Alex Barclay: Blood Runs Cold

‘Well, he walked out.’

‘On you?’ said Robbie.

Cliff and Colin were doing silent laughs behind his back.

‘Yes, me,’ said Ren. ‘Can you imagine ?’

‘I seriously cannot,’ said Robbie.

Ren smiled at him. Her mother would be thrilled if she brought Robbie Truax home. He was fit, clean and shiny. He wore perfect blue shirts and beige pants and polished shoes. He was probably a deviant.

Ren went to the bathroom with her makeup bag. One day she would put these trips on a résumé to signify her ambition; the mirror was distorted and the lights were fitted by a man who had never been in a bathroom with a woman. The guys got the famous Safe Streets walk-in urinal, a monster the size of a shower. Ren got horror-movie lighting and no shelf for her supplies. She leaned into her reflection and did a half-assed touch-up. She didn’t ask the question, but she knew she wasn’t the fairest of them all today.

‘Coasters it is,’ she said, walking back into the bullpen.

‘What time is it?’ said Cliff.

She pointed at him with her cellphone. ‘Drinking time. Jalapeño poppers and beer all round.’

‘How about we wait a little while and try eight p. m.?’ said Cliff.

‘Borrrring,’ said Ren.

‘I don’t know if that’s a good time,’ said Colin, pointing a thumb toward Robbie. ‘Hollywood here did his third piece to camera as the face of the FBI Rocky Mountain Safe Streets Task Force. It airs at eight.’

‘Hey, I’m just one of the faces,’ said Robbie.

‘Ah, but the cutest,’ said Ren. ‘Apart from Cliff, obviously.’ Women adored Cliff; big hands, big heart, bright-eyed and warm.

Robbie turned to Ren. ‘You’re next for the small screen.’

‘Not unless I’m being wheeled from a shoot-out in a body bag.’

‘Have you seen her near a camera?’ said Cliff. ‘She can make herself even smaller.’

‘And you’d look good on television,’ said Robbie.

Ren shook her head. ‘Never gonna happen.’

‘Well, anyway,’ said Robbie, ‘we can get Coasters to switch on the news …’

‘You love it,’ said Colin.

Gary walked in. They all stopped when they saw his expression.

‘I’ve got some bad news. An agent from the Glenwood Springs RA — Jean Transom — has been found dead.’

‘Oh my God,’ said Ren.

Gary nodded. ‘I just got a call from the Sheriff’s Office in Breckenridge.’

‘What happened?’ said Robbie.

‘Her body was found in the mountains. Up on Quandary Peak. GSW.’

‘Holy moly,’ said Robbie. ‘When?’

‘Just this afternoon,’ said Gary.

‘What the — ?’ said Ren.

‘That’s all we know,’ said Gary. ‘SAR responded to an anonymous tip — probably someone somewhere they weren’t supposed to be. The Summit County Sheriff, Undersheriff, County Coroner were at the scene with one of the volunteers when some idiot triggered an avalanche, swept everything away. Including the body.’

‘What?’ said Ren.

Gary nodded. ‘No body.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Cliff. ‘Is that it? Are they still searching?’

‘It’s not safe up there, apparently,’ said Gary.

‘Wow,’ said Robbie. ‘Jean was so … I liked Jean. I only met her once. She was, I mean … intense. But she was a good person.’

‘Ren, we need to head up there now,’ said Gary. ‘The rest of you — stay with the bank surveillance tonight. Follow us to Breckenridge first thing tomorrow. Robbie, can you let the others know?’ Four of the other task force members were on a job, two were on a training exercise.

‘My car’s in the shop,’ said Ren.

‘You can ride with me,’ said Gary. He turned to the others. ‘Ren’s going to be the case agent on this one.’

Colin, Cliff and Robbie exchanged glances. Gary turned and left. Ren frowned and gave the others a not-my-fault look. She grabbed her purse. ‘See you in Breck.’

Their faces all questioned her.

Two years earlier, Ren Bryce had transferred to Denver from the high-intensity of Washington DC. On her first day at Safe Streets she had almost changed from her suit to plaid shirt, jeans and boots by the time she made it from her car to the front door. She felt she was where she should have been from the moment she graduated.

She walked down the steps with Gary to a little blonde girl sitting on a Longhorn bull with a pink cowboy hat falling over her eyes. The child wore a wide tight smile for her parents’ camera. The National Western Stock Show was in town. For two weeks in January, over seven hundred and fifty thousand visitors would come through the grounds where the Livestock Exchange Building stood.

‘Shit,’ said Ren. ‘We’re going to miss the rodeo tomorrow.’ The Safe Streets office had seats for the matinee.

Gary looked at her. ‘You were seen at the calf-roping earlier, so I don’t feel all that bad for you.’

‘I hate that — “you were seen”. It’s creepy. People who pass on information like that are creepy.’

‘OK — I saw you. Does that make you feel any better?’

‘Why didn’t you just say that?’

He kept walking.

‘And our seats were right by the bucking chutes,’ said Ren.

‘Yeah. I know.’

The cold air was spiked with barbecued pork. Ren glanced at Gary, but his head was down and his car keys were already swinging from his hand. A woman walked by with a deep-fried Twinkie on a stick.

‘I’m starving,’ said Ren.

‘You’re always starving,’ said Gary without slowing. ‘I’ve got an apple in the car.’

‘An apple. I hate apples.’

He rolled his eyes.

‘I’m not sure I can last until Breck,’ said Ren.

‘Yeah, yeah, you lose concentration if you don’t eat,’ said Gary.

‘I do, though. You’ve seen me.’

‘I’ve seen you trying to bullshit me about that.’

‘It’s true, though.’

‘Jesus. Grab something from there.’ He pointed at the closest stand — the last one on the way out of the grounds. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘that’s just jars of caramel.’

Ren walked over with five dollars in her hand.

‘You have cutlery, right?’ she said, catching up with Gary.

‘Christ, Ren.’

He opened the door of his Jeep and threw her a plastic fork. She turned it upside down. He put the keys in the ignition and drove up to the gate in the chain-link fence. He looked at Ren with her caramel fork, rolled his eyes and got out to be gate man.

As they drove west on I-70 for the eighty-mile trip to Breckenridge, he finally spoke. ‘Do you want to tell me why I got a call from Paul Louderback asking me to make sure you head up this investigation?’ Paul Louderback was Chief of the Violent Crime Section at Headquarters in DC.

‘That’s what happened?’ said Ren. ‘Are you for real?’

But Gary was almost always for real and he shot her a look to remind her. ‘You sleeping with the guy?’ he said.

‘Jesus — straight to missiles. No,’ said Ren and, more annoyed, ‘No.’

Gary turned and hit her with his lie-detector stare. Ren hit back with open and honest eyes.

‘Hey, the road,’ she said, pointing him ahead.

‘I got it,’ he said. ‘Look, I don’t know if I can spare you.’

‘I don’t know if I want to be spared. But if Paul wants me to, I guess …’

Gary overtook the car in front of him, a small rush of anger in his driving. ‘What’s your connection with Louderback again?’

Ren had loved Paul Louderback from the moment she met him.

‘He was my PT instructor at Quantico,’ she said. ‘And after that, my supervisor.’ And married with two kids. And ten years older than me. And handsome, kind and intelligent. And off limits . On her second day in physical training, Paul Louderback praised her for not giving in easily to a man almost twice her weight. She had almost suffocated for the compliment.