Alex Barclay - Time of Death

Ren shook her head. ‘No.’

‘You were being kind,’ said Gavino. ‘You just couldn’t help it. You couldn’t stand by and watch how they treated me. You really cared for me.’

‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘I did. But I shouldn’t have let myself…because I always knew I would have to leave. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s true, though — it is better that I have loved and lost,’ said Gavino.

He looked at Ren. ‘Can you come over here?’

Ren walked towards him. Gavino stood facing her, the gun in his hand. He stared at her, his pupils huge, his eyes filled with tears. He took a step towards her and reached out his arms.

Oh, God. You’re not going to kill anyone. Ren put her arms around him, held his shaking body. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you for everything.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘It’s OK.’ She stroked his back. ‘Everything’s going to be OK. I can help you now. I’ll do anything I can to help you.’

‘What do you want more?’ said Domenica, getting up from the floor. ‘What did you mean when you said that there was something you wanted more?’

Gavino pulled back from Ren and looked over her shoulder at his mother. ‘I meant that I don’t want to kill you. I could do that right now. But instead, I imagine you sitting at a table beside some defense attorney who has crumbled under the weight of all the documents the prosecution has, signed by one of the best witnesses they could have — the son of the accused. Detailed accounts of the life and works of Domenica Val Pando. A mountain.’

Domenica’s face was a mess of emotions.

He’s got you, Domenica. We’ve got you. You. Are. Done.

‘Your father is dead,’ said Domenica.

They both looked at her. Gavino walked over to her and shoved his face into hers. ‘Nice try. But I’m still not going to shoot you.’ Gavino put the gun back in his pocket. He turned to Ren. ‘You can do the rest, right?’

Ren cuffed Domenica. ‘Gavino, give me the gun.’

He shook his head. ‘Not until she’s gone.’

‘Gavino, I am not walking away from you while you have a gun. That’s just not going to happen.

‘Don’t you trust me?’ he said. He looked so hurt.

‘Of course I trust you,’ said Ren.

‘He’ll kill me if we turn our backs on him. He will kill me,’ said Domenica.

And?

‘I’m doing the worst thing that I can possibly do to someone like you,’ said Gavino. ‘Killing you would get you off the hook.’

‘Gavino…’ said Ren. ‘Just walk with me.’

He shook his head. ‘I want to see her go.’ He paused. ‘Is there anyone here — do you have back-up?’

Ren nodded.

Domenica suddenly bucked against the restraints and slammed her heel hard against Ren’s shin. Ren half-buckled. Gavino caught his mother by the arm and yanked her forward, dragging her toward the door. Ren followed, gripping Domenica’s wrists tightly, pulling them up too high for her to risk the pain of moving.

‘I’ll walk with you,’ said Gavino. ‘I’ll wait by the door. But…I couldn’t bear you to be the one who has to take me away. Can you send one of your colleagues instead…?’

‘Sure,’ said Ren. ‘Not a problem. You are going to be OK, Gavino. I’ll get you help. And…I’ll ask my friend Robbie to come get you. He’s right outside.’

Ren pushed through the door. Gary and Colin moved toward Domenica. Ren pushed her their way. She turned to Robbie. ‘Could you go get Gavino? He’s-’

Hold on a second. Why had Gavino prepared a whole stack of documents? Why wouldn’t he just testify in court? He could do it by video. He didn’t need to — Oh no. Oh shit, no.

Ren turned back to the door, reached out her hand. The blast was deafening, instantly ringing in her ears. Oh my God. She was about to push the door in. Please, let this be something else. Gavino’s last sentence hit her: ‘Can you send one of your colleagues instead?’

Oh, God.

Ren stopped. She leaned against the wall, her head hanging. Robbie and Cliff had rushed past her through the door. Robbie had stood against it on the other side. Ren looked up. His back was blocking the window.

‘Who’s back there?’ said another agent, running up to Ren. ‘We had people at all the exits. We searched the building.’

‘Gavino Val Pando,’ said Ren. ‘He’s alone.’ She turned and walked away from another room that held another tragic death behind its door.

When Ren got back to the office, there was an email waiting for her: the legal attaché in Prague asking her to call urgently. She Googled the time zone — it was eight a.m. The leegat answered the phone right away. Ren listened and took notes. She thanked him and put down the phone. She let her head fall to the desk and said a prayer. She didn’t know if Daryl Stroud would want to be disturbed at three in the morning, but she didn’t care.

When he answered, she could hear the sound of his bedclothes brushing against the receiver.

‘Daryl, it’s Ren. I just got a call from Prague. This could be it.’ She waited for it to register.

‘Ren? OK…go ahead.’

‘They’ve got a Jakub Kral, now sixty-one years old, convicted pedophile who was released from a Czech prison in 1978, which means he was a free man in 1981, the year Louis Parry disappeared. He worked as a roadie — if that’s the word — for the orchestra. Kral was back inside again from ’82 to ’87 and ’89 to ’93. He’s been a free man since then, but as of two hours ago is sitting in a cell in Prague awaiting questioning.’

Ren could hear Daryl readjust his position in the bed. ‘Jesus, Ren. Let’s hope it’s him.’

‘And let’s hope he remembers Louis Parry,’ said Ren.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry for calling so late,’ she said.

‘Don’t worry about it. I know how much it means.’

Ren put down the phone. She expected that the Czech authorities were currently listening to the sound of silence. What had Kral to gain by admitting to crimes he had gotten away with almost thirty years earlier? He would claim he was being victimized by the police, he would talk about his human rights, the fact that he was a changed man, the fact that he was in his sixties now, an old, broken man. The usual bullshit.

Ren let out a deep breath. Please, God. Please let him be the one. And please let him own up to that.

The next morning, an update came in on the Sarvas case. Gary was about to make the call, but Ren told him no. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘Continuity of care, remember?’

Ren went straight to her desk and dialed the number. Catherine Sarvas answered on the first ring.

‘Catherine, they’ve found Michael,’ said Ren. ‘And I’m afraid the news is not good. He passed away yesterday.’

Catherine let out a terrible moan. ‘What happened to him?’

‘He was in Tijuana. He was found by two young boys…he had collapsed on the street. He had a bacterial infection from a contaminated needle.’

‘Needle?’ said Catherine.

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Ren. ‘That’s what the cartels do. Get people hooked on drugs.’

Through her sobs, Catherine’s voice turned to ice. ‘Greg did this. My husband did all this.’

Ren left Catherine Sarvas to her grief. She put the phone down gently and rested her head on the desk. After a minute, she looked up.

‘Imagine your son is missing eight months and you hear that he died,’ she said. ‘But that it happened the day before — you don’t hear he was killed as soon as he was abducted or four months later. You are told, “Your son died yesterday.” He would feel within reach. It would have to make you feel like you could have done something or that you could still do something. That would fuck with my head. And also that it was your husband’s fault.’