Killing Ways

28

Ren wandered around the back of Kurt Vine’s house. There was a battered Mitsubishi Montero parked there. She took a photo of the license plate, then went around to the front of the house again and rang the bell. No answer.

Another time, Kurt Vine.

She ran the license plate when she got back into the Jeep — it was registered to Kurt Vine.

No dramz.

That night, Ren sat on the sofa, writing the lyrics over and over.

There’s something more to these.

Sharps disposal... getting rid of the needles... now I know the way we’ll part... death? Anesthesia? Needle’s pointing to your heart: that’s where it hurts? Someone’s heart is being pierced by pain. Or... maybe it’s literal.

She sat up.

Heroin? Injecting heroin? Edie said that the woman was an IV drugs user.

‘Tiny fingers pointing your way...’ In accusation?

Was the song written from the perspective of a child about a heroin-addicted adult? A child who thinks they know that the needle will end their relationship?

‘Sharps disposal’ is not about disposing of the needles: it’s about the singer. A person who feels he or she’s being disposed of by a drug abuser? By Jane Doe?

Now, what the hell does that have to do with Carrie Longman?

Maybe it’s nothing more than she recognized in those lyrics the lives of the people she dealt with every day. Or maybe it was sung by one of the people she dealt with.

Annnd, we’re back to wondering who the Jane Doe is...

Ren got up to get a bottle of water from the kitchen. She had left her phone on the table.

Shit! On Silent!

Five missed calls from Gary. She called him right back.

‘Where the hell were you?’ he said.

‘Sorry — my phone was on silent. I was checking out new—’

‘Listen: I’m with you tonight.’

‘The what now?’

‘Can’t talk. I’m with you... if Karen calls. I’m on my way to your apartment. I’ve been there all evening working on the case.’

Well, fuck you, Gary. ‘OK.’

Twenty minutes later, Ren buzzed Gary in. She smelled the beer on his breath before she had the door fully open.

Oh, God, you look just-fucked. Delete image. And, Ren, pull pointy shard of envy from your chest.

‘You said it was over.’

‘I thought it was,’ said Gary. ‘I wanted it to be.’ He went into the living room and sat on the sofa.

You don’t look like you want it to be. Not one bit.

Ren sat down at the other end of the sofa. ‘This is a disaster. I’m not judging you, I’m not in any position to, but please don’t do this. Whoever she is, she’s not worth it.’ WHO IS IT?

‘But... I think...’

Oh, Jesus. No. ‘Do not say it,’ said Ren. ‘Do not say you love her. This is not a conversation to have with me. Save it for therapy.’ She paused. ‘And don’t look at me like that. Do you think you don’t need help? That it’s just for the crazies? Let me tell you something — if a crazy is telling you you need help, you need help.’ I can barely look at you, you’re so fucking excited by this woman.

‘You don’t love her,’ said Ren. ‘You’re just having a ball, more excited than you’ve been in years. I get it. I really do. But it will fuck you up, fuck Karen up, especially because of how convincingly you lied. And, I’m leaving the worst till last: this will shatter Claire. She’s seventeen, Gary. This would be so bad for a seventeen-year-old. And you’ve only gotten close in the past two years. How do you think she’s going to feel? End this now. Please. I can’t watch you self-destruct. I’ve done it. It’s not pleasant.’ And I’m probably wired to keep doing it.

‘This is different,’ said Gary.

‘If this was different, then why does the cliché of the mid-life crisis exist? You’re smarter than that. Can I venture: your girlfriend is younger than you, has longer hair than your wife, isn’t a stay-at-home mom, laughs at all your jokes, and wears killer underwear at all times?’ Which I strongly believe in, actually.

Gary gave a one-shoulder shrug.

‘Well, there you go. This is not different. I’m sorry. Just ask yourself that long list of questions. And imagine, really, really, imagine integrating your girlfriend into your life—’

‘Stop calling her that,’ said Gary.

‘Mistress sounds alluring and mysterious,’ said Ren. ‘Girlfriend’ sounds pathetic for a man in your circumstances. ‘There is nothing alluring and mysterious about this whole shitshow. So, I’m prompting you again to consider this woman as part of your family, your career, everything. Spend some time with that. Because no one else is going to be as enamored with her as you are. No one will see her as anything other than a homewrecker. You don’t love her: you’re unhappy at home. Sort home out first. Apart from this woman. Try treating Karen the way you’re treating your girlfriend and she might look at you with sparkly eyes too...’

Suitably stung. Good!

‘It surprises me,’ said Ren, ‘that you can respect a woman who has such low self-esteem that she sees herself as deserving nothing better than second place in a man’s life.’

‘Jesus, Ren...’

‘My final advice is — give your marriage a proper chance. And if you still love your girlfriend, then you love her, you’ll be together and everyone will embrace her with open arms... eventually.’

The excitement had evaporated from Gary. He looked tired and older and foolish. And then he looked like he was going to some beautiful place, in some wonderful memory with his new side piece, and the light was back in his eyes.

Gary is off the rails.

‘And one more thing,’ said Ren. ‘Men are weirdos — after years of marriage and a child or two, they take their foot off the gas and when the car stalls, instead of reapplying that foot, the man goes out and buys a new fucking car! And — this is the best bit — he thinks that his wife is still in the original car, having the ride of her life. It’s unbelievable. Does any of that make sense to you?’

What a stupid fucking analogy. Men love cars. Gary is away in killer-underwear land... driving a Ferrari.

She let out a breath.

Gary is off the rails.

We can’t both be.

But I’m fine.

You’re off the rails.

No, I’m not.

Gary is my fulcrum. He is my guardian. Without him at the helm... who knows what could happen? I need to get my shit together.

I’m fine.

Ren got up, went into the kitchen and made coffee.

Go, caffeine, go.

Gary followed her.

‘OK,’ said Ren, ‘we were working on the case.’

But, fuck, I won’t be able to sustain this lying for too much longer.

When he was gone, Ren abandoned work and took the elevator to the glamor-gym.

She put on her gloves and started pounding a punchbag that was so pristine she wondered if anyone else ever used it.

Right, left, hook, hook, right, left, fuck, fuck, right, left, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He didn’t even ask me about the lyrics! Nothing! Does he even give a shit?

She finished thirty minutes later, hot, sweaty, more wired.

How does that even work? This is not the plan.

She went back to the apartment, stripped off, threw the clothes in the laundry basket and ran the shower. When it was hot enough, she got in.

Too hot. Too hot.

Breathe.

She turned down the temperature.

Gary, in the shower, soaping my... stop. Ben. That’s better. That’s way better.

When she was done, she put on navy blue shorts, a white tank.

She went into her bedroom.

Screw you, Gary. I cannot believe you’re making me do this.

She knelt down on the floor and slid out her shoebox of shame. She opened it. She took out her box of mood stabilizers. She slid out a pack. The information leaflet came with it.

Ain’t nobody got time for that.

She was about to throw it loose into the shoebox, when she realized it wasn’t an information leaflet. It was a handwritten note. She unfolded it.

I knew you’d do it. x

Ben’s handwriting. Ren stared at the words. Tears welled in her eyes. She slumped back against the side of the bed.

Ben, you angel. You know. You said nothing. You have faith.

She put the lid back on the box and slid it under the bed.

But it’s misplaced.

I’m sorry.

I can’t afford to be numb. I need a sharp mind, I need to solve things, make connections, have clarity. I need to find a killer.

She went downstairs.

Gary is off the fucking rails.

She opened a bottle of champagne.

This will soothe me, though. And bring me enlightenment.

She pulled back the curtain, sat down on the sofa, and stared at the wall. Over the next hour and a half, she finished the bottle. Then she had two glasses of white wine. She woke up with a start on the sofa at five a.m.

Gary is so off the rails.