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T.J. took her cell phone out of her purse and turned it on. “Here,” she said, extending it across the table to Jaine. “Call him now.”
Jaine dug in her purse for the scrap of paper on which he had written both of his numbers. Her hands were shaking as she tried his cell phone first. The connection was made and a ring sounded in her ear. Twice. Three times—
“Donovan.”
She gripped the little phone hard with both hands. “This is Jaine. Sam—we’re scared. We’ve all been getting crank calls since the List came out, but I haven’t mentioned it because they weren’t threatening or anything, he just asks which one we are—you know, A, B, C, or D—but he just called T.J. on her cell phone and said Marci’s name. How did he get T.J.’s number? The phone’s in her husband’s name, so how would he know T.J. is the one with the phone instead of Galan? I heard you say Marci probably knew her killer and let him in the house, and whoever called T.J. knows her because otherwise how would he have her number, and I know I sound hysterical, but I’m scared and I wish you would tell me I’m letting my imagination run away with me—”
“Where are you?” he asked quietly.
“Railroad Pizza. Please tell me I’m letting my imagination run away with me.”
“I think you need to get Caller ID,” he said, his tone still too even. “If T.J. and Luna don’t have it, tell them to get it. Today. Call the phone company from work to get it started, and stop on the way home to buy the units.”
She took a deep breath. “Okay. Caller ID.”
“Do you have a cell phone? Or Luna?”
“No, just T.J.”
“Both of you need to get one, and keep it with you, so you’ll have a way to call for help if you can’t get to a land line. And I mean with you, in a pocket, not in your purse or car.”
“Cell phones. Check.” They were going to have several stops on the way home, she thought.
“Did anything about his voice sound familiar?”
“No, he whispers, but it’s kind of a loud whisper. It sounds funny.”
“Any background noise that you can identify?”
She relayed the question to T.J. and Luna. They shook their heads. “No, nothing.”
“Okay. Where do T.J. and Luna live?”
She gave him their addresses. T.J. lived in Mount Clemens, Luna in Royal Oak, all towns on the north side of Detroit.
Sam swore. “Royal Oak is in Oakland County. That’s four different departments in two different counties who need to get a heads-up on this.”
“You were supposed to tell me I’m crazy,” she said in a shaky voice, though somehow she had known he wouldn’t.
“Marci’s dead,” he said bluntly. “All four of you have gotten the same crank call. Do you want to trust your life to coincidence?”
Put in those terms, maybe she wasn’t crazy after all. She took a deep breath. “What should we do?”
“Tell T.J. and Luna that, until we find out who’s making these calls, not to let anyone in their houses except family, don’t get in a car with anyone except family, not even if they have a breakdown and someone offers a ride. Keep their doors and windows locked, and if either of them has an automatic garage door, make sure no one gets inside when the door raises.”
“How long will it take to find this creep?”
“Depends. If he’s just a dumb fuck making phone calls, the Caller ID may nab him, or the call return number. If not, we’ll put a trace on your lines.”
“But if he’s a dumb f—” She caught herself before she said the word. “If he’s a dumb you-know-what, how did he get T.J.’s cell phone number?”
“Like you said. He knows her.”
As T.J. parked in front of Hammerstead, they all looked out at the big brick building. “It’s probably someone who works here,” Jaine said.
“It would almost have to be,” Luna said. “Some jerk who thinks it’s funny to scare us.”
“Sam said we shouldn’t trust our lives to coincidence. Until we know better, we should assume that the guy who’s making the phone calls is the same guy who killed Marci.”
