Alex Barclay - Time of Death

‘That’s pretty shitty. But it can’t have been the only reason you’re not close.’

‘It just shows the type of person he was,’ said Ren. ‘And still is. He over-rides everyone. He decides what is right. So if you tell him not to tell someone something, he will say “sure” and then you’ll find out he has told them, because he believes they should know. I tell him almost nothing any more.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘I know. I’ve tried to reach out. He’s…he’s just in his own world.’

‘Right.’

‘I just think you have to accept what’s important to other people and respect it, whether you understand it or not. Trust and confidence are important to me, so Jay should respect that. Even if I tell him something and he is thinking “Wow, why would Ren not want to tell X about her promotion in work?” He should just know by me telling him to keep something quiet, that I have a reason for that. And it’s a reason I don’t have to tell anyone if I don’t want to.’

‘Do you two talk much?’

‘We talk when people die.’

‘Any people?’

Ren smiled. ‘I know it sounds terrible, but even when Jay asks me how I am, it just seems weighted with…I don’t know…judgment.’ She shrugged.

Billy said nothing.

‘Maybe he needs to get to know you a little better,’ he said.

‘But if he did, he’d walk away thinking he knew more about me than I did. I swear to God.’

‘Aren’t you being a little hard on him?’

‘Aren’t you being a little annoyingly on-his-side about him? I don’t want to talk about Jay any more, because I don’t want to get mad at you.’

‘OK. I’m just trying to show you his side.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t have brothers and sisters, so I guess-’

‘You romanticize them. I love Jay dearly. I wish we got along, I wish it more than you do.’

‘OK.’

‘He’s teetotal too.’

Billy laughed loud. ‘And so we come to the real problem. He makes you feel bad for drinking.’

‘Very funny.’ Ren let out a breath. ‘His last hurrah was at Beau’s funeral. In spectacular fashion. Enough to make him never want to drink again.’ She paused. ‘I’m surprised anyone who witnessed it ever wanted to drink again.’

‘Ooh,’ said Billy.

‘I have to say — I can’t blame him. Beau’s funeral was so weird.’

‘How?’

‘It kind of drew some people to it and repelled others. And there was this strange sense of shame hanging over the whole thing. I remember sitting in the church and wanting to get up on the altar and just shout at everyone, “What is wrong with you all? This is not shameful. It’s tragic, it’s devastating, it should not be how anyone’s life ends, but it’s a fact. And Beau is not the only depressed person in the world and there are probably people sitting here today who have thought about committing suicide. Yup, he committed suicide. Everyone — after me — Beau committed suicide. You can say it. No one’s going to die.”’

Ren glanced at Billy. ‘You know what I mean. And the worst part was the people who didn’t show. I mean, sure, they may have seen this big black sinful cloud hanging over our family, but what happened to compassion and kindness? These were some of the people that Mom had been so good to. Or Jay had mowed their lawn or Beau had taught their grandchildren…’

Ren sat in silence. Her mind wandered to another funeral — Douglas Hammond’s — and the shame-free sorrow that everyone was free to feel because his death wasn’t ‘at his own hand’. People had no problem showing up at that funeral.

Ren paused.

But still, why was Lucinda Kerr there? Lucinda Kerr who had been married to Peter Everett who had been dating Helen Wheeler who had been murdered and whose files had been due to go to Douglas Hammond who was murdered and whose wife had been murdered almost thirty years previously.

WTF?

Mia Hammond was a twenty-nine-year-old orphan. There was something so poignant about it. Ren didn’t want to intrude on her grief, but if she ever let that feeling stop her, she would get nowhere. Sifting through wreckage was all part of the job.

When Ren introduced herself, Mia Hammond looked like she could have laid on the ground right there and curled up into a ball.

‘I’d just like to speak with you about your father’s funeral, please,’ said Ren. ‘It won’t take long.’

Mia looked surprised. ‘His funeral?’

Ren nodded. ‘I saw that Lucinda Kerr was there. Can I ask how you know her?’

‘I don’t, actually,’ said Mia. ‘I recognized her, obviously, because of who she is. I just thought that maybe she knew my father through work. But she came up to me afterwards and said that she remembered me from when I was a child. She and her husband used to live on our street. I had no idea.’

The Everetts lived on the same street as Douglas Hammond?

‘Did she say when this was?’

‘She said I was a toddler. So that would have to have been around 1983, because we moved shortly after mom died. Obviously, my father didn’t want to stay in the house.’

‘That’s understandable,’ said Ren.

‘Sorry, but what has Lucinda Kerr got to do with anything?’

‘I’m information-gathering at this point,’ said Ren.

‘For what?’

‘I can’t say.’ I’m not sure myself…

Peter Everett’s house was another in Ren’s straight run of beautiful homes with not-so-beautiful stories to tell. He invited Ren in and led her to his study, a room with a glass wall that overlooked a softly lit pool area surrounded by pale granite flagstones, dotted with patches of snow. The house was tastefully designed and decorated, but the sadness was overwhelming.

Or maybe that’s because I know what he has lost.

Everett’s face betrayed it all — he was a very attractive man being seen at his worst — exhausted, puffy-eyed, hollowed out. He was tall and slim with dark hair in an old-fashioned side parting. He was dressed in a pink V-neck cashmere sweater with a white T-shirt underneath, a pair of dark blue jeans and brown loafers. Despite the preppy look, Ren imagined he drew all kinds of women to him without even trying and without even realizing it.

‘I’d like to talk to you about Helen,’ said Ren.

Everett nodded, but looked as though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

‘She was a wonderful person,’ said Ren. ‘You must be devastated.’

He seemed thrown. ‘Yes. I…you knew her?’

‘I always had a lot of time for Helen.’ Scheduled time.

He rubbed his face with his hands. ‘Everyone did.’ His voice cracked.

Ren could barely hold it together herself. ‘Mr Everett, I wanted to talk to you about the book you said Helen was writing?’

‘It was in its very early stages.’

‘Did Helen say what the book was about?’

‘It was about her practice, about the treatment of a broad spectrum of mental illnesses, about medication versus talk therapy, et cetera.’

‘And when did she start writing it?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Peter. ‘I wouldn’t say she had particularly started writing it. It was more at the thinking stage. Maybe for the past few months.’

‘Did she have a publisher?’

‘No. But I don’t think that would have been a concern at that stage. What she’d really been working up to was putting together a synopsis and a pitch.’

‘And had she requested permission from any of her patients for their details to be included?’

‘As far as I know, not yet,’ said Peter. ‘It wasn’t going to be public knowledge any time soon. Helen wouldn’t have dreamed of releasing anything without a patient’s permission. And a publisher would certainly never publish without it. She was even careful about the initial notes she was making.’