Time of Death

43

Ren’s heart was pounding. Douglas Hammond. Helen Wheeler. Domenica Val Pando. Javier Luis. Erubiel Diaz. WTF?

‘What’s going on in your tiny mind?’ said Cliff.

‘Huge thoughts…’

‘On…’ said Cliff.

‘I’m sorry, I just…’

‘Have you stopped trusting me?’ he said. He meant it.

‘I think I have stopped trusting myself.’

‘That’s very sad.’

‘It is,’ said Ren.

‘Well, if you change your mind…’

‘Thanks. I feel like my head’s about to blow.’ She looked again at the photos. ‘There’s family stuff too.’

‘Anything you want to talk about?’

‘No, not really. But don’t take it personally.’

‘I won’t, and if you need me, you know where I am.’

‘Thanks, Cliff.’

She glanced at the TV to end the awkwardness.

A box on the top right of the screen read: ARRESTS MADE IN DRUGS TUNNEL COLLAPSE.

‘Crank it up,’ said Ren.

‘You have the remote,’ said Cliff.

Ren grabbed it and turned up the volume. When did this happen?

A photo filled the screen that Ren wished she had seen forty-eight hours earlier. It was of a huge truck beside a gaping hole in a dusty hillside in Nogales, Mexico — the opening to a tunnel under the border that would lead to Nogales, Arizona on the other side. According to the report, it was the fifteenth tunnel found in the area in the previous year and was believed to be linked to the Puente cartel.

The tunnel, which had been under construction for months was detected by Border Control just three days earlier when workers fled from it after a support beam in the ceiling collapsed.

Imagine the crush injuries you’d get from that, Luke Sarvas. You lying son-of-a-bitch.

Ren called Hunt Memorial Hospital and asked to be put through to Luke Sarvas’ room.

‘Hello?’

‘Catherine?’ said Ren. ‘It’s Ren Bryce here. Is Luke there?’

‘Yes,’ said Catherine. ‘But I told you-’

‘Catherine, put him on the phone to me right now or within a half-hour that room is going to be swarming with FBI agents who give less of a shit about you and Luke than I do.’

Catherine let out a slow breath. ‘He can’t hold the phone.’

‘Hold it up to his ear! For God’s sake, Catherine. This is important.’

Ren heard the phone move and a change of breathing as Luke Sarvas came on the line.

‘Luke, it’s Ren Bryce. How did the support beam fall?’

Silence.

‘Luke, answer me. How did it fall?’

His voice cracked. ‘Because I knew exactly how to make it fall.’

Oh my God. ‘You did it?’

‘Yes…we were…forced to…they told us we would be killed if we didn’t do it. I…I…wanted to get out,’ he sobbed. ‘I had to get out. I wanted to see my mom.’

Cliff’s words rang in Ren’s ears: he’s a seventeen-year-old kid. Kids seemed so advanced, but really, there was only so far their coping skills could stretch at that age.

‘What happened to you?’ said Ren. ‘What happened to you?’

‘I can’t…I can’t…’ He was sobbing louder.

‘Luke, can you tell me — have you heard of the Puentes? Or of a man called El Coyote Panzón? Is that the man who made you do this? El Coyote Panzón.’

There was complete silence at the other end of the phone.

‘Luke? Luke?’ said Ren. ‘You can talk to me. You’re safe now.’

Still Luke said nothing.

‘You’re safe,’ said Ren again.

Luke lowered his voice. ‘You’re not.’

The line went dead.

What the hell? Ren called Catherine Sarvas’ cell phone. It was diverted. She tried the hospital again. The line to Luke Sarvas’ room was busy.

Why would I not be safe? And how could Luke Sarvas know that? And if he does have that kind of information, he is not safe. Neither is his mother. And neither is Michael. And where is Michael Sarvas?

Ren picked up her office phone and dialed the number for El Paso PD. As she was waiting to be connected, her cell phone rang. Caller ID showed the hospital number. She hung up and took the cell phone call.

It was Catherine Sarvas. ‘Ren, I’ve sneaked into another patient’s room. Luke says you’ve got to back off from all of this. Don’t get the police involved. Don’t get your bosses involved. And he told me to tell you that El Coyote Panzón is dead.’

She hung up. Ren’s heart pounded.

What is going on?

Ren’s cell phone rang again. ‘This is Mannering Security Systems. Could I speak with Annie Lowell?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Ren. ‘My name is Ren Bryce. Is this about Annie’s place? I’m the house-sitter.’

‘Do you have the code word?’ said the man.

‘Edward,’ said Ren.

‘Yes, ma’am. We have a report of an alarm going off-’

Shit. ‘Sir, I’m an FBI agent, please do not send any of your men to the property. I will take care of it.’

He paused. ‘It’s our policy to-’

‘Sir, forget your policy. I’m with Rocky Mountain Safe Streets Task Force and I am not in the habit of putting people’s lives at risk. So, please, let me take care of the house. And you can keep your employees safe. I’m going to give you my boss’s direct line. His name is Gary Dettling. You can call him right away to verify my details. Thank you for the call.’

Ren grabbed her purse and ran. She shouted in to Gary to expect the call and that she would take care of the break-in herself. Or the strong wind. Or the stray cat.

When she pulled up outside Annie’s, it looked the same as it had when she left that morning. There were no windows open, the front door was locked. She opened it and walked inside. She called Misty’s name. There was no answer. She called again, still no answer. She ran up the stairs to her bedroom. Misty wasn’t there. Her heart started pounding. Why is this house so fucking big? She ran down the stairs and into the living room, the dining room, the kitchen. She heard a noise out the back. Oh shit. It was an enclosed yard. There was only one way in and out. She started to slide her gun from her inside jacket pocket, caught sight of a whirl of black and white through the glass.

Misty! Sweet Jesus. She pushed the gun back into its holster. And pulled the door open. Misty threw herself against her. Ren almost cried.

‘If anything ever happened to you, Misty Bryce,’ she said. She sat on the step and held Misty to her chest, rubbing her head, tickling her belly.

‘Who let you out here?’ she said.

Ren brought her back into the house. She went into the living room. A chill swept over her. Someone had been there. And they had left her a gift.

Unlike whoever had broken in the first time.

It was a DVD with a nice neat sticker that had her name on it. She put it into the player.

‘Loading’ flashed for too long on the top left corner of the screen before it went black. Stay black. Please stay black. Black has to be better than whatever I’m about to watch.

Ren had no idea what movie was going to light up her screen, what sound was going to fill the living room. She pulled Misty up beside her on the sofa and wrapped her arms around her. A face she knew filled the screen — an ugly face, an ugly man — number four on Denver’s Most Wanted. Javier Luis: a man whose rap sheet included first-degree murder, attempted first-degree murder, aggravated robbery; drugs; rape, assault on a minor…

In the mug shot on the wall at Safe Streets, Luis looked bad. On screen, he looked worse. And the picture was razor-sharp. He looked sixty years old. Meth.

Luis opened his mouth and flashed black and broken teeth. ‘From 1996 through 1998, I worked for Augusto Val Pando at his compound in New Mexico.’

So Augusto is being set up to take the fall.

Luis’ eyes shifted back and forth. ‘Towards the end,’ he said, ‘I was not happy with my position and I wanted to leave. But I was infectively incarcerated.’

Infectively — I love it. You were all infectively incarcerated, you fuckwit.

‘I wanted out,’ said Luis, ‘but I had no way of escaping.’

No shit.

‘What happened was, during this time, a woman who I thought to be a nanny to the Val Pandos’ son, her name was Remy Torres-’

Why is he talking about me? What the FUCK?

He continued. ‘Well, I was unaware at that time that Remy Torres was, in fact, FBI Special Agent Ren Bryce who currently works with the Rocky Mountain Safe Streets Task Force in Denver.’

What the FUCK IS THIS?

‘On the evening of December twenty-eighth, 1998-’

Ren hit Pause. December 28th? She stared at the screen. Oh God, no. She raised the remote control slowly and hit Play. It was as if she had also hit mute; all sound seemed to be sucked out of the air as the camera panned to the man on his right. Her eyes shot wide.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.