He drank from his beer, his fingers almost straight, to take the pressure off his bloody knuckles. ‘This is all the medical treatment I need today.’ He ordered another beer.

‘I was thinking about him. Or her. When I was in there …’ said Joe.

‘Who?’

‘The baby.’

‘Good,’ said Danny. He raised his bottle and hit it off Joe’s second glass of vodka. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’

‘So,’ said Danny. ‘You still going along to the benefit tomorrow tonight?’

‘I’m tired,’ said Joe. ‘But, yeah. For a few hours. Cullen’s a good guy. And, you know, I got my tux altered.’

‘Split the seams again …’

‘An inward alteration, actually.’

‘Inward.’ Danny shook his head. His hand trembled as he raised his beer to his mouth. ‘You want to know what I was thinking about when I was in there?’