by Alex Barclay
Why would Gregory Sarvas not report his wife’s rape? Ren flipped to a new page in her notebook and began writing the first string of questions that came into her head.
To protect her? He was ashamed? He was angry? He blamed her? His reputation would be tarnished? Or…he planned to take care of the problem without any police involvement? She underlined the last question. Had he already done that? Had he been killed in retaliation? Had he killed someone’s son and now his own sons were taken away/killed? Rape…Murder…Abduction???
Ren picked up the phone and called Catherine Sarvas. There was a depressingly hopeful tone to her voice.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Sarvas,’ said Ren. ‘I’d just like to go over a few things from our conversation.’
‘Yes, no problem. And please, call me Catherine.’
‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘You told me that your husband took care of reporting the rape.’
‘Yes, he did…I couldn’t bear going through all the details with a stranger…I mean, I knew I would have to talk to the police in the end, but at that time, I guess I was afraid that if I did nothing, if I waited too much longer, that he…the rapist…might…he…I just couldn’t bear the thought of one of my friends or my neighbors having to go through—’ She broke down.
‘I understand how difficult it would be to talk about.’ Ren paused. ‘So…you asked Gregory to take care of it, and he agreed that he would.’
‘Yes.’
‘And it was El Paso PD?’
‘Yes, it was El Paso PD. He said that he spoke with a Detective Hyde.’
Ren paused as if she was writing the name down. ‘Catherine, what was your husband’s demeanor before his murder?’
‘Well, he was concerned for me. He was worried. He didn’t want to leave me alone. But he had to work, too.’
‘What was his reaction to your rape?’
Catherine paused. ‘Well, he was devastated, like any husband would be. I’m not sure I know what you mean…’
Here goes. ‘I don’t know how to tell you this,’ said Ren. ‘But your husband didn’t report the rape to Detective Hyde.’
‘What? Who did he report it to?’
‘I’m afraid he didn’t report it at all.’
‘But…he did. That’s ridiculous. Of course he did. He came home and told me that evening. He even passed on a message from her, saying that I could speak with her in my own time.’
‘And did you speak with Detective Hyde?’ said Ren. Which I hate to ask, because I know the answer is no.
‘No,’ said Catherine. ‘But…but…why would Greg not report it? I don’t understand. There would be no reason not to. I asked him to. He had my permission.’
‘Maybe he wanted to protect you,’ said Ren. ‘What was your state of mind at this time?’
‘I had just been raped.’
‘Had you seen a doctor?’
‘No.’ Her voice fell to a whisper.
‘Could your husband have been worried about your mental health – worried about what reporting this could have meant for you?’
‘But…I told him to report it. I was traumatized. I didn’t want to report it myself. But I was adamant that he should.’
‘Did your husband override your wishes before?’ said Ren. ‘Did you ever ask him to do things and he ignored your wishes, maybe for what he felt was your own good?’
‘I’m sure every husband does that at some point.’
Not about reporting a rape, I would venture.
‘Catherine, can I ask you a few more questions?’ said Ren. ‘I know we’ve been over some of this already, but I’d like to make sure I have everything straight.’
‘OK.’
‘Who had access to your property?’
‘We each had a set of keys – Greg, Luke, Michael and I.’
‘What about tradesmen, a gardener…?’
‘No,’ said Catherine. ‘We hadn’t had any work done on the house in over a year. The boys look after the garden.’
Ren looked back at the notes she had taken when Catherine had described the rape. ‘You mentioned you had been shopping at The Homestore. Were you taking any delivery items in?’
‘No. I was just buying small things. I…just wanted to make the place nice. Greg had brought up the idea of us moving house, nothing concrete. I wasn’t interested, but I guess even the thought of moving made me want to dig my heels in a little more…’
And I’m sure you’d rather be any place but home right now.
‘So, no delivery people had access to your house.’
‘No.’
‘OK, Catherine, I’m going to go away with all this and start making enquiries. Thank you for taking my call.’
So Gregory Sarvas wanted to move house. His wife didn’t. If someone was hoping to sell their house, the last thing they would want to do is report a rape and stamp a black mark on the neighborhood.
Could a husband be that screwed up?
Gary walked into the bullpen. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Can I get an update?’
‘This Sarvas case is getting weirder,’ said Ren. ‘Erubiel Diaz rapes Catherine Sarvas. A week goes by, and her husband tells her he will report it on her behalf to spare her the trauma – yet he doesn’t. Within days, he gets murdered. And his two teenage sons go missing.’
‘Do you think it’s all connected?’ said Gary.
‘I can’t see how it wouldn’t be,’ said Ren. ‘Even though it makes no sense.’
Colin shrugged. ‘It does if the kids are screwed up. They rape their own mother – which is why she doesn’t want to report it – their father finds out, they kill him and run.’
‘But she called and ID’d Erubiel Diaz,’ said Ren.
‘Picked a random rapist from the internet?’ said Colin. ‘That can happen. People lie. People get desperate. She wants to find her boys, doesn’t care what they’ve done, plans to forgive them, but needs someone on the case with the resources to track them down. And maybe someone who will believe her sorry tale.’
Oh, like me, maybe? Screw you. ‘Of all the people in all the gin joints?’ said Ren. ‘No, her sons did not rape her. That’s not what any of this sounds like. I’m not sure what the hell is going on, but I know it’s not that.’
‘Do you think we need to look at the husband?’ said Gary.
‘I’m thinking, why not?’ Ren shrugged. ‘His behavior is off. Not reporting the rape rings serious alarm bells. She also said he talked about moving house around that time.’
‘I’d want to move too,’ said Cliff.
‘This was before the rape.’
‘Ah,’ said Cliff. ‘And did she want to move?’
‘No.’
‘Maybe he hired someone to scare her out of the neighborhood, to make her feel unsafe there, so she’d want to move, but the guy went too far?’ said Colin. ‘Sarvas tracks him down to beat the shit out of him, but the guy gets in first, blows him away?’
Cliff sucked in a breath. ‘You’d have to be seriously desperate to get out of your neighborhood to go that far.’
‘Maybe the man had every reason to be desperate,’ said Gary.
‘Maybe he was boning one of the hot neighbors and she turned psycho on him,’ said Colin.
Ren looked at him. ‘Always quick with the fucked-up scenarios.’
‘Did you get everything from El Paso PD?’ said Gary.
Ren nodded.
‘Split it up between you and see what you can come up with,’ said Gary. ‘No one’s to neglect Gartman in all this. All eyes are on us. And the Gregory Sarvas murder could be a time-consuming tangent.’ He turned to Ren. ‘You’re looking at this as your route to Val Pando? Via Diaz?’
Ren paused. The correct answer is…
‘Be careful,’ said Gary. ‘Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.’
8
That night, Ren and Misty walked out the motel-room door for the last time. Ren smiled.
Who could ever be sad, leaving a motel?
She though
t about that: husbands going back to their wives, wives going back to their husbands, people who have had bad sex, guilty people, short-changed hookers, Catholic chamber maids…who, on reflection, would have been sad going in in the first place… Ren stopped reflecting.
OK, lots of people. Just not me.
Robbie walked behind Ren up the path to Annie’s house. Ren was pulling a suitcase, Robbie had a stack of boxes in his arms. She turned the key in the front door and had to push hard with her shoulder to open it. She dragged the suitcase on to the black-and-white tiled floor. Robbie laid the boxes down beside it.
‘Do you need me to take these anywhere?’ Robbie nodded toward the stairs.
‘Here is fine, thank you.’
‘Can I do anything else?’
‘You have done more than enough,’ said Ren. ‘Will you stay for a soda?’
‘I’d love to, but I’ve really got to go. I think this should be your night with Misty.’
‘You’re a sweetheart.’ Ren gave him a hug and glanced out to the Jeep. ‘I hope she likes it.’
‘What’s not to like?’
Ren walked down the path with Robbie and said goodbye.
Misty sat on the back seat of the Jeep and stared out the window at Ren. Then she wiggled back as far away from her as she could.
‘Please, baby, do not do this,’ said Ren. ‘You have to love what Mommy loves. That’s the deal.’
Misty’s expression was hard to read.
‘You used to live in a shack on the side of a mountain,’ said Ren. ‘Surely a historic dwelling is…’ Ren paused. ‘Oh, is this place too fancy for you?’
Ren leaned in the Jeep door and carefully hugged Misty toward her. ‘Come on.’ They made their way up the path.
Misty paused on the threshold.
‘Hey, get in here, young lady,’ said Ren. ‘This is your new home.’ She crouched down and rubbed Misty’s back. ‘How do you feel about that?’ Ren stood up. ‘Misty-fied, clearly.’
Misty walked into the hallway as if to prove a point. Ren closed the door behind them. Silence. For as long as they stood there, there was no sound. No creaking floorboards, no ticking clock, no rattling pipes.
I am completely alone.
Since she turned sixteen, Ren had rarely been without a boyfriend. It was one long relay race where one man was always handing the baton over to another. He just didn’t know it. And sometimes, neither did Ren. But something would make her feel safe enough to leave and, if she admitted it, it was knowing that there was a new man waiting in the wings. Even if it never happened with that particular guy, she at least knew he was there. But…it always happened.
Ren’s men never came without drama. The last person she really cared about was a confidential informant that could have gotten her fired. She had forced herself to walk away from him eight months ago, and for the first time in her life, she’d had no one lined up to take his place. No flirtation to follow through on. No cute guy in the diner. No hot agent on a visit to Denver. Ren Bryce had jumped without a safety net. A few months later, she had a week-long fling with an extreme rider performing at the National Western Stock Show. A beautiful man. A futureless fling. Endless comedy potential for the guys.
Ren took a deep breath.
No. More. Men.
The thought made her feel weak.
Misty came and rubbed up against Ren’s legs. ‘Aw, but I’m not totally alone,’ said Ren. ‘Come on. Let me show you around.’
Misty clung to Ren’s side as she gave her a tour of the house. It was 3,500 square feet; sixteen rooms over four floors. She kept glancing down at Misty.
‘I put too much faith in your vibes,’ said Ren. ‘I have to accept that your reactions are not gospel. It’s not all about you.’ She kneeled down in front of her and rubbed her ears. ‘Even though, really, it is. You are way too cute.’
They got to the bedroom Ren used to stay in as a child. She looked down at the carpet – rose pink, deep and fluffy.
I miss carpet. Carpet has to come back.
Ren took off her boots and socks and walked barefoot across the room. Annie had left the bedside lamps on; warm light through pink pleated shades. The bed was white wrought iron, covered in a faded pink and gray floral quilt. There were two green pillows thrown on it and an indentation where someone had been sitting. When Ren moved closer she saw why. Her old teddy bear – adopted from Annie – was tucked between the two pillows. Huggy Bear with the stripy legs. Annie must have sat down to make him comfortable. Ren smiled. She must know empty beds are not usually my thing.
There was also a single bed and a bed for Misty in the corner. Ren brought up her suitcase and took out the new pajamas she had packed on top. She got ready for bed, then slid under the flannel sheets. She turned off the lamp and the room was lit by the moon. She looked around at one of her favorite places in the world.
This is not a house for one person. It is totally freaking me out. How am I going to get out of this? I’ll die. Annie will be horrified. Where can I go now? My mother will go nuts. Everyone at work will laugh at me. I’ll have to find another house-sitter for Annie. I won’t have time to do that. This is not a house for one person. It is totally freaking me out. How am I going to get out of this…
She picked up the phone and called her brother, Matt.
‘Hey, Renald McDenald,’ he said. ‘How are you? What strange number are you calling me from?’
‘Annie’s.’
‘You’re in?’
‘I am. In my old bed.’
‘Bless your heart,’ said Matt.
‘How are you?’
‘Very in love with my baby-mama.’
‘Aw. How’s she doing?’
‘Thankfully, she’s past the The Exorcism of Emily Rose phase.’
‘Phew.’
‘How has Misty taken to her new digs?’
‘She paused for effect, then entered as though doing me a huge favor.’
‘So…you haven’t answered,’ said Matt. ‘How are you?’
‘Well, apart from a late-breaking freak-out – wonderful.’
‘What were you freaking out about now?’
‘Now: I like that—’
‘But how could someone freak out in Annie’s? Even you?’
‘OK…first of all, there are no limits to where I could freak out. Secondly – remember how huge we thought the house was? Well, it wasn’t just because we were kids. The place is still huge.’
‘Ren, you’re not much bigger than when we were kids. I’ve grown…I might find it very compact.’
‘If you put on two hundred pounds, maybe.’
‘Does Annie still call you Orenda?’
‘Not quite the way you do.’ Matt dropped his r’s.
‘Lucky I have high self-esteem.’
‘Vewwy lucky. And no, she calls me Wen.’
‘When?’
‘Ha. Ha. Do you know what’s on the wall in the living room?’ said Ren. ‘The photo of us outside the zoo. And I’m in that all-in-one short-suit.’
‘Ooh, put together from scraps of other material. Your coat of many colors.’
‘That my mama made for me,’ said Ren. ‘And Jay’s in his freaky pants.’
‘What am I in?’
‘Pain, by the looks of it.’
‘Mom never quite got the cut of a boy’s pants.’
God bless Matt Bryce. He stayed on the phone with Ren for over an hour, listening to everything and saying all the right things. Ren always told Matt that he was who she would be if she was male and sane. Matt always replied, ‘You wish.’
There was something wide-eyed about Matt. Like the world was a constant source of fascination to him. In every story he told, there was a dramatic pause, a revelation he wanted you to feel in the same way that he did. Even bleak observations would be delivered in a positive tone. He would talk about a television show he saw where there was human excrement piled up against a crack-house wall, then pause and say, ‘It wasn’t the shit it
self, it was the structural engineering…’
He was two years older than Ren, but sometimes she felt like they were twins.
‘Now,’ said Matt, ‘much as I would love to continue to distract you from your freak-out, I have to go and remove my wife’s shoes. That’s the stage we’re at.’
‘Poor Lauren.’
‘Yes,’ said Matt. ‘My final word is – there’s no need to freak out. You’re in a beautiful house, safe and sound with your dog-from-the-dark-side.’
‘Stop that.’
‘Sleep tight. Call me again if you need me.’
‘Thanks,’ said Ren.
‘And remember one thing…’ He paused. ‘You’re an FBI Agent, you loser.’
‘Thanks for that.’ Ren put down the phone and pulled the covers up around her.
This is not a house for one person. It is totally freaking me out. How am I going to get out of this? I’ll die. Annie will be horrified. Where can I go now?
Ren’s eyes started to close. She turned over and drifted into the best night’s sleep she’d had in over a year.
9
Colin Grabien sat at his desk with print-outs of Greg Sarvas’ bank statements and a computer screen with more of Greg Sarvas’ bank statements. He had the look of a teenager forced to study for his SATs when all his friends were out to play.
Ren glanced over at him.
‘This is bullshit,’ he said.
No one responded. He looked up, annoyed.
‘What is bullshit?’ said Ren. Her voice was flat.
‘I don’t see Gregory Sarvas’ name up on that board—’ He pointed to the Most Wanted list. ‘Gartman is out murdering little deaf girls, and here I am, going through these boring bank statements. A lawyer with one and a half million dollars spread across four bank accounts. Call Ripley’s Believe It or Not.’
Grow the fuck up. ‘Nothing else?’ said Ren. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary?’ She got up and walked over to his desk.
Colin pointed to his screen and scrolled through a ridiculous amount of data. She rolled her eyes.
‘No strange payments in or out of his bank accounts,’ said Colin. ‘One property – the family home in El Paso. Mortgage of two hundred thousand dollars outstanding. No other debts. Monthly retainers from five clients, totaling eleven thousand.’