Free The Caller by Alex Barclay Page B

colour of their skin, the lifestyle they have, the choices they make, nothing. We want to find your son’s killer. And we just want all the information we can to do that. We’re not judging that information, running it through any filter. They’re just facts to us – blackand white – things that may or may not lead us to a killer.’
    Mrs Aneto reached for a photo of William from the sideboard, framed in shiny black wood. She stared down at it. ‘I’m only talking to you today, detectives, because I have hope. I am still bitter, I am still angry, but I have hope. I’m not sorry I didn’t tell you this a year ago. I stand by that decision. Because I hate to think how bad your efforts would have been if you had known he had been into drugs.’
    Joe grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair. He looked around the office.
    ‘I haven’t eaten yet. I’m going to get breakfast. Anyone need anything?’
    He took three food and drink orders and as he was getting out of the elevator, his cell phone rang. It was a number he hadn’t seen in over two years and had never deleted from his contacts: Anna (W).
    He frowned. ‘Anna?’
    ‘Do you know where she is?’ It was Chloe. Her tone had none of its usual confidence.
    Joe could not speak. Anna cannot be anywhere other than the W Hotel in Union Square. The number he had programmed into his phone that morning. Just in case.
    ‘What?’ he said. His hunger had gone, the void in his stomach now filled with something else.
    ‘I’m sorry. It’s Chloe here. Anna didn’t show up at the shoot this morning. I’ve been trying her cell, the home phone – nothing. I dragged your number out of some next-of-kin thing we had for her. I’m sorry to bother you—’
    ‘Whoa,’ said Joe. ‘What’s going on? I left her this morning and she was taking the subway to Union Square and everything was fine—’
    ‘She never showed. It’s not like her. Have you been speaking with her?’
    ‘Obviously not.’ He had no time to deal with Chloe. He needed to go.
    ‘And she seemed fine to you this morning?’
    ‘Yes. Yes she did,’ said Joe, wondering what fine was and if he’d know it if it slapped him in the face.
    They both paused. ‘Well?’ said Chloe. ‘What will we do?’
    ‘Leave it with me,’ said Joe.
    ‘Thanks,’ said Chloe. ‘I’m … worried about her.’
    Sure you are, thought Joe. He stood in the street, his shaky fingers punching buttons on his phone, searching for a text message he’d missed, a phone call he hadn’t heard, anything. Then he dialled Anna’s cell, then the house. Voicemail both times. He looked across the street at his car. And ran for it.
    Anna lay on the bed, back in her pyjamas, asleep, curled into the tiniest ball she could, gripping apillow tightly to her chest. Her body jerked from side to side, then she was on her back, rigid, the pillow thrown to one side. Images washed over her, pinning her down, taking a psychological grip on her that felt physical. Her mouth was clamped shut. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. Choppy and ghost-like, strange eyes and mouths hovered over her, sweeping up her chest, pausing before her face, threatening, then sweeping away again to be replaced by another and another, each one making her feel that the next one was going to be the one to take her away. Her hands were in fists, her eyes pressed shut, a scream desperate to explode from her closed mouth.
    She could hear her name being called. Over and over … but the voice was warm. She could associate it with someone kind. Someone who would look after her. Something inside her relaxed. And the scream came out, mixed with a dreadful, plangent moan.
    Tears streamed from her eyes. They shot open and Joe was beside her, pulling her onto his lap, stroking her hair, kissing the top of her head.
    ‘It’s OK, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘It’s OK. I’m here.’ He paused. ‘You’re safe. It was just a nightmare. Everything is good. Everyone’s