The Caller by Alex Barclay Read Free Book Online

real calm: “Sure, I had a visit from Dukey. He was wanting to say Hi, catch up. Been years. Wanted to take a look around Donnie’s bedroom. I said, ‘Knock yourself out, buddy’. Not a lot in there since y’all turned it upsideways last year. So Dukey comes out, then he go on out to the shed out back where I keep my tools and I say, ‘Sure you can, Dukey. You’re a good boy.’ He seemed kinda aggritated. Had some sort of bug in his bonnet. Anyways, last I saw of little Dukey.”’
    ‘That’s it?’ said Joe.
    ‘Yep.’
    ‘Geoff Riggs didn’t call the cops, nothing?’
    ‘No – this guy’s brain is so fried. That statement I just read to you took two hours to extract fromhim. My guess is Rawlins is taking advantage of the relaxed surveillance.’
    ‘The no surveillance,’ said Joe.
    ‘Yeah,’ said Maller. ‘It’s been a year – he hadn’t shown anywhere anyone expected him to. And his visit to Geoff Riggs is only part one of the story. The second part is that a few days later, the custodian of the Stinger’s Creek cemetery was doing his rounds and when he got to Donald Riggs’ grave … well, there was another one opened up right beside it.’
    Joe paused. ‘Someone was dug up?’
    ‘No. Someone had just dug a grave. It was empty. It was thoroughly searched and there was nothing or no-one in it.’
    ‘Jesus Christ,’ said Joe.
    ‘What we have got to remember is everyone out there knows what Rawlins and Riggs did. And on the one hand, you’ve got people baying for blood. On the other, some of the officers from the sheriff’s department who went to investigate this, spoke to a group of stoners who were all, “Man, Duke Rawlins is, like, sick.” In a good way. So it could have been an angry relative of a victim, it could have been a teenage prank.’
    ‘Maller, why don’t we cut the crap, here? You know what this is. Alcoholic witness or not. It’s not a coincidence – we hear Rawlins shows up, pays a visit to a tool shed and within days a grave is opened up next to his old buddy. Come on.’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Maller. ‘It’s just I know what thisman has done to you. I mean, that’s why I called you on this … yeah, I don’t think this one’s a false alarm.’
    ‘Jesus Christ.’
    ‘I have to ask,’ said Maller, ‘has he tried to get in touch with you?’
    Joe did not hesitate. ‘No.’
    Anna Lucchesi sat at her dressing table in her bathrobe, her hair pulled back with a black jersey headband, her face pale, her eyes shadowed. She opened a packet of cleansing wipes and started wiping down her makeup products, getting rid of dust and dried-in foundation and caked powder. She grouped them together and lined them up, ready for the following morning. A photo beside the bed showed her as she used to be, her hair dark and glossy, her cheeks healthy, her eyes alive.
    The notice board at Manhattan North was covered with badges from police departments all over the country and around the world. Joe stood in front of it, thinking about Duke Rawlins. Every evil thing Rawlins had done had settled close to the surface and deep down inside. He didn’t know what would end it, but every day a new scenario took him away from where he was supposed to be.
    ‘Joe? That’s your freakin’ phone,’ yelled Martinez.
    Joe grabbed the receiver.
    ‘Joe? It’s Bobby Nicotero. From the 1st.’ Bobby’sfather was Victor Nicotero – Old Nic – a retired cop and close friend of Joe’s.
    ‘Jesus, Bobby. What’s up?’
    ‘Not a lot.’
    ‘How’s Old Nic?’
    ‘You tell me.’
    Joe paused.
    Bobby’s laugh was off. ‘I was going to ask you the same thing. How is my father?’
    ‘Well … last time I saw him was at that barbecue, couple weeks back. You had to be somewhere with the kids, I think. He was good, taking it easy, enjoying writing.’
    ‘Writing what?’
    ‘Oh,’ said Joe. ‘He’s working on a book.’
    ‘Yeah, well, I’ve been busy …’
    ‘Yeah – your old man’s writing his