Alex Barclay - The Caller

‘The guy was here, we were right outside,’ said Joe. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘How were you to know?’ said Rufo. ‘How were you to know?’

‘But-’

‘But nothing,’ said Rufo. ‘We’ve just got to catch him. We just got to do everything we can to make sure Burig is the last.’

‘It’s Ethan Lowry all over again… without the phone,’ said Joe.

‘Mary Burig hadn’t made a call either,’ said Danny. ‘Cullen just said.’

‘Last call he got was from the lobby,’ said Martinez, walking over. ‘He asked the doorman to run to the deli for something. Burig and him got on well. Anyway, doorman figured he was safe with a “detective” in the building.’

‘That’ll be the last favor he’ll do anyone,’ said Joe.

‘What do you say Henry is finally getting laid these days?’ said Martinez, pointing to a small, focused crime scene tech dusting the kitchen doorknob.

‘I have no idea who Henry is or what his sex life is like,’ said Joe, his voice tight.

‘I mean as a direct result of CSI?’ said Martinez. ‘Chicks dig him, they think his job is so glamorous.’

‘Yeah,’ said Joe. ‘Meanwhile, he’s here like a retard saying, “why do you need that printed?” “Why do you want a photo of that?” Because the killer might have touched it, you fucking douche-bag.’

‘Yeah, I’d love to have one of those TV CSI techs at all my scenes,’ said Bobby.

‘Yeah and they’d go interview all the witnesses too,’ said Danny.

‘And they’d work through all the evidence in a nice shiny lab,’ said Martinez.

‘And they’d solve the case,’ said Danny. ‘And they would be hot.’

‘Come on,’ said Joe. ‘It’s three o’clock. We’ve done all we can here.’

His cell phone rang.

‘Detective Lucchesi?

‘Yeah.’

‘Detective Scott Dolan here from Philadelphia PD. I know it’s late – I was going to leave a message. We received your request for information on any dentists that had been in trouble, etc. Now, it’s not dentists as such, but does the name Trahorne Refining mean anything to you?’

‘No.’

‘They’re a company that have a lot of dealings with dental laboratories – not directly with dentists. I don’t know too much about it myself. It’s just that we got a visit from a Curtis Walston a few weeks back, a local kid who had been fired by Trahorne after two weeks on the job. He was fairly unhappy about the whole situation. Anyway, he had no evidence, because he said it was all burned, but he claims he found several bloodstained items of clothing that had been sent into the company for incineration.’

‘I don’t get it.’

‘It’s kind of complicated. Trahorne’s business is about burning metals off of clothes and stuff that dental technicians use when they’re filing down the metal parts of crowns or false teeth. Anyway, we followed up with the owner, Bob Trahorne, who basically laughed in our faces. We had no evidence and what he was saying to us was “You’re taking the word of some punk over me?” There was nothing more we could do. But I just thought when I saw your report it might be of interest. Curtis Walston is your classic disgruntled employee, but he came to us, so I don’t know. You might want to come up here and talk to him yourself.’

David Burig’s autopsy was six hours that could have been Ethan Lowry’s autopsy until Walter Dreux showed up. Walter was a forensic odontologist, part of the OCME’s Dental Identification Unit, called in for any cases that involved head injuries, decomposition, fires, bitemarks or unidentified victims.

‘Walter,’ said Danny. ‘Dentist to the dead.’

‘It’s on my business cards now,’ said Walter.

‘How you doing?’ said Joe.

‘Good. You guys?’

Joe shrugged. ‘So…’

‘Don’t come near me,’ said Walter, walking over to the body. He flashed a smile. ‘OK?’

‘You need to get over that,’ said Danny.

Walter had been burned on a major case because a homicide detective took notes as he was working and the attorney wouldn’t allow Walter to amend what he had said when he was finished. Walter’s day in court was not a happy one.

‘In a half hour, I’ll come out to you,’ he said. ‘Me and my lovely assistant here will do our thing, I will have a quiet moment and then I will give up the goods.’

He got to work and forty minutes later, came out to Danny, Joe and Dr Hyland.

‘I found a gift for you. Between the upper right second bicuspid and the first molar tooth.’

‘Spinach,’ said Danny.

‘More telling: a silicone-based dental impression material.’

‘What?’ said Joe.

‘Someone took an impression of this victim’s teeth,’ said Walter.

‘What? Just this victim?’ said Danny.

‘No, all the others too, I just didn’t want to bother you with it. I was waiting ‘til you were running out of leads or more bodies piled up – for dramatic effect.’

‘Relax,’ said Danny.

‘I’ll continue,’ said Walter. ‘Had the victim been to the dentist that day? That’d do it.’

‘No to the dentist theory – and we checked that out with all the victims.’

‘I can tell you the brand of material, but it won’t mean a lot because they’re so widely used. And no-one’s going to be dumb enough to use the latest one on the market, because you could narrow that down better. What I’m giving you here is the fact that the guy took an impression of this victim’s teeth.’

‘Why would anyone want to take an impression of his victims’ teeth?’ said Danny.

‘Why would anyone want to hammer the crap out of someone’s face?’ said Joe.

‘Because he can,’ said Danny.

‘You think the perp could have been a dentist?’ said Joe.

‘Nah,’ said Walter. ‘I’d say a cop.’

‘Ha-ha,’ said Danny.

‘It’s easy to do impressions of teeth,’ said Walter. ‘You don’t have to be a dentist. But I have to say, it makes sense.’

‘And you dentists are known for getting stressed out all the time,’ said Joe.

‘Yeah,’ said Walter, ‘going dental.’

‘Who uses impressions once they’re done?’ said Joe. ‘Like in the dentist’s office. Where does that go to after?’

‘A dental laboratory,’ said Walter.

Joe and Danny exchanged glances. ‘Holy shit,’ said Danny.

‘They make all the crowns, veneers, bridges,’ said Walter. ‘Some dentists use the same lab all the time. Others spread the love around. It’s whatever they want to do.’

‘Is there like a society for these guys?’ said Joe.

‘There’s formal training, college courses, you name it. But the industry is not regulated. You could set up in the morning.’

Curtis Walston was a gangsta rapper trapped in a skinny white boy’s body. He slouched diagonally across a bald brown sofa, his arm up over the back. Everything in his world was oversized – the baseball cap and shirt, the jeans, the watch, the bright white sneakers, the widescreen TV, even the eyes in his pale, narrow face. Joe and Danny stood by the mantelpiece opposite him. Curtis spoke low, with his head bowed.

‘Screw Bob Trahorne, man. I took a job with him ’cos he runs a good lab, they give good returns. The only difference is where I worked before, we checked through the packages, drums, whatever that was sent in. We separated things out: the grindings, the solids, the sweeps. I get my ass fired ’cos I’s doing what I know.’

‘Curtis,’ said Danny. ‘That’s all a little technical for my friend, Detective Lucchesi here. He’s going to need you to explain what happens at Trahorne Refining, what goes down, how it all works.’

Curtis narrowed his eyes at Joe. ‘That’s cool.’ He shrugged. ‘What it is, is Trahorne supplies metal to dental technicians: gold, platinum, palladium, silver. Dental technicians work for dentists, making implants, bridges, crowns whatever. Dentists take an impression of the teeth, they send that to the dental technician who makes a model, so’s he can make the false teeth or veneers or whatever the perfect size.’