Alex Barclay - The Caller

‘Like major surgery?’

Joe smiled. ‘Like probably the most minor surgery you can get.’

Danny laughed. ‘Then what’s the point?’

‘It’s supposed to really work and it doesn’t screw you up for ages, no major recovery time. I can go in, get it done, come out again, go right back to work. I’m doing it for you…’

Danny shook his head. ‘I’m in shock here.’

‘Yeah, well, I’ve had enough with the pain.’

‘When you going in?’

‘The end of the week – a slot came up…’

‘Does Rufo know?’

Joe nodded. ‘He’s always happy when people address their problems.’

Danny smiled. They sat in silence for a while.

‘You know something?’ said Joe. ‘He said “up”.’

‘What?’ said Danny. ‘Who?’

‘Blake. He said, “Let me just bring it up”. Last time we were here, he told us his workshop was upstairs. If that was the case, he’d be bringing the jewelry down.’

‘So?’ said Danny. ‘So he brought the thing upstairs, now he’s bringing it down.’

‘Why has he been gone ten minutes?’ said Joe, standing up.

‘Jesus, relax,’ said Danny. But Joe was already drawing his gun.

Danny sat up, then stood up. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m going to find him.’

‘Put the gun away – the guy’s probably gone to take a crap and he’s going to freak out if he comes back and that’s in his face. We’re here to mend a few bridges, not fucking burn them down.’

‘I don’t think he’s coming back,’ said Joe, walking into the hall, through the hanging bookshelves. He looked carefully at the ones that were moving, very slightly, coming to rest after being knocked against.

‘Mr Blake?’ Joe called out. ‘Mr Blake?’ He heard nothing. He looked at Danny. He was also drawing his gun. Joe pointed to the basement door. Danny pointed to the stairs that led to the second floor. Joe shook his head and walked towards the basement door and slowly turned the knob.

The basement was still, airless. Joe shone his flashlight up to the ceiling, the light tracking across a wide wooden beam stretching overhead with a notch at its centre. He continued slowly down the stairs, the flashlight sweeping across glossy industrial grey steps and walls. Danny followed slowly behind.

‘Mr Blake?’ said Joe. ‘Mr Blake?’

Silence. They reached the bottom of the steps. Joe moved the flashlight over a thick work bench with a small shelf above it that held clear plastic boxes of wires, metals and clasps. Mood boards on the wall behind it were inspirations for the jewelry that was pinned to bronze velvet backing in front of them. Spools of soft black leather hung from the shelf onto the bench top. Tools were lined up along the surface: a mandrel, burrs, pliers, filing discs.

‘Told you he worked downstairs,’ said Joe. He slid open one of the six small drawers down the right-hand side of the desk. It was empty.

‘Look,’ said Danny. He walked over to a machine standing four foot tall in the left-hand corner. The upper part was a small oven, mounted on a blue base with retro red and black start/stop buttons and clunky dials.

‘The Oakville Gas Appliance Co.’ Joe shone the light on the wide-tracked blocky caps embossed on the steel door, its enamel finish worn away by years of high temperatures.

‘Motherfucker,’ said Joe. ‘That’s like an old-style version of the oven Valtry used to burn off the wax.’ He pointed to the dials, the top one marked AIR, with a dial that from numbers one to eight could increase or decrease the flow. Underneath, was a dial marked GAS, that could be turned from OPEN to CLOSED on a scale of one to five. To the right was a temperature gauge, set at 1500 Fahrenheit, below that, another dial with a red and green light.

‘Blake makes jewelry,’ said Danny. ‘He burns metal.’

‘Blake’s the fucking perp,’ said Joe. ‘He’s been fucking with us. He’s the fucking perp.’

Danny stared at him. ‘Holy fuck.’

‘It’s the same deal – make a mould in wax, burn it off, shoot the stuff through… you get a ring or you get a crown.’

‘Holy fuck,’ said Danny. He glanced down at the oven, panic in his eyes. ‘That’s off, right?’

‘Yeah. The dials are at neutral, no lights on. Anyway, we’d smell gas or feel the heat.’

‘Fuck me,’ said Danny, staring at Joe, shaking his head. ‘Son of a fucking bitch.’

‘Let’s take a better look around.’ He reached over and hit a light switch on the wall behind the bench. No light came on. He turned to Joe and their eyes locked.

Rufo sat at his desk in front of two massive piles of papers, trying to decide which would get his attention first.

Denis Cullen knocked and walked in. ‘I think we might have a problem,’ he said. ‘I’ve been trying Joe for the last half hour and I’m getting his voicemail. His cell is always on and-’

‘No-one’s cell is always on,’ said Rufo. ‘Come on.’

‘You know what I mean,’ said Denis. ‘And he was waiting for information. He was out in Preston Blake’s house with Danny, right? And I checked the address – 1890 Willow Street. That’s exactly the address I got for this other guy I was doing a background check on. Alan Moder.’

‘Who the hell is Moder?’

‘A friend of Dean Valtry from college. I ran his records, I got last known address this house on Willow Street.’

‘Any other residents in the home?’

‘At that same time -1994 – I’ve got a Mrs Joan Blake.’

‘Any Mr? Any children?’

‘This is weird. I’ve come up with Mr Preston Blake. But I did a search and this Preston Blake died in ‘94. And he was, like, sixty-seven at the time.’

‘And the last known address for Alan Moder was there?’

‘Yup. So he went off the radar around the same time as this Preston Blake died.’

‘Looks that way.’

‘Well that’s too good to be true, isn’t it? Let me try Lucchesi again.’ He dialled Joe’s number, then Danny’s – both went straight to voicemail.

Joe and Danny froze as the dull roar from above fused with a rumbling vibration that penetrated the walls, the floors, everything solid that surrounded them. Joe looked up and saw how quickly the notched beam snapped as the weight from the ceilings above crashed down. He caught a glint of silver as something plunged down towards him. Danny grabbed for his arm and pulled his focus, mouthing something he couldn’t hear, pointing desperately towards the work bench. Joe watched as Danny’s face, then his body, were swallowed up, quickly disappearing into a thick cloud of acrid dust.

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.’