Alex Barclay - The Drowning Child

‘Wow,’ he said. ‘You look beautiful.’

Aw, man. Nooo. I’m dressed like a fucking nun.

A non-fucking nun.

Maybe nuns don’t wear patent heels. But still...

‘Sorry,’ said Paul. ‘I probably shouldn’t have said that.’

Ren laughed. ‘No – thank you.’

‘You’re negating the effects of possibly the least sexiest bar in the universe.’

We’re not supposed to be anything to do with anything sexy.

He raised a bottle of red wine. ‘I took the liberty...’

‘I love your liberties,’ said Ren. ‘I’ve missed them. And I welcome them.’

He poured. They clinked glasses.

‘There’s nothing a bottle of wine won’t fix,’ said Paul.

Your voice is saying ‘a bottle of wine’ and your eyes are saying ‘acts of a sexual nature’.

Will levels: weak.

Paul topped up her glass. Very generously.

He wants to get me drunk. And I shall oblige.

Jesus.

‘You know, I’m fascinated by couples in crisis...’ said Ren.

‘Who are we talking about?’ said Paul.

‘Sorry – I was just thinking about the Veirs. And all the couples I meet in this job. Just – how trauma impacts on them. Who’s caring for whom? Are they both? Is one reaching out, is the other withdrawing? Do they care? Are they suspicious of each other? And who loves ? Truly loves. It’s rare. And that depresses the shit out of me.’

He was staring at her.

What are you thinking?

‘You know, though, the boring couples can be more rock-solid than the ones who swing from chandeliers,’ said Ren. ‘I will never reject a chandelier, but I like the idea of having someone with big strong arms standing underneath it to catch me.’

I just can’t for the life of me imagine anyone other than Ben.

‘But for now...’ said Ren. Stop.

‘For now...?’

Ugh. I’m just going to stand back and watch the chandelier sparkle. That’s the best I can do. There’s a little light in that.

Paul reached out, took her hand, squeezed it.

‘I’m fine,’ said Ren. She tilted her head back, blinked, and the tears were gone.

She breathed out. They drank. They drank more.

Before long, Paul called the barman over. ‘Same again.’

He was still holding Ren’s hand.

Yup.

Same again.

Ren woke up alone. The space beside her in the bed was empty.

Oh my God.

She sat up.

No one has ever done this to me before.

She looked around.

What an asshole.

He took advantage of me. And he sneaks out of his own fucking room! What an absolute fucking asshole. He’s supposed to be my friend. I am such a fucking sucker.

The bathroom door opened.

‘Hey,’ said Paul. He smiled wide. ‘I hope I didn’t wake you. I was trying to be quiet.’

‘Well, you succeeded...’ said Ren.

He took a few steps toward her. ‘Did you think I had abandoned you?’

‘No,’ said Ren.

‘Good.’

Uh-oh. What’s that look? Please don’t be nice to me. Or like me in any way. Oh, no. Don’t sit on the edge of my bed like I’m ill. Do I look ill? Am I ill?

Paul paused, and walked back around the bed as if he had read her mind.

‘You’re feeling guilt-ridden,’ he said. He lay on the bed beside her, pulled her into his arms.

‘Yes.’ This is too intimate. That word I hate. That feeling I hate.

‘Well, I’m sorry if I’ve put you in that position,’ said Paul. He kissed her head.

Are you? ‘Thanks.’ That was a crap, sterile kiss. ‘I’m sorry for getting emotional the first night.’ And not sorry for not being emotional on any level last night. ‘I do want you to know you can rely on me. Professionally. I know I wouldn’t be on the team without you and Gary batting for me. I really appreciate it.’

‘We wouldn’t have given you our backing if we thought you weren’t capable.’

‘So, it wasn’t a pity move?’ said Ren.

‘I don’t do pity.’

‘Thanks,’ said Ren. ‘I love this job.’ I love being able to escape. Even though I keep showing up wherever I go. She squeezed his arm, rolled to her side of the bed, got up and went into the bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror.

Here we go again.

No pride to be found in that reflection. Don’t waste your time.

Ren went back to her room, took a shower, got dressed, and rode the elevator down to the lobby.

I walked by here holding Paul Louderback’s hand, oh, about, four hours ago.

I’ve come so fucking far!

She went straight for the coffee machine in the restaurant and poured a large one into a takeaway cup. She grabbed a napkin and wrapped two raisin Danishes in it. She became aware of a presence beside her. An arm reached across her to take a cup.

‘Late night?’ said Sylvie.

Ren went very still.

Sylvie smiled. ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’

Oh.

Dear.

God.

Ren arrived in Tate PD, walked through the room with her head down and sat at her desk.

Everyone needs to stay away from me today for their own safety.

She had been there only an hour when Paul Louderback came over to her desk. She looked up at him.

Seriously?!

‘Are you OK?’ he said. ‘About last night.’

‘Jesus – straight to missiles. Yes – I’m just tired.’

He smiled.

‘Do not smile at me like that,’ said Ren. But she smiled back. ‘Any word on J. J. Nash?’

Paul shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Has Ruddock said anything?’

‘Nothing.’

‘It’s so strange.’

‘Do you trust him?’ said Paul.

I’m afraid to trust anyone. ‘Ruddock?’ said Ren. ‘I do.’ She paused. ‘Do you?’

‘Don’t look so nervous,’ said Paul. ‘Yes, I do.’

Ren tilted her head. Go on, now go .

‘OK, OK,’ said Paul. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were all right.’

‘You have a nice day, sir,’ said Ren.

He laughed as he walked away. ‘Cold,’ he said. ‘Cold.’

Ren checked her email. There was one from Ruddock with the video from the Lister Creek store on the Monday Caleb disappeared. She downloaded the file and pressed Play. The camera captured the side of the cars as they drove into the parking lot at the side of the store, and whatever cars parked out front. Ren watched as a car drove in, parked, then another car, another car, then John Veir’s.

You lying son-of-a-bitch.

A bus drove in after John Veir, but stalled before making the turn into the parking lot for buses, blocking Veir’s car from view. Three more cars arrived. One car left. Another car left. Another car arrived. Another car left. John Veir left. He was there for a total of fourteen minutes.

Ren wrote down the license plate numbers of all the cars that arrived or left within an hour of his arrival.

‘Fuck you, John Veir. Fuck you.’

She went to see Paul in the command center. He raised an eyebrow.

‘Can’t keep away from me,’ he said.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Ren.

She handed him the sheet of paper. ‘John Veir’s been lie-telling,’ said Ren. ‘I just watched the video footage from the store at Lister Creek: he did make a second stop last Monday. I took down the license plate numbers of all the cars that were there around the same time – to do with what you will.’

‘I’ll give it to Wiley,’ said Paul.

‘I haven’t seen him this morning,’ said Ren. ‘Let me go check with Ruddock.’