Time of Death

30

Billy Waites was sitting at a table in the corner of the Hotel Teatro bar, where he and Ren had once spent the night. He had traveled from Breckenridge and had made it in the hour-and-a-half he had promised when she made the emergency call.

When she saw him, something shot through Ren that she couldn’t file; love, lust, sadness, pain. Billy looked up — nothing else moved, just those pale eyes.

Lust, sadness and pain. Love? There were too many months of burying the break-up to work that out.

Billy Waites had that tattooed thing. Ren hated the idea of tattoos, had talked friends out of getting tattoos, had talked herself out of getting a tattoo. But the right kind of man with a tattoo? It was a beautiful kind of dirty. And to contrast with the worked-out body and the ink, Billy Waites had a smile like a child on his birthday. Heart-melting. Ren smiled back.

Here we are again.

Billy pushed his big parka up along the leather seat to make room, but Ren sat opposite him.

‘Hello, mister,’ she said.

‘Hello,’ said Billy. ‘Not even a peck?’

‘I’m too nervous. Look at my hands. What’s wrong with me?’

‘Aw,’ said Billy, and squeezed them between his.

‘Thanks. You look…’ amazing ‘…great.’

‘So do you.’

‘Ugh,’ said Ren. ‘I can not thank you enough for meeting me. I’m a mess.’

‘How are you doing?’ said Billy. ‘What’s up?’

‘Oh, Billy. Lots of things.’

‘Well, it is you, after all.’

‘I know.’ Ren paused. ‘It’s so great to see you.’ And already it’s killing me.

Billy was two feet away, across the table. How strange life is. A body you knew so well, but you no longer had the right to touch the same way. That strange physical space between two people that they spend their first encounters trying to close. Then, bam, it’s over and you bounce back to where you were in the first place as if it had never happened.

The arms. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I don’t know what it is about your arms.’ They fuck with my head.

Billy glanced down at them. ‘And I’m not even flexing.’ He flexed.

‘Don’t do that,’ said Ren. ‘I’m not in this for your personality.’

He laughed. ‘In what?’

‘Ooh,’ she said, ‘you’re quick.’ Quicker than me, clearly. She let her head fall to the table. He rubbed it gently. She looked up at him. ‘You’re like a bottle of champagne that I don’t want to pop the cork on.’

‘So you’re saying I don’t exist?’

Ren laughed. ‘Just — if I open the bottle…’

‘It’ll spray everywhere?’ said Billy. He raised his eyebrows.

‘Why did I say champagne?’ said Ren. ‘In fact, why did I come out with a Danielle Steele-style analogy in the first place?’

‘Yes. I think your relationship with champagne is more clear-cut than ours ever was…’

‘That’s kind of mean,’ said Ren. ‘And true.’

‘At least champagne never makes you feel bad.’

‘Hey, neither do you.’

‘But caring about me did.’

‘Big fat no to the therapy,’ said Ren. ‘I’m currently of the opinion that dwelling on my problems is making me feel worse.’

‘So, what’s up?’

Ren looked around. ‘Maybe we should go somewhere quieter. I’m not comfortable talking here. Why don’t you come to the house I’m sitting? It’s not far.’

‘Sure.’

He locked eyes with Ren; beautiful nervous eyes. A muscle on his bicep twitched. Ren’s gaze was drawn towards it.

She looked at him again. Billy Waites smiled.

No. More. Men: Rewind. Pause.

Ren and Billy sat side by side on Annie’s deeply uncomfortable sofa.

‘OK. Billy, I’m in trouble.’

His eyes immediately filled with concern. ‘What is it?’

‘I’m not sure.’ She looked around. ‘OK…a file arrived on my doorstep tonight — a file whose contents I was familiar with. I’m talking about a personal file that no one should have had access to, but they did. Someone has doctored the file. Very well. Elements of truth and then total bullshit. But I’m the only one who can tell the difference. The person who was supposed to have written the file is dead. And I have no idea if anyone else has read it. But, if a particular person has read it — as may be the case — I’m screwed. Because that person is also dead. So…’ She shrugged.

‘You’re shaking.’ He took her hands again. ‘You need a drink or something. You’re in shock.’

‘I…Billy…I’m looking at…it’s all over for me. I’m…’

‘Do you want to tell me what this file is, Ren? And who these people are?’

Oh, God. If I say them out loud, then those names are out there. And what if I can’t even trust you?

They sat in silence until Ren finally started to talk. ‘My psychiatrist, Helen Wheeler, disappeared the night of my last appointment with her. My swipe card was used to gain access to the crime scene the night before the body was found. The judge, Douglas Hammond, who wanted to access Helen’s patient files was murdered. And my doctored psych file is like one big finger pointed in my direction. And…there’s other stuff. None of it looks good.’

‘Who do you think is doing this?’

‘I don’t want to say. Until I have at least some proof.’

‘There is a way out of this, Ren. I know there is. We will work something out here. I’ll do what I can to help you.’

‘I’m worried that there’ll be more,’ said Ren. ‘I need to get a few steps ahead of everyone, so I can find out what the hell’s going on.’

‘It sounds like the first thing to do is to stop anyone getting access to these files.’

‘Which has been made very hard by the judge dying…And that’s not the only thing…’

She told him about Beau. Billy wrapped his arms around her and held her until she fell asleep. He carried her upstairs, put her to bed, kissed her forehead and slept in the bed beside hers.