Time of Death

25

Ren was running an hour late for work the next morning. She had decided to attribute half an hour of it to a fake traffic jam caused by an imaginary truck skidding on dramatized ice. It would take less energy than having to talk about waking up and being hit with a deadening sense of loss.

She called Matt.

‘Matt, remember when I moved and I had to send you some of my stuff to store?’

‘You mean, do I remember the half of my garage that I have to look at daily, but can never make use of?’

‘That would be it,’ said Ren. ‘Would you mind trawling through that to find something for me?’

‘Oh, God. Yes, I do mind. Big time.’

‘Please?’ said Ren. ‘Ugly please?’

‘Ugly please. I haven’t heard that in years.’

‘I haven’t said it in years.’

‘Were we vile children?’ said Matt.

‘No. We had this conversation with Mom at the time. The girl who inspired the phrase may not have been the purtiest horse on the carousel, but it’s not about what’s on the outside. It’s what’s on the inside. And her inside was uhg-ly.’

‘OK, I feel better,’ said Matt. ‘Because my answer really will depend on whether it’s worth the trouble to look for it.’

‘It’s a little notebook-’

‘Right,’ said Matt. ‘So, not only is it the one thing you have millions of, it is also one that could be naked to the human eye.’

‘It’s not that little. You’re such a drama queen. And it’s not in one of the notebook boxes. It’s in with the teddy bears.’

Silence.

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ said Ren. ‘There are only three boxes of them. The notebook will be the object that is hard to the touch.’

‘What does it look like?’

‘It is covered in scratch’n’sniff stickers.’

‘Ooh. Do you think they still smell?’

‘I hope so.’

‘What’s in the notebook?’ said Matt.

‘Stuff.’

Matt let out a breath. ‘Is this about Louis Parry?’

‘How did you know that?’

‘Well, Nancy Drew, let me think…

‘Ha-dee-ha.’

‘But, wow, your Nancy Drew phase lasted way longer than most girls.’

‘All or nothing, Matt. All or nothing. Born to sleuth.’

‘But ugly please don’t tell me you are expecting to find something through the eyes of a nine-year-old.’

Maybe. ‘No…Just — who knows?’

‘Bless your heart. OK. I’ll find it,’ said Matt. ‘Am I allowed to read it?’

‘Lord, no! I have no idea what I may have written about you.’

‘With the passing of the years and all that, I might be OK with reading “Matt is a jerk”.’

‘I was nine, not three,’ said Ren. ‘I’m sure it was like “Matt is inconsequential” or-’

‘The fat cat sat on the Matt…’

‘B’bye.’

‘B’bye Nancy-’

‘Dwew.’

Gary’s office door was open when Ren tried to walk past. She was dressed in a black parka that went down to her ankles…and made a lot of noise when she moved.

‘Get in here,’ said Gary.

Shit.

‘Where were you last night?’

Ren frowned. ‘Why…?’

‘Come here-’

He turned his monitor so she could see. The Denver Post’s lead story filled the screen: Top Judge Dies in Horror Fire. Under the headline was a photo of Douglas Hammond. Beneath that was a burnt-out car and the caption: The devastating crash in Genesee where Douglas Hammond died late last night.

Oh. My. God. Ren leaned on the desk for support. ‘Oh my God…’

‘Yup,’ said Gary. He was about to click off the story.

‘Wait! Let me read it. What happened?’

‘He went off the road, crashed into a tree on his way back from the city. Instant fireball.’

‘That is so awful…’ Ren scanned through the article. ‘I…it’s so hard to believe.’ Holy shit.

‘Yes,’ said Gary. ‘But it solves your psych-file problem…’

Ren looked at him. ‘You are sick.’

‘Well, it is a temporary solution, you’ve got to admit…’

Ren went to her desk and saw an email from John Reiff via the El Paso PD. She had asked him to send the photos from the spring-break trip to Tijuana.

Ren pulled up the photos of Luke Sarvas and his friends. The first was a close shot, four teenage boys sitting by a pool in T-shirts and shorts, eating burgers, probably drinking the first beer of the day. The next shot was a wide one of a beautiful, sprawling, white stucco multi-story building. Ren paused.

Where the hell were you staying?

It was like something out of Condé Nast Traveler. It wasn’t a hotel, it wasn’t even like those nice bungalows in the grounds of hotels. It was a stunning luxury house, high over the sea with a spectacular view. Even if Gregory Sarvas had left $20,000 on the hall table for his son, he wouldn’t have been able to afford this.

Weren’t teenagers supposed to stay in shitholes?

Maybe they were just visiting someone. But as Ren continued through the photos as they moved from afternoon through to evening and into the night, from inside the house and out again, it was clear that this was where the boys were staying. The more empty beer bottles, the more girls and the less clothes and, by the end of the photos, there was a pool full of the happy and the naked.

Catskill ‘89, red bikini bottoms, legs wrapped around Daryl Stroud.

Ren went through the photos again.

Where did this house come from?

Ren picked up the phone and called John Reiff. He didn’t know anything about the house. He couldn’t remember the address. There was no connection to anyone who was at any of the parties. There was no connection to relatives, girlfriends, work prospects, nothing. The accommodation was free. Yes, they all thought that was weird…and awesome. And they were all so grateful to Luke Sarvas for hooking them up.

Why can’t I go on holiday to a place like that? Or would it mean selling my soul to the devil?

‘Are rich people more unhappy than poor people?’ said Ren when she put down the phone.

‘Shitty things happen to everyone,’ said Colin.

‘It’s just that I seem to be on a run of visiting well-off people in shitty circumstances,’ said Ren. ‘I’m seeing beautiful houses bearing not-so-beautiful lives.’

‘Did you see the photo of Peter Everett’s house in the newspaper?’ said Cliff. ‘Helen Wheeler’s guy.’

‘No,’ said Ren. ‘What’s it like?’

‘Stately.’

‘What is Peter Everett’s story?’ said Ren.

‘My wife bored me with this at breakfast the other day. She used to watch Dynasty — she can keep track of family sagas. Everett married Lucinda Kerr when they were in their mid-twenties. He was a bright guy, lots of ambition, no money. Daddy Kerr set him up in business in Lupero Technologies. The marriage went down the toilet about ten years ago.’

‘Not so happily Everett after…’ said Ren.

‘Despite the money, it was amicable, apparently. Are you looking for something sinister in Peter Everett?’

‘No, by all accounts, he is devastated.’

‘And apparently he has a multi-confirmed alibi,’ said Cliff. ‘According to the detectives who notified him, Everett was as shocked as anyone they’d ever seen. He fell apart before their eyes.’

‘Wow,’ said Ren. ‘Sounds as though he was very serious about her.’

Cliff shrugged. ‘I guess so.’

‘It must have been quite whirlwind.’ Ren paused. ‘What about his ex-wife? Could that have bothered her? If they were still friends, maybe she might have wanted a reconciliation…’

‘Well,’ said Cliff, ‘switching from my wife as source, to some of the Denver PD guys who worked security for the family, Lucinda left Everett.’

‘Ah,’ said Ren.

‘But apparently, she’s a very nice woman. She dated one of her security guys. It wasn’t common knowledge. He wasn’t going around bragging about it.’

‘Ah, a love affair.’

‘There you go again, Ren,’ said Colin from his desk. ‘Looking for love in all the wrong places.’

‘God, you are painful,’ said Ren. ‘What happened to you? Who abandoned you as a child?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Colin, ‘but do you think you could abandon me as an adult?’

‘This cynical bullshit sucks the lifeblood out of me.’

‘Everything sucks the lifeblood out of you,’ said Colin. ‘I’m surprised you have any lifeblood left.’

Ren let out a breath. ‘Borrriiiiing.’ She turned to Cliff. ‘Stand between us. Break up the current.’