Chris Carter - The Caller

‘How about you, Mr. Jenkinson,’ Garcia asked. ‘Do you have a social media page?’

‘I do, yes. My company also has a business page.’

Hunter knew that his next question would sound a little strange. ‘The question about your wedding date, Mr. Jenkinson...’

Mr. J locked eyes with Hunter and in them Hunter saw devastating pain.

‘Can you remember if you’ve been asked that same question recently, maybe in the past year? Maybe while out with friends, at a dinner party, by anyone you have worked with, while having a few drinks at a bar... anywhere?’

Mr. J did find the detective’s question somewhat strange.

‘No, I don’t recall ever being asked anything about my wedding date in...’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t even know how long.’

‘Do you remember who it was? The person who asked you about it?’

Mr. J’s look became distant for a moment, before switching to sadness. ‘Cassandra. That’s how she used to remind me of it because I used to forget it every year. She’d wait until late at night, just before we went to bed, and then she’d say something subtle like, “What’s the date today, do you know?” And that was when I knew that I had screwed up big time and it was way too late to dig up an excuse. It didn’t use to be like that, you know?’ he said, as if he saw the need to defend himself before both detectives. The look in his eyes became even sadder, yearning for a time long gone. ‘I used to remember it every year, buy her gifts, flowers, take her to dinner... I don’t really know what happened. I don’t really know how or why I let all that go, but even she gave up on reminding me a few years back. I guess she thought that there was no point in doing it anymore.’

Hunter remained silent, waiting for Mr. J to push the memory all the way to the back of his mind.

‘Can you think of anyone who for whatever reason would want to harm your wife?’ he asked at last.

Mr. J sat back in his chair and rested his elbows on the chair’s arms. His stare moved to the picture frame on his desk.

‘Cassandra was the most gentle of souls,’ he replied, his voice almost strangled by the knot in his throat. ‘And I’m not just saying that because she was my wife. Ask anyone who knew her. She was a caring and loving person. Polite to everyone. Humble. Understanding. Generous. Helpful. I don’t think that she has ever upset anyone in her life.’

‘Can you think of anyone who could possibly want to harm your wife to... maybe get back at you?’

Mr. J’s acting was flawless, adding a perfect layer of shock to his words and expressions.

‘Get back at me? For what? I’m a simple business consultant, Detective? I have no debts. I don’t gamble. I have no grudges against anyone, and as far as I’m aware of, no one has any grudges against me. We were a simple family, living a simple life.’

‘So you’ve never received any sort of threats of any nature?’ Hunter asked.

‘Threats?’ Another award-winning surprised facial expression.

‘Yes. Either via emails, phone calls, text messages, letters, whatever.’

‘No. Never.’

‘How about your wife? Did she ever mention anything about being threatened? Anything about... letters or phone calls she’d received? Did she ever mention anything about a possible stalker?’

Once again, Hunter’s question did truly surprise Mr. J, and this time there was no faking of his reaction.

‘A stalker?’ His mouth remained half open, while his eyes jumped from one detective to the other.

‘Did she ever tell you about any letters she’d received from someone who could possibly be pestering her?’

‘Letters from a stalker? No. Never. What are you talking about, Detective?’

Hunter looked at Garcia, who quietly stood up and made his way towards the door.

Mr. J’s sincerely confused gaze followed his every step until he exited the room, before shooting back to Hunter.

‘OK, what is going on, Detective?’

‘Are you sure you can’t recall your wife mentioning anything about being harassed by someone?’ Hunter insisted. ‘About receiving any sort of strange notes?’

‘Harassed? Strange notes? No. Never.’ Mr. J was adamant. ‘I have no idea of what you’re talking about, Detective.’

‘Do you think she would’ve?’

‘Would’ve what?’

‘Mentioned it to you.’

Back came the head-creasing lift of the eyebrows. ‘That she thought that someone was stalking her? That she had received some sort of threatening note, or message, or whatever?’

‘Yes. Do you think that she would’ve mentioned it to you?’

‘Yes, she would definitely have mentioned it to me,’ Mr. J replied with the utmost confidence. ‘Why wouldn’t she?’

At that exact moment, Garcia re-entered the room.

Still with a sincerely puzzled look on his face, Mr. J turned to look at Garcia, who had just re-entered the room. The first thing that he noticed was that the detective was carrying a medium-sized, see-through plastic evidence bag in his right hand.

‘Your wife’s handbag was found in your living room, Mr. Jenkinson, just by the sofa,’ Hunter explained. ‘Inside it, we found this note.’

Garcia placed the evidence bag on Mr. J’s desk.

His confusion lasted an extra couple of seconds before he managed to snap out of it and drag his attention to the note.

Have you ever felt like you’re being watched, Cassandra?

Mr. J blinked a couple of times, as if his eyes were having trouble focusing. Then he read the note again. And again. And again.

‘I don’t understand,’ he finally said, his tone almost robotic.

‘There was also an envelope with her name across the front of it,’ Garcia added. ‘No address. No stamp. Which means that it was hand-delivered. Slid under the door, placed in the mailbox outside, left on her car, maybe at the place where she works... What we do know is that this note wasn’t posted to her.’

‘Was the name on the envelope a cut-out as well?’ Mr. J asked.

‘Letter by letter,’ Garcia confirmed.

‘She never mentioned this note to you?’ Hunter this time.

Mr. J looked at him with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. Just seconds ago, he had told Hunter with unflinching conviction that his wife would’ve certainly shared something like this with him.

‘No,’ he finally replied. His eyes, now heavy with anger, returned to the note. ‘Maybe she got this while I was away,’ he suggested. ‘This morning, yesterday morning or the day before.’

‘Maybe,’ Garcia accepted it. ‘But wouldn’t she have called you?’

For an instant it looked like Mr. J hadn’t heard the question.

‘Mr. Jenkinson?’

‘No, she wouldn’t,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘That was just the way Cassandra was. My business trips are usually very rushed, so when I’m away, she’d only call me if she considered whatever it is that she needs to talk to me about to be something very important.’

‘And you think she wouldn’t consider this to be?’

‘Oh, c’mon, Detective.’ Mr. J looked back at Garcia. ‘Don’t be naive. You find a note that looks like it came out of an old Kojak episode.’ He nodded at it. ‘Written by putting together a few cut-out letters and words from a magazine, with a cliché scary line like this one, and what do you do, freak the fuck out? Believe that your life is at risk?’

Garcia didn’t reply.

‘Well, I can tell you that Cassandra wouldn’t. It would take a hell of a lot more than something like this to scare someone like her.’ He paused and for a quick second looked like he was searching his memory. ‘In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her sacred. She was strong like that. She probably laughed at this when she got it. Dismissed it as a hoax or something, which is what I think most people would’ve done. She would’ve never called me on a business trip to tell me about a note that looks like it was put together by a four-year-old.’