by Alex Barclay
‘It’s pointless guessing,’ said Ren, ‘because we have no real details yet.’
‘Mmm…I do,’ said Cliff. ‘If you feel able to hear them.’
Ren put a hand across her stomach – the first place her emotional pain ran for.
‘Do you want me to talk through this in private?’
‘No, Cliff,’ said Ren. ‘Everyone will hear it anyway.’
‘OK. Ren, I’m afraid your friend was tortured…’
‘Oh my God – in what way?’
‘She was beaten. And she had fingers broken. And fingernails…removed.’
‘I’m sorry…what? I…’ Ren ran to the bathroom and threw up. She stood up slowly in front of the mirror. Her head swam. She pressed her forehead against the cold tiles.
Sixty-two-year-old women don’t get tortured. They don’t get shot and thrown into a warehouse. They read literary fiction, crime novels, discuss world events, take long walks, spoil their grandkids, garden, meet their friends for coffee…help people.
Ren sat down on the slatted bench by the wall. Her entire body felt hollowed out. Helen had once said to her, ‘You work from the neck up, Ren, you never go below.’ She had put her hand to her heart and said to Ren, ‘You need to start going below – to what’s inside.’
Helen had led Ren to the place Ren had never wanted to go – the black hole where everything she had never wanted to face was awaiting her. Helen was the one guide she had trusted. And now she was gone.
And now I really am all alone.
16
Glenn Buddy and Cliff James must have drawn attention whenever they went out together. Cliff was six foot four, Glenn Buddy was six foot six. They both had huge guts – Glenn’s looked like it was from beer, Cliff’s looked a little softer.
Glenn had brought a sandwich and chips with him to Safe Streets, apologizing for having to eat while he was there. His sandwich was over-filled, so he had to open his mouth too wide to fit it in. He threw the chips into his mouth as if he was trying to stone his larynx. Ren tried to focus on the words, not the pictures, but her stomach was tightening.
‘OK,’ said Glenn, shifting his food to one cheek and speaking out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Here’s what we got. She was tortured…like someone was trying to get information out of her…’
Dr Helen Wheeler, attractive, intelligent psychiatrist…and suddenly she’s in a warehouse being tortured.
‘Are you sure?’ said Ren.
Glenn glanced at Cliff.
‘It’s just totally…surreal,’ said Ren. ‘It’s like a different world.’ She struggled to avoid welling up. Stay composed or they’ll keep you out of the investigation.
‘It sure is,’ said Glenn, shrugging again, taking a bite of his sandwich.
‘Was she robbed?’ said Ren. ‘Had anyone been in her office? Or her home?’
‘So far, it looks like a no to all of the above. All her keys were found with her – house, office, car.’
Ren shook her head. ‘What do you think the scenario was? Was she taken from her office?’
‘Probably in the parking lot, on the way to her car.’
‘And where was her car found? It wasn’t in the office parking lot.’
‘It was by the warehouse.’
‘And she was killed outside the warehouse? Inside?’
‘Inside.’
‘And she was beaten.’
‘Very badly. Some kind of blunt instrument was used.’
Ren had nothing to say to that. Nothing that a ripped-apart feeling inside her couldn’t express.
‘What kind of person was she?’ said Glenn.
Shit. She was a therapist: a person you knows you, while you don’t know them. ‘She was…a really good person. Very kind. Intelligent. Witty’ Got stuff out of me that no one else ever could.‘She was warm, friendly. A real lady. Dressed conservatively, spoke softly…’
‘Hardly the type to get involved with a bad crowd,’ said Cliff.
‘Yes, but don’t forget she would have had a few fruitcakes on her books,’ said Glenn.
Step away from the patients. ‘It’s easy to jump on that,’ said Ren. ‘but it seems a little…convenient.’
Cliff shifted in his seat. Glenn finished his potato chips and wrapped up the remains of his lunch. He wiped his mouth, then opened the envelope he had laid on the table.
‘Are you sure you want to see these?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Ren. Before your very eyes, watch how I shut myself down.
The first photo was a long shot across the warehouse parking lot – wet concrete with patches of snow dotted across it, enclosed in meters and meters of grim chain-link fencing.
The second photo was inside – a distant fully-clothed body, garishly flood-lit. Ren held her breath and turned to the next one. The corpse now had a face and a name. Helen Wheeler lay with her head turned toward the wall, her blonde hair obscuring her features, her chest torn apart. Too much red. Ren slowly released her breath. She moved through the rest of the photos. Helen had a broken nose. Her eyes were black. An earring had been ripped from her ear. Ren could see the missing fingernails and broken fingers.
What happened to you?
Ren sat back in her chair, staring at the ceiling, letting tears well briefly in her eyes but travel no further.
Focus.
‘OK,’ said Ren, ‘is the warehouse operational?’
Glenn shook his head. ‘It hasn’t been used since the DNC.’
‘What was security like?’ said Cliff.
‘There’s a swipe-card system,’ said Glenn.
‘And did someone use a swipe card?’ said Ren.
‘Yup,’ said Glenn. ‘The former head of security is being called in as we speak.’
‘Any cameras?’ said Ren.
‘Yes,’ said Glenn, ‘out of commission. The place is empty, they figure who’s going to go in there in March, in the snow. It’s not like it’s particularly convenient—’
‘Huge isolated space where no one will hear your screams or find your body?’ said Ren. ‘Hey, who did find the body?’
‘Our guys,’ said Glenn. ‘A former client from out of town had showed up at the warehouse early this morning, tried to use his swipe card and it didn’t work. He calls an old friend who worked there. The friend tells him the warehouse has been shut down for months. And the out-of-town guy goes, “Well, there’s a whole lot of tire tracks here that are telling me otherwise.” And that’s when we got the call. We had to cut through the fence.’
‘Has this out-of-towner been run through the databases?’ Ren was leaning forward in her seat. Glenn was slowly leaning back.
‘Everyone to do with the place is going to be checked out.’
‘I know…I know…’ said Ren. ‘Let us know what we can do on that score.’
‘So the swipe-card thing,’ said Cliff. ‘Who’s that ruling in or out?’
‘All the employees of the company, past and present. I guess certain clients would have them. Security staff. Maintenance staff…’
‘Did the security system record what time the place was accessed?’ said Cliff.
‘The security guy will check all that on the system,’ said Glenn. ‘He’s not a happy man. And neither is his boss. If they don’t come up with every bit of information we need, they’re in the shit. And if it turns out they didn’t carry out adequate background checks on their staff…’
‘What about the rest of the streets nearby?’ said Ren. ‘Any TV from anywhere else?’
‘We’ll wait and see,’ said Glenn. He glanced at his watch. ‘I need to head back. I’ve got a press conference at three.’
‘Then you better swap ties with me,’ said Cliff.
Glenn glanced down at the grease stain on his. ‘Shit. Thanks.’
‘I’ll leave you guys to it,’ said Ren.
‘Hey’ said Cliff. ‘Did Wheeler have a…significant other?’
I hate that expression. And I should know the answer.
/> ‘Yes,’ said Glenn. ‘She did. Peter Everett.’
‘Who’s he?’ said Ren.
‘The former husband of Lucinda Kerr…’ said Cliff.
‘And who is she?’ said Ren.
‘Socialite – comes from one of Denver’s wealthiest families. The Kerrs own half the city.’
‘How do I not know that?’ said Ren.
‘Probably because you’re not the person who owns the other half,’ said Glenn.
I’m not sure I get that.
‘The Kerrs are low and high profile at the same time,’ said Cliff. ‘People know the name, but don’t know much about them.’
‘And…do we know what kind of guy this Peter Everett is?’ said Ren.
‘Rich in his own right, well respected. Humanitarian type.’ Cliff shrugged. ‘That’s all I know. Oh, and they weren’t together long – six, maybe seven months.’
‘He’s at the station right now,’ said Glenn. ‘Apparently, he’s a wreck.’
I know how he feels.
Ren went back into the office. Robbie was sitting with a stack of files in front of him.
‘It’s probably a bad time,’ he said, patting them. ‘These are the files from Summit County on the Gavino Val Pando bar raid.
‘No – go ahead,’ said Ren.
‘OK, I had a look through them. There were four girls in the bar the night of the raid – two were seventeen years old, two were nineteen. They’re all from Denver. They were on vacation in Breckenridge and took a bus to the Brockton Filly. I spoke to them, got them to take a look at a photo of Gavino – nothing. They didn’t even remember him. But I figured, teenage girls…who knows what they’ll lie about. And right now, who wants to tell Daddy she’s been with a guy whose mom’s on the Most Wanted List. So…I called the Brockton Filly and spoke with Billy Waites.’
You what? Billy Waites, bar owner, confidential informant, former lover…who will now think I was too chickenshit to get in touch with him myself? I told you to contact Sheriff Bob Gage. No one else. Sweet Jesus, Robbie.
Ren’s face kept its composure, but the rest of her was gone.
‘Turns out Mr Waites still has the security tape,’ said Robbie. ‘Because of the raid on his bar that night, he held on to it. And…well, he doesn’t exactly trust the police, so I think he keeps his cameras rolling all the time.’
Hopefully not after hours…
‘Excellent.’ Absolutely fucking fantastic.‘Do you have the tape?’
‘It should arrive tomorrow,’ said Robbie. ‘Do you want me to go through it?’
‘Yes, I will too.’ Let’s just layer on the emotional trauma.
17
Ren was late into work the next morning. She’d managed three hours of sleep, broken twice by nightmares.
‘Gary wants you,’ said Colin, as soon as she walked in.
‘Now?’ Screw that.
‘He said when you came in,’ said Robbie.
‘Not before my coffee.’
‘He’s not that dumb.’
Ren went into Gary’s office with her mug and regretted not having asked if anyone else wanted one. It might have helped their moods. Gary was at his desk. Glenn Buddy turned around from the visitor’s chair.
‘Take a seat,’ said Gary. ‘Glenn stopped by to let us know that your details have come up in connection with the Helen Wheeler investigation.’
Glenn looked surprised that Gary went so quickly to the point. Ren was not.
‘Well, obviously your number came up when we did the phone dumps,’ said Glenn. ‘We know you called her once a week or so and tried her again during the time she was missing. So that’s all fine.’
Of course that’s all fine. Ren glanced at Gary.
‘But that’s not why I’m here,’ said Glenn.
‘OK,’ said Ren. What’s with the strange atmosphere?
‘We called in the head of security at the warehouse,’ said Glenn. ‘He accessed the swipe-card system to see who had gotten in the gate the night the body was dumped and…your details came up – your name, and the address here.’
‘What? Mine? That’s impossible. How would that happen?’
‘I’m asking you,’ said Glenn.
‘You were at the building during the DNC, Ren, right?’ said Gary.
‘Yes.’ She turned to Glenn. ‘I had to go talk to a few protestors that had been taken in for bad behavior. Anyone coming in and out of that location got swipe cards. That’s standard procedure, but that was a year ago,’ said Ren. ‘The card would have been stripped of all access privileges right after the DNC. You said so yourself – the warehouse isn’t even operational.’
Glenn nodded.
‘So maybe if they knew they were closing up right after the convention,’ said Ren, ‘they wouldn’t have bothered purging the database.’
‘That’s correct – they didn’t,’ said Glenn. ‘Your access privileges were still there.’
‘Well, weren’t everyone’s?’ She looked at them.
‘Yes,’ said Glenn, ‘but yours was the only swipe card to be used to access the property in the past nine months.’
‘But that’s bizarre,’ said Ren. ‘I wouldn’t need to access it. There’s nothing there.’
‘Apart from your friend’s dead body’ said Glenn.
‘Are you actually serious?’
‘Ren, where were you on March eleventh?’ said Gary.
Please tell me you are doing this for show. ‘I was…’ Ren paused. ‘The night before the body was found? Let me think.’ She raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘I was home.’
‘Can you prove that?’ said Glenn.
‘Should I have to?’ Ren looked between both of them. ‘Are you really serious?’
‘I’m not trying to…’ said Glenn. ‘I’m just doing a job, OK? You just need to prove where you were and I can check that box.’
‘But I can’t prove it,’ said Ren. ‘Come on. I was home…alone. That was the night of the break-in. I mean, obviously I was out when that happened, but you’re asking about the night-time, which—’
Glenn gave her a patient look.
‘What I’m saying is, I was out for a while in the evening after work. I had dinner at the Hickory Prime Steakhouse. So I can prove that part. And then…I swung by Helen’s office. Just to see if I could think of anything. Or see if something would hit me.’ Or if the light would be on and she would be at her desk.
‘And then I was back in Annie’s surveying the damage…Tell me, what was the security guy at this warehouse like, anyway?’ said Ren. ‘Did he seem like the type who had a clue? Couldn’t it just be that he forgot to hit delete or whatever he needed to do? Could my code have been assigned to someone else somewhere along the way?’
‘If the system is run well, no one is ever deleted from the database,’ said Glenn. ‘Anyone who has ever had access to a building remains on the database.’
Ren nodded. ‘I know…’ She let out a breath. ‘I’m sorry, gentlemen, but for now, no, I cannot prove where I was.’ She stood up. ‘But I can sure as hell tell you where I wasn’t.’
Glenn stood up. ‘I’m sorry about this, guys. I have to do what I have to do.’ He nodded and left.
‘What the fuck was that all about?’ said Ren.
‘All I know,’ said Gary, ‘is that I feel like my office is your time-out space.’
‘Hey, you can’t blame me for this,’ said Ren, sitting down. ‘But when I came in, I thought he was talking about my details in the psych files. Phew.’
‘No, Ren…nothing as serious as that – just the details of you accessing a murder scene around the time a body was dumped…’
‘But I know I didn’t do that.’
‘With that rationale, you shouldn’t be worried about anyone knowing the contents of your psych file.’
‘My mind, you mean,’ said Ren. ‘“Denver PD – come on into my mind, you’re very welcome. Keep your hands inside the…” whatever that announcement is at the start of a rollerco
aster ride.’
‘Beware of flying puke,’ said Gary.
‘That’s the one,’ said Ren. ‘OK, I’ll get back to work.’ She stood up. ‘That was all a little creepy…’
‘I would imagine it’s just one of those strange computer glitches. I’m sure Glenn Buddy feels the same way.’
Not from where I was sitting.
Colin was the only person in the office when Ren walked back in.
‘Here’s a weird one,’ said Ren. ‘Glenn Buddy just stopped by. My security pass was used to access the warehouse where Helen’s body was found.’
Colin looked up. ‘When?’
‘The night she disappeared.’
‘Since when do you have a security pass for there?’ said Colin.
‘Since the DNC,’ said Ren. ‘I had to go question some banjo players about “not wantin’ no black man in the White House”.’ Ugh.
Colin paused. ‘So…a year ago? And what’s been going on with the place since then?’
‘Nothing,’ said Ren. ‘It was closed up. In nine months, only one card has been used to access the property: mine.’
‘What?’
‘Gary thinks it’s probably just some computer glitch.’
‘You reckon?’ said Colin. ‘Do you not think it’s strange that it was your card used to access a crime scene. And that the victim was your friend?’ He went back to his computer.
Thanks for that. Ren felt a flash of fear. ‘But how would that work?’
‘Any number of ways,’ said Colin. ‘Someone literally has your card. Someone went in and accessed the computer at the warehouse…which, in fact, they couldn’t have done if your entry was the only one in nine months. So, the alternative is that someone hacked the system…’
But why?
Ren’s cell phone rang and her mother’s number flashed on the screen. She picked up.
Her mother was sobbing. ‘Oh, Ren…’
‘What? What is it?’ Ren stood up and ran to the conference room.
‘They came back and searched again,’ her mother said between sobs. ‘The police. And they found something. They found a T-shirt belonging to Louis Parry.’
