Time of Death rb-2

by Alex Barclay

  Sometimes, I just believe things that aren’t real. Like all of the above.

  Gary told Ren she could come in to his office, but he sounded tired. Weary.

  ‘I’m sorry, Gary, I know I’m bothering you a lot, but you have got to call Glenn Buddy again. For some reason, Hammond didn’t buy eliminating me from the taint team’s hit list. They absolutely cannot get access to my file.’

  ‘Calm down, calm down,’ said Gary. ‘What did Hammond say?’

  Ren filled him in.

  ‘OK, I’ll call Glenn again. I’ll get him to go back to Hammond. How long’s the taint team going to be working on this?’

  ‘Max another twenty-four hours.’

  ‘I’m on it,’ said Gary. ‘But, Ren – what’s the worst that can happen? Even if they do read your file, they won’t find anything incriminating. I understand the violation. But…from what you’ve said, you have nothing to worry about. If Hammond is sitting with your file in front of him in the morning, I don’t think the world is going to end.’

  I do.

  25

  Ren was running an hour late for work the next morning. She had decided to attribute half an hour of it to a fake traffic jam caused by an imaginary truck skidding on dramatized ice. It would take less energy than having to talk about waking up and being hit with a deadening sense of loss.

  She called Matt.

  ‘Matt, remember when I moved and I had to send you some of my stuff to store?’

  ‘You mean, do I remember the half of my garage that I have to look at daily, but can never make use of?’

  ‘That would be it,’ said Ren. ‘Would you mind trawling through that to find something for me?’

  ‘Oh, God. Yes, I do mind. Big time.’

  ‘Please?’ said Ren. ‘Ugly please?’

  ‘Ugly please. I haven’t heard that in years.’

  ‘I haven’t said it in years.’

  ‘Were we vile children?’ said Matt.

  ‘No. We had this conversation with Mom at the time. The girl who inspired the phrase may not have been the purtiest horse on the carousel, but it’s not about what’s on the outside. It’s what’s on the inside. And her inside was uhg-ly.’

  ‘OK, I feel better,’ said Matt. ‘Because my answer really will depend on whether it’s worth the trouble to look for it.’

  ‘It’s a little notebook—’

  ‘Right,’ said Matt. ‘So, not only is it the one thing you have millions of, it is also one that could be naked to the human eye.’

  ‘It’s not that little. You’re such a drama queen. And it’s not in one of the notebook boxes. It’s in with the teddy bears.’

  Silence.

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ said Ren. ‘There are only three boxes of them. The notebook will be the object that is hard to the touch.’

  ‘What does it look like?’

  ‘It is covered in scratch’n’sniff stickers.’

  ‘Ooh. Do you think they still smell?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘What’s in the notebook?’ said Matt.

  ‘Stuff.’

  Matt let out a breath. ‘Is this about Louis Parry?’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘Well, Nancy Drew, let me think…

  ‘Ha-dee-ha.’

  ‘But, wow, your Nancy Drew phase lasted way longer than most girls.’

  ‘All or nothing, Matt. All or nothing. Born to sleuth.’

  ‘But ugly please don’t tell me you are expecting to find something through the eyes of a nine-year-old.’

  Maybe. ‘No…Just – who knows?’

  ‘Bless your heart. OK. I’ll find it,’ said Matt. ‘Am I allowed to read it?’

  ‘Lord, no! I have no idea what I may have written about you.’

  ‘With the passing of the years and all that, I might be OK with reading “Matt is a jerk”.’

  ‘I was nine, not three,’ said Ren. ‘I’m sure it was like “Matt is inconsequential” or—’

  ‘The fat cat sat on the Matt…’

  ‘B’bye.’

  ‘B’bye Nancy—’

  ‘Dwew.’

  Gary’s office door was open when Ren tried to walk past. She was dressed in a black parka that went down to her ankles…and made a lot of noise when she moved.

  ‘Get in here,’ said Gary.

  Shit.

  ‘Where were you last night?’

  Ren frowned. ‘Why…?’

  ‘Come here—’

  He turned his monitor so she could see. The Denver Post’s lead story filled the screen: Top Judge Dies in Horror Fire. Under the headline was a photo of Douglas Hammond. Beneath that was a burnt-out car and the caption: The devastating crash in Genesee where Douglas Hammond died late last night.

  Oh. My. God. Ren leaned on the desk for support. ‘Oh my God…’

  ‘Yup,’ said Gary. He was about to click off the story.

  ‘Wait! Let me read it. What happened?’

  ‘He went off the road, crashed into a tree on his way back from the city. Instant fireball.’

  ‘That is so awful…’ Ren scanned through the article. ‘I…it’s so hard to believe.’ Holy shit.

  ‘Yes,’ said Gary. ‘But it solves your psych-file problem…’

  Ren looked at him. ‘You are sick.’

  ‘Well, it is a temporary solution, you’ve got to admit…’

  Ren went to her desk and saw an email from John Reiff via the El Paso PD. She had asked him to send the photos from the spring-break trip to Tijuana.

  Ren pulled up the photos of Luke Sarvas and his friends. The first was a close shot, four teenage boys sitting by a pool in T-shirts and shorts, eating burgers, probably drinking the first beer of the day. The next shot was a wide one of a beautiful, sprawling, white stucco multi-story building. Ren paused.

  Where the hell were you staying?

  It was like something out of Condé Nast Traveler. It wasn’t a hotel, it wasn’t even like those nice bungalows in the grounds of hotels. It was a stunning luxury house, high over the sea with a spectacular view. Even if Gregory Sarvas had left $20,000 on the hall table for his son, he wouldn’t have been able to afford this.

  Weren’t teenagers supposed to stay in shitholes?

  Maybe they were just visiting someone. But as Ren continued through the photos as they moved from afternoon through to evening and into the night, from inside the house and out again, it was clear that this was where the boys were staying. The more empty beer bottles, the more girls and the less clothes and, by the end of the photos, there was a pool full of the happy and the naked.

  Catskill ‘89, red bikini bottoms, legs wrapped around Daryl Stroud.

  Ren went through the photos again.

  Where did this house come from?

  Ren picked up the phone and called John Reiff. He didn’t know anything about the house. He couldn’t remember the address. There was no connection to anyone who was at any of the parties. There was no connection to relatives, girlfriends, work prospects, nothing. The accommodation was free. Yes, they all thought that was weird…and awesome. And they were all so grateful to Luke Sarvas for hooking them up.

  Why can’t I go on holiday to a place like that? Or would it mean selling my soul to the devil?

  ‘Are rich people more unhappy than poor people?’ said Ren when she put down the phone.

  ‘Shitty things happen to everyone,’ said Colin.

  ‘It’s just that I seem to be on a run of visiting well-off people in shitty circumstances,’ said Ren. ‘I’m seeing beautiful houses bearing not-so-beautiful lives.’

  ‘Did you see the photo of Peter Everett’s house in the newspaper?’ said Cliff. ‘Helen Wheeler’s guy.’

  ‘No,’ said Ren. ‘What’s it like?’

  ‘Stately.’

  ‘What is Peter Everett’s story?’ said Ren.

  ‘My wife bored me with this at breakfast the other day. She used to watch Dynasty – she can keep track of family sagas
. Everett married Lucinda Kerr when they were in their mid-twenties. He was a bright guy, lots of ambition, no money. Daddy Kerr set him up in business in Lupero Technologies. The marriage went down the toilet about ten years ago.’

  ‘Not so happily Everett after…’ said Ren.

  ‘Despite the money, it was amicable, apparently. Are you looking for something sinister in Peter Everett?’

  ‘No, by all accounts, he is devastated.’

  ‘And apparently he has a multi-confirmed alibi,’ said Cliff. ‘According to the detectives who notified him, Everett was as shocked as anyone they’d ever seen. He fell apart before their eyes.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Ren. ‘Sounds as though he was very serious about her.’

  Cliff shrugged. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘It must have been quite whirlwind.’ Ren paused. ‘What about his ex-wife? Could that have bothered her? If they were still friends, maybe she might have wanted a reconciliation…’

  ‘Well,’ said Cliff, ‘switching from my wife as source, to some of the Denver PD guys who worked security for the family, Lucinda left Everett.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Ren.

  ‘But apparently, she’s a very nice woman. She dated one of her security guys. It wasn’t common knowledge. He wasn’t going around bragging about it.’

  ‘Ah, a love affair.’

  ‘There you go again, Ren,’ said Colin from his desk. ‘Looking for love in all the wrong places.’

  ‘God, you are painful,’ said Ren. ‘What happened to you? Who abandoned you as a child?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Colin, ‘but do you think you could abandon me as an adult?’

  ‘This cynical bullshit sucks the lifeblood out of me.’

  ‘Everything sucks the lifeblood out of you,’ said Colin. ‘I’m surprised you have any lifeblood left.’

  Ren let out a breath. ‘Borrriiiiing.’ She turned to Cliff. ‘Stand between us. Break up the current.’

  26

  Ren turned back to her computer and opened a celebrity gossip website.

  ‘Why do people take those kind of photos with their cell phones?’ said Robbie, leaning in.

  ‘I know,’ said Ren. ‘And why is it never the ugly, overweight ones that do it?’

  ‘Is that what you want to see?’ said Robbie.

  ‘Maybe…’ Ren paused.

  She could see Robbie’s reflection nodding in the screen.

  ‘I mean, the thought of taking a photo of myself in my bathroom mirror…’ said Ren. ‘And is today my day for seeing photos of naked people?’

  ‘Guess who wants to hear the real story of the demise of Douglas Hammond?’ said Cliff, putting down the phone.

  ‘What real story?’ said Ren.

  ‘It was homicide,’ said Cliff.

  ‘No way,’ said Robbie.

  Ren said nothing.

  ‘What happened?’ said Robbie.

  ‘Something was dicked with in the car,’ said Cliff. ‘And there was an accelerant used…’

  ‘By someone clearly not interested in hiding the fact that it was a murder,’ said Colin.

  ‘Something is rotten in the state of Denver,’ said Ren.

  ‘Colorado,’ said Robbie.

  Sweet Jesus.

  ‘Glenn Buddy is sure earning his money right now,’ said Cliff.

  ‘Does he think Hammond’s death is linked to Helen Wheeler’s?’ said Ren.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Cliff. ‘We didn’t get into it. Give him a call.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Ren. ‘I’ll leave him to it. He’s got a lot on.’

  Her phone rang. It was Glenn. ‘Hey, Ren. I’m sure Cliff filled you in about Hammond. I just wanted to let you know that it’s obviously stalled things for a little while on Helen Wheeler’s case. A new judge will have to be drafted in. But I’m sure once that happens, it’ll speed on up.’

  Why would that speed things up? ‘Why?’ said Ren.

  ‘Well, isn’t it a little unusual that the judge who was about to access patient files is killed the day before they’re due to land on his desk?’

  ‘I think it was unusual that patients were being looked at in the first place,’ said Ren. ‘There was no indication that this was linked to a patient. And none of those patients knew that their files were going to be accessed, right?’

  Glenn let out a breath. ‘None of this looks good. I just need to work out how the hell it all fits together.’

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about something else,’ said Ren. ‘You guys went through Helen’s computer I presume.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Just – was there any trace of her searching any book-related stuff?’ said Ren. ‘Like had she researched publishers of non-fiction or what length a book like hers should be, et cetera, et cetera.’

  ‘No,’ said Glenn. ‘But…it was early days.’

  ‘Even so, a doctor of sixty-two years of age is not going to even jot notes down without checking first if there’s a market for what she’s about to do.’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t care,’ said Glenn.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ren, ‘but it makes no sense for her to write a book about psychiatry if she didn’t plan to share it with people. It’s not like there would be a burning urge in her to commit something to paper. I mean, she had already done that by writing patient notes in the first place.’

  ‘But she had to have been writing a book – we found the notes on her desk. And Peter Everett confirmed that she was.

  ‘Well, I just don’t get it,’ said Ren.

  But if it weren’t for the notes, no one would be able to access those files. They were the only thing on plain view on that desk. The book notes were the only route to the patient files.

  Later that night, Ren sat on the sofa in her pajamas, surrounded by food wrappers. She changed channels, skipping past soap operas, reality television, pausing on true movies and ending up on a nature channel. Ren didn’t do nature. But what the hell is this?

  A crocodile was lying in the sun watching a tiny bird flying in front of him. The crocodile opened its jaws wide. Ren sat up.

  ‘No, little bird, get away from him. Nooo!’

  Ren closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. But there was no sound of flapping wings or piercing screams. Ren slowly opened her eyes. The bird was inside the crocodile’s open jaws.

  What?

  Ren turned up the volume and heard the deep voice narrate: ‘So can we call the plover bird brave?’

  ‘Yes, we can,’ said Ren.

  The narrator continued: ‘No, because the plover bird knows that he is safe, because one of nature’s unspoken barters was in place before this tiny bird was ever born. This “crocodile bird” feeds on the scraps lodged between the crocodile’s teeth. And in return for sparing the bird’s life, the crocodile has house calls from a tiny winged dentist. Truly an extraordinary relationship.’

  Ren turned off the television. And I thought I was nuts.

  She went upstairs and started brushing her teeth. This is the way to do it. She thought of the strange dynamic between the bird and the reptile. Nature doesn’t always play fair. Some day, that crocodile would snap its jaws shut. Ren thought of Domenica Val Pando and the minions who did her dirty work. Some of them flew in, blindly trusting. Some of them flapped about, high on danger. And then there was Ren, always aware that those jaws were programmed to snap shut.

  Domenica Val Pando worked by exploiting weakness. And once she had leverage, she could get people to do whatever she wanted. She had top accountants, legal experts, ex-military. She had links to border patrol agents, police and Mexican government officials. Domenica bartered. And the deal was always in her favor. She used illegal immigrants who needed money for medical bills or to pay ‘coyotes’ – the guides who would bring their families across the border. Ren knew she had given shelter to a businessman on the run from fraud charges.

  At some point in her life, Domenica Val Pando had learned the value of leverage. And from then on, that was her person
al drug of choice. Not heroin, not coke, not meth.

  Leverage.

  27

  Robbie Truax was sitting at his desk with a giant green hat on. Ren paused in the middle of the floor.

  This is familiar…

  Robbie raised his hands. ‘Happy Ren Bryce Day!’

  ‘Oh my God, it is March seventeenth,’ said Ren. ‘This is officially the first year I have not known about it until the actual day. I am losing my touch.’

  ‘Do you want a Leprechaun hat?’

  Not on any level. ‘Aw, thank you so much.’ She put it on her desk.

  ‘We’re all hitting Gaffney’s later.’

  ‘Gaffney’s is going to be mobbed.’

  ‘That’s never stopped you before,’ said Robbie.

  Ugh. ‘True,’ said Ren. ‘I guess I could use a night of alcohol consumption. I might even wear my hat.’ She sat down at her desk. ‘I was watching this nature show last night, about the plover bird and the crocodile. Did you see it?’ Robbie shook his head, making the green hat wobble. ‘They have this weird symbiosis. The crocodile opens its jaws and lets the plover bird fly in. The plover bird pecks at the food caught in the crocodile’s teeth. It’s like a fly-thru takeaway dentistry thing…that could be fatal.’

  ‘Only if you’re the bird,’ said Robbie.

  ‘What is it with you and crocodiles?’ said Colin, looking up. ‘Last time it was pedophiles are like crocodiles because they haven’t changed since the dawn of time…’

  Ren turned on him. ‘Listen, you – you’re either in a conversation or you’re not. Just keep your eyes on your frickin’ screen. You can’t just listen in, then look up every now and then like some little old lady from her knitting.’ She addressed Robbie, but spoke a little louder. ‘So there’s symbiosis,’ she said, ‘and antibiosis. Where two things in close proximity – work colleagues for example – have a relationship where one of them does not benefit at all.’