The Helper

‘Seriously, man. Some phone numbers. Can you get them for me?’

‘Whose numbers?’

Doyle reels off the list.

‘Uh-huh,’ says Holden. ‘Pardon me for asking, but why can’t this wait till tomorrow, when you can come in and get them your own self?’

‘Because it can’t. I need to follow something up. Please, Jay.’

Holden sighs. ‘This is your stupid theory again, right? You need to let this go, Cal. Really. People are starting to talk.’

‘The numbers, Jay. Please.’

Another sigh. ‘I’ll call you back.’

‘I’ll hold.’

‘Cal, what the fuck are you-Oh, forget it.’

The line goes quiet. Doyle’s right leg shakes up and down while he waits. A fast beat. It does this when he’s anxious.

Holden comes back on the phone and starts reading out the numbers. Doyle scrawls them in his notebook, then utters a quick thank you and hangs up before Holden can ask him any more questions.

He taps in the first number on his list and presses the call button.

‘Hello?’

‘Mr Podolski? It’s Detective Doyle here. I was at your apartment this morning?’

‘Yeah, yeah. What’s up? You get the bastard?’

‘Not yet. I just need to ask you a coupla more questions about Lorna. You mind?’

‘No. Go ahead.’

‘Lorna told you about the baby, right? And she said it hit her hard. Her and her husband.’

‘Yeah. She came to terms with it eventually, but he never did.’

‘Okay, but before she came to terms with it. She was bad, right?’

‘Well, yeah. I mean, who wouldn’t be?’

‘How bad? Did she tell you?’

‘Bad. Real bad. I don’t know what you want me to say.’

‘Bad enough to want to kill herself?’

‘What?’

‘When she told you about this part of her life, losing the baby and all, did she ever say that she got so depressed she thought about committing suicide?’

Come on, thinks Doyle. Tell me I’m onto something here.

‘Well, yeah. She did say that. How did you know?’

Bingo, thinks Doyle. But only if. .

‘What did she say, exactly? Do you remember?’

‘She said. . she said it hit her when she was leaving the hospital. Like a wave of grief. She was walking out of the hospital with her husband. They were heading back to their car, and they had to cross the street. And then this ambulance came screaming along, and she. .’

‘Go on.’

‘She. . she said she wanted to jump out. In front of the ambulance. She wanted to just step out and let it mow her down, that’s how messed up she was. Look, is this necessary? I don’t like talking about this stuff. I’m not sure that Lorna would have-’

‘It’s useful, believe me. I’m not playing with you, Alex. I need to know these things.’

‘Well, okay. If it helps.’

‘It does. Thank you. I’ll be in touch, okay?’

‘Okay. But-’

Doyle hangs up. He almost cannot believe what he’s just heard. It’s coming together too smoothly.

He tries to control his breathing. It’s too early to be counting chickens.

He looks at the next number on his list. Taps it in with trembling fingers.

‘Hello.’

‘Josh Whiteley?’

‘Yeah, who’s this?’

‘This is Detective Doyle from the Eighth Precinct. I’m one of the officers working on the homicide of Cindy Mellish. I just need to ask you one or two questions. That okay with you, Josh?’

‘I don’t know. I mean, I thought you guys were done with me. It wasn’t me, you know. I had nothing to do with it.’

‘I know, Josh, I know. All I want is for you to fill in a little background detail for me.’

‘All right. What do you wanna know?’

‘About when you broke it off with Cindy. You told the other detectives she didn’t take it too well, is that right?’

Whiteley snorts a laugh. ‘That has to be the understatement of the year, man. She flipped. Kept following me around, telling me how much she needed me. I mean, it was getting embarrassing, you know?’

‘She was crazy about you?’

‘She was crazy, period. I mean, I liked her and all, but I needed some space, you know? Every time I turned around the girl was there, sucking up my oxygen. She-’ Whiteley breaks off, as if realizing how this is starting to sound. ‘But this was a long time ago, man. She was out of my life way before-’

‘I know, Josh. Trust me, I’m not looking to jam you up here. I’m just trying to get a handle on her state of mind. You cool with that?’

‘I guess.’

‘Good. So Cindy refused to let go. She was desperate. She would have done anything to make you change your mind, right?’

‘Yeah. That about sums it up.’

‘So did she resort to emotional blackmail of any kind?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I mean like threatening to hurt herself if you didn’t take her back?’

There it is, thinks Doyle. The big question. Come on, Josh. I need a big fat yes here.

‘Yeah, she did that.’

Doyle punches the air. He has to stop himself from releasing a cry of triumph. It would sound a little disrespectful given the topic under discussion.

‘How, Josh? What exactly did she say she would do?’

‘Like, all kinds. Taking an overdose. Jumping off a building. Like I said, she was nuts.’

No, no, no. Wrong answer, Josh. Think again.

‘Anything else? Did she make any other specific threats to self-harm?’

‘Well, yeah. But it was lame. She was just trying to get to me.’

‘How, Josh? Why was it lame?’

‘One night, she called me up. Said she was going to cut her wrists.’

Doyle hears his phone creak as his grip on it tightens.

‘Go on. What happened?’

‘I told her to go ahead and do it then. I mean, I don’t want to sound unfeeling or anything, but she was seriously bugging me. What you have to understand is-’

‘I understand, Josh. Tell me what she did. Did she cut herself?’

‘No. What I mean is, not really. The next day she showed up with a coupla scratches on her arm. I’ve had worse from my cat. When she showed them to me, I just laughed. I know I shouldn’t have — I mean, the crazy bitch probably needed help — but, well. .’

Doyle knows that Josh Whiteley is waiting to hear more words that will help him feel good about himself, but Doyle is past caring about his welfare. He presents him with some prime bullshit instead: ‘Josh, you’ve been a