Alex Barclay - The Caller

Blake raised his hands. ‘Don’t worry. I have The DaVinci Code too.’ He flashed a lopsided smile from the right-hand side of his mouth. A small pool of saliva leaked onto his lower lip. He dabbed at it with a handkerchief. ‘But codes…’ He gestured to the security panel by the door. ‘I’m sure someone could… well, maybe that’s not a great leap.’

Joe smiled.

‘Anyway, hello.’ Blake stretched out his hand from behind the door.

‘Thanks for letting us come over,’ said Joe, shaking it firmly.

Blake was lean and stooped. Whatever he had been through had left his face older and shadowed, his most striking feature, loose flesh hanging under dark, weary eyes. The skin on the right side of his chin was lumpy and uneven. He was dressed in baggy chinos and a lightweight black turtleneck. A red baseball cap was pulled low on his head. Panic flickered in his eyes. Danny followed his gaze to the open door and quickly closed it. Blake walked past him and ground the bolts back into place.

‘Follow me,’ he said when he was finished.

He led them through the complex of shelves and through heavy white double doors into a sparse and spacious living room. The floors were polished oak, the walls soft yellow. There was no dining table, no sideboard. Heavy green drapes hung down by the windows.

Blake sat on a white sofa facing the door and gestured to the matching one opposite. Danny and Joe sat down.

‘You’ve got a nice home here,’ said Joe.

‘Thank you,’ said Blake. ‘Can I offer you something to drink, coffee…’

‘Coffee would be great,’ said Joe.

‘Yeah,’ said Danny. ‘Thanks. Black for both of us.’

Blake paused, but got up and walked across the room to a discreet door that led into a dim hallway. Joe stood up and wandered over to a vase of dried white flowers that stood by the huge, empty fireplace. Just behind it, Joe noticed the corner of a picture frame. He bent down and picked it up. In it was a faded colour photograph that looked like it was taken in the eighties – an older couple, the man thin and stern, the woman chubby, heavily made up and with a sparkle in her eye.

‘My parents,’ said Blake, coming back in, smiling at the photo. ‘They adored each other.’ He set a tray on an ottoman between them with three mugs of black coffee.

‘How long have you been living here?’ said Joe.

‘All my life. My parents both passed away. I have no siblings.’

‘What do you do for a living?’

‘I make jewelry.’

‘Did you make that?’ said Joe, pointing to a black leather cuff Blake was wearing.

Blake nodded.

‘My son wears things like that.’

‘I have more up in my-’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Joe. ‘I didn’t mean-’

‘It’s not a problem. It’d be a pleasure.’

Joe smiled. ‘Thanks, but he needs to get a handle on his schoolwork before I come back with any gifts for him.’

‘Well, let me know if he does.’

‘Thanks,’ said Joe. ‘So, where do you work?’

‘Here.’ He gestured upstairs.

‘So does that mean customers come to your home or suppliers or whoever? I’m just trying to get a feel for people who would know you, know the house.’

‘I have a small client base. I design high-end pieces, made to order. I will meet with a client at their home, discuss designs, go away and create. None of them come here.’

‘OK. Suppliers?’

‘I get the leather sent here. Metals and diamonds I go to 47th Street.’

‘You have cleaning staff? Delivery people coming through?’

‘No. I’m the cleaning staff.’

‘For the whole house?’

‘I got a lot of time on my hands,’ said Blake.

‘Have you ever been the victim of another crime?’ said Joe.

‘Like what?’

‘A burglary, a robbery?’

Blake shook his head. ‘No – why?’

‘Or even had your wallet stolen?’ said Joe.

Blake frowned. ‘No. Never. Why?’

‘Just wondering. OK. Do you think you could talk us through what happened that night?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Blake.

‘You take your time,’ said Danny. ‘We think you’ll be able to do it. We really do. That’s why we’re here.’

Blake took off his baseball cap, smoothed down the black, wiry hair that bounced up, then put it back on. He took a deep breath. ‘It was Monday night. March 13th, I think. I was home watching a movie… two movies. Back to back.’

‘What about that morning?’ said Joe. ‘I’m going to need as much detail as I can about what you were doing that day, where you went, who you spoke with… I’m sorry, but it’s important. If the perp chose you, it could be that by some twist of fate, a change in your routine meant you crossed paths with him. Monday, you stop for coffee at the deli outside your apartment building, Tuesday you hold off ‘til you get to the subway, right next to the killer’s hotdog stand. You get the picture.’

‘OK,’ said Blake. ‘I got up. And I started work immediately. I didn’t go out that day. And no-one called. I get so absorbed in work sometimes, I lose track of time. Which, I guess wouldn’t make me the most reliable witness.’ He smiled. ‘I can’t even tell you what time he called to my door.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Danny. ‘Neither of us know, here, what details might help. That’s why we’ll go back and forth with some questions and answers and see what comes up. How about that?’

Blake nodded. ‘I’m sorry. This is so hard.’

‘I understand that,’ said Danny. ‘But I’m betting you’ll feel a hell of a lot better once you’ve got it all out.’

‘It was late,’ said Blake. ‘He… he called to my door, saying he was a realtor. He was admiring the building and asked to talk to me about selling or wanted to tell me about house prices in the area…’

‘And you let him in.’

‘Yes. I let him in. He had material from Acheson amp; Grant, the realtors on Montague Street… and yes, I know, it sounds kind of dumb.’ He took in what looked like it would be a deep breath, but ended up halting and shallow.

‘It’s the way we are,’ said Danny, ‘most of us want to trust people. Even I want that.’

‘Thanks,’ said Blake. ‘So I invited him in to the foyer and next thing I remember, I was under the kitchen counter-’

‘Sorry – before that,’ said Joe. ‘When you opened the door, did you get a good look at the guy? Could you describe him?’

Blake shook his head. ‘I wish I could. What I can tell you is he was slightly shorter than me, maybe five nine? He was normal build, that’s the best I can do. And his clothes were black – you know, as opposed to the usual bright pink criminals wear.’ He smiled. So did Danny and Joe.

‘He must have looked like a realtor to you – so, was he in a suit?’ said Joe.

Blake shrugged. ‘From what I remember. I think. But I couldn’t swear to it.’

‘What about hair color?’

‘I don’t know. Blond? Grey? I think it was light.’

‘Or any facial features that stood out?’ said Joe.

‘Not that I can think of. Believe me,’ said Blake. ‘I’ve spent so much time going through that night, replaying everything… if I haven’t remembered already, I don’t think I ever will.’

‘It’s OK,’ said Danny. ‘Don’t get yourself worked up about it. Something might come back to you again. Let’s go back to after you woke up on the kitchen floor.’

‘Everything felt wrong. I remember peeling one eye open, literally, with my fingers, because it was stuck shut with blood. I was lying in a foetal position under the island at the centre and I could make out, above me, the corner of the work surface.’

‘Can we go take a look at the kitchen?’ said Joe.