Killing Ways

37

The next morning, Ren pulled up in a cab outside Joe Lucchesi’s hotel at eight thirty. He got in, smelling of cologne and coffee.

Sexy.

Hungover and horny.

‘The Jeep wouldn’t start...’ said Ren, gesturing around the cab.

Joe looked at her. She looked at him. Something passed between them.

The knowledge that I may just have stepped out of or drunk the contents of a bar?

Joe nodded.

Tense.

‘I’ve been up all night doing a lot of thinking about... this,’ he said. He had noticed the cab driver’s attention on them.

We both know that thinking about ‘this’ is not what I’ve been up all night doing.

‘This is serious,’ said Joe, without looking at her. ‘We need to be at the top of our game.’

Shot. Across. Bow.

He opened the window.

I am serious, asshole. Seriousness and drinking are not mutually exclusive. Any serious drinker will tell you that.

They got out at Safe Streets. Joe had paid the cab driver before Ren got the chance.

Oh, blessed solid ground. Ugh. My stomach.

Ren gave Joe the talk on the historical significance of the building as they walked up. He was interested. He told her about the old lighthouse he had lived in with his family in Ireland.

Where your wife was left for dead. Are you over any of this? Are you safe on this case? Are you too personally emotionally invested? Are any of us safe with you around? Before I picked you up last night, I read every article there is to read on you and your family, from here to Ireland and back again. Will you be an overbearing nightmare to work with?

They walked into the bullpen. There were three rows of boxes stacked five-high beside Ren’s desk.

‘What the fuck is this, people?’ she said. ‘Hoarders: Denver.’ My head! Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound. Throb. Throb. Throb.

‘They’re from me,’ said Joe. ‘I FedExed them ahead. The Duke Rawlins files.’

Suitably embarrassed. ‘Oh.’ She walked over. ‘Thank you.’ Overbearing nightmare it is.

She introduced Joe to the half-squad that was there.

Gary walked into the bullpen, shook Joe’s hand. ‘Good to meet you,’ he said. ‘Thanks for coming.’

‘Not a problem,’ said Joe. ‘Sorry about all the files.’

‘The more we have, the better,’ said Gary. ‘Ren, can you please divide this up later?’

But I want to read it all myself! I’m not sure anyone else has my eagle eye! ‘No problem.’

‘Joe, if you’d like to come into my office,’ said Gary.

‘Sure,’ said Joe.

Gary turned to Ren. ‘Ren, maybe you could take the lunch order later—’

Food? Noooo! Nooooo!

‘Then we’ll come together at two p.m.,’ said Gary. ‘The other agencies will be here by then.’

Crowded room? Heat? The breathing of others? Their existence? Noooo! I need pineapple juice.

Robbie and Everett carried all the boxes from beside Ren’s desk into the conference room, lining them up against the back wall. Ren directed them from flat on her back on one of the tables. She turned her cheek to the cold surface. Her arm was stretched out, limp.

‘Is that door closed?’ she said. ‘Don’t let him see me like this.’

‘Him Joe Lucchesi?’ said Everett. ‘Don’t worry — we like to shut the door on your shame.’

Robbie laughed.

Progress.

‘What was I thinking?’ said Ren. ‘Anyone?’

‘You should probably sit up,’ said Robbie. ‘You’ll fall asleep. You’ll feel worse.’

‘Says the man who has had one hangover in his entire life,’ said Ren.

‘Which you caused,’ said Robbie. ‘I’m an expert in hangovers because of observing yours.’

‘Depressing,’ said Ren. ‘I will be silent for a short while.’ I need to sleep. I can’t bear the thought I won’t be able to.

‘Do you want pineapple juice?’ said Everett.

‘It’s become my red flag to Gary,’ said Ren. ‘You know something, I’m going to lay down on the bench in the ladies’ room, just in case. Bang on the door if I’m not back by one fifty.’

‘Just so we’re clear: a.m. or p.m.?’ said Everett.

The briefing began at ten after two. Joe Lucchesi stood at the top of the conference room, solid, confident, but with eyes that showed he hadn’t slept much. Ren had taken the position as far from him and Gary as she could. She was clutching a bottle of water.

‘Duke Rawlins...’ said Joe, ‘is a brutal rapist, a serial killer, an animal. He is a psychopath in its truest form.’