Alex Barclay - The Caller

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Danny.

‘It’s Bobby.’

At the twentieth precinct, Pace checked Bobby’s desk where his notes were still laid out. He had come to the same conclusion as Cullen about Blake’s address.

‘He must have just decided to call into Blake on his way home from work,’ said Joe. ‘Blake freaked, knew we were on to him.’

‘I should have been with him,’ said Pace.

‘If he didn’t say anything to you…’ said Joe, shrugging. ‘Jesus Christ. He’s got two little boys.’

Danny shook his head.

‘I better take care of notifying Old Nic,’ said Joe.

Most people knew that Bobby Nicotero and his father weren’t close. But everyone knew that didn’t matter today and it would never matter again.

Victor Nicotero knew when he saw Joe at the door at 8 a.m. His hand was shaking as he let him in.

‘Nothing about this is right. It’s all wrong,’ he said, struggling. ‘I’m at the wrong end of a notification here. Jesus Christ. What happened?’

Joe tried to clean up the details. Old Nic didn’t buy it, but pretended he did. He sat in silence, staring.

‘Patti’s up there, sleeping away her last night before her whole world is turned upside down. I don’t ever want to wake her up, Joe.’ His voice cracked. ‘When he was a kid, Bobby worried about me all the time,’ said Nic. ‘Used to drive me nuts. He’d cling on to me, wouldn’t let me go.’ Tears welled in his eyes. ‘I know how he feels.’ He let out a desperate, mourning sob. ‘I don’t want to let him go.’ He searched his pocket for the handkerchief. ‘We were getting somewhere,’ he said. ‘I think we were getting somewhere.’ He looked up, his eyes red and watery. ‘What was his problem with me, Joe? Where did I go wrong? I don’t mean with him, he’s a good kid, but…’

‘Families,’ said Joe, handing him a Kleenex. ‘We don’t ever know, do we? But I know when a son loves his father, Nic. I do. And Bobby did. He looked out for you. In his… his own way.’

Nic smiled. ‘Angry way.’

‘I’m not saying that,’ said Joe. ‘But yeah, he wasn’t straightforward about it. But he gave a shit. You know, he went crazy with me last week.’

‘He did?’

Joe nodded. ‘Yup. Made me take it outside.’

Nic smiled. ‘That’s my boy.’

‘He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t give a damn,’ said Joe.

The office was quiet. No-one knew what to say.

Pace had gone home. Cullen had arrived in.

‘I can’t believe they just didn’t find him,’ he said.

‘It was chaos,’ said Joe. ‘We didn’t want them tramping all over any evidence. We didn’t know what could be in there.’

‘Yeah, Blake’s whole life was run from that home. The dental work for Valtry, the-’

‘Whoa,’ said Joe. ‘Did you see any dental stuff down there?’

‘Yeah,’ said Danny. ‘Remember? The pliers, the burrs-’

‘Yeah, but there were no teeth, no models, no porcelain – none of the shit we saw in the lab.’ He looked at Danny. ‘We need to get back to the house… I think he’s got Mary in there.’

Danny and Joe parked the car on Remsen Street and walked to Willow Street. They stopped a short distance from Preston Blake’s house.

‘Our only way in is through the basement door under the stoop,’ said Joe, pointing. ‘The collapse has blocked everything off from the back entrance.’ They walked up to the door – it was padlocked and had a Gravoply tag slapped on it from the fire department and a number to call if you wanted to gain access.

‘I’ll call ESU,’ said Danny.

Fifteen minutes later, two Emergency Services guys showed up and broke through the door into the damp basement, the smell of smoke still strong in the air.

‘There it is,’ said Joe, ‘the trapdoor down to the basement he doesn’t fucking have.’

An overpowering stench hit them as soon as they lifted it. They jerked their heads away. Danny clamped a hand over his mouth.

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Joe. ‘That is fucking-’

Danny took his hand down, wiping the tears that streamed from his eyes. ‘Unbelievable. That is…’ He breathed out. ‘Christ.’ He stared down at the vertical ladder.

‘I’ll go first,’ said Joe. ‘Shine that flashlight down there.’

He held the beam steady as Joe climbed down. He handed him the flashlight and followed him into the small cramped space.

‘What the fuck is this?’ said Danny. Joe swept the flashlight left to right, its beam broken up by the bars of a prison cell. A TV was mounted on the wall in front of it. Joe reached out for the light switch beside it.

‘No!’ shouted Danny. ‘No switches.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Joe, snapping his hand back. ‘You scared the shit out of me.’

Danny walked over to the cell, his throat constricting as he closed in on the source of the smell. In the corner beside the bed lay a bucket of human waste, the liquid almost evaporated, the solids breaking down, covered with breeding maggots. Adult flies swarmed around it, landing along the rim, travelling back and forth to a plate of spoiled food on a tray by the door. Joe shone the light on the pale china and could see the tiny olive-green specks of excrement they left behind. Danny rushed out towards the ladder, but managed to ride out the nausea without throwing up.

‘Why would anyone live like this?’ said Danny, holding his handkerchief loosely over his face.

‘He’s a broken man,’ said Joe. ‘Probably came down here only after the first victim. The guy hates himself, probably thinks this is all he deserves.’

‘What he deserves is his head shoved into that bucket,’ said Danny. He choked back another wave of nausea.

‘You’re making yourself sick.’

‘I have got to get out of here.’

‘Look,’ said Joe. He pointed to the dull plaster models of teeth scattered from a box on the bed. He shone the flashlight across two shelves mounted above it with neat rows of tiny animal skulls, jewels glistening in the cavities.

Pinned to the wall above a small desk was a single cracked and yellowed handwritten note, the top of it ripped from a lined spiral notebook. Joe leaned in to read it: The wicked are estranged from the womb: they go astray as soon as they be born, speaking lies. Their poison is like the poison of a serpent: they are like the deaf adder that stoppeth her ear; Which will not hearken to the voice of charmers, charming never so wisely. Break their teeth, O God, in their mouth: break out the great teeth of the young lions, O LORD.

The rest of the industrial grey walls had been covered with photocopies of the same script, side by side, edges overlapping, layer upon layer.

‘I bet that’s the note,’ said Joe. ‘From Sonja Ruehling. That was his kiss-off.’

Danny shook his head. ‘It is so fucked up… Jesus Christ.’

Joe crouched down and looked under the bed. ‘Wallets,’ he said. He pulled some of them out, looking through them at the faces of the unchosen victims. ‘If they only fucking knew.’

‘And upstairs, you had this beautiful shiny home? Jesus Christ,’ said Danny.

‘You never know, do you?’ said Joe. ‘What shit people hide beneath the surface.’

‘Where are you, you fucking freak?’ shouted Danny.

Rufo sat at his office with his head in his hands. Joe and Danny knocked and went in.

‘I’m in shock here,’ said Rufo. ‘I can’t believe Bobby.’

‘I know,’ said Joe. He looked down. ‘He probably went there because I was giving him a hard time, wanted to check it out before he came to me with the information…’

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ said Rufo gently. ‘Where we at now?’

‘We’ve found Blake’s fucking dungeon, but no-one in it,’ said Joe. ‘Stanley Frayte’s home has been searched and nothing’s come up so far. No sightings of Mary.’