David Jackson - The Helper

‘You feeling so charitable, go give some money to a dogs’ home.’

‘Now, now, Cal. That’s hardly the spirit. I know how they’ve been treating you at the precinct. The way you’ve been sidelined. Wouldn’t you like the chance to prove to them what you can really do when given the chance?’

‘I don’t need you or anybody else to help me do that. Now say what you gotta say, then get the fuck off my phone.’

‘Oh but I think you do need me, Cal. So here’s what I’m offering. The chance to solve the case. The opportunity to catch the killer. Single-handed. Don’t you think the NYPD would be impressed with that?’

‘Why would you do that? Why would you want me to catch you? This is bullshit.’

‘No, Cal, it’s genuine. You’ll find that out for yourself. If you’re willing to hear me out, you’ll discover that everything I tell you is true. Of course, I’m not going to come right out and give you names. That would be too easy. But I’ll give you clues. All you have to do is use your brain and follow the leads I give you.’

‘What’s the catch? What do you get out of this?’

‘Satisfaction. Helping people is all I live for, Cal. Those other clowns in your squad don’t have a chance in hell of solving this. They got any leads yet? Okay, I know you can’t answer that, but you and I both know the answer.’

The chorus of the song breaks through, and Doyle realizes it’s I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For. Ha, ha, very funny again.

There is a knock on the door. It opens, and Rachel pops her head round.

‘Cal, this food’s going cold again.’

He waves her away too brusquely, and he doesn’t blame her when she closes the door much harder than she needs to.

‘So you’re willing to act as an anonymous informant. For nothing in return except your own spiritual improvement. No financial considerations. No trade-off on legal charges. Nothing.’

‘That’s correct. Although there are certain. . conditions I will have to impose.’

‘Uh-huh. Why did I think it wasn’t as simple as you laid it out?’

‘I have to protect myself, Cal. You can’t blame me for that. So here’s the deal. I will help you, but in return for my help you must tell no one. Not your boss, not your friends, not even your wife. No one. Do you understand? The minute you reveal to anybody what I’m doing for you, my assistance will cease. Permanently. You must also promise not to attempt to trace my calls to you. And believe me when I tell you that I will know about it if you try to cheat on me.’

‘Forget it. No way can I agree to that. I’m a cop. We have rules. If I keep information like that to myself, I’m breaking the law. I could get prison time for that. Is that what this is about? Are you trying to jam me up?’

‘My, my, Cal. What a suspicious mind you have. No, this is not about setting you up. With what I know about you, I could have done that a long time ago. By the way, Cal, how are the nightmares these days? About you and. . oh, what’s her name? Lorna? No, Laura.’

Doyle goes cold. Laura Marino. She was his partner in his previous precinct. She took a blast from a shotgun when Doyle sent her the wrong way in an apartment bust. It was an honest mistake, but some people suggested there was more to it. There were rumors of an affair that Doyle wanted to end and she didn’t. And there were rumors that Doyle did terminate it when the opportunity presented itself in that apartment.

It was a mistake, and he paid for it. With the subsequent investigation and scandal that almost wrecked his career and his marriage. And with the nightmares that still plague him.

The death of Laura became public knowledge. Anyone could read about that in the papers. But the nightmares? Who knows about them? Rachel, of course — she’s had to put up with her sweat-soaked husband jumping out of bed in the middle of the night — but even then he has given her only the scantest of details. How the hell does this guy know about the nightmares?

But maybe it’s just a bluff. Any cop who went through what Doyle experienced would have nightmares about it. Maybe it’s not such a hard jump to make. Maybe that’s this guy’s skill. Throw in some facts that are easy to discover, mix in a few educated guesses, and you end up with someone who appears to know you intimately. Is that what this guy is doing? If so, he’d make an excellent poker player.

Or is this someone I really have met before?

‘I sleep fine. And I’ll sleep even better when we catch you, you sick son of a bitch. Now take your assistance and shove it up your ass, because you don’t have long before I come over there and do it for you.’

There’s a pause, and then a faint sigh, and then a note of disappointment in the caller’s voice. ‘That’s a pity, Cal. A real shame. I thought you were made of sterner stuff. Someone I could really think of as one of New York’s finest. Just think of what you’re throwing away here. The chance to bring Cindy Mellish’s killer to justice. The chance to save all those lives.’

He leaves the final words hanging there. All those lives . They drip with the terror of promised carnage.

‘What do you mean? What lives?’

The disappointment turns to amusement. He’s proud of his little twist. ‘Oh, didn’t I say? Cindy is merely the first. The first of many. In fact, you may be interested to know that the second life will be taken tonight.’

Doyle feels his grip tighten on the phone. He had been on the point of hanging up, but now he knows that’s impossible. Refusing information on a past crime is one thing, but how can he reject the opportunity to save someone’s life?

The caller presses home his advantage. ‘Still there, Cal? Interested now, are we? Perhaps just a little bit? I can help you, Cal. I can help you solve the murder of Cindy Mellish, and I can help you to prevent another murder that is scheduled to take place tonight. What’s it to be? Do we have a deal?’

Doyle considers it, but not for long. He needs to hear what this man has to offer, but whether it turns out to be bogus or not, he has no intention of sticking to any agreement with this douche bag.

‘All right. Deal.’

‘So you won’t tell anyone about me, or try to trace my calls?’

‘I said deal, didn’t I?’

There is a slight pause, and when the man comes back on there is an excited energy in his voice. It’s as though he can’t quite believe his luck at getting this far, and is not quite sure what to say next.

‘Good. Excellent. Then listen carefully, Cal. On the Cindy Mellish case, you need to find her diary. There will be clues in there.’

‘Her diary. Are you sure?’

‘Certain. Find the girl’s diary, and you’ll know what to do next.’

‘Okay. And what about the other victim? The one who’s supposed to die tonight?’

‘That’s up to you, Cal. What actions you take will determine whether the second person dies or just ends up somewhere like Bellevue.’

‘What do you mean, the actions I take? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.’

‘That’s all I can tell you. Take it from here.’

‘That’s it? That’s all you’re giving me? The next one dies or ends up in hospital, and I’m supposed to affect that somehow? What kind of help is that?’

‘Follow my advice, Cal. Think about what you’ve heard. Forget about what your heart tells you to do. It’s the brain that’s important here. You don’t need anything more than that.’

Doyle is ready to unleash a torrent of abuse, but before the first expletive escapes his lips, there is a click and the phone goes dead.

He stares at the handset. What the fuck was that? Did I just dream that conversation?