Alex Barclay - Time of Death

Ren felt a surge of frustration at not being able to walk through the rooms of the Hammond house, of not being able to question the non-witnesses, at not being able to talk to Douglas Hammond or any of the detectives on the case or…There was one name she recognized, signed at the bottom of the autopsy report under the pathologist’s name: Dr Barry Tolman.

Ren liked Barry Tolman. He had a nice manner, was efficient and easy to deal with. Could she trust him to give her details on the case without blabbing to Janine Hooks?

Hmm.

Ren closed the file, shoved it under the sofa and went to bed.

Few wise decisions can be made at four a.m.

At eight the following morning Ren was standing in front of the kitchen cabinet reaching for a box of peppermint tea, wishing there would come a day when four hours’ sleep would not leave her feeling nauseous. As she reached for the kettle, the house phone startled her. One day, four hours’ sleep would not make her jumpy.

Few people had Annie’s home number. Or would expect Ren to ever be home, no matter what was going on in her life.

‘Hello?’ she said.

‘Did you know Beau had been doing drugs?’ Her mother’s voice was painfully shrill — the voice that heralded a conversation riddled with ridiculous statements.

Ren looked at her watch again. ‘What? It’s eight a.m., Mom. Jesus.’

‘Jesus doesn’t care what time it is,’ said her mom. Ridiculous statement #1.

‘Hello?’ said Ren. ‘It’s early, you know I have to go to work in a little while. So, tell me, calmly, what is going on.’

‘Don’t tell me to be calm,’ she said. ‘Would you be calm if the whole world said your son was a drug user?’ Statement #2.

The whole world. Ren took a deep breath. ‘Why did you call me? To take out your anger at the police? Or for…what exactly?’

‘I want to know if you knew that Beau was doing drugs.’

‘I want to know what makes you think that he was.’

‘For Christ’s sake, Ren, drop the lawyer/therapist act.’ Statement #3. ‘Was Beau doing drugs?’

‘No,’ said Ren. ‘And if he was, would it matter now? And would it matter if I knew or “the whole world” knew?’

‘Well, according to Daryl Stroud, when his detectives spoke with Beau’s friends, they said that he had been doing drugs. The detectives asked them had they been to his room, did they know of this hole he had in the bed-’

‘Does it matter? Seriously?’

‘Of course it matters,’ said her mother. ‘He suffered from depression. He was not supposed to be doing drugs. Drugs would make everything worse for someone like Beau. And how did your father and I not notice? I can’t believe he was doing drugs under our noses and none of us noticed.’

‘Mom…can we believe whoever said this?’ And can anybody let Beau rest in peace?

‘It changes everything,’ said her mother.

‘What do you mean?’

‘There was something we could have done. If I had noticed, I could have put a stop to it. God knows how they were affecting his brain. He could still be here today if I had been paying more attention. I’m his mother.’

‘Mom, you and Dad could not have paid more attention to us if you tried — short of following us all around every day.’

‘Obviously, that wasn’t enough.’

No — it was too much . ‘Whatever you’d like to think about this revelation, it doesn’t change a-’

‘Of course it does, Ren. I have spent how many years being told by people “There was nothing you could do”, and finally I had started to believe it. I allowed myself to be convinced that I had done everything I could for Beau. But now it’s obvious that was not the case. I failed my son.’

‘I know you’re not going to hear this right now,’ said Ren, ‘but I’ll say it anyway. You did not fail Beau. Please do not look for an excuse to go back and punish yourself again. You did everything. After that, it was Beau alone with his mind. And his mind was shooting out faulty messages. And at that moment in time, he listened to them. He had no control over that. So you definitely couldn’t have.’

‘How can you be so calm about all this?’

‘Years of therapy is how,’ said Ren. ‘Maybe you should give it a shot.’

‘I don’t need therapy.’ Statement #4.

‘Everyone needs therapy, if you ask me.’

‘It wouldn’t do any good at my age…’

I give up. ‘Well, if you think it will make you feel any worse than the way you do right now, you’re absolutely right not to go.’

Silence.

‘I’ve got to get back to work,’ said Ren. ‘Take care. Hi to Dad. And Beau didn’t do drugs.’

Ren called Dr Barry Tolman from the Jeep on the drive to work.

‘Hey, Barry,’ she said. ‘It’s Ren Bryce from Safe Streets.’

‘Hi, Ren,’ said Tolman. ‘How are you doing?’

‘I’m good, thank you. I’m just calling to see if I could talk to you about a case you worked on.’

Tolman paused. ‘Sure…what case?’

‘It was a homicide. Trudie Hammond, 1983,’ said Ren.

Tolman was slow to answer. ‘I’m sorry, Ren,’ he said, ‘I can talk to you about any other case — just not that one.’

What? ‘Oh,’ said Ren. ‘OK…can I ask why?’

‘You can, but I’m under strict orders not to say a word.’

‘By whom?’

Tolman sighed. ‘Janine Hooks.’

‘What?’ said Ren.

‘Yes,’ said Tolman. ‘I’d love to help. But for some reason, known only to Janine, I can’t. If it’s any consolation, I was an assistant on that case, so who knows how helpful I could be to you.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’d be helpful if your hands hadn’t been tied,’ said Ren.

‘You know I’d always be happy to help you,’ said Tolman. ‘I have no idea what’s going on with Janine.’

Ren paused. ‘Are you guys friends?’

‘Janine’s a nice person,’ said Tolman. ‘But we’re not friends. She’s a little intense. Like, goes around with this permanent look of concentration on her face. We pass each other in the hallway every now and then, but that’s it.’

‘How is she work-wise?’

‘Does not miss a trick,’ said Tolman. ‘On a mission. I wouldn’t want to mess with Janine Hooks.’

It may be a little late for that.

The only sounds in the Safe Streets office when Ren arrived were tapping keyboards and papers being shuffled. Ren sat quietly at her desk, wondering what to do about Janine Hooks. What did she know? Was this all a huge coincidence? Should I call her?

Whatever had happened, Janine Hooks was calling the shots and Ren wasn’t about to do anything else until she had more information.

Ren stared at the Fifty Most Wanted list, the place where her attention should have been, instead of on the strange tangle — if there was one — of Helen Wheeler and Douglas and Trudie Hammond. Domenica Val Pando’s face stared back at her from the noticeboard.

What are you to me? Ren felt a strange stabbing in her chest as the answer hit her. The most screwed-up relationship I’ve ever had. Domenica is like the boyfriend I was cheating on who was cheating on me at the same time and we both found out about it. No man had ever gotten under her skin the way Domenica Val Pando had. The thought turned her stomach.

‘Holy shit,’ said Ren, jumping up. ‘Domenica is not the crocodile. She’s the plover bird.’

The tapping of keyboards stopped. The guys all looked at her.

‘There is someone bigger than Domenica out there,’ said Ren. ‘She’s not the big boss any more. She can’t be. Think about it. She lost power — and face — when the FBI got right inside her world. She screwed up big time, people who worked for her were killed. Back then, she had no idea how the FBI ended up storming her compound. She was raped by two men in front of her child, she was beaten down emotionally, physically and where it hurt her the most — financially.