by Alex Barclay
Everyone I touch turns to dead.
Don’t let me touch you.
‘Whoa,’ said Joe, ‘There are too many things to respond to there. You’re to blame for “all the everything”? No. You need to remember that Duke Rawlins was a psychopath. In my opinion, he would never go out on anything other than … how he went out. He is the only person to blame. You have to know that. And to take your last point – you should have sensed there was something wrong with Janine? And done what – left the building? Called for backup? She wouldn’t have allowed you to – you would have jeopardized everyone if you did. She would definitely have been killed, and Gary would have too. I believe that you saved me with your actions, that’s for sure. You saved me twice over: by having Rawlins break through that guardrail, and by stopping me from strangling him to finish him off. I could be dead or locked up, if not for you.’
I never thought of that. Is it even true, though?
‘You couldn’t have known Rawlins’ plans,’ said Joe. ‘He was insane.’
‘Parts of him were predictable.’
‘Not enough parts.’
She checked the time on her phone. ‘You better hurry. You have to be at Safe Streets in forty-five minutes.’
‘I know,’ said Joe. He moved his chair back. ‘What do you think I could use some of that time for?’
‘No, no, no – I haven’t finished my pancakes.’
He stood up, took her hand, pulled her up, opened her robe, slid it off. ‘From behind, real quick,’ he said. ‘You can be back to your pancakes while they’re still hot.’
‘You’re a considerate man,’ said Ren. Serious brownie points for thinking of the pancakes.
He looked like he was about to speak, but he was too focused on keeping his promise. She watched him in the mirror.
Fuck me, you are sexy.
She lay in his arms afterward, turned away.
Always, turned away.
What are we doing?
And are we doing the same thing?
Joe took her gently by the shoulder and pulled her back to face him.
She looked into his eyes: brown, beautiful, troubled eyes.
Something shifted in her chest.
The twist of a thick wooden stake.
This is how vampires feel when it’s all over.
She looked away.
It’s all over.
She got up, put on her robe and went back to the table to pour more coffee. She could sense Joe watching her. She turned around.
He is unreadable.
‘That was amazing,’ he said.
‘It was.’ It really fucking was.
She thought of never seeing him again. Her heart did not like it.
‘You really need to leave,’ said Ren. ‘You’ll be late.’
‘All right, all right,’ said Joe. ‘I get the message.’ He rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up.
He has no clue how gorgeous he is.
‘What do you mean, you get the message?’ said Ren. ‘The message was pretty straightforward: you will be late. Not a huge amount of interpretation required.’
He made a face. He looked a little wounded.
‘I have tone-of-voice issues,’ said Ren. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s not that,’ said Joe. ‘It’s just I’m not sure the “you’ll be late” was the main message in that sentence.’
Fuck. ‘Technically, there were two sentences.’ She smiled.
Joe went toward the bathroom, but paused in the doorway. He looked at her.
Do not ask me to come in the shower with you.
He didn’t say anything. He just looked sad.
Ren climbed back into bed, stared at the ceiling.
I hate this.
She listened to him in the shower, pictured him in there, imagined him coming out afterwards, clean and cool, and fucking her again. He reappeared ten minutes later, with a towel around his waist, and his head down. He glanced up briefly and gave her a smile that flickered with something else.
What was that?
He got dressed and packed without saying anything.
I have no idea what’s going on here.
Oh my God … I can’t read emotional cues. Oh my God: I’m on the spectrum.
When Joe was finished, he came over and sat on the bed beside her. He brushed her hair off her face, held his hand there.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘What’s up? What just happened?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Are you sure?’
She nodded. He waited.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Well, can I kiss you goodbye?’
Ren laughed. ‘Of course you can.’ She sat up. He kissed her.
He is incredible.
Don’t cry.
‘So,’ he said, ‘can I see you later – after your interview?’
‘I’d love to, but I can’t.’
I just remembered I have to call someone after then …
‘OK …’ said Joe. ‘Well, maybe …’ he studied her face ‘… another time?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. Good luck later.’
‘You too.’
She watched him walk to the door. He looked back. ‘Bye.’
‘Bye. Thanks.’
She rolled over in the bed, and buried her head into the pillow.
Ugh. Bye.
It was only sex.
Spectacular sex.
More than sex.
Stop.
She came again, thinking about what he’d done that morning, how amazing it was, and what he’d done the previous night, and how amazing that was, and what she wanted him to do the next time and how amazing that would be.
Next time?!
You’re nuts.
She took a shower, then went for her purse, pulled open the inside zip.
Noo! No backup underwear!
Going commando to face two inspectors. Professional.
Just not that kind of professional.
She went out on to the street and called Janine. She got her voicemail.
‘Janine, I’m just going to lay it all out there,’ said Ren. ‘I slept with Joe Lucchesi, very drunk, and very sober, and it was incredible, and I feel like the biggest piece of shit in humanity. Call me.’
A text came back within five minutes:
Meet me in Crema?
Ren replied:
Bring underwear …
55
Janine was smiling at her as soon as she walked in. Ren ordered coffee and sat down opposite her.
‘Seriously, though,’ said Ren, ‘is there a decent wait time? Is there some kind of etiquette? I wait – oh, six months – and sleep with two men in one week—’
‘Whoa, whoa – two?’
‘Sorry, yes, I slept with Paul Louderback on Friday night.’
‘I thought you had a threesome!’
‘Well, when you put it like that, I guess it could have been worse. Or better. Is this normal? Are mine the actions of someone grief-stricken? Or a whore?’
‘Isn’t Paul married – not that I’m judging.’
‘No, he left her again,’ said Ren. ‘And he’ll go back to her again. He’s a boy in a man’s body. He needs a wife to mother him. But he doesn’t find the mothering part sexy, so he roams free every now and then and gets the sex part. But – and here’s the crux of it – he needs the mothering part more than the sex part, which is why he goes back. He will never admit that to himself because it’s not cool. So I think this will be the loop for the remainder of his life. I will sidestep him next time, though. It’s kind of depressing.’ She let out a breath.
‘You know you’re not at the mercy of these men’s choices,’ said Janine. ‘You get to make your own choices too.’
‘True,’ said Ren. She paused. ‘But I do need Joe Lucchesi to seriously decide to get the fuck out of my life. I can’t handle it.’
Janine shook her head, groaned. ‘I don’t know if you want to hear this, but it’s pretty clear that you have – already – reall
y fallen for that man.’
‘Oh my God. No, I haven’t.’
‘You are useless.’
‘I know that, but, separate to that, I have not fallen for Joe Lucchesi.’
‘Useless.’
‘Ugh,’ said Ren. ‘I don’t know what’s going on. I guess I’m finding it hard to process who I should be after all this.’ She laughed. ‘“I don’t know who I am any more …”’
‘“It’s not you, it’s me,”’ said Janine. ‘Just be what makes you happy.’
‘Happy at the time, or happy afterward?’ said Ren. ‘I think that’s my issue. Happy at the time gets me in a lot of trouble—’
‘Largely with yourself, though,’ said Janine. ‘What standards are you holding yourself up to?’
‘“Ladies”,’ said Ren. ‘Like you.’
‘You know that you don’t actually know my sexual history,’ said Janine.
‘Oh, thank God: you’re a closet whore.’
Janine smiled.
‘Oh my God – you are!’ said Ren.
‘Are you waiting for more information?’ said Janine.
‘Now I feel like a weirdo.’
‘Does any of it matter in the end?’ said Janine. ‘Is sex something to feel guilty about?’
Ren paused. ‘I’m Catholic, remember. But good point. I guess I’ve spent so long thinking …’
‘Overthinking,’ said Janine. ‘You overthink everything. It must be exhausting. You’re not hurting anyone. And if you’re hurting yourself, well, then don’t do it.’
‘It’s not that simple, though, is it?’ said Ren.
‘Stop. Be kind to yourself.’
I don’t deserve kindness.
Joe is kind.
Fuck him.
‘OK, so here’s my issue,’ said Ren. ‘Can you have a guy who makes you want to be slammed up against a wall every time you see him, and still he could be faithful to you?’
‘So, you’re thinking about a relationship,’ said Janine. She smiled.
‘Jesus. Paging Dr Lone, paging Dr Lone. No, I’m not thinking about a relationship … I don’t know what I’m thinking.’ She paused. ‘I guess I like … different types, and I’m afraid of the Joe Lucchesi types. Why would he want to be with me?’
‘Good point, because you’re a loser.’
‘But, also, can anyone really, truly commit to one type?’
‘Basically, this is about the fact you slept with two entirely different types of men in one week?’
‘Four days if we are to fully nail down the sluttiness. But yes. I guess so.’
‘But, you don’t have a type,’ said Janine. ‘You’re personality driven. Yes, you happened to have been with some gorgeous guys, but that was incidental.’
‘Yes!’ said Ren. ‘You’re right. I really don’t care what guys look like … within reason. Make me fucking laugh … and you’re fucked.’
‘Hey, I make you laugh,’ said Janine.
‘Be afraid.’
‘OK – here’s my advice,’ said Janine. ‘Stop worrying. Enjoy! Stop torturing yourself. And I don’t see no ring on that finger.’
Ren looked down at her hand. ‘It’s very bare.’ She looked up at Janine. ‘It suits me bare.’
‘Well, lucky you haven’t put the panties on yet,’ said Janine. ‘Because they would be totally on fire right now. And they cost me thirty dollars.’
‘Thirty dollars – did you get me a multi-pack? Thanks for your optimism. Or your belief in my continued whoredom.’
‘No, I did not get you a multi-pack,’ said Janine. ‘I got you one pair. Of very nice ones. I know who I’m dealing with.’
Ren’s phone beeped with a text from Joe Lucchesi.
See you before you go? x
Oh, God: the kiss.
Her heart sank. But she was smiling. She looked up. Janine was smiling back.
‘Love …’ said Janine, ‘is a wonderful thing.’
‘Is a fucking nightmare,’ said Ren at the same time.
Half an hour later, Ren arrived at Safe Streets. She went to the ladies’ room and put on the very pretty pink underwear.
She texted Janine.
Excellent taste, ma’am. Thank you. And it’s not love … XX
Janine replied.
They’re flame-retardant
Ren wondered if Janine had the same, sudden realization, and whether it turned her stomach too. Because they both knew that, within minutes, Ren would be sitting down in front of two senior FBI investigators and telling lies, lies, lies.
56
Ren walked into the bullpen and shook off her jacket. Cliff James came over to her without saying a word and put his big-bear arms around her.
‘You and me against the world, sweetheart,’ he said, kissing her head.
‘God bless you.’ She pulled away gently and sat down at the edge of his desk. ‘What would I do without you, Clifford James?’
‘Ren, what you do without me is your business …’
She laughed. ‘If you only knew.’
‘I don’t want to. I mean it. How’s Oregon?’
Ren nodded. ‘Looks like we could be dealing with an Aquatic Sexual Sadist, drowning children for kicks.’
Cliff shook his head. ‘How long can I keep doing this job, I ask myself.’ He tilted his head toward the conference room. ‘Are you nervous?’
‘You bet.’
‘No reason to be,’ said Cliff. They locked eyes. ‘You just tell your story.’ There was weight in his words.
There were two people waiting for Ren in the conference room – a dark, bulky man with a big gut, an unreadable face, blank eyes. His gray suit was a little too tight. The female agent with him had blonde hair swept tightly back, a stern, masculine face, but compassionate eyes. They stood up when Ren walked in. The man reached out first.
‘Agent Bryce, I’m Inspector Neubig, this is Inspector Brinks.’
Whoa, whoa, whoa. They’re not the names Gary said would be here.
Ren clenched, unclenched her fists under the table when she sat down.
What is going on here? This doesn’t feel routine.
‘Thank you for meeting with us today, Agent Bryce,’ said Neubig. ‘I believe you’re working on the missing boy case Oregon. How is that going for you?’
‘Good, thank you,’ said Ren.
‘Well, we don’t want to hold you up,’ said Neubig. ‘We’ll get straight to the point. We’d just like to talk to you about why a meeting was convened by Gary Dettling in his office at Safe Streets on the evening of the shooting?’
Oh.
Fuck.
Ren’s heart started to pound.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
‘Gary wanted to go through elements of the investigation with the core team.’
‘That would be …’ Neubig looked at his notes, ‘Janine Hooks, Robbie Truax, Everett King—’
‘No,’ said Ren. ‘Not Everett King. He just happened to be there.’
‘But,’ said Neubig, ‘was he not involved in tracking down’ – he looked at his notes – ‘the suspect who was shot when you and Robbie Truax came under fire at his property? Would you not say that Agent King was a key player in the investigative team?’
‘Of course,’ said Ren, ‘but he was a newer member of Safe Streets, and perhaps Gary was – out of familiarity – choosing to—’
‘But,’ said Neubig, ‘was Agent Hooks not hired at the same time as Agent King?’
Fuuuck. ‘That’s correct,’ said Ren. ‘I’m sorry. It’s really not my place to offer up suggestions as to why Gary chose the team he chose to be there that evening.’ She paused. ‘Actually, I think Everett may have had a personal engagement that night.’ Phew.
‘Moving on to your – we’ll call him your boyfriend – Ben Rader,’ said Neubig. ‘Can you tell me again why he had flown in to Safe Streets?’
We’ll call him your boyfriend? Nice. ‘Well, he’d flown to Denver,’ said Ren.
They fucking know. How c
ould they possibly know? ‘As I found out afterwards,’ said Ren, ‘Gary was considering Ben for an undercover assignment.’ Not, in fact, asking him to be part of an intervention for his crazy fucking girlfriend. ‘Ben wanted to surprise me, so he asked Gary not to mention it to me.’
‘And your brother, Matthew Bryce,’ said Neubig. ‘He flew in to Denver that day, and had had prior phone conversations with Agent Rader.’
She nodded. ‘They got along very well,’ said Ren. ‘Ben called Matthew to see if he would come—’
‘We have it that it was Matthew who called Ben,’ said Neubig.
Jesus Christ. I’m going to fuck this up so bad.
‘I didn’t mean that literally,’ said Ren. ‘I meant they were talking on the phone and when Matt heard that Ben was flying in, he decided to do the same thing. I hadn’t seen Matt in five months, he had to use up some annual leave in work … it all worked out …’ She paused. ‘… would have worked out … very well.’
The blood is draining from my body.
She remembered the night of the shooting, when Matt was waiting at her apartment, waiting to tell her that Ben had been shot dead, then Gary arriving out of the blue, well after midnight, and the confusion, the shock, and the snapping out of it. The abrupt change, the setting aside of the horror and grief to focus. To focus on concocting a story over coffee that no one wanted to drink, but everyone had to drink, to keep them awake, which they didn’t want to be, because they wanted to sleep through their nightmare.
I want to sleep through this nightmare.
Agent Brinks poured a glass of water, and passed it over to Ren.
‘Thank you,’ said Ren, turning to her, sensing she was rooting for her. People are so kind.
‘Would we be correct in saying,’ said Neubig, ‘that the people who were gathered in Safe Streets that evening were your closest friends?’
Don’t cry. Ren nodded. That’s the best I can do. I can nod.
That night, sitting in my apartment, Gary turning to Matt. ‘Matt, you’re the writer: I’ll give you the facts. We need a strong, convincing narrative that will dead-end a potential line of questioning for ever. Something that will hide the fact that Ren was off her meds, that I organized an intervention, that that’s why you and Ben were in Denver, that Rawlins was likely aware of Ren’s condition despite the fact that she told him otherwise.’