Contrary to what we’d been led to believe, Clive Balcerak wasn’t an ogre or a monster. He was a very polite young man, cleanly shaven, perfectly coiffed and dressed, and wearing glasses. He looked more like a choirboy than most choirboys, and didn’t strike me as the office or schoolyard bully at all, more like the kid who gets bullied by the bigger kids, his glasses trampled, his hair mussed and his nice clothes muddied. But then of course looks can be deceiving.
The coffee shop where we had arranged to meet was one of those small eateries that are all the rage in Manhattan, and are very popular with the office crowd. This particular place was teeming with men and women in suits, talking or texting on their phones, and generally looking very busy, efficient and competent.
We took a seat at the long table that stretched along the window, and offered us a great view of the street, where more people were walking to and fro, also talking on their phones or checking their email. Many of them had AirPods in their ears, which made them look as if they were actually talking to themselves.
“It’s so funny, isn’t it, Max?” said Dooley as we watched this sea of humanity pass along in front of us. “So many people and they’re all talking to themselves!”
“They’re speaking into their phones,” I said.
“But… they’re not holding it to their ears. How can they hear what the other person is saying?”
“Those little white things that are stuck in their ears? Those are actually wireless earphones. All part of the cordless revolution. And pretty soon they’ll have something implanted in their brains and won’t even need those anymore.”
“It’s a funny world out there, Max,” said my friend.
“You can say that again, buddy.”
We both shivered. The whole concept brought back memories of a subcutaneous chip Vena Aleman, Hampton Cove’s venerable cat butcheress, had once implanted in us. Not our finest moment!
But we weren’t in Manhattan to comment on the state of the world or the well-known viciousness of veterinarians, of course. And so we tuned back in.
“Terrible what happened to Jeff,” said Clive, shaking his head sadly. He sat nursing a large latte and daintily nibbling from a blueberry muffin. “Management called a meeting yesterday and told us. Is it true that there’s a mafia connection?”
“You will understand that we’re not at liberty to discuss the details of an ongoing investigation, won’t you, Mr. Balcerak?” said Chase.
“Oh, no, of course. Just a persistent rumor that’s been doing the rounds.”
“The thing is, Mr. Balcerak, that Jeff supposedly received a message from you to meet him at two o’clock that afternoon. But when we checked Jeff’s phone we found the message but it wasn’t sent from your phone but from a pay-as-you-go.”
“Oh, my God,” said Clive. “Someone used my phone to send Jeff a message?”
“They didn’t actually use your phone,” said Chase. “Without getting too technical, they made it look as if you were sending the message, while in actual fact they were using a different SIM than yours. It’s called caller ID spoofing.”
“Is that actually a thing? I thought it was just a myth,” said Clive.
“Oh, no, it’s real. Criminals can spoof your number by using this technique. Which is why Jeff actually thought you were the one sending him a message. But instead they lured him to the place where they were planning to kill him.”
Clive’s face showed his distress. “Poor Jeff. He must have been so happy. We haven’t always seen eye to eye, you know, me and Jeff. I don’t know how it started, but we just didn’t get along for some reason. Minor incidents led to friction and before long it almost seemed as if we were sworn enemies.” He barked an incredulous, humorless laugh. “And the worst part is that I was effectively thinking about meeting him outside work. To talk things through, see if we couldn’t patch things up between us. If only I’d done it sooner…” He stared off into space for a moment, even going so far as to return his half-eaten muffin to his plate.
“When a man doesn’t finish his muffin, it means he’s hurting,” Dooley said.
“He’s probably feeling bad because Jeff died before they could reconcile,” I said. “And also, they used Clive’s number to lure the man to his death.”
“Okay, so we know you didn’t actually send that message,” said Chase. “But you will understand we have to cross our T’s and dot our I’s. Where were you two days ago between two and three, Mr. Balcerak?”
“Well, as I told you on the phone, I was helping a friend move into his new apartment. I gave you his phone number. You can check, he will confirm this.”
“I did call your friend, and he confirmed you helped him move, but this was in the morning. He has no idea where you were in the afternoon, Mr. Balcerak.”
Clive gulped a little.“Well…” He gulped some more, and inserted a finger between his shirt collar and his neck. “The thing is, detective…”
“Yes?”
“Is this… This is a confidential conversation, isn’t it? I mean, if I tell you something in confidence, it doesn’t have to go any further?”