The Caller

Bobby shot out a laugh. ‘I got a few chapters of my own I might like to add to that.’

‘Really?’ said Joe. ‘What can I—’

‘Actually I’m calling because I think I’ve got something you might be interested in. The Upper West Side homicide you got? Your vic – Ethan Lowry. Was there a phone by him when they found him?’

‘Yeah. There was. Why?’

Bobby sucked in a breath. ‘Sounds a lot like this case I caught in SoHo back in December. Guy’s name was Gary Ortis, badly beaten about the face, gunshot to the head, phone in the hallway beside him. We never got the guy.’

‘Jesus. And it looks like we’re already linking this one to a case a year back. Was your guy gay?’

‘He was single and he dated women,’ said Bobby, ‘but who knows? Yours?’

‘Ethan Lowry was married with a kid,’ said Joe. ‘William Aneto was gay.’

‘Hmm.’

‘I know where you’re coming from,’ said Joe, ‘it has that feel about it. That was some hardcore facial damage and I don’t know about you, but last few times I saw shit like that, it was two guys, lovers’ spat. No-one died, but …’

‘Yeah, I know,’ said Bobby.

‘Look, why don’t you call in to the Two-Oh, bring what you got.’

Joe put down the phone and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket hanging on the back of his chair. He pulled out two pills and took them with a can of Red Bull.

‘Guys,’ he said. ‘That was Bobby Nicotero from the 1st. Looks like he got a third vic, happened back in December. He’s on his way over.’

‘Holy shit,’ said Danny.

‘On Lowry’s records? said Blazkow. ‘The last call at 10.58? Was to a woman – Clare Oberly. Lives on 48th Street between 8th and Broadway.’

‘OK,’ said Joe. ‘Danny and I’ll go check her out this evening.’

Half an hour later Bobby Nicotero walked into the twentieth precinct with his partner. Bobby was thirty-nine years old with a thick neck, broad shoulders, short legs and suits too cheap to flatter any of them. He had close-cut black hair, a heavy brow and a range of facial expressions that stretched to pissed off.

‘Hey,’ said Joe. ‘Good to see you.’

‘You too,’ said Bobby, shaking his hand. ‘This is my partner, Roger Pace.’

Pace was shockingly gaunt with eyes set deep into dark sockets.

‘Nice to meet you,’ said Joe, shaking his hand. ‘Thanks for coming in.’

‘No problem,’ said Pace, slipping back behind Bobby.

‘OK,’ said Joe, walking over to the others. ‘Bobby, you know Danny Markey. And this is Aldos Martinez and Fred Rencher from Manhattan North. Tom Blazkow and Denis Cullen from here at the Two-Oh. Everyone, Bobby Nicotero and Roger Pace from the 1st.’

Everyone nodded.

‘Do you want to tell us what you got?’ said Joe.

‘Sure,’ said Bobby. ‘I read the paper and I just saw our friend, the “source close to the investigation” saying that the vic was found naked and his face was severely beaten. I figured there could be something to it, could be nothing.’ He opened the file.

‘Our vic’s name was Gary Ortis, DOB 07/10/69, cause of death – GSW to the head from a twenty-two. There were signs of oxygen deprivation, you know, petechial hemorrhages. He was found naked in his apartment on Prince Street in SoHo.’

‘Body behind the door,’ said Joe.

‘Yup.’

Everyone nodded. ‘That sounds like our guy,’ said Joe. ‘Any leads?’

Bobby shook his head. ‘Nothing. We thought it was a gay thing, but the guy had lots of girlfriends—’ He shrugged. ‘Not that that means anything.’

‘Yeah,’ said Martinez looking at Danny.

Danny rolled his eyes.

‘Looks sexual to me,’ said Blazkow. ‘They’re all found naked like that, beaten so bad.’

‘We got the ME talking about a homosexual motive,’ said Joe.

‘Makes sense when you look at the physical damage,’ said Rencher. ‘When I was in the 17th, I caught this case – a high school junior, one of those small, pretty boy types, hooked up with this forty-year-old guy, they had a thing going on for a while. Then we’re called out, the boyfriend has beaten the crap out of the poor kid, totally smashed up his face and, I mean, like our vics, he was unrecognizable. The boyfriend was out of his mind with grief, crying and saying he just wished the kid hadn’t spent so much time talking to that cute barman, that he would have been still alive if he had. Unbelievable.’

‘And remember that guy in Jersey who shot his boss?’ said Cullen. ‘He’d been arrested for beating the crap out of his boyfriend with a hammer a few years before that.’

‘But then, there’s no damage to the genitals with our vics,’ said Joe. He shrugged. ‘That usually goes along with it.’

‘Also – on the sex thing,’ said Rencher. ‘According to Lowry’s wife, the DVDs and whip and shit were just theirs, they liked to watch porn together, no big deal. She figures he was just going to watch some that night while she was gone.’

‘OK. But what else was left lying around the other scenes? What was in the bedrooms?’

‘There was a sexual element at the Aneto and Lowry scenes,’ said Blazkow.

‘Yeah, same for Ortis,’ said Bobby. ‘Toys, DVDs. Some of them were a little dusty, I remember, but they were out there on his bed. But there was also work papers, diaries, photos.’

‘Yeah, we got photos at Aneto’s too,’ said Danny.

‘There were love letters from Lowry’s ex-girlfriend by his bed.’

‘Oh, there were boxes of wax strips at Aneto’s,’ said Martinez.

‘And Preparation H at Ortis’s place,’ said Bobby.

‘It’s kind of like they were all looking for something,’ said Blazkow. ‘Pulling out drawers, looking through closets. Do you think maybe the perp was after something?’

‘Maybe,’ said Bobby. ‘Maybe they could have all ripped him off.’

‘Let’s take a look at what they’ve got in common,’ said Danny. ‘We got a Wall Street guy, an actor, a graphic designer …’

‘Faggoty jobs?’ said Martinez.

‘Yeah, I see that sensitivity training worked out well for you,’ said Danny.

‘It’s cool, I’m dating the guy who gave the talk,’ said Martinez.

‘You’re such a dickhead,’ said Danny.

‘What about success?’ said Blazkow, ignoring the interruption. They all nodded. He continued, ‘Perp could have a chip on his shoulder. All these guys were successful … at least, on the surface, like if you saw them on the street.’

‘The Wall Street guys are all about surface,’ said Danny. ‘Why else do they freak out so much when they’re caught with their pants around their ankles burying it in some ten-dollar whore? My neighbors, my clients, my wife …’

‘Yeah,’ said Bobby. ‘And then the pricks tell us they’re paying our salary, like that’s going to help their situation. How to win cops and influence whatever.’

‘OK – phone calls,’ said Joe. ‘All the vics made calls the night they died. Looks like while the perp was in their home. William Aneto calls his mother – she says it was just to say goodnight.’

‘Gary Ortis calls his former business partner just to say hi, he says, see how he was doing,’ said Bobby.

‘Hmm,’ said Joe. ‘Maybe not. We need to go talk to these people again. And how is he choosing the vics? Is he following them home? If so, from where? If not, how is he meeting them – online, at work, in a bar, at the gym …’

‘Why, though? Why is he killing them?’ said Blazkow.

‘It’s going to be a long night,’ said Danny.

‘What’s Denis Cullen’s story?’ said Joe later, when he was alone with Danny.

‘That’s Denis Cullen who the 10–13 benefit’s for next month. Well – it’s for his daughter. She’s got cancer, she’s only thirteen years old.’

‘Shit,’ said Joe. ‘I didn’t know that. I thought he’d just been through a divorce or something.’

‘Nah, they’re a real close family. He’s a good guy. When he’s not here, he’s at the hospital with his wife and daughter the whole time.’

‘When’s the benefit?’

‘A couple weeks at the Bay Ridge Manor. There’s a poster up on the board. It’s black tie.’

‘Black tie? What’s up with that?’

Danny shrugged. ‘It’s terrible – it’s because they’re not sure, you know, if she’s going to pull through and you know, make her prom, her wedding … so it’s kind of a fancy affair for that.’

‘Jesus Christ, you think you have problems …’

‘I know.’

Anna Lucchesi lay in bed as wide awake as she had been when she got in. She wanted so badly to sleep, but one part of her was listening out for Joe to come home, the other for Shaun. Over the past few months, she had been kept awake by a strange humming sound somewhere off in the distance, maybe out across the water. Tonight, at least it was quieter, just the sound of cars going by below on the Belt Parkway, a soothing sound that usually lulled her to sleep. She pulled the sheet tightly around her, up over her shoulder and high under her chin. Just as she settled, she heard the screech of a car pulling up outside the house. A door opened, then closed, then silence. No footsteps. Nothing. She leaned up on her elbow and listened. She looked at the clock. It was 4 a.m. After a minute, she heard faint electronic beeps from outside. Then a short five-note melody. Then more beeps. Shaun’s cell phone. She got up and walked over to the window when she pulled back the blinds, she saw a body lying on the street outside the gate. Her heart leaped. She looked closer and recognized Shaun’s sneakers. Her legs went weak. She grabbed her cell phone off the nightstand and dialled Joe’s number as she ran down the stairs.

‘Joe, Joe, get home now,’ she screamed. ‘Something’s happened to Shaun. He’s lying outside the house on the street.’ She hung up. Shaun was on his back with his eyes closed, his arms stretched out by his side.

‘Shaun,’ said Anna. ‘Shaun.’

She crouched down beside him and put an ear to his chest. He was taking in deep guttural breaths and breathing out a rancid mix of garlic, cigarettes and alcohol.

‘Shaun,’ she hissed. ‘Wake up.’

He frowned and rolled his head from side to side. Anna looked around to see if anyone was watching her in her pyjama bottoms and cami kneeling beside her drunk teenage son. Shaun’s eyes flickered open and he slowly turned to her, his head loose on his neck, his eyes wildly trying to focus, first on her, then randomly on either side of her.

‘Mom?’ he said finally.

‘Yes,’ she snapped.

‘Dad?’ he said.

She reached down and grabbed his arm. ‘Get up. Into this house.’

He wrenched his arm away. ‘Get off of me.’

‘Just get inside,’ said Anna. ‘It’s four o’clock in the morning.’

He laughed.

‘It’s not funny.’

‘It is,’ he said. ‘C’mon, it is funny getting the time whenever you come home. Every kid gets the time when they come home. Like we care. Like it matters.’ He lifted his head off the concrete. ‘Am I on the sidewalk? Jesus Christ.’ He laughed again. ‘How the hell did I get here?’

‘Oh my God – how did you get here? You don’t know how you got here?’

‘Jesus Christ,’ he said, rolling onto his side, then dragging himself up onto his elbow. ‘I have no idea.’

‘OK. I’m going inside and you can follow me in. Now.’

‘Ugh.’

‘And your father is on his way.’

‘What? I thought he had a—’

‘Yes he does,’ said Anna. She reached the front door. ‘So God help you.’

Shaun stayed where he was, then dragged himself to the top step of the house. Eventually Anna opened the door and came out.

‘Get up now, Shaun.’ She walked back into the hall. ‘I’m closing the door.’

‘I never asked you to open it.’

She slammed the door and turned on the porch light.

‘Aw man,’ he said. ‘Come. On.’ He leaned a hand back on the step and pushed himself up, knocking against a plant pot. ‘Turn off the goddamn searchlight. I’m right here.’ He banged on the door. Anna opened it. He walked in and sat on the first chair he found.

‘Don’t get comfortable there,’ said Anna.

She heard the beeps again, outside the house. She pulled open the door and grabbed his cell phone.

‘Give me that,’ he said.

She held it up. ‘When you go up and get into bed. Where were you tonight?’

‘Out.’

‘Tell me where you were. Or I will not give this back.’

Shaun laughed. ‘What? Give me my phone.’ He glared at her.

‘Don’t try anything with me,’ said Anna. ‘No more. I’m tired of this.’

‘I’m the one who’s tired of all this,’ said Shaun, standing up, ‘this fucking house. It’s so depressing. I hate being here. I can’t bear it. You go to anyone else’s house and you have fun. You come here and it’s all, like, ugh.’

Anna reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bottle of beer. She shook her head slowly. ‘What are you?’ she said. ‘A wino now? Walking around the streets with bottles of alcohol?’

‘I didn’t want it to go to waste,’ said Shaun.

‘It’s disgusting,’ said Anna. ‘When did you turn into this … this person?’

‘What person?’ said Shaun.

‘Stop it,’ she shouted. ‘Stop being so aggressive with me.’ Tears came out of nowhere. Shaun swayed in front of her, blinking slowly. She turned quickly and walked into the kitchen, wiping her eyes. She sat down at the table and took some deep breaths. She remembered the advice she once heard that it was never too late to start your day over. She looked at the hands of the clock at 4.20 a.m. and wondered which day she would be re-starting. In the hallway, Shaun’s cell phone beeped again. Anna boiled the kettle and made a mug of Sleepytime tea. Within minutes, she could feel its effects and wanted to stay exactly that way – alone, warm and calm in the soothing steam.

Beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep. Beep.

She put down her mug gently. And made an angry burst for the hallway.

‘Turn that phone off,’ she roared.

Shaun jumped. They both turned towards the door when they heard the keys.

‘Oh no,’ muttered Shaun.

‘Hey, what’s going on here?’ said Joe.

‘What do you think?’ said Anna. ‘He arrived home drunk – again. This time, he was lying on the pavement. Someone had pushed him out of a car and left him there.’

‘What?’ said Joe and Shaun.

‘Yes,’ she said, turning to Shaun. ‘You don’t even remember that part. What nice friends you have.’

Joe knew by looking at Anna that she hadn’t slept yet.

‘Go to bed, honey,’ he said. ‘You need sleep. I’ll take care of this.’

‘What do you mean you’ll take care of this?’ she said. ‘You haven’t done anything—’

Joe turned to Shaun. ‘You, stay where you are. Anna, can I talk to you upstairs?’

Anna shrugged. They walked up the stairs and stood on the landing, leaving Shaun muttering after them.

‘If he sees us fighting, we’re going to get nowhere.’ Joe struggled to keep his voice low.

Anna stared at him, her eyes wide. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘But if he doesn’t see you at all, that’s better?’

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

‘You know what that means,’ said Anna. ‘I’m trying to discipline him alone. And I’m not able to.’

‘Yes you are.’

Anna laughed. ‘Obviously.’

Joe stared at the ceiling.

‘Do you know he hasn’t done anything about his college applications?’ said Anna.

‘Yeah, well, he’s doing that to piss us off. Because we didn’t go see them with him.’

‘What? He knows we couldn’t. I was just back from Paris, you were—’

‘Yeah, yeah, working, I get it.’

‘But you were!’

‘Of course I was! Where else is the money going to come from?’

Anna stepped back. Joe stared at her. ‘It’s true,’ he said.

Her eyes were black with anger. ‘I can not believe you. After what you put me through—’

‘What I put you through?’ His voice cracked. They looked at each other. ‘Jesus Christ, Anna. Is that how you feel?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m tired. I’m going to bed. You blame me for him, I blame you for me, you blame yourself for nothing. Goodnight.’

‘Wait – you have to answer me. You’ve never said that—’

‘I said I don’t know what I feel. Now let me go to bed.’

‘What has happened to us?’ said Joe. But she was gone.

Joe leaned against the banister, his breath shaky. He slowly made his way down the stairs.

‘Shaun,’ he said, crouching down in front of him. Over the past year, the brightness had gone from Shaun’s eyes and his skin was starting to look pale and waxy.

‘What?’ said Shaun, drowsy and irritated.

‘Where were you tonight?’

‘Not again,’ said Shaun. ‘I was out, OK? Just let me go to bed.’

‘What’s going on with you?’ said Joe.

‘Nothing,’ Shaun snapped. ‘Nothing, OK? Nothing.’

‘Your Mom and me are worried.’

‘Yeah, well, get over it.’

‘This isn’t you talking,’ said Joe. ‘You’re my boy, you’re a good kid. I don’t know where this nasty piece of—’

‘Leave me alone,’ said Shaun. ‘I want to go to bed.’

‘Your mother was up at the school today, I know you haven’t done anything about college—’

‘Why are you talking to me about this shit now?’ said Shaun. ‘What is wrong with you? It’s, like, late. Or early, whatever.’

Joe moved back and let Shaun struggle up from the chair.

‘Shaun – this is the last time you’re going to do this, come home like this, OK?’

Shaun snorted. ‘Whatever.’

‘Don’t,’ said Joe. ‘EVER say that word to me like that, OK?’

‘Whatcha gonna do?’ said Shaun, taking a step towards him, staring him down.

‘Don’t make this any worse for yourself,’ said Joe.

‘Worse than living in this house? With Mom moping around all day?’

Joe grabbed his arm. ‘Listen carefully, Shaun. I married your mother. That was a choice I made. I love your mother. And I never have and never will listen to anyone disrespect her, least of all her own son. Now, get the hell out of my sight.’

SIX

Danny and Joe pulled up across the street from Clare Oberly’s apartment building and parked outside a dry cleaners. The elderly owner stood against the plate glass window, smoking a cigarette and staring at them.

‘That Pace guy looks kinda funny, doesn’t he?’ said Danny.

Joe smiled.

‘Kind of like parts of his face are trying to make a run for it,’ said Danny. ‘His eyes are busting out, his Adam’s apple … it’s like he’s so thin, there’s no nourishment there for them. They’re out of there. Know what I’m saying?’

Joe shook his head. ‘You’re a cruel son of a bitch.’

‘Just saying what everyone else is thinking.’

‘You are so full of shit.’

They walked over to the building, past a huge moving van and into a brightly lit foyer with floors streaked with black marks. A couple walked by them in shorts and T-shirts, carrying a chest of drawers, the man sweating heavily and trailing foul air behind him.

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Danny to Joe. ‘Deodorant.’

One of the elevators was held open by the couple moving. Joe and Danny took the free one to the tenth floor, found apartment 10B and rang the bell.

‘Hello,’ said Joe. ‘Clare Oberly?’

‘Yeah. Hi.’ She was an attractive blonde in her mid-thirties, dressed in a lime green chiffon top, white jeans and red and green platform shoes. Strings of expensive multi-colored beads hung around her neck.

‘My name is Detective Joe Lucchesi. My partner and I are investigating a homicide. You received a phone call round about 11 p.m. last night?’

She paused. ‘Yeah. Why?’

‘Who was the call from?’ said Joe.

‘Ethan Lowry.’ She looked at both of them. ‘Why?’

‘What’s your relationship with Mr Lowry?’ said Joe.

‘Oh, we dated in college. Is he OK?’ she said.

‘Can we come in?’ said Joe.

‘I’m sorry. Yes. I’m so rude. Come in.’ She brought them into a neat, open plan apartment with a huge Miró on one wall. She sat down and gestured to the sofa opposite.

‘I’m afraid Mr Lowry’s been the victim of a homicide,’ said Joe.

‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Ethan?’ She shook her head. ‘Oh my God. He’s so … what happened? He’s just so not the type … if that makes any sense.’

‘He was murdered in his apartment. We think he may have called you right before it happened. And we need to find out why.’

‘God. I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think it would be anything to do with why he was murdered. We don’t even know each other that well any more. Like, I’m not a person he would call if he was in trouble. We’re just not close.’

‘When was the last time you spoke with him?’

‘A year and a half ago. At my brother’s funeral. It was really sweet of him to come. Ethan was very kind like that.’ She bowed her head. ‘I can’t believe this.’

‘What did he say to you when he called?’

‘Not a lot. He just called to say hi.’ She shrugged.

‘How long were you two dating?’

‘Six years.’

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing major, the usual, we were too young, I was too ambitious, he wanted quiet nights in, I wanted to party. We drifted. It got boring, I guess.’

‘And you both moved on.’

‘I did more than he did, I guess. But then he met his wife and he got married shortly after.’

‘So why do you think he called you the night he died?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘You have no idea,’ said Joe. ‘Really?’

She smiled sadly. ‘I’m such a bad liar. The worst. I guess I’m worried … his wife’s just lost her husband …’ She sighed. ‘OK. What I tell you? Does his wife get to hear it?’

‘Not necessarily, no,’ said Joe.

‘I don’t want to make things worse for her. Even though I haven’t done anything … just, the only weird thing that night was Ethan told me … that he loved me.’

Joe frowned. ‘What? And you hadn’t seen him in how long? A year and a half?’

‘Yeah. He said he was just calling to say he loved me.’

‘What did you say to him?’

‘I was shocked. I mean, he sounded pretty normal except for what he was actually saying to me. That was it. I didn’t know what to say back. I mean, he’s married, I heard he has a lovely wife and daughter and … I don’t know. I mean, I don’t love him. Didn’t. I said that to him. I said about his wife and that I’d moved on.’ She shrugged. ‘Now I feel terrible. For him. For his wife. I’m guessing she has no idea. Do you think … I mean, he didn’t kill himself or anything?’

‘No,’ said Joe. ‘Had he hinted about his feelings when you met at your brother’s funeral?’

‘No,’ said Clare. ‘He was really sweet to me. But that’s Ethan, he just is. There was no major interaction between us, no plans to meet up, I didn’t encourage him, nothing.’

‘Is there anyone you could think of that had a problem with Ethan? Was he ever in trouble?’

‘It was eight years ago when we broke up. But before then, Ethan was, like, normal, just a nice guy. I never saw him even have an argument with anyone. He was low-profile, you know what I mean? He’d be the last person I would think would end up murdered.’

Rufo was sitting at his desk pressing keys on his cell phone when Danny and Joe walked in. He held up his left hand to silence them. They looked at each other. Joe shrugged. Rufo spent another few minutes focused on the tiny handset. He was smiling to himself. He hit one last key and put the phone down.

‘Texting,’ he said. ‘What a great way to communicate. You should check it out.’

‘I lived in Ireland, remember?’ said Joe. ‘It’s nearly taken over from drinking.’

‘Who were you texting?’ said Danny.

Rufo looked up at him. ‘None of your business, Markey. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure?’

Joe spoke. ‘I’m thinking of setting up a meeting with Reuben Maller in the Eastern District, get some sort of profile worked out on this perp …’

‘Sure. Go ahead,’ said Rufo. ‘As long as we’re all clear it’s his friendly assistance you’re after.’

Joe nodded. ‘I’ll see what comes out of the profile. If there’s anything we think he should stick around for, anyone he’d like to interview, we’ll see, but you know Maller, he’s a good guy, he does his thing, then disappears back—’