Alex Barclay - Blood Loss

Nothing.

Ren drove down I-70 toward the office. She was thinking about Shep Collier. He was framed. He had clearly been stepping on toes.

And what about Mark Whaley? What had he done?

She dialed Gary’s cell.

‘Gary, it’s Ren. There’s something going on with Shep Collier, but I don’t know what. He stuck to his story, but it seems to me that he has no choice. He was dancing around something. I think he was implying that I should watch his press conference, but I did, several times, and I got nothing. He must be under surveillance. If I was listening in, everything he said was solid, it sounded like he was giving me nothing. But I think he was giving me something. I just … don’t know yet what that is.’

‘So, it was a wasted trip …’

‘No,’ said Ren. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve built up a trust with him … to some degree.’

‘That’s great, Ren.’ His voice was flat.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Ren dialed Colin’s cell phone. ‘Colin? It’s Ren. Will you come with me to MeesterBrandt headquarters on Monday?’

‘Why?’ said Colin.

‘I need your charm to talk to the boss.’

‘Well, it’s in no short supply,’ said Colin.

‘R-O-T-F-L,’ said Ren.

‘Why are you calling me now?’ said Colin.

‘Why not?’ said Ren.

‘Hey, hold on,’ said Colin. ‘Naomi wants to talk to you.’

‘Hey, girl,’ said Naomi. ‘We missed you the other night! Heard about your fender bender. Get your ass out here. You owe me. We’re in … where are we, Col?’

‘I can’t,’ said Ren. ‘I’ve got to-’

‘I’m not taking no for an answer,’ said Naomi.

‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to,’ said Ren. ‘I gotta go!’

She’s more nuts than me.

Ren’s phone beeped with a text: It’s Saturday night. Do you know where your tutu3 is?

Ren laughed and texted back. Tutu3 — love it. Am back.

Paul Louderback replied: Drinks it is!

Paul was sitting in a Larimer Street bar, with a lite beer in front of him.

‘Girl’s drink,’ said Ren.

Paul smiled. ‘Ouch. Your face is worse than I thought.’

‘I look like a thug.’

‘Let me get you a glass of champagne to counter that.’

‘Then I’ll look like a moll.’

‘Why I oughta …’ He called the waiter and ordered the drink.

Ren sat down. She filled him in on Shep Collier.

‘The thick plottens,’ said Paul.

Ren nodded. ‘It sure does.’ She could hear her cell phone vibrate. I bet that’s Ben.

She stared into her drink.

‘Where have you gone?’ said Paul.

She turned to him.

‘You look serious,’ he said.

‘Paul, I think you need to go back and work things out with Marianne.’

‘What?’ said Paul.

‘I hope I’m not being too blunt … ’ But I feel sorry for Marianne, I feel bad for being in on a secret that she isn’t.

‘But … I thought …’

Me and your protegees could share?

‘What did you think?’ said Ren.

‘I … don’t know,’ said Paul. ‘Maybe that you and me could try and … maybe we could work.’

The romance.

‘You and Marianne still love each other,’ said Ren. ‘It’s obvious.’ Her cry for help is echoing all the way to Denver.

Paul stared down at the table.

‘It sounds to me like Marianne only left you as a last resort.’

He looked up. ‘Maybe.’

Then how did you let it go so far? ‘It’s not too late, is it?’ said Ren.

‘Maybe not,’ said Paul. ‘I … I wasn’t there for her. I can see that now. Or the girls. They are spending more time with me now than they were when I was living with them. They have hours of my time in a row …’

‘And look how happy they are,’ said Ren. ‘At least with that part of it. Go call Marianne. You can work this out.’

‘What about her … new man?’ said Paul.

‘I think her old man is the one she wants,’ said Ren. ‘That old man is her husband. For better or worse …’

Paul said nothing.

‘Men need sex to feel loved,’ said Ren. ‘And a lot of women need to feel loved to have sex. I’m not one of them, but you get the picture. I think you thought I’d solve the sex end of things for you, and maybe Marianne thought her new man would solve the emotional end of things for her. We look elsewhere for the things we’re not getting at home …’

‘I think you’re being harsh on everyone with all that,’ said Paul. ‘I wasn’t just interested in you for sex.’

‘I actually know that,’ said Ren. ‘I don’t think you’re that much of an asshole. But, I also know that you were never really looking at me as a serious contender …’

‘And neither were you looking at me …’

‘That’s probably true,’ said Ren. Yet how foolish was I to let it muddy the waters for so long?

‘So,’ said Paul.

‘So,’ said Ren. ‘Without managing to do each other any great harm, we’re not really good for each other, are we? We’re in that strange gray area. But, despite being someone who I think is wonderful, well, I think you’re going to have to be someone else’s wonderful.’

She thought of the inscription on the little blue hardback.

‘But you are beautiful, Annie, and you are wonderful, and you are joyful.’

She smiled at Paul Louderback.

You can be someone else’s. I’d like to be someone’s Annie.

Colin and Ren stood in the foyer of MeesterBrandt Pharmaceuticals, waiting for the elevator.

‘Do you think that up there in those offices,’ said Ren, ‘they feel any connection with the rest of the world? Or do they just stare at accounts and see massive figures and think “high five” and keep on trucking?’

‘Keep on trucking …’ said Colin.

‘I’d love to just grab one of them and say, “sorry to bother you while you’re counting your profits, but come with me,” and take them to some broken-down home, where a mother, doped up on antipsychotics, is laying on her sofa watching daytime television, while her three children, diagnosed with behavioral disorders to qualify for disability, are crying because they miss their big brother who’s in prison because he’s been doped up too and went crazy and killed someone and he’s fifteen … and say to this pharma guy “You know those amazing drugs you make? Congratulations, you really are changing lives.”’

People had started gathering around the elevator. Colin was frowning at Ren. She stopped talking. The doors opened and they rode to the thirty-fifth floor. Ren took a deep breath as she got off.

Bring it on, bitches.

Nolan Carr was as close to attractive as he could ever be, and it was money, not taste, that had brought him there. He was well-groomed, he wore the right clothes. His shoes, his watch, his cuff links were high end, but ultimately, he was a plain man with a water-retention problem.

‘Nice to meet you,’ said Ren.

‘Likewise,’ he said, shaking her hand.

Eye-dart to the tits.

Carr shook hands with Colin.

‘Mr Carr,’ said Ren. ‘We’re here because new evidence has emerged that casts doubt on our belief that the deaths of Mark Whaley and Shelby Royce were a murder-suicide.’

‘Oh,’ said Carr, nodding. ‘OK. I had assumed that … what happened was … what happened.’

‘We’re now looking at the possibility of foul play,’ said Colin.

‘I’m not sure how I’m the best person to help you,’ said Carr. ‘I know very little about Mark Whaley’s personal life.’

‘We’re here because we don’t think this concerns Mr Whaley’s personal life,’ said Colin.