The Drowning Child

44

Ren and Ruddock stopped off at the Veirs’ house on their way back to Tate PD. Only John was home.

‘We just wanted to talk to you about the last day you dropped Caleb off at Rose Dennehy’s house – February eleventh?’ said Ren.

‘Sure,’ said John.

‘Did anything happen to Caleb that day?’ said Ren. ‘Anything that made him afraid to go back? We believe you told Rose that Caleb needed to concentrate more on his schoolwork, but Sylvie Ross spoke with Caleb’s teacher again, and she said nothing had changed in his grades during that period, and no extra assignments had been given.’

‘It was a white lie,’ said John. ‘Caleb just didn’t want to do the job any more.’

‘But wasn’t the whole point of him having a job to teach him work ethic?’ said Ren. ‘Responsibility? Wouldn’t letting him quit, and covering for him by lying about it, kind of defeat the purpose?’

‘Maybe,’ said John. He shrugged.

‘Talk to us about that Saturday,’ said Ruddock.

‘There’s not a lot to say,’ said John. ‘I dropped Caleb off at Rose’s. I came back three hours later and picked him up. During that time, I was home with Teddy. I can get her to call you when she comes back. I don’t know what else to say to you.’

That night, Ren arrived back alone at the hotel, and was walking past the bar when she saw Paul Louderback sitting on a high stool with a vodka tonic.

I need a drink.

She went over to him.

‘Well, hello, there,’ said Paul.

‘Hello, yourself.’

‘I heard we may have another victim,’ said Paul.

‘Hopefully not,’ said Ren. ‘I mean, it’s not like I’ve got hardcore anything. Apart from the twisting in my gut.’

‘How was the ME about it?’

‘Not a happy bunny,’ said Ren. ‘But, I’m not exactly hoping I’m right, here. We’ll know by tomorrow night. Lung slides take a while. Poor Ruddock. He knows the family, told me all about them, they’re in his church, he says they’re the nicest people you could meet. Cut to: nice, earnest, blond Christian dad’s a child killer.’

‘I don’t know whether to be more depressed at that being a possibility or at the fact that inside that beautiful head is the beautiful brain that can come up with that shit so quickly.’

Ren laughed. Jesus. ‘What a suckfest of a fucking day.’

‘Would a glass of wine make it better?’ said Paul.

‘No,’ said Ren, ‘but a bottle might.’ She paused. ‘You look a little sorrowful. Is everything OK?’

‘It is now.’

Hmm.

‘OK – let me go take a shower,’ said Ren. ‘I’ll be back. Five minutes.’

He raised an eyebrow.

‘OK – ten.’

She left, hurried to the elevator.

What are you doing, exactly? Wine. Just wine.

Mmm-hmm...

As Ren was going into her room, a text came in from Gary. She opened it.

Her stomach plunged. She had been interviewed twice already about the Duke Rawlins shooting.

This is why Joe Lucchesi was asking about Denver.

Inspectors... Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuck.

Let’s relive the worst moments of my entire life over and over forever and ever! Amen!

So, I guess I will be going to Denver after all.

Ren came back down to the bar fifteen minutes later, dressed in black trousers, a black turtleneck, her lightning strike cuff, her black patent high heels. Her hair was wet, combed back off her face. She had minimal makeup on. She slapped her phone on to the bar, and slid up on to a stool beside Paul.

‘Wow,’ he said. ‘You look beautiful.’

Aw, man. Nooo. I’m dressed like a fucking nun.

A non-fucking nun.

Maybe nuns don’t wear patent heels. But still...

‘Sorry,’ said Paul. ‘I probably shouldn’t have said that.’

Ren laughed. ‘No – thank you.’

‘You’re negating the effects of possibly the least sexiest bar in the universe.’

We’re not supposed to be anything to do with anything sexy.

He raised a bottle of red wine. ‘I took the liberty...’

‘I love your liberties,’ said Ren. ‘I’ve missed them. And I welcome them.’

He poured. They clinked glasses.

‘There’s nothing a bottle of wine won’t fix,’ said Paul.

Your voice is saying ‘a bottle of wine’ and your eyes are saying ‘acts of a sexual nature’.

Will levels: weak.

Paul topped up her glass. Very generously.

He wants to get me drunk. And I shall oblige.

Jesus.

‘You know, I’m fascinated by couples in crisis...’ said Ren.

‘Who are we talking about?’ said Paul.

‘Sorry – I was just thinking about the Veirs. And all the couples I meet in this job. Just – how trauma impacts on them. Who’s caring for whom? Are they both? Is one reaching out, is the other withdrawing? Do they care? Are they suspicious of each other? And who loves? Truly loves. It’s rare. And that depresses the shit out of me.’

He was staring at her.

What are you thinking?

‘You know, though, the boring couples can be more rock-solid than the ones who swing from chandeliers,’ said Ren. ‘I will never reject a chandelier, but I like the idea of having someone with big strong arms standing underneath it to catch me.’

I just can’t for the life of me imagine anyone other than Ben.

‘But for now...’ said Ren. Stop.

‘For now...?’

Ugh. I’m just going to stand back and watch the chandelier sparkle. That’s the best I can do. There’s a little light in that.

Paul reached out, took her hand, squeezed it.

‘I’m fine,’ said Ren. She tilted her head back, blinked, and the tears were gone.

She breathed out. They drank. They drank more.

Before long, Paul called the barman over. ‘Same again.’

He was still holding Ren’s hand.

Yup.

Same again.