by Alex Barclay
‘Yeah?’ said Colin. ‘I know which is which.’
‘Does the plover bird not get nervous?’ said Robbie.
‘I can think of easier ways of getting food without picking it out of a crocodile’s teeth,’ said Ren. ‘Think about it – every meal would be stressful. It would be like a first date every time.’ She paused. ‘But I guess if you’re already in his mouth, that would take some of the pressure off later…’
Colin looked up.
‘All right, all right,’ said Ren. ‘What’s with you giving me the skank eye? Since when did you get all Holy Mary?’ She paused. She smiled slowly. ‘Oh. My. God. Robbie – Colin Grabien has a lady friend.’
Colin went red.
‘Look at you,’ said Ren.
Colin smiled despite himself.
‘Wow,’ said Ren.
‘That’s great,’ said Robbie.
‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘I must pick her brain. What is the best way to go from a standing position to upside-down on the pole without losing any of the money stuffed into your g-string?’
‘Yeah? You can ask her tonight,’ said Colin.
‘Ooh,’ said Ren. ‘She’s coming out? I can’t wait. What’s her name? Kitty Miaow-Miaow? SINderella?’
‘Naomi,’ said Colin.
‘Nice,’ said Ren.
‘Now, shut the hell up,’ said Colin.
He has it bad. Ren adjusted her screen and dragged her keyboard closer. ‘No work-out bag!’ she said, turning to Colin. ‘That’s why you haven’t had your work-out bag every morning. You’ve been staying in bed a little longer…’
Colin completely ignored her. She opened Google and typed in Douglas Hammond. She scanned down the news reports. They all seemed to be repeating the same story.
The ninth hit was from a blog and had the headline Second Tragedy Hits Hammond Family.
What? What was the first tragedy?
The main article was on Douglas Hammond’s car accident. The fact that it was a homicide still hadn’t been released. Tragedy number one was detailed underneath in an image of a newspaper article from 1983. Shock as Woman’s Body Found
in Everdale Home
Tragedy struck the small community of Everdale yesterday morning when the body of Mrs Trudie Hammond, 26, was discovered by her husband, Douglas Hammond, 28. Mr Hammond, a lawyer, had left the family home at 8 a.m. but returned later that morning to find his wife brutally slain. Their two-year-old daughter, Mia, was found, unharmed, in her crib. Neighbors expressed shock and sadness at the death of the young mother.
There were two black-and-white photos – one of a perfect street marred by squad cars and crime-scene tape. The other was a head and shoulders shot of Trudie Hammond. She had shoulder-length feathery hair, over-plucked eyebrows and thick mascara on long lashes. She had thin but pretty lips and a warm, friendly smile.
Ren scanned through the piece again. It was a preliminary news report; light on details, simplified, tired phrases.
What was the full story?
Ren read through the later articles, they had only a little more information. Hammond had been a lawyer, so if anyone was able to keep the details out of the press, it would have been him. And if they were particularly gruesome, he would want to save that little two-year-old girl from any future pain.
Trudie Hammond’s killer had never been found.
Ren dialed Glenn Buddy.
‘Hey, Glenn. It’s Ren. A propos nothing, did you find any prior connection between Helen Wheeler and Douglas Hammond?’
‘No,’ said Glenn. ‘Nothing.’
‘She wasn’t an expert witness in his courtroom or anything?’
‘No.’
‘Under a maiden name?’
‘We’ve gone through all her last names,’ said Glenn.
‘All?’
‘Three.’
‘Wow,’ said Ren. ‘Divorced?’
‘Widowed,’ said Glenn. ‘Divorced by two.’
‘She doesn’t seem the type.’ I should know this information if she’s my ‘friend’. ‘She didn’t talk about it much.’
‘Why would she?’
‘How come the three husbands didn’t make it into the papers?’
‘Well, not in the news reports,’ said Glenn. ‘But probably in some future special double-page feature on the attractive murdered psychiatrist from next-door-to-the wrong side of town.’
‘Could Helen have just walked in on a deal in that parking lot behind her office?’ You’re grasping.
‘Anyone dealing by her office would know her,’ said Glenn. ‘And know to avoid her. She obviously turned a blind eye.’
‘I doubt she’d turn a blind eye,’ said Ren. ‘It was probably that they just did their business when she had closed up for the evening. Did anyone round up some of these dirtbags to “axe” them some questions?’
‘Easier said than done.’
She paused. ‘What about Helen’s two ex-husbands? Not that dumping a body in a warehouse is particularly husbandlike…but could one of them have hired someone to kill her? Would they have any reason to? I don’t know…none of this sounds like Helen should be involved in it. I can’t get that out of my head. This is Helen Wheeler…’ She let out a breath. ‘It’s all so screwed up.’
28
Gaffney’s was Irish, loud, friendly and hopping. There was poetry etched into the wood paneling, pictures of Joyce and Beckett, the framed words of the national anthem and photos on the wall of sunburnt Irish bar staff through decades of hot Denver summers.
Colin Grabien stood by the bar with his hand resting on the lower back of a much shorter woman. She was a smiling, low-key blonde. She was understated. She was in her thirties. No glitter, no tits out. Ann Taylor Loft meets Aerosoles meets Seventh Heaven.
Quite the turnaround, Mr Grabien.
Ren walked over to them. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘You must be Naomi. I’m Ren. I work with Colin. It’s lovely to meet you.’ It really is. But calm down, Ren.
‘You too,’ said Naomi. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘And it was going so well,’ said Ren.
Naomi laughed. ‘It was all good. I promise.’ She smiled up at Colin.
‘Well, thank you.’ Your new boyfriend is soo full of shit.
Robbie came in after Ren.
‘Hello,’ said Naomi. She shook hands with him. ‘Nice to meet you, Robbie.’
‘You too,’ said Robbie. ‘Colin talks about you a lot.’
Robbie, you brat. Ren smiled at him, then at Colin. And in two seconds, Colin will buy drinks for everyone.
‘What are you having to drink, guys?’ said Colin.
‘Coors Light, please,’ said Ren. ‘Thank you.’ He walked up to the bar to order. Ren turned to Naomi. ‘So how long have you guys been dating?’ Because Colin will never tell.
‘Five months now,’ said Naomi.
‘That’s great,’ said Ren. She paused. ‘Colin’s got a huge brain.’ Hello? Why did I say that? Ren was reminded of her friend looking at a newborn in a baby carriage and saying to the mother, ‘What a beautiful…blanket!’
‘It’s going great,’ said Naomi.
‘I’ve never seen him like this,’ said Ren. I really haven’t. Now, how many other things can I say to fuck him up before he comes back with the drinks?
Colin had to pry Naomi away from Ren to take her to dinner. Naomi announced that they were meeting Colin’s parents. Colin’s smile was fixed.
‘They are so getting married,’ said Ren when they left. ‘I love her.’
‘She’s seems like a really nice lady,’ said Robbie.
‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘For a woman who is obviously on her way in or out of a mental health facility.’
‘Just be happy for them,’ said Robbie.
Ren paused. ‘OK – I’ll split the difference. Can I be happy for him? And saddened for her?’
Robbie smiled. ‘Look – booth.’
‘Grab it.’
People around them were dro
pping off like flies. Most of them had been there since lunch-time. Robbie was on caffeine-free Coke number three, Ren was on Coors Light number four.
‘Oh, what the—’ said Robbie. He grabbed Ren’s beer. ‘It’s St Patrick’s Day…’
‘Hey,’ said Ren, trying to take it back from him. ‘What are you doing? Mormons don’t drink.’
‘Yes,’ said Robbie. ‘And we have the highest rate of porn addiction in the US.’
‘Are the two connected?’
‘I’m just saying,’ said Robbie.
‘Look who’s all disillusioned with the Latter Day Saints…’
‘No,’ said Robbie. ‘I just want to have fun.’
‘I can’t believe I’m about to say this,’ said Ren, ‘but there are other ways of having fun.’
‘I guess alcohol isn’t always the answer.’
‘Unless the question is “What is Ren Bryce’s favorite thing in the whole wide world?”’
Robbie laughed. ‘Look, just go with me on this. If there was any person to have my first beer with, it’s you.’
‘That’s grim,’ said Ren. ‘Like, come here, little boy, have some Jesus juice.’ She hung her head.
Robbie ordered his first beer.
Troubling.
When it arrived, he clinked bottles with her and she saw a teenage twinkle of rebellion.
Oh. Dear.
Three hours and four Coors later, Ren was merry and staring across the table at a man she had never met before – Hammered Robbie.
‘Ren, you are amazing,’ said Hammered Robbie. ‘You’re, like…amazing.’ He pulled her hand in between both of his.
‘Ding ding,’ said Ren. ‘Official confirmation that you are very…very drunk.’
‘But you are amazing,’ said Robbie.
‘But you are drunk.’
‘I always think you’re amazing,’ said Robbie. ‘You just…are. You come in to the office and it’s, like, fun.’
‘That’s because of Colin,’ said Ren.
‘He’s such a jerk to you.’
‘I love it.’
‘You’re so beautiful.’
Sweet Jesus.
Robbie reached a hand up towards Ren’s cheek. She stopped him gently. ‘I am taking you home.’
Something flashed in his eyes.
‘Nooo,’ said Ren. ‘I mean you need to get some rest.’ You are not losing both virginities in one night.
‘Come on,’ said Robbie. ‘How can you be with every other guy and not me?’
‘Ouuuch.’ Ren pulled on his wrists. ‘Come on, mister, get up.’
‘I’m better than any of those other guys.’
‘OK, Robbie? Listen to me,’ said Ren. ‘You’re like a little brother to me, OK? That’s how I see you.’
‘What? That is so creepy.’
Maybe from where you’re half-sitting half-standing. ‘No, it’s not,’ said Ren. ‘Now, move your butt.’
Ren helped Robbie up the path to Annie’s and managed to drag him over the threshold.
‘Hmm, which room to choose?’ said Ren.
‘Yours,’ said Robbie.
‘Hey, I thought you were asleep down there,’ said Ren, giving him a light kick on the leg. ‘That question was for me. Based on what is the easiest room to secure you in.’
‘I’m just drunk, I’m not, like prone to violent outbursts. Why did you kick me?’
Ren let out a breath.
‘Are you like this when you’re drunk?’
No, I would be having sex with someone by now…
Ren dragged him up by the arm. ‘You’ve seen me drunk a million times.’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Robbie. ‘Why aren’t you drunk tonight? Am I not fun to drink with? Am I a bad drunk?’
‘You’re a sixteen-year-old drunk,’ said Ren. ‘Which is adorable. But ultimately making me feel dirty. And not in a good way.’
‘You hate me now.’
‘Yes, you’re right – our prom date is off. I’m going with Biff.’
‘Who?’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Ren. ‘Right – I have chosen your room. It’s up one flight of stairs. That’s all I’m asking.’
‘Where’s your room?’
‘On the eleventy-sixth floor. Come on. Move it. We have work in…you don’t want to know.’
Four hours later, Ren arrived, showered and dressed, into the guest room. Robbie was on his side, staring her way, gray- and shame-faced.
‘Oh, Lawsy.’ He groaned and tried to sit up. ‘Ohhh.’
Ren sat on the edge of the bed.
‘Lay back down,’ she said. ‘Trust me.’ She stroked his forehead with the back of her cold hand.
‘Thanks,’ said Robbie. ‘I am so sorry. And I don’t even know for what. I’m an idiot.’
Ren looked at the floor. ‘Ah. There’s the water I couldn’t get you to drink.’ She picked up the empty glass and put it on the nightstand. ‘You don’t need to be sorry, OK? You didn’t do anything.’
‘I feel like I did,’ said Robbie.
‘Sweetheart, anyone who says “Oh lawsy” instead of “Oh Lord” or “ye gads” instead of “Oh God” can’t be all bad,’ said Ren. ‘In fact, I’m the one who should be apologizing.’
‘Why?’ said Robbie.
‘I really am every mother’s worst nightmare. Even at thirty-seven years old.’ She smiled at him. ‘You have nothing to worry about, OK?’
‘You’re just being nice.’
‘Like all women who get thirty-year-old beer-virgins drunk.’
‘Oh – laughing is not good.’
‘Don’t puke in Annie’s bed.’
‘Then get out of my way.’
29
Robbie Truax did not speak to Ren until lunch-time. His gaze moved between his computer screen, the floor and the television.
When everyone else had left the office for lunch, Ren stood up at her desk and held a bottle of water in her hand like an Oscar. ‘I’d like to thank my colleague, Robbie Truax, for casting me in the role of the Sensible and the Sober in the movie of the same name. I’d like to thank the Academy…at Quantico. I’d like to thank the basement karaoke bar you dragged us into – you don’t remember that do you? – where we brought to life that great American country classic “Long-Neck Bottle, Let Go of My Hand”. Thank You.’
Robbie smiled at her and relaxed back in his chair. ‘Ren, you are—’
‘Amazing, I know. I get it…’
Robbie blushed.
Ren laughed. ‘Dude, you are not used to what is known in Irish circles as “the drink talking”. Drink makes you think people are more fabulous than they are and goes on to make you say this out loud to them. That’s all it is. So it’s your
first time: that always hurts a little.’
Robbie looked up. ‘You are obsessed with sex.’
‘Me? You should have heard you last night.’
‘Aw, Ren…’
‘Aw, I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I’m only teasing.’
‘Why would anyone want to do this to themselves all the time?’
‘Those long-neck bottles hold hands real well. And as soon as you let go of one of them, you discover that shot glasses are verrry sticky,’ said Ren.
Robbie’s face was desolate. ‘We were in a karaoke bar.’
‘Come on, baby,’ said Ren. ‘Do that little dance for me again. Shake it, baby! Shake it!’
Douglas Hammond’s funeral was covered in a short report on 9 News late that afternoon. According to the newscaster, his daughter Mia was the woman standing at the front door of the church behind her father’s coffin, her face pressed against the chest of a man believed to be her fiancé.
Colin stopped what he was doing and watched the screen. ‘I didn’t know you could be cremated and then buried in a coffin,’ he said.
‘You’re sick.’ Ren looked at him. ‘I really liked Naomi. She’s very warm. She’s got a very pretty face.’
Colin took up his new sport of blushing.
‘Uh…I know. Thank you.’
‘She’s a keeper,’ said Ren. ‘So keep her, for Christ’s sake. The best advice ever is “be yourself”…but that advice is just for other people.’ Ren paused. ‘In your case? Please don’t. For the love of God, don’t be yourself.’
Colin smiled.
‘Check the Hammond daughter out,’ said Ren, pointing to the screen. ‘She’s a carbon copy of her mother.’
‘I’ve never seen her mother,’ said Colin.
‘Google Image her,’ said Ren.
‘I don’t care that much.’
‘She’s like a modern version of her mom.’ Ren leaned in a little closer. ‘But with her father’s eyes.’ She glanced at Colin. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to respond, I’m just entertaining myself.’
Cliff got up from the file cabinet he had been fighting with. ‘Da-da! Fixed.’ He stood beside Ren and watched the television with her.
‘That poor girl,’ said Ren. ‘I hope I die before everyone in my family. And before all my friends.’
‘Look who we have here,’ said Cliff, pointing at an attractive, well-dressed woman in the crowd, wearing a beige coat and fur hat. ‘That is the famous Lucinda Kerr.’
‘Peter Everett’s ex-wife?’ said Ren.
‘Yup.’
‘I wonder how she knows Douglas Hammond.’
‘Same circles, probably,’ said Cliff.
‘Just because they’re rich?’ said Ren.
‘It could be anything – legal stuff, charity work, whatever…’ Cliff shrugged. ‘She was at Helen Wheeler’s memorial too.’
‘Was she?’
‘Yup, Glenn mentioned it. Why didn’t you go?’
Because I couldn’t bear it and conveniently arranged a flight to El Paso the same day. ‘Unfortunate timing,’ said Ren.
‘I guess Lucinda Kerr was there to support her ex-husband.’ Cliff gave a shrug. ‘Like I said, they were still friends.’
‘Maybe she’s one of those professional mourners,’ said Ren. ‘Maybe she’s so rich, she has to find new things to amuse herself, and showing up at funerals is her thing.’
There was more footage of the crowd and then it was back to the regular news.