Blood Loss

27

Erica’s cell phone rang and she grabbed for it. ‘Oh,’ she said when she saw the name. ‘It’s not him.’ She held the phone to her ear. ‘Jonathan, hi,’ said Erica. ‘Really? OK. OK. Thanks for coming. I’m here, yes.’ She held her hand over the phone. ‘Ren — Jonathan is outside. Can he come through?’

‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘I can meet him in reception.’

‘Thank you.’

Jonathan Meester was dressed in casual clothes, and even though they had tiny logos, Ren still recognized four different designer brands.

He held out his hand and shook hers. ‘You must be Agent Bryce, thank you for this.’

Ren nodded.

‘Erica called me earlier wondering if I had heard anything from Mark, and I told her, yes, we had spoken around one o’clock, but she said he’d gone missing not long after that.’

‘Was there anything he said that caused you concern?’ said Ren.

‘I know that he was afraid that you were targeting him as a suspect-’ said Jonathan.

‘We weren’t targeting him,’ said Ren. ‘We were simply trying to clear up the inconsistencies in his statements.’

Jonathan ran his hands through his hair. ‘He was in a panic that you’d focus on him to the detriment of finding the real person — or people — responsible.’

Ren let this go. ‘Were you aware of any changes in his behavior over the past few months?’ said Ren.

‘He was a little quiet,’ said Jonathan. ‘At one point I thought maybe it was some kind of mild depression, but then I just thought it was work. I’ve been there. We all put in a lot of hours.’

‘And there’s nothing else you can think of?’ said Ren.

‘No,’ said Jonathan. ‘Nothing.’

Ren nodded. ‘I’ll bring you through to Erica and Leo, and then we can all go back to the hotel.’

‘And pray that Mark will be there,’ said Jonathan.

It might just be too late for that.

Ren left the Whaleys’ hotel room after midnight and went to The Firelight Inn. It was always especially quiet, even when it was full.

It’s good to be as home as I can be.

She walked into the shared kitchen. ‘Stop! Thief!’ she said.

Paul Louderback stood up from the refrigerator. ‘Foiled again,’ he said.

‘I know that there’s nothing in that student/snowboarder refrigerator that could possibly belong to you,’ said Ren.

‘Force of habit.’

‘It’s one a.m. Do you know where your missing guilty-looking father is?’ said Ren.

‘Gone never to return,’ said Paul, closing the refrigerator door.

‘Swinging from a tree somewhere …’ said Ren.

‘What did he do?’ said Paul. ‘What did that man do?’

‘Fooled everyone, by the looks of it,’ said Ren. ‘I’ve just come from their hotel. Grim.’

‘Anything?’ said Paul.

‘No,’ said Ren.

A text came in on Ren’s phone. She glanced down. It was from Ben: I feel used.:-D

‘Was that Gary?’ said Paul.

‘No,’ said Ren.

Something hovered in the silence between them, an understanding — or a lack thereof.

And you’ve probably just gotten off the phone to your wife.

‘Come into the living room,’ said Paul.

‘I think it may be time to admit defeat,’ said Ren.

‘Sleep?’ said Paul. ‘No.’

Ren smiled. ‘I know. But I don’t think I’m getting the same buzz off my sleep deprivation …’

‘Well, I’m sure I won’t be far behind you.’

The wrong image flashed into Ren’s head.

A newspaper was open on the kitchen table. Ren twisted it toward her. ‘Were you reading this?’

‘Yes.’

Ren read out the headline, ‘“Bad Shepard: The Fall of a Congressman”.’ The article opened with ‘Shepard Collier was not watching over his flock at night. Nor was he under a haystack fast asleep. Looks like he was wide awake — just not to the Big Bad Wolf that was about to come knocking at his door.’

‘I was surprised by him, to be honest,’ said Paul. ‘I see him about the place in D.C. Seems like one of the good guys. I wouldn’t have put him in the fall-from-grace category. You struggle up the mountain, but the way back down is like an elevator with a slashed cable.’

‘A hooker in a hotel room,’ said Ren. ‘Not the most original of bow-outs.’

‘No,’ said Paul.

Ren scanned through the article. There was a photo of Shep Collier at a charity auction with his wife. Beside it was a full-length photo of the underage hooker in question. The caption read: ‘Tina Bowers in a photo taken outside her parents’ home when the news broke of her relationship with Congressman Shep Collier’.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Ren, ‘the off-duty hooker/stripper/exotic dancer look: makeup free, dressed in track pants, a sweatshirt, a baseball cap and Uggs. Stylist’s brief: vulnerable, girl-next-door.’

The second photo undid all the good work of the stylist: it was Tina Bowers’ professional shot. The girl had worked hard with what God had given her: a light-handed measure of prettiness. Everything that drew the eye was fake: tits, lips, eyelashes, and nails.

You go, girl. Make things bigger and longer. That’s your job.

‘I’ve done with it,’ said Paul. ‘Take it.’

‘No, I need sleep,’ said Ren, still scanning the article.

‘Go,’ said Paul, folding up the newspaper and handing it to her. ‘Sleep.’

‘OK, goodnight,’ said Ren.

They hugged.

That was too good. Run, run for the hills.

Ren sat on her bed and started to read the article. It seemed that Shep Collier’s first brush with negative press was when he caused a racism scandal after being caught on video backstage at a fundraiser: his daughter had tried to hand him her adopted African-American son before he was to go on stage to have his photograph taken, and he had shaken his head and refused to take him.

Holy shit.

Yet, in a side bar to the article was the heading:

Constituent Breaks Silence on Collier Racism Claim

Ren skipped to the quote from a woman called Diana Moore. ‘I am an African-American woman, representing one of the most under-privileged African-American communities in the state of Mississippi, and I am coming forward today because I believe in Congressman Shepard Collier. I should not be speaking up about this, because of a confidentiality agreement that has been in place for over thirty years. But that doesn’t bother me. I want everyone to know that Congressman Collier funds the nursing home of which I am director, with proceeds from his own private business interests. His generosity has changed lives. I had a hard time believing that Congressman Collier would be involved in a scandal such as the one that has cost him his position. But what I can address are the rumors that he is a racist. They are false, and they are malicious. Congressman Collier has only ever been kind and generous to everyone in our community. And every member of his family is the same. I know for a fact that the reason he did not take his grandson in his arms at his fundraiser that time was that he was suffering from a virus. Unbeknownst to his family, he had been briefly hospitalized that morning. The fact that he never chose to dignify these rumors with a response goes to show what an honorable man Congressman Collier is.’

Ren put the newspaper on the floor by the bed.

Wow. An anti-Obamacare Republican sponsoring a nursing home for underprivileged African-Americans? That would horrify a lot of his Conservative supporters more than him paying for a hooker.

Ren lit the small white candle by the bed and turned off the light. She sat down, then lay back, staring at the ceiling.

Shit. I’ve no clothes.

She sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. She opened her bag. There was clean underwear in the small zipped compartment.

Phew.

She picked up her phone and called Ben. ‘Hello, I’m looking for a discarded, previously perfectly-happy-to-be-used sex addict …’

‘Speaking.’

‘Did I not even kiss you goodbye?’ said Ren.

‘No,’ said Ben. ‘It cheapened the whole thing.’

‘Just when you thought it couldn’t get any cheaper?’

‘How are you doing out there?’ said Ben.

‘The father has disappeared,’ said Ren.

‘No way.’

‘There was a way, apparently.’

‘Shit. What does that mean?’

‘It means I won’t stay on for long, I’ve a lot to get through, including maybe even an hour of sleep. But I promise I’ll think of you right beforehand.’

‘Me too. Stay in touch.’

‘I will.’

Ren grabbed her bag and took out the photo of Laurie Whaley sitting cross-legged on the center of the hotel bed, fresh from the shower. She was eleven, and she was smiling, and she was in pink pajamas, and she was missing.

She looked at the photo of Shelby Royce. She was in sweats, no makeup, her hair up in a high ponytail. The word whore flashed in her head, but she let it go. Ren laid the photos of the two girls on the nightstand and rested her head back on the pillow. That night, hundreds of people had gathered in town to light candles and pray for their safe return.

Night, night, girls. I will not rest. I will not rest.

And up Ren got, and downstairs to the living room she went.

At five a.m., Ren jerked awake on the sofa. She was lying down, tucked inside a red fleece blanket. The fire had died and her face was cold. Paul Louderback was asleep in the armchair beside her, his head slumped down on his chest. Their cell phones started to ring at the same time.

‘You take yours, I’ll go,’ said Ren, grabbing her phone from the floor and running to take the call upstairs.

She got off the call and walked back down.

‘Well …’ said Paul.

‘All will be revealed …’ said Ren.