Blood Runs Cold rb-1

by Alex Barclay

  ‘Yes, Ren, you are honest. Most of what you say to me is the truth. But you are selective in what you say to me.’

  Ren opened her mouth and closed it again without speaking.

  ‘When you have looked me in the eye today, it’s been nervously,’ said Vincent. ‘But most of the time, you haven’t been able to.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ said Ren.

  ‘Bing! Lie!’ His tone was not unkind.

  ‘Look, stop,’ said Ren. ‘Come on.’

  ‘Something is making you uncomfortable with me,’ said Vincent, ‘and because I know that you can’t lie – really – I’m not going to ask you what it is. Because I’m not really sure I want to know.’

  Ren looked down. Ugh. ‘I am a loser.’

  ‘Well, I just hope you’re a loser who is not doing too much damage to herself.’

  Oh, you have no idea.

  Ren turned on one light in her suite that night when she got back to the inn. Everyone was flooding her brain without really telling her anything. Checking Billy’s phone had resolved nothing. And he could have a hundred other phones. Yet there was something about him she inherently trusted. But can I trust my trust?

  Later she lay in the dark, filled with hope for the morning. Hope that didn’t last. Fear started to dissolve it, like the black, liquid edges of burning plastic. And as she drifted into a world where the worst possible outcomes lived, her mind took her deeper again … and the dream came back. This time, it ended with locked door after locked door. This time she didn’t make it out alive.

  She woke howling, desperately trying to catch her breath. She dragged herself upright to the edge of the bed. Her head felt ice cold inside. She held a hand over her mouth and ran for the bathroom. She retched, but nothing came up. Her face was red, her eyes streamed. And her heart rate was soaring. She brushed her teeth and put a freezing cloth to her face before she went back to bed. She took her purse with her, shook everything out, couldn’t find anything she could take to calm her down. Which made her worse.

  I need to sleep. I cannot do this. I cannot do this. I cannot do this alone.

  She looked at the clock. It was 1.30 a.m. He would be finishing up about now, he could be here in thirty minutes. She reached for her phone and dialed Billy Waites.

  44

  Ren had four hours of uninterrupted sleep – the most she’d had in weeks. Billy left her in the shower at eight o’clock. She made it into the office early. The map she had gotten from Mike was on top of her desk. She studied it again. And wondered how Salem would feel if Misty went for another walk.

  The Barger Brewery was on an acre of ground a twenty-minute walk from the Brockton Filly. A faded sign lay half-buried in the undergrowth as she pulled off the road. There was barely enough space to park the Jeep. A wide, straight path led under a canopy of trees that had shielded the ground from the snow fall.

  Ren had wrapped the leash tight around her gloved hand, but Misty was doing her best to break free. They kept walking, Ren looking left and right along the path. It eventually led to the more open ground that surrounded the brewery. She took a right and they walked a winding path until the brewery was a distant shape behind them.

  ‘I don’t want to be negative, here, Misty, but I’m kind of hoping you find nothing,’ said Ren, unhooking the leash from Misty’s collar. ‘You go, girl.’

  She watched as Misty ran around in circles as if she was just so happy to be free. Ren walked toward her, laughing. Until she saw Misty sit down. And bark.

  That night, Ren went with Bob for a drink in the South Ridge Grill. Mike arrived an hour later.

  ‘Charlie Barger is very upset,’ he said. ‘He’s feeling doubly responsible. Mark Wilson stayed at his inn and his body was found on his land.’

  Upset or nervous? ‘He really is an unlucky man,’ said Ren. ‘The inn closes, the brewery name is in the news again for all the wrong reasons.’

  ‘There’s no big mystery,’ said Bob. ‘Wilson was drunk, there was no one in the Brockton Filly to give him a ride to Fairplay – Waites heard him say that’s where he was headed that night. Wilson staggers out and walks to the only spot that has space for a car to pull over.’

  ‘Or,’ said Mike, ‘he’s drunk, he sees a sign for a brewery with a name he recognizes, and here he is …’

  ‘An alcopopsicle,’ said Ren.

  Bob laughed.

  ‘I had a look through the window of the brewery earlier,’ said Ren. ‘It didn’t inspire much confidence. I mean, it looks like he’s going ahead with the beer thing. The floor was all washed, there were crates stacked up, I saw some nitrogen tanks. But I guess I still don’t know why he’s –’

  Mike stared at her, ‘OK, OK.’

  Her cellphone rang. Thank God. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, walking into the hallway.

  ‘Hey,’ said Gary. ‘I heard you found a body.’

  ‘I did,’ said Ren.

  ‘Just not the right one.’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Either way, well done,’ said Gary.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ren.

  ‘I need you to come see me in Denver.’

  ‘Oh. OK,’ said Ren. ‘Can I ask why?’

  ‘Twelve o’clock, tomorrow, my office.’

  ‘Sure, no problem.’

  What the hell was that about?

  It took eighteen hours for Mark Allen Wilson’s body to thaw at the Jefferson County Coroner’s Office. The following morning, Dr Tolman carried out the autopsy. Nobody expected – or got – any surprises. It was a straightforward case that had got sucked into a high-profile one.

  * * *

  Gary Dettling sat in his office with a stack of files on the desk in front of him.

  Ren knocked on the door. ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gary. He stood up when she walked in and quickly sat down. ‘Hey. Good to see you …’

  ‘Hey, Gary. You too. I …’ Ren paused when she saw his face.

  ‘Close the door, please. Sit down.’

  She did as he asked. ‘Is this about the Mark Wilson thing?’

  ‘No,’ said Gary.

  ‘Is this about Jean Transom?’ said Ren.

  ‘Yes, it is … Ren, sweetheart? You’re off the case.’

  ‘What?’ said Ren.

  ‘Let’s just say you know why and we’ll leave it at that,’ said Gary.

  ‘What? Are you … serious?’

  ‘No, no. Are you serious, Ren? Do not fuck with me. I acknowledge that you are … well, were, a team player – you wouldn’t be with Safe Streets if you weren’t. But, fuck. You know what? I feel like I sent my child off to camp, the prettiest, brightest child I have, thinking she’s going to show them all … then I get a call to come pick her up because she’s … Fuck, Ren. Fuck.’

  ‘No one’s called you to come –’

  ‘Jesus Christ, no. Because I’m not dumb enough to wait. Daddy doesn’t want to be squirming in a seat listening to how he can’t control his kids.’

  ‘Loving the metaphor …’

  ‘Ren, Ren. Shut the fuck up. You’re unbelievable. This is about all of us,’ he said, stabbing a finger toward the other office. ‘The fucking fight to get this place up and running. And off you go, the syndicated Ren Bryce show, and nearly blow it all.’

  ‘I don’t know –’

  Gary held up a hand. ‘Don’t. Are you listening to me? Your behavior risked everything – the squad, the investigation … Jesus, Ren, do you give a shit? My ass is on the line …’ He let out a breath. ‘God knows where yours is.’

  ‘I … I …’

  ‘I … I … need you not to say a fucking word, Ren. Just listen. Here’s how it goes: you’re replacing Jean Transom. I mean, you already have a close working relationship with some of the people out that way … Keep your lies as close to the truth as possible, right?’

  ‘But how did you –’

  ‘You respect me, right? You never questioned my appointment to this job, right? Th
at’s your answer. But you learned well. Never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to.’

  ‘Can’t you just take me back here?’

  ‘No, no. Glenwood Springs can be your new home for a while. You need to take a little break from Breckenridge and Denver …’

  ‘But –’

  ‘But nada.’ He stood up.

  Ren stood up. ‘Gary, I’m sorry.’

  He shook his head. ‘Me too.’

  She walked toward the door. ‘Look, I’d like to know – did Paul Louderback have anything to do with you taking me off this case?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  She gave him a patient look.

  ‘No, he did not,’ said Gary. ‘Just you. You were to do with me taking you off the case.’

  She stared at him. ‘I get it.’ She walked out and into the bullpen.

  ‘Hey, guys.’

  ‘Baby’s back,’ said Robbie, flicking a rubber band at her. It hit her shoulder and fell to the floor. She picked it up and fired it back at him. He ducked and slammed his head off his desk lamp. Everyone laughed.

  ‘The best agent in Safe Streets,’ said Robbie, pointing to Ren.

  The other guys sucked in a breath.

  ‘God bless you,’ said Ren.

  ‘What?’ said Robbie. ‘She is.’ He looked at Ren. ‘You versus these losers?’ The guys all booed.

  ‘And,’ said Robbie, ‘you’re the only person I ever rode shotgun with and didn’t fear for my life.’

  ‘Only reason I drive like that,’ said Ren, ‘is because I don’t want you swinging from the hand grip with your ass in my face.’

  ‘Funny,’ said one of the others, ‘the only reason we drive so bad, Ren, when you’re shotgun … is for exactly the same reason.’

  They all laughed.

  Robbie looked around the office. ‘Anyway, you guys – I was just being nice. Saying nice things about our baby.’

  ‘I know,’ said Ren, leaning down to squeeze his arm. ‘I know. Thanks.’

  ‘You coming to lunch?’ said Robbie.

  She turned around. Gary was putting on his jacket behind her.

  ‘Rain check,’ she said.

  ‘Come to lunch,’ said Gary.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I can’t.’

  She left, jogged down the stairs and out to the Jeep. She pulled her iPod out of the glove box and plugged it in. She started the engine and drove out of the parking lot, heading for I-70. She drove in silence, past her favorite sign warning her not to pick up hitch-hikers because there was a federal penitentiary close by. It usually made her smile. The next familiar sign she passed was the exit for Golden, and something made her take that right.

  She pulled into her driveway. It felt so familiar; good, honest, warm, real. She walked in the front door and threw her keys on the table. Her home was reduced to a house; she wasn’t living there, Vincent wasn’t living there. Yet, as she looked around, their lives leapt from every corner. She knew it would never be the same again. No matter what happened. She waited to cry. But it didn’t happen. She waited to feel something normal. But it didn’t happen. Instead, she traced an unsentimental path through the house she had loved with the man she had loved. Three months earlier, it had all blown up. And for months beforehand, the wires were being connected, the timer was set. And there was no bomb disposal expert.

  She picked up a letter from her bank. We are writing to inform you that the following checks were presented for payment and the funds were not available in your account … Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. She would go online and transfer money from another account. Then wonder where she could get the money to fill that gap.

  She heard something that made her chest constrict, the sound of something scraping wood. It was coming from the hall closet. She paused in front of it. They had a mouse once. Vincent had taken care of it. She was tired, distracted, suppressing emotion. And without Vincent to talk her off the ledge, she lacked something solid that was more than the sum of her own resources.

  She was about to draw her gun. Instead, she reached for the handle and pulled open the door. A ski fell toward her. She weaved right and ducked. It fell past her on to the pale wooden floor. Shit. She stood in front of the closet. She saw the matching ski, a pair of Rollerblades, two squash racquets, boxing gloves and flippers, a basketball, an unopened steamer, three unused rolls of Christmas wrapping paper, a box of greetings cards, a riding helmet. All of them hers. Vincent had paint and tools and timber. Ren had a trail of unfinished business.

  45

  It was getting dark when Ren got back to the inn. She went in through the front door. A woman wrapped in a towel walked down the hallway toward her. Her husband stood back holding the door to the hot tub open for Ren. She thanked him and went through. A young college guy was sitting in the tub singing opera.

  ‘Wow,’ said Ren.

  ‘In a good way?’ he said.

  ‘How can someone be that tuneless?’ she said, smiling as she walked up the wooden stairs.

  ‘Is that your room up there?’

  She nodded. ‘Yup.’

  ‘On your own?’

  She stopped walking.

  ‘Oh God, I didn’t mean it like that,’ he said. ‘Just – you must be rich. Having a suite.’

  Ren laughed out loud. ‘Um, no. Definitely not.’

  ‘You must think I’m a freak now.’

  ‘No, I don’t. You have a nice night.’

  ‘I will. And sorry again. Don’t worry – I’m not going to, like, come up and, like, stalk you or anything.’

  She leaned over the railing to him, ‘Dude? I’d like to see you fucking try.’ She winked.

  When she got inside, her smile quickly faded. She walked around, closing all the blinds, switching on lamps, lighting candles. She took a deep breath and called Paul Louderback.

  ‘Paul? Hi, it’s me. Can you talk?’

  ‘Sure. Go ahead.’

  ‘What is this about me being TDY’ed to Glenwood?’

  He paused. ‘Yes. I spoke about it with Gary.’

  ‘What?’ said Ren. ‘You had something to do with this?’

  ‘We discussed it, yes. I did what I could to get you on the case. And he told me you took care of getting yourself off it.’

  ‘He said that?’

  ‘Yes, so … it means I had my chance to assign you to a case I wanted you to head up. But he can override that if it … hasn’t worked out.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Ren. ‘And you think it hasn’t worked out.’

  ‘No. But I feel that, assigned to Glenwood Springs, you will never be far from the investigation.’

  ‘But not heading it up. How is that going to look?’

  ‘To who?’

  ‘To whoever.’ She let out a breath. ‘I don’t know. It’s just … I’m sensing somebody out there is pulling strings and I’m the little dancing puppet.’

  Paul laughed. ‘You? I don’t think so. Anyway, if you were a puppet, you’d have scissors stashed in your jeans. No, actually – you’d be Animal. The one on the drums.’

  ‘Hmm, which would I prefer – strings or a hand up my butt?’

  Paul laughed.

  ‘But if we were going Sesame Street,’ said Ren, ‘wouldn’t I be Oscar? The one in the trash can.’

  ‘Aw.’ He laughed.

  ‘This is actually not funny,’ said Ren. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t go to Glenwood.’

  ‘And why do you have to?’

  ‘Well, if you’re not responsible, then I would say … payback.’

  ‘For what?’ said Paul.

  Ren paused. ‘Shenanigans.’

  ‘Riiight. I won’t ask. But … what did you do?’

  ‘Behavior unbecoming of an agent. How about that?’

  ‘OK. But … I will find out.’

  ‘No. You won’t.’

  ‘Just for shits and giggles.’

  ‘Jesus, this really is not funny.’

  ‘I’m sorry. But that T in T
DY does stand for temporary. And, well, someone had to fill in for Jean.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe someone a little more Glenwood-friendly. And Tiny Gressett-friendly. And Todd, for that matter. They hate me.’

  ‘Poor baby.’

  ‘Shut up.’ She shouted.

  ‘Relax.’

  ‘Don’t tell me to fucking relax. I’m trying to go along with your lighthearted bullshit because I… like you, but I’m totally freaking out here and you’re just messing with me.’

  ‘I am taking you seriously, but –’

  ‘It’s my career, OK? You’re established, I have to –’

  ‘You’re established too. What are you talking about? You’ve been doing this ten years, for Christ’s sake. Why would I get you on to the Transom case if I didn’t think you were competent?’

  ‘Because … I don’t know. You feel sorry for me?’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot. And don’t be so paranoid.’

  ‘Don’t call me paranoid. That’s not fair.’

  ‘Well, you’re acting that way.’

  ‘No, I’m not. I’m afraid I’ve fucked up my entire career –’

  ‘Well, you haven’t, OK? I’m not hearing big bad Ren Bryce whispers around the office. Around anywhere. You need to get some perspective. A good night’s sleep, a good meal …’

  ‘Now you sound like my mom.’

  ‘Me and who?’

  ‘Just Vincent.’ She let out a breath. ‘I’m just … I can’t face it all. I’m sick of being tired. I’m sick of running around. I’m not sick of the inn. I love it here. And now I have to leave. And I’ll be in a tan motel room.’

  ‘Ask for a pink one.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Jesus, Paul. Look, I gotta go.’

  ‘I’m sorry, two-two-three. I was trying to make you smile.’

  ‘You usually do. Goodnight.’ She hung up.

  Two-two-three; he hasn’t said that in a while.

  She lay back on the bed, held the phone over her face and scrolled down to Helen’s number. After a minute staring at it, she hit B for Billy.

  Ren’s makeup had worn off, her nose and her eyes were red when the knock came at the door to the outside stairs.

  ‘Hey,’ said Billy. ‘What’s up? You OK?’ Ren shook her head, said nothing, just went back to where she was lying on the sofa. He sat beside her and guided her head gently on to his lap. He stroked her face until it got wet with tears. She sat up eventually and grabbed a handkerchief from the night stand. She looked at him with sad eyes.