Alex Barclay - The Caller

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‘Right. It may be she saw you on the news, in the newspaper. It’s common that someone like Mary might feel responsible for every ill in the world. You and I could watch a news report on a murder or a natural disaster and feel terrible for the victims and their family, while Mary might feel genuine guilt and wish she could do something about it. The religious element to her condition taps into this too. She wants to reach out, help people. People with brain injuries can be very me-centric. Mary is no different. But she is also concerned with other people’s welfare in her own way. She’s very kind to the other clients here.’

‘Is Mary on any medication?’ said Joe.

‘As usual, I’m torn here, with what I can reveal to you.’ She sighed. ‘But I want to help. Let me check the file.’ She looked through it. ‘When she got here, Mary was taking 300mg of Dilantin – an anti-seizure medication – but that didn’t agree with her. So the doctors moved her over to 500 mg of Sodium Valproate three times a day, but her hair started to thin out. When she started losing patches of it, she was very upset, so she stopped all medication. And she was fine. Up until three months ago, when she had the first seizure.’

‘We received the first letter a month ago.’

‘Yes. And she’s had more seizures since then.’

There was a knock on the door.

‘Yes,’ said Julia. ‘This will be Mary,’ she said to them. ‘Come in, Mary.’

Mary Burig squeezed through the tiny gap she made for herself in the door and closed it behind her. She was dressed in a pale pink oversized cardigan, a blue silk tank, jeans and flip-flops. With her head bowed, her hair – black and shiny, parted in the center – hung down in front of her face.

‘Hi Mary,’ said Julia. ‘Come on in. Sit down.’

Mary raised her head slowly and looked first at Danny. Something caught in his chest.

‘Hi Mary,’ said Joe. ‘I’m Detective Joe Lucchesi.’

‘Oh, hi,’ she said, reaching out to shake his hand.

‘Detective Danny Markey,’ said Danny, half standing.

‘Hi.’

‘Take a seat, Mary,’ said Julia.

‘We met Stanley Frayte earlier,’ said Joe. ‘He was mailing a letter for you. We have your letters here. Did you write these?’

‘Yes.’ She frowned. ‘How many do you have there?’

‘Three,’ said Joe.

‘But I sent you fifteen.’

‘Fifteen,’ said Danny. ‘You’ve been busy.’

She smiled. ‘Can I see the one you have there?’

Mary took the plastic bag with the napkin and stared down at it, slowly reading through it, her head bent, her hair falling down to cover her cheeks. She shifted in the chair, pushing her feet back underneath it, crossing her legs at the ankles. Several minutes passed. Joe looked towards Julia Embry who gave a tiny shrug. He gave her a small smile and waited. Lights flashed across the bottom of Julia’s phone. Her focus stayed on Mary, whose hair was now covering most of her face, until she tucked one side of it back behind her ear and they could all see the tears streaming down her face. When she looked at Julia and then Joe, the pale eyes that had seemed so shining and clear were now dark with fear and confusion.

‘Mary, does this letter mean anything to you?’ said Joe.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’

FIFTEEN

Someone had brought Stanley Frayte a Coke and some chocolate. The can was crushed as small as it could go and the chocolate wrapper was twisted tightly and rammed into the hole. He jumped when Danny and Joe walked back in.

‘OK, Stanley, we spoke with Mary’ said Joe. ‘She’s confirmed what you told us. So we’re done here for now. You can go home.’

‘Thank you,’ said Stan.

‘Hey, why don’t we give you a ride?’ said Joe.

‘You sure?’ said Stan.

‘Not a problem,’ said Joe. ‘Back to Tuckahoe?’

‘No. My van’s at the clinic.’

‘Sure, OK.’

Joe had asked a lot of people if they wanted a ride home after spending hours grilling them in a small interview room. They often said yes because they felt it was a test. Maybe if they said no, it would be like they had something to hide. Sometimes they said no because, innocent or guilty, they just wanted to get the hell out of the station house. It looked like Stan thought he was passing a test. When they got to the car, he glanced at the milkshake stain on the hood.

‘Don’t ask,’ said Joe, throwing Danny the keys.

They got in and drove the short journey to 21st Street. Joe turned in his seat to talk to Stan.

‘So how long you been an electrician?’

‘Eight years,’ said Stan.

‘Really? You like it?’

‘Yeah,’ said Stan, ‘yeah I do.’

‘What did you do before that?’

‘I drove a truck.’

‘My father was a truck driver. What was your route?’

‘I delivered a lot to Riker’s Island.’

‘No shit. With who?’

‘Barbizan Trucking.’

‘Did you give it up because of all the Frayte jokes?’

Stanley smiled. ‘Something like that.’

They pulled up outside the clinic.

‘Here,’ said Joe. ‘Here’s my card. If you think of anything else or if you need anything, let me know.’

‘Sure,’ said Stan. ‘Thanks for the ride.’

‘Thanks for your help today.’

Stan walked over to the van. In the rearview mirror, Joe could see Julia Embry standing at the front door, waving to Stan to come in.

‘Your father’s a truck driver,’ said Danny, taking a right out of the clinic. ‘How many jobs have you given Giulio over the years?’

‘Hey, it’s the only time I get to see him as a regular guy,’ said Joe.

‘Jesus, you’re cruel.’

‘So what do we make of Miss Mary?’ said Joe.

‘Those eyes,’ said Danny.

‘Mary’s?’

‘Yeah. They’re like those dogs. What are they called? Those wolfy dogs.’

‘Huskies.’

‘Yes. That’s it.’

‘Down, boy.’

‘It’s just her eyes I’m talking about. You gotta admit, they were really something.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I mean, not that the rest of her…’

‘You’re not right, Danny. The girl looks like she needs to be wrapped up in cotton wool and, I don’t know… let nowhere near you, that’s for sure.’

David Burig sat on a short wooden bench in the grounds of Colt-Embry. Mary was beside him, facing him, her legs curled under her body. Her eyes were red and tired.

‘Mary, Mary, Mary,’ said David. ‘What am I going to do with you?’

‘Go to a movie?’ she said.

David smiled and hugged her. ‘Sending letters to the cops. You really thought you could help them.’

He could feel her nod against his chest.

‘You have a good heart,’ he said, rubbing her hair. ‘Remember the little kid around the corner who cried all the time and I used to say to him, “would an ice-cream make it better?” and he’d say, “yes” and I’d say, “well, when you’re at the store, will you get me one too?” Your little face – you’d laugh, but you felt so bad for him at the same time.’

She smiled. ‘I remember him. You were so mean.’

David pulled her away gently and looked at her. ‘Do you want to talk about these things? I don’t know if you do. I don’t know if I’m upsetting you.’

‘I do,’ said Mary. ‘Because I remember them. They mean that I had a good life. And people loved me. And I did things myself.’ She stared down at the ground. ‘I know I’m not intelligent any more.’

‘God, that’s heartbreaking,’ said David.

‘But it’s the truth,’ said Mary.

‘Look at you,’ he said, ‘you’re just so pretty and you look…’ He trailed off. ‘You made me laugh so much, Mare.’

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