The Caller (4 page)

Everyone else would remember the anniversary of Katie’s funeral three weeks from now. But this night, one year ago, was the night he nearly had sex with her for the first time. But then they had fought. And then she had run away from him. And then she was killed. He lay down on his bed,
closed his eyes and, for half an hour, let the tears run down his face onto the pillow. Then he sat up and grabbed his cell phone and scrolled through his photos. Katie at school. Katie on the beach. Katie in his room. Delete. Delete. Delete.

Joe sat at his desk, pressing his fingers against his forehead, pretending to read a report that had started to blur a few minutes earlier. His phone rang. It was Reuben Maller from the FBI, Eastern District – the office that covered the whole east coast. They got on well since their first case together. The last one they worked was Donald Riggs.

‘Can you talk?’ said Maller.

‘Go ahead,’ said Joe.

‘How are you all doing?’

‘Who?’ said Joe. ‘You mean here? Manhattan North?’

‘You, Anna … Shaun. How are you holding up?’

Joe paused. ‘We’re good … why? What’s going on?’

Maller let out a breath. ‘OK,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘Off the record, I got some news from the Bureau in Texas. On Duke Rawlins.’

Joe stopped breathing.

‘Before you say anything, Joe, it’s sketchy, I don’t have a lot of details. And you do not know this.’

Joe fought the nausea rising in his stomach. ‘Tell me,’ he managed.

‘Duke Rawlins’ home town, Stinger’s Creek? Geoff Riggs – Donald Riggs’ father – said he had a visit last week from Rawlins. Geoff Riggs is in really bad shape, Joe. No-one knows the last time he was sober. He walks through town, railing about things, not making a lot of sense. Last week, he said to some young kid in the liquor store that Rawlins was out at his cabin the week before. The kid was freaked out and called the cops. They went to speak with Riggs. I have it written here verbatim. Geoff Riggs said, real calm: “Sure, I had a visit from Dukey. He was wanting to say Hi, catch up. Been years. Wanted to take a look around Donnie’s bedroom. I said, ‘Knock yourself out, buddy’. Not a lot in there since y’all turned it upsideways last year. So Dukey comes out, then he go on out to the shed out back where I keep my tools and I say, ‘Sure you can, Dukey. You’re a good boy.’ He seemed kinda aggritated. Had some sort of bug in his bonnet. Anyways, last I saw of little Dukey.”’

‘That’s it?’ said Joe.

‘Yep.’

‘Geoff Riggs didn’t call the cops, nothing?’

‘No – this guy’s brain is so fried. That statement I just read to you took two hours to extract from
him. My guess is Rawlins is taking advantage of the relaxed surveillance.’

‘The no surveillance,’ said Joe.

‘Yeah,’ said Maller. ‘It’s been a year – he hadn’t shown anywhere anyone expected him to. And his visit to Geoff Riggs is only part one of the story. The second part is that a few days later, the custodian of the Stinger’s Creek cemetery was doing his rounds and when he got to Donald Riggs’ grave … well, there was another one opened up right beside it.’

Joe paused. ‘Someone was dug up?’

‘No. Someone had just dug a grave. It was empty. It was thoroughly searched and there was nothing or no-one in it.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Joe.

‘What we have got to remember is everyone out there knows what Rawlins and Riggs did. And on the one hand, you’ve got people baying for blood. On the other, some of the officers from the sheriff’s department who went to investigate this, spoke to a group of stoners who were all, “Man, Duke Rawlins is, like, sick.” In a good way. So it could have been an angry relative of a victim, it could have been a teenage prank.’

‘Maller, why don’t we cut the crap, here? You know what this is. Alcoholic witness or not. It’s not a coincidence – we hear Rawlins shows up, pays a visit to a tool shed and within days a grave is opened up next to his old buddy. Come on.’

‘Yeah,’ said Maller. ‘It’s just I know what this
man has done to you. I mean, that’s why I called you on this … yeah, I don’t think this one’s a false alarm.’

‘Jesus Christ.’

‘I have to ask,’ said Maller, ‘has he tried to get in touch with you?’

Joe did not hesitate. ‘No.’

Anna Lucchesi sat at her dressing table in her bathrobe, her hair pulled back with a black jersey headband, her face pale, her eyes shadowed. She opened a packet of cleansing wipes and started wiping down her makeup products, getting rid of dust and dried-in foundation and caked powder. She grouped them together and lined them up, ready for the following morning. A photo beside the bed showed her as she used to be, her hair dark and glossy, her cheeks healthy, her eyes alive.

The notice board at Manhattan North was covered with badges from police departments all over the country and around the world. Joe stood in front of it, thinking about Duke Rawlins. Every evil thing Rawlins had done had settled close to the surface and deep down inside. He didn’t know what would end it, but every day a new scenario took him away from where he was supposed to be.

‘Joe? That’s your freakin’ phone,’ yelled Martinez.

Joe grabbed the receiver.

‘Joe? It’s Bobby Nicotero. From the 1st.’ Bobby’s
father was Victor Nicotero – Old Nic – a retired cop and close friend of Joe’s.

‘Jesus, Bobby. What’s up?’

‘Not a lot.’

‘How’s Old Nic?’

‘You tell me.’

Joe paused.

Bobby’s laugh was off. ‘I was going to ask you the same thing. How
is
my father?’

‘Well … last time I saw him was at that barbecue, couple weeks back. You had to be somewhere with the kids, I think. He was good, taking it easy, enjoying writing.’

‘Writing what?’

‘Oh,’ said Joe. ‘He’s working on a book.’

‘Yeah, well, I’ve been busy …’

‘Yeah – your old man’s writing his memoirs.’

Bobby shot out a laugh. ‘I got a few chapters of my own I might like to add to that.’

‘Really?’ said Joe. ‘What can I—’

‘Actually I’m calling because I think I’ve got something you might be interested in. The Upper West Side homicide you got? Your vic – Ethan Lowry. Was there a phone by him when they found him?’

‘Yeah. There was. Why?’

Bobby sucked in a breath. ‘Sounds a lot like this case I caught in SoHo back in December. Guy’s name was Gary Ortis, badly beaten about the face, gunshot to the head, phone in the hallway beside him. We never got the guy.’

‘Jesus. And it looks like we’re already linking this one to a case a year back. Was your guy gay?’

‘He was single and he dated women,’ said Bobby, ‘but who knows? Yours?’

‘Ethan Lowry was married with a kid,’ said Joe. ‘William Aneto was gay.’

‘Hmm.’

‘I know where you’re coming from,’ said Joe, ‘it has that feel about it. That was some hardcore facial damage and I don’t know about you, but last few times I saw shit like that, it was two guys, lovers’ spat. No-one died, but …’

‘Yeah, I know,’ said Bobby.

‘Look, why don’t you call in to the Two-Oh, bring what you got.’

Joe put down the phone and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket hanging on the back of his chair. He pulled out two pills and took them with a can of Red Bull.

‘Guys,’ he said. ‘That was Bobby Nicotero from the 1st. Looks like he got a third vic, happened back in December. He’s on his way over.’

‘Holy shit,’ said Danny.

‘On Lowry’s records? said Blazkow. ‘The last call at 10.58? Was to a woman – Clare Oberly. Lives on 48th Street between 8th and Broadway.’

‘OK,’ said Joe. ‘Danny and I’ll go check her out this evening.’

* * *

Half an hour later Bobby Nicotero walked into the twentieth precinct with his partner. Bobby was thirty-nine years old with a thick neck, broad shoulders, short legs and suits too cheap to flatter any of them. He had close-cut black hair, a heavy brow and a range of facial expressions that stretched to pissed off.

‘Hey,’ said Joe. ‘Good to see you.’

‘You too,’ said Bobby, shaking his hand. ‘This is my partner, Roger Pace.’

Pace was shockingly gaunt with eyes set deep into dark sockets.

‘Nice to meet you,’ said Joe, shaking his hand. ‘Thanks for coming in.’

‘No problem,’ said Pace, slipping back behind Bobby.

‘OK,’ said Joe, walking over to the others. ‘Bobby, you know Danny Markey. And this is Aldos Martinez and Fred Rencher from Manhattan North. Tom Blazkow and Denis Cullen from here at the Two-Oh. Everyone, Bobby Nicotero and Roger Pace from the 1st.’

Everyone nodded.

‘Do you want to tell us what you got?’ said Joe.

‘Sure,’ said Bobby. ‘I read the paper and I just saw our friend, the “source close to the investigation” saying that the vic was found naked and his face was severely beaten. I figured there could be something to it, could be nothing.’ He opened the file.

‘Our vic’s name was Gary Ortis, DOB 07/10/69, cause of death – GSW to the head from a twenty-two. There were signs of oxygen deprivation, you know, petechial hemorrhages. He was found naked in his apartment on Prince Street in SoHo.’

‘Body behind the door,’ said Joe.

‘Yup.’

Everyone nodded. ‘That sounds like our guy,’ said Joe. ‘Any leads?’

Bobby shook his head. ‘Nothing. We thought it was a gay thing, but the guy had lots of girlfriends—’ He shrugged. ‘Not that that means anything.’

‘Yeah,’ said Martinez looking at Danny.

Danny rolled his eyes.

‘Looks sexual to me,’ said Blazkow. ‘They’re all found naked like that, beaten so bad.’

‘We got the ME talking about a homosexual motive,’ said Joe.

‘Makes sense when you look at the physical damage,’ said Rencher. ‘When I was in the 17th, I caught this case – a high school junior, one of those small, pretty boy types, hooked up with this forty-year-old guy, they had a thing going on for a while. Then we’re called out, the boyfriend has beaten the crap out of the poor kid, totally smashed up his face and, I mean, like our vics, he was unrecognizable. The boyfriend was out of his mind with grief, crying and saying he just wished the kid hadn’t spent so much time talking to that cute
barman, that he would have been still alive if he had. Unbelievable.’

‘And remember that guy in Jersey who shot his boss?’ said Cullen. ‘He’d been arrested for beating the crap out of his boyfriend with a hammer a few years before that.’

‘But then, there’s no damage to the genitals with our vics,’ said Joe. He shrugged. ‘That usually goes along with it.’

‘Also – on the sex thing,’ said Rencher. ‘According to Lowry’s wife, the DVDs and whip and shit were just theirs, they liked to watch porn together, no big deal. She figures he was just going to watch some that night while she was gone.’

‘OK. But what else was left lying around the other scenes? What was in the bedrooms?’

‘There was a sexual element at the Aneto and Lowry scenes,’ said Blazkow.

‘Yeah, same for Ortis,’ said Bobby. ‘Toys, DVDs. Some of them were a little dusty, I remember, but they were out there on his bed. But there was also work papers, diaries, photos.’

‘Yeah, we got photos at Aneto’s too,’ said Danny.

‘There were love letters from Lowry’s ex-girlfriend by his bed.’

‘Oh, there were boxes of wax strips at Aneto’s,’ said Martinez.

‘And Preparation H at Ortis’s place,’ said Bobby.

‘It’s kind of like they were all looking for
something,’ said Blazkow. ‘Pulling out drawers, looking through closets. Do you think maybe the perp was after something?’

‘Maybe,’ said Bobby. ‘Maybe they could have all ripped him off.’

‘Let’s take a look at what they’ve got in common,’ said Danny. ‘We got a Wall Street guy, an actor, a graphic designer …’

‘Faggoty jobs?’ said Martinez.

‘Yeah, I see that sensitivity training worked out well for you,’ said Danny.

‘It’s cool, I’m dating the guy who gave the talk,’ said Martinez.

‘You’re such a dickhead,’ said Danny.

‘What about success?’ said Blazkow, ignoring the interruption. They all nodded. He continued, ‘Perp could have a chip on his shoulder. All these guys were successful … at least, on the surface, like if you saw them on the street.’

‘The Wall Street guys are all about surface,’ said Danny. ‘Why else do they freak out so much when they’re caught with their pants around their ankles burying it in some ten-dollar whore? My neighbors, my clients, my wife …’

‘Yeah,’ said Bobby. ‘And then the pricks tell us they’re paying our salary, like that’s going to help their situation. How to win cops and influence whatever.’

‘OK – phone calls,’ said Joe. ‘All the vics made calls the night they died. Looks like while the
perp was in their home. William Aneto calls his mother – she says it was just to say goodnight.’

‘Gary Ortis calls his former business partner just to say hi, he says, see how he was doing,’ said Bobby.

‘Hmm,’ said Joe. ‘Maybe not. We need to go talk to these people again. And how is he choosing the vics? Is he following them home? If so, from where? If not, how is he meeting them – on line, at work, in a bar, at the gym …’

‘Why, though? Why is he killing them?’ said Blazkow.

‘It’s going to be a long night,’ said Danny.

‘What’s Denis Cullen’s story?’ said Joe later, when he was alone with Danny.

‘That’s Denis Cullen who the 10-13 benefit’s for next month. Well – it’s for his daughter. She’s got cancer, she’s only thirteen years old.’

‘Shit,’ said Joe. ‘I didn’t know that. I thought he’d just been through a divorce or something.’

‘Nah, they’re a real close family. He’s a good guy. When he’s not here, he’s at the hospital with his wife and daughter the whole time.’

‘When’s the benefit?’

‘A couple weeks at the Bay Ridge Manor. There’s a poster up on the board. It’s black tie.’

‘Black tie? What’s up with that?’

Danny shrugged. ‘It’s terrible – it’s because they’re not sure, you know, if she’s going to pull
through and you know, make her prom, her wedding … so it’s kind of a fancy affair for that.’

‘Jesus Christ, you think you have problems …’

‘I know.’

Anna Lucchesi lay in bed as wide awake as she had been when she got in. She wanted so badly to sleep, but one part of her was listening out for Joe to come home, the other for Shaun. Over the past few months, she had been kept awake by a strange humming sound somewhere off in the distance, maybe out across the water. Tonight, at least it was quieter, just the sound of cars going by below on the Belt Parkway, a soothing sound that usually lulled her to sleep. She pulled the sheet tightly around her, up over her shoulder and high under her chin. Just as she settled, she heard the screech of a car pulling up outside the house. A door opened, then closed, then silence. No footsteps. Nothing. She leaned up on her elbow and listened. She looked at the clock. It was 4 a.m. After a minute, she heard faint electronic beeps from outside. Then a short five-note melody. Then more beeps. Shaun’s cell phone. She got up and walked over to the window when she pulled back the blinds, she saw a body lying on the street outside the gate. Her heart leaped. She looked closer and recognized Shaun’s sneakers. Her legs went weak. She grabbed her cell phone off the nightstand and dialled Joe’s number as she ran down the stairs.