Alex Barclay - Blood Runs Cold

‘Better.’

They sat in silence for a while, then they talked about work.

‘You are the only person in the world I can be totally honest with,’ said Ren.

‘And you are the only person in the world who I can tell straightaway is lying to me.’

Ren frowned.

‘Yes, Ren, you are honest. Most of what you say to me is the truth. But you are selective in what you say to me.’

Ren opened her mouth and closed it again without speaking.

‘When you have looked me in the eye today, it’s been nervously,’ said Vincent. ‘But most of the time, you haven’t been able to.’

‘That’s not true,’ said Ren.

‘Bing! Lie!’ His tone was not unkind.

‘Look, stop,’ said Ren. ‘Come on.’

‘Something is making you uncomfortable with me,’ said Vincent, ‘and because I know that you can’t lie — really — I’m not going to ask you what it is. Because I’m not really sure I want to know.’

Ren looked down. Ugh . ‘I am a loser.’

‘Well, I just hope you’re a loser who is not doing too much damage to herself.’

Oh, you have no idea .

Ren turned on one light in her suite that night when she got back to the inn. Everyone was flooding her brain without really telling her anything. Checking Billy’s phone had resolved nothing. And he could have a hundred other phones. Yet there was something about him she inherently trusted. But can I trust my trust?

Later she lay in the dark, filled with hope for the morning. Hope that didn’t last. Fear started to dissolve it, like the black, liquid edges of burning plastic. And as she drifted into a world where the worst possible outcomes lived, her mind took her deeper again … and the dream came back. This time, it ended with locked door after locked door. This time she didn’t make it out alive.

She woke howling, desperately trying to catch her breath. She dragged herself upright to the edge of the bed. Her head felt ice cold inside. She held a hand over her mouth and ran for the bathroom. She retched, but nothing came up. Her face was red, her eyes streamed. And her heart rate was soaring. She brushed her teeth and put a freezing cloth to her face before she went back to bed. She took her purse with her, shook everything out, couldn’t find anything she could take to calm her down. Which made her worse.

I need to sleep. I cannot do this. I cannot do this. I cannot do this alone .

She looked at the clock. It was 1.30 a.m. He would be finishing up about now, he could be here in thirty minutes. She reached for her phone and dialed Billy Waites.

Ren had four hours of uninterrupted sleep — the most she’d had in weeks. Billy left her in the shower at eight o’clock. She made it into the office early. The map she had gotten from Mike was on top of her desk. She studied it again. And wondered how Salem would feel if Misty went for another walk.

The Barger Brewery was on an acre of ground a twenty-minute walk from the Brockton Filly. A faded sign lay half-buried in the undergrowth as she pulled off the road. There was barely enough space to park the Jeep. A wide, straight path led under a canopy of trees that had shielded the ground from the snow fall.

Ren had wrapped the leash tight around her gloved hand, but Misty was doing her best to break free. They kept walking, Ren looking left and right along the path. It eventually led to the more open ground that surrounded the brewery. She took a right and they walked a winding path until the brewery was a distant shape behind them.

‘I don’t want to be negative, here, Misty, but I’m kind of hoping you find nothing,’ said Ren, unhooking the leash from Misty’s collar. ‘You go, girl.’

She watched as Misty ran around in circles as if she was just so happy to be free. Ren walked toward her, laughing. Until she saw Misty sit down. And bark.

That night, Ren went with Bob for a drink in the South Ridge Grill. Mike arrived an hour later.

‘Charlie Barger is very upset,’ he said. ‘He’s feeling doubly responsible. Mark Wilson stayed at his inn and his body was found on his land.’

Upset or nervous? ‘He really is an unlucky man,’ said Ren. ‘The inn closes, the brewery name is in the news again for all the wrong reasons.’

‘There’s no big mystery,’ said Bob. ‘Wilson was drunk, there was no one in the Brockton Filly to give him a ride to Fairplay — Waites heard him say that’s where he was headed that night. Wilson staggers out and walks to the only spot that has space for a car to pull over.’

‘Or,’ said Mike, ‘he’s drunk, he sees a sign for a brewery with a name he recognizes, and here he is …’

‘An alcopopsicle,’ said Ren.

Bob laughed.

‘I had a look through the window of the brewery earlier,’ said Ren. ‘It didn’t inspire much confidence. I mean, it looks like he’s going ahead with the beer thing. The floor was all washed, there were crates stacked up, I saw some nitrogen tanks. But I guess I still don’t know why he’s — ’

Mike stared at her, ‘OK, OK.’

Her cellphone rang. Thank God . ‘Excuse me,’ she said, walking into the hallway.

‘Hey,’ said Gary. ‘I heard you found a body.’

‘I did,’ said Ren.

‘Just not the right one.’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Either way, well done,’ said Gary.

‘Thank you,’ said Ren.

‘I need you to come see me in Denver.’

‘Oh. OK,’ said Ren. ‘Can I ask why?’

‘Twelve o’clock, tomorrow, my office.’

‘Sure, no problem.’

What the hell was that about?

It took eighteen hours for Mark Allen Wilson’s body to thaw at the Jefferson County Coroner’s Office. The following morning, Dr Tolman carried out the autopsy. Nobody expected — or got — any surprises. It was a straightforward case that had got sucked into a high-profile one.

* * *

Gary Dettling sat in his office with a stack of files on the desk in front of him.

Ren knocked on the door. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Yes,’ said Gary. He stood up when she walked in and quickly sat down. ‘Hey. Good to see you …’

‘Hey, Gary. You too. I …’ Ren paused when she saw his face.

‘Close the door, please. Sit down.’

She did as he asked. ‘Is this about the Mark Wilson thing?’

‘No,’ said Gary.

‘Is this about Jean Transom?’ said Ren.

‘Yes, it is … Ren, sweetheart? You’re off the case.’

‘What?’ said Ren.

‘Let’s just say you know why and we’ll leave it at that,’ said Gary.

‘What? Are you … serious?’

‘No, no. Are you serious, Ren? Do not fuck with me. I acknowledge that you are … well, were , a team player — you wouldn’t be with Safe Streets if you weren’t. But, fuck. You know what? I feel like I sent my child off to camp, the prettiest, brightest child I have, thinking she’s going to show them all … then I get a call to come pick her up because she’s … Fuck, Ren. Fuck.’

‘No one’s called you to come — ’

‘Jesus Christ, no. Because I’m not dumb enough to wait. Daddy doesn’t want to be squirming in a seat listening to how he can’t control his kids.’

‘Loving the metaphor …’

‘Ren, Ren. Shut the fuck up. You’re unbelievable. This is about all of us,’ he said, stabbing a finger toward the other office. ‘The fucking fight to get this place up and running. And off you go, the syndicated Ren Bryce show, and nearly blow it all.’

‘I don’t know — ’

Gary held up a hand. ‘Don’t. Are you listening to me? Your behavior risked everything — the squad, the investigation … Jesus, Ren, do you give a shit? My ass is on the line …’ He let out a breath. ‘God knows where yours is.’