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13
Teddy Veir shifted in her seat like a child at the principal’s office.
‘Teddy, did you monitor Caleb’s online activity?’ said Ren.
‘Yes,’ said Teddy.
‘And was he aware of the dangers of being online?’
‘We talked about it, yes,’ said Teddy. ‘Any time we brought it up, he made us feel stupid for thinking he would ever fall for any kind of weirdo who would try to meet up with him. Caleb knows that people aren’t necessarily who they say they are online.’
Oh, how many times I’ve seen that change when the right fake messages or the right fake photographs are sent.
‘Did you find something?’ said Teddy.
‘There were no interactions with anyone that we feel have a bearing on the case,’ said Ren. ‘So, to go through a few more things … he was also looking at pornography.’
Teddy’s face fell. ‘Oh, God. He’s only a baby.’
‘It certainly wasn’t at worrying levels, and it was nothing extreme,’ said Ren. Like that will reassure you. ‘But I have to ask if he had a girlfriend or if there were girls around at the house or if you got any sense that this was more than just …’ I can’t say the word fantasy about a twelve-year-old boy.
‘He didn’t have a girlfriend,’ said Teddy. ‘He was kind of awkward around girls. He just wasn’t advanced in that way. Not at all.’
‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘Have you noticed anything missing of Caleb’s? Any bag or clothing or something he was particularly fond of, something he didn’t usually leave behind?’
‘Apart from his phone?’ said Teddy. ‘The only other thing – which I don’t think is very meaningful, especially because I haven’t seen it in a while, anyway – is a suitcase. Well, it’s kind of a tin box – an old military one that John got for him – it’s green and battered, with a brown leather handle. It’s about twice the size of a shoebox. He used to keep it on the floor under the window, but then he moved it into the wardrobe, put it on the shelf at the top. But I can’t really imagine him bringing it anywhere …’
Unless he was running away.
‘Do you know what he kept in it?’ said Ren.
‘No,’ said Teddy. ‘His comic books, I figured. I don’t know.’
‘Can you remember the last time you looked in the wardrobe?’ said Ren.
‘No – Caleb tidied away his own clothes.’
‘So that suitcase could have been gone for some time,’ said Ren.
‘Yes,’ said Teddy.
Could he have fought with his father, packed this suitcase and left, unwittingly drawing attention to himself: some creep driving by sees a kid on his own, maybe running away, maybe crying, carrying a suitcase? Vulnerable.
‘Does Caleb keep a diary?’ said Ren.
‘No,’ said Teddy. ‘He has no interest in anything like that. He’s like his father – might read a sports story or two, but won’t pick up a book, or write a word he isn’t forced to.’
‘If Caleb was in trouble,’ said Ren, ‘who do you think he might call?’
‘Well – me,’ said Teddy.
‘And what about his Aunt Alice?’ said Ren.
Teddy frowned. ‘You mean, would he call her if he had a problem? Gosh, I wouldn’t think so. I mean, she’s family, and she’s always perfectly lovely to him, remembers his birthday, all those kind of things, but …’ She trailed off. ‘Was he in trouble? Do you know something? Why are you asking about Alice?’
‘Caleb called her on Monday morning at seven thirty a.m.,’ said Ren. ‘She was the last call he made on the morning he disappeared.’
‘We see Alice two or three times a year,’ said Teddy. ‘Caleb’s maybe been on the phone to say hello to her once or twice, but that’s about it.’
What? ‘John seemed to think they spoke quite a bit.’
‘Really?’ said Teddy. ‘Well, not when I was around. And when I checked Caleb’s call list when I got home from work, I didn’t see her name.’
‘It had been deleted,’ said Ren.
‘That’s very strange,’ said Teddy.
‘If Caleb had an argument with his father, do you think he could have called his aunt for help?’ said Ren.
‘Caleb always called me when he had a fight with John.’
Always. How many were there?
‘Did that happen often?’ said Ren.
‘That sounded worse than it was,’ said Teddy at the same time.
Ren and Ruddock talked Gary and Wiley through the discrepancies between Alice, John and Teddy about the phone call.
‘Why,’ said Wiley, ‘would there be a difference in how two parents viewed their child’s relationship with his aunt? It makes no sense.’
‘Nah,’ said Gary. ‘It makes total sense.’
Ouch.
‘Have you got kids?’ said Gary.
Wiley shook his head. ‘No.’
Then, there you go says Gary’s face.
‘Alice Veir was very emotional about how much her brother cared for Caleb,’ said Ren. ‘It sounded genuine.’ She paused. ‘But what other reason would there be for Caleb to call her? Or maybe it was John who called her …’
‘Looking to know his options because he had killed his son,’ said Gary.
‘You’d want a pretty tight relationship with a sibling – or anyone, for that matter – to be able to call them up and say “I killed my child, what do I do next?”’ said Ren.
Ruddock nodded.
‘Especially when she’s a lawyer who’s all about justice,’ said Ren.
‘And let’s not forget,’ said Gary, ‘this was only a ten-minute phone call.’
‘This is a small thing,’ said Ren, ‘but when I told Alice Veir that Caleb was missing, she didn’t say “But I was just speaking with him yesterday morning”, which is the kind of thing someone would say under the circumstances, isn’t it? Reflexively? Not a big deal, but still.’
‘Do you think she might have already known that he was gone?’ said Ruddock.
‘I wasn’t getting that sense either …’ said Ren. ‘It was hard to say.’
Everything’s so fucking hard to say.
Gary’s phone beeped with a text. He read it. ‘OK – the other two CARD agents have just arrived at the hotel. It’s been a long day. Ren and I will get checked in, have something to eat, get some rest.’
Eat. Rest. Noooo!
Gary turned to Ruddock. ‘We can give the others the lowdown over dinner.’
‘I appreciate it,’ said Ruddock. ‘Thank you for everything today.’
14
Astor’s was a grim and grubby hotel on I-5, a ten-minute drive from Tate PD. Ren and Gary checked in, and were given rooms next door to each other.
Hmm.
Sylvie Ross better be miles away.
‘Ren,’ said Gary, as she was about to open her door. ‘Keep your phone close by. Dr Lone will be calling you in ten.’
Ren froze.
‘Take his call,’ said Gary. He went into his room and closed the door.
Nice, Gary. Nice.
Ren opened her door with a nudge of her shoulder and walked in. Her stomach tensed.
Indian Burial Ground.
She put her bag on the floor, undressed, and crawled on to the bed.
Fuck Gary if he thinks I’m going to take that call. Fuck him. That’s the last time I’ll open up to him if I’m struggling. Asshole.
Ren’s cell phone rang, Lone’s name flashing on the screen.
Ugh. She picked up. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi, Ren,’ said Lone. ‘Gary suggested I give you a call. I heard you had a difficult morning.’
‘I did not have a difficult – fucking – morning. People were gathering for a search, and it was just … how the crowd was moving … it was closing in on me and I felt a little overwhelmed. Honestly – it lasted for about two minutes. That was it. I appreciate the call, but I’m fine.’
‘I haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks,’ said Lone. ‘I’m glad we’re able to speak.’
‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘But I’m in Oregon to concentrate on work right now. It feels selfish to be focusing on me. I have a job to do.’ She sucked in a breath, and it didn’t feel like enough.
‘It might help to talk,’ said Lone. ‘It might be a good way to begin this case … to reduce your anxiety.’
He doesn’t think I should be doing this job.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I’m hundreds of miles away and having this conversation over the phone and …’
‘Maybe that’s what it’s going to take,’ said Lone.
I don’t think so.
‘Are you still having intrusive thoughts about …’
I want to scream.
‘… events at Safe Streets?’ said Lone.
Yeah – thanks for clarifying.
He waited.
Please just stop. Stop. Stop.
‘And are the thoughts still—’
Are you kidding me?
‘I’m sorry …’ What can I fucking say?
‘You need to be able to talk about this,’ said Lone.
Ren let out a breath. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘let’s talk briefly about this monumental horror that I can do absolutely nothing about, because it is in the past. So I can’t go back, I can’t go forward—’
‘All you can ever do is one day at a time.’
Sweet Jesus, why does that always sound so depressing?
‘Small steps are all you can take at a time like this,’ said Lone.
What is wrong with him? Why is he talking in clichés? Have I become a cliché? Traumatized law enforcement officer …
‘I’m just not a small steps kind of girl,’ said Ren. ‘I feel that taking small steps would give me plenty of time to see that dark pit up ahead that is waiting to swallow me. I feel that taking small steps means prolonged dread, and this achingly slow passage of time.’
I feel. I feel. I feel. FUCK feeling.
‘The future is not a dark pit—’
‘Well, the present is a pretty dark pit and a year ago – when this would have been considered “the future” …’
‘You can’t live your life expecting doom,’ said Lone. ‘We spoke before about catastrophic thinking.’
FUCK catastrophic thinking and magical thinking and all adjectival thinking.
‘Well, if I had spent more time expecting doom,’ said Ren, ‘maybe I could have been prepared. I could have prevented what happened.’
‘Ren, you couldn’t have prevented it.’
‘I’m sorry, but that’s not true.’
‘It is,’ said Dr Lone. He waited. ‘Ren, you need to start thinking about facing the reality of what happened.’
I don’t like you any more. ‘I need to’, ‘I should’. ‘I’m sorry,’ Ren said. ‘I really can’t do this. I can’t. Not today.’ Probably not any day.
‘Please,’ said Lone. ‘Try to tell me what you are feeling.’
Feelings. Jesus. Christ.
I’m so tired.
‘Do you want to know?’ said Ren. ‘Honestly? I believe that everything that happened that day was to punish me.’
Lone waited.
‘Sometimes,’ said Ren, ‘I feel like there’s a darkness inside me – a black part, like a piece of coal. Pitch-black. It’s rough and hard, and … I feel that, because of that, I should be punished.’
‘You think you deserved this,’ said Lone.
‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘No. I … don’t know.’
‘Talk to me about this darkness …’ said Lone.
No! ‘I know I won’t be able to explain it,’ said Ren. ‘It’s … obviously, I don’t want to harm anyone; it’s not the darkness of evil.’ Yes, it is. ‘It’s not like I want to kill people.’ Really?
‘And you are taking your meds …’ said Lone.
‘I really wish one conversation could go by without you asking me that,’ said Ren. Let me spell it out again: I. Am. Taking. My. Meds. ‘Yes – I am taking them.’
I am taking them, and I will continue to take them for the rest of my life, because I believe that not taking them killed my friends, and killed my boyfriend. There’s the reality: my friends, my boyfriend, my loved ones, are dead because I didn’t open a packet of pills and swallow them down with a glass of water like a good mental patient. Because I was too busy being mental. And wanting to feel good. I was too busy getting drunk, flirting with strangers, and deliberately ensnaring the man who went on to kill my friends, and my boyfriend, and I feel sick.
She dropped the phone, jumped up, ran for the bathroom, leaned over the toilet and threw up.
I am going to choke on this reality he wants me to face …
She walked back into the bedroom. She could hear Dr Lone’s voice through the phone.
‘Ren? Ren?’
She put the phone up to her ear. ‘Sorry. I ate some crappy sandwich earlier. I need to take five minutes before I join the team for dinner. Thanks for the call.’
‘Is everything OK?’ said Lone.
Oh, fuck off. Everyone, just fuck the fuck off.
15
Ren showered, dressed, and stood in front of the mirror.
Ugh.
She grabbed her bag and did a quick no-makeup makeup job. She blasted her hair with the hairdryer, ran her fingers through it, left it down. It was five inches below her shoulders.
I have long hair now.
The last time I got this cut, Ben was alive.
Stop. It hurts. And it changes nothing.
Tears welled in her eyes.
Your mascara. Go.
Her cell phone rang. Gary.
‘Hey,’ said Ren.
‘You ready?’
‘Yes.’
‘Meet you outside. Paul and Sylvie are at the bar.’
Ren went out into the hallway. Gary appeared from his room, freshly showered.
Handsome.
‘Look, I know how you feel about Sylvie,’ said Gary, as they walked to the elevator.
Jesus, why are we talking about her again?
‘How I feel about her is irrelevant,’ said Ren. How I feel about Karen – your wife of almost twenty years – is ultimately too. ‘I do want you to be happy,’ said Ren. ‘Just … I can’t see how this is doing it for you.’
‘I thought I was going to die in that shooting,’ said Gary. ‘When I was laying there and I thought it was all over, I kept thinking about Sylvie. I—’
‘In what way?’ said Ren.
‘What? What do you mean—’
‘I’m serious,’ said Ren. ‘Were you thinking about how much you loved her and didn’t want to die because you’d never see her again? Or were you thinking, If I’m going to die, I want the love of my life by my side, and the face you saw was Sylvie’s? Or were you running through the showreel – thinking of her ass?’
‘Jesus, Ren—’
‘I just feel no one else will ask you the difficult shit. Your buddies aren’t going to—’
‘No one else knows.’
‘What?’ said Ren. ‘Well, that must be exhausting.’ She paused. ‘Does Sylvie think you’re going to leave Karen for her?’
He nodded.
‘And how’s that working out for you?’ said Ren. What is wrong with me? I feel mean.
Gary said nothing.
‘Oh,’ said Ren. ‘I get it. Do you think you’re going to leave Karen for her?’
He gave her a side glance, but didn’t answer.
They arrived at the bar. Sitting on the arm of a sofa, dressed in a navy-blue suit, was Paul Louderback, his arms folded, his long legs crossed. He looked like he was cut-and-pasted from an elegant drawing room. He saw Ren, smiled warmly, stood up.
My heart …
He’s married.
Ben is dead.
Nice.
Standing beside Paul, with her back to them, was Sylvie Ross, her thick sandy hair in a high ponytail. She was dressed in a white shirt, slim-fit gray pants, pointed black heels.
Great ass. Poor shoe choice.
Sylvie turned around, and her face lit up as she saw Gary over Ren’s shoulder.
God, is that what that looks like?
I still don’t know if you and Paul Louderback have slept together. Do I need to sleep with Gary to even this all out?
Everyone greeted each other, everyone was professional.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave.
Gary and Ren filled Sylvie and Paul in on the case over dinner.
‘Paul – you’ll be taking charge of the command center,’ said Gary. ‘I’m guessing the best thing for Sylvie to start with tomorrow is talking to Caleb Veir’s friends.’
Paul nodded.
‘Sure,’ said Sylvie. ‘Not a problem.’
She is freakishly intense with him.
Oh, now – I get it: yes, Gary nearly died, and Sylvie realized – uh-oh – how much she loves him.
It appears to be an alarming amount.
Sylvie started to pour Ren more wine. Ren held up her hand. ‘I’m good, thanks.’
Gary and Paul both stared at her.
‘Thanks, guys,’ said Ren. ‘Thanks.’
An hour later, Sylvie was the first to excuse herself. Gary left thirty minutes later.
When they were gone, Paul made a show of checking his watch. ‘Half an hour … standard time for one lover to ask another to wait before running up to join them?’ There was a sparkle in his eye.
‘Behave,’ said Ren.
‘Come on …’
I’m committing to nada.
‘So, are they?’ said Paul.
‘No, they’re not,’ said Ren.
‘OK,’ said Paul, with no conviction.
‘And no one should use the word “lover”.’
‘I have definitely heard you say “I’m a lover, not a fighter”.’
‘No one other than me, then …’
He smiled. ‘Now that I have cornered you alone,’ he said, ‘how are you doing? Really doing? You were very quiet over dinner.’
‘I was enjoying everyone else,’ said Ren. ‘I’m finding it hard to raise my game.’
‘You were perfectly pleasant, but …’
‘Struggling – I know.’
‘That’s understandable, after what you’ve been through.’
Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them away. ‘I keep crying randomly.’ You don’t cry. Tears well, you blink, they’re gone. And you think the feelings go with them.
‘It’s not random,’ said Paul. ‘We’re talking about your boyfriend, your friends, your colleagues—’
‘It’s all so weird,’ said Ren. ‘I’m not a widow; Ben and I weren’t “long-term loves”. Just a year. But I did love him.’
You don’t know what love is. You’re not a victim. You don’t know how to love. And he doesn’t want to hear about love.
‘Have you thought about grief counseling?’ said Paul.
‘I’d rather shoot myself in the ass.’
‘Vivid,’ said Paul.
Ren smiled, took a drink. ‘But enough about me – how are you doing? How’s Marianne?’
‘Well,’ he said, drawing out the word, ‘the easy answer would be “great” …’
Oh, no, no, no, no. Do not appear available to me.
‘Shall I go on?’ he said.
‘Please do.’ Not.
‘It’s a dramatic move, getting back with your ex-wife,’ said Paul. ‘It’s exciting at the start, everyone is happy – the kids, our families, our friends – well, most of them – but then, the door is closed at night, everyone’s going about their business, and we’re just there, the two of us, and …’ He shrugged. ‘It’s like what people say about funerals: once it’s over, everyone disappears and you’re left on your own and … Jesus Christ, Ren – I can’t believe I just started talking about funerals. That was the most—’
Ren shook her head. ‘Stop. I get it. I know what you’re saying. Don’t tiptoe around me or I will shoot myself in the ass. Just, be normal. Please don’t look at me like I’m a victim. I can’t deal with that. Relax in the knowledge that I know you’re not an insensitive prick.’
‘OK,’ said Paul. ‘OK. I’m sorry. Thanks.’
‘No need to be,’ said Ren. Tears welled in her eyes again. ‘Ugh. This is getting ridiculous.’
‘Stop …’
‘I just … lost so many people I loved,’ said Ren.
Paul reached out and squeezed her hand. She looked up at him through tears.
At least I have you.
‘Well, I’m still here,’ said Paul. He blushed. ‘Not saying that you love me, or loved me, but, I just mean … what’s wrong with me tonight?’
Ren laughed, and wiped her eyes.
Of course I loved you. In my own special and fearful way. But I have no idea what it is I’m feeling right now.
Safe?
‘You … unsettle me, Ren Bryce.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Maybe I like being unsettled.’
Ren laughed. I beg to differ.
‘Why are you laughing?’ said Paul.
‘It was just your delivery …’
She checked her watch. It was 11 p.m. ‘OK, I’m wide awake. I’m going to take a drive.’
‘What?’ said Paul. ‘Now?’
Ren nodded. ‘Every second counts.’
And every second out there is one less second I spend alone in my bed with nothing but my own mind to fuck me.
‘Do you want company?’ said Paul.
Mos def not. ‘No, thank you.’
Ren drove out of the parking lot and read the sign: left was Tate, right was Lake Verny.
The Crow Bar will still be open. I can ask about John Veir, I can check out Seth Fuller.
I can throw myself into the beautiful, icy, moonlit water.
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