Blood Loss

33

Ren Bryce sat at her desk with her handbag open, throwing in everything she could see that belonged to her.

Gary called her over to his desk. She leaned over the partition, then quickly checked her shirt.

‘I cleaned it,’ said Gary.

‘Good for you, not suffering in silence.’

He smiled. ‘I wanted to ask — how was your appointment with Dr Lone?’

‘Did you know that his sessions are all an hour long?’ said Ren. ‘Not fifteen minutes, not even half an hour. How does that work? Financially? And missing-work-wise?’ And boredom-threshold-wise.

‘You just concentrate on making the most of that hour,’ said Gary.

‘But-’

‘If it makes you feel better,’ said Gary, ‘he only charges a fifteen-minute fee for a one-hour session.’

‘What?’ said Ren. ‘Who does that?’

‘People who like to help people, I guess.’

‘No wonder he can’t afford full shoes …’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Gary.

‘Just … he wears sandals,’ said Ren.

‘Jesus, Ren. Maybe if your approach was not to stare at the floor, you wouldn’t notice his footwear.’

Helen Wheeler had beautiful shoes.

Gary looked up. ‘Are you OK?’ he said. ‘Did I say something?’

‘No,’ said Ren. ‘I’m fine.’

But Helen had beautiful shoes.

Paul Louderback stuck his head in the door.

‘Ren, could I have a word, please?’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind, Gary. I just have to clear something up.’

‘Sure, go ahead,’ said Gary. ‘We’re done here.’

‘Hey,’ said Paul, when she walked out, ‘as we will shortly be parting company, would you like to go for dinner tonight?’

‘Ooh,’ said Ren. ‘I would. Here? Would that be wise?’

‘Wise now that I know your boss is traveling to Denver tonight.’

Ren smiled. ‘Dinner it is, then.’

Her cell phone rang on her desk.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Paul.

Ren ran over and grabbed it.

‘Agent Bryce, it’s Kevin Crowley from The Lowry Hotel in Boston — I just sent you an email — the details you wanted, if you’d like to take a look at it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ren. She hung up, and opened the email and clicked on the attached files. There was one PDF, and six JPEGS. She started with the PDF. It was Mark Whaley’s bill from his stay.

For three nights. Even though his last meeting was on Friday, he stayed on in Boston Saturday night.

She looked at the photos. In the first, a short, smiling blonde was leaning over The Lowry’s reception desk.

Ren clicked on the next photo. It was the lobby bar on the same night. A man was sitting on a sofa in the corner with the same smiling blonde. Her coat was off, and she was dressed in a short, dark-colored, low-cut dress.

‘Gary,’ said Ren. ‘You need to see these.’

Gary came over to her desk.

‘It’s Mark Whaley,’ said Ren, pointing. ‘In The Lowry Hotel in Boston.’

Gary leaned in closer to the screen.

‘So there is a hotel-room precedent with Mark Whaley,’ said Gary. ‘Underage blondes.’

Nail. Coffin.

Paul Louderback was waiting for Ren at a table upstairs in the furthest corner of Modis on Main Street. He stood up as soon as she walked in. He kissed her on both cheeks, and pulled out her chair for her.

Manners. I love it. ‘Thank you,’ said Ren.

‘I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a bottle of Bordeaux,’ said Paul.

Ren raised her glass. ‘Here’s to the first time I’ve ever heard that sentence anywhere other than in a British mini-series.’

Paul made a sad face.

She smiled. ‘Aw, your crest has fallen.’

‘I didn’t want to sound lame right away,’ said Paul. ‘I was aiming for somewhere in the middle of dinner.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Ren, ‘feel free to take wine-related liberties at all times and go on to tell me about them in quaint ways.’

He relaxed back into his chair. ‘So …’ he said.

‘Mark Whaley … can you believe it?’

‘I can,’ said Paul. ‘Especially after those Lowry photos.’

And they were off, talking about work, and movies, and books, and music, and shoes.

Eventually, after a lull, Ren looked across the table at Paul.

‘So,’ said Ren. The question I hate asking, but feel bound to. ‘How’s Marianne?’

Your wife of twenty-four years, the mother of your two daughters.

Paul drained his glass.

‘Oh, some comedy glass-draining,’ said Ren.

‘She left me,’ said Paul at the same time.

Ren waited for him to smile or laugh or say, ‘just kidding’ — anything that would stop him from sensing the visceral reaction that had just rocked through her. ‘Oh my God,’ she managed.

‘She walked out, and took the girls with her,’ said Paul.

‘When?’ said Ren.

‘Three months ago,’ said Paul.

‘Why didn’t you say?’ said Ren.

‘Because I wanted to hear you talk about shoes.’

‘I’m … mortified.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve had the most fun I’ve had in … I can’t tell you when.’

‘But you should have told me at the time,’ said Ren. ‘I would have-’

‘Confused me,’ said Paul.

Uh-oh.