by Alex Barclay
‘These people don’t live in the real world, or at best they’ve one foot in it. They’re permanently on the edge, they just push themselves further and further until there’s nowhere else to go.’
Gary walked into the bullpen. ‘The lab just got in touch. The reason Safe Streets got that call to that warehouse crime scene was because someone knew the victim was on our Fifty Most Wanted – DNA matched our number four – Javier Luis.’
Ren’s heart started to pound.
58
Ren’s cell phone rang as she was turning the key in the lock of Annie’s front door that evening. She hit Answer and heard the voice of the Czech legal attaché.
‘It was Jakub Kral,’ he said. ‘He’s confessed.’ Kral had given police a gas station marker fifty miles west of Catskill and a vague set of directions from there. But almost thirty years on from a random decision on a hot, dark night, no one held out hope much that what remained of Louis Parry would be returned to what remained of his family.
Ren walked into the hallway and stepped on to a small white envelope with her name on it. She picked it up and opened it. She had never seen the writing before. It was beautiful.
Dear Ren
I can’t do this any other way, because it’s too hard. I wish I could take whatever you give me, but, from you, I need more. I don’t know if I’ll ever find someone who’ll give me one hundred per cent and whether, if I do, she’ll be wonderful enough that I have the same amount to give back, but that’s a risk I’m going to have to take. Because this is killing me. I don’t think you know how much it hurts. And it’s worse because I know you are a good person and that you mean everything you say to me and everything you do.
But when you look at me, there’s guilt that goes along with it and I just want to make it go away. But I know I can’t. And I can’t be the guy in the shadows, because with someone as amazing as you, it feels wrong to hide.
Please know that no matter happens, I’m here if you need me…just not in the same way.
Love always
Billy x
Billy no longer Waites. Ren put the letter down. She felt sick. She walked over to the window and looked out. Billy was gone. Billy had left her. Her heart raced. I am not ready for this. She let herself drift away with the falling snow, running through everything she and Billy had together, how perfect and fucked-up the whole thing was.
Screw this. She grabbed her keys and ran to the Jeep. She jumped in, started the engine and headed for Five Points. Billy had to have dropped the car back to Stray Eddie. Or maybe he had let Billy take it wherever he needed to go. Stray Eddie would know.
Ren drove through town, thinking of throwing her arms around Billy and being held there and being kissed and loved and never let go. A multi-colored stream of city lights washed over the windscreen. Bright shiny things. She felt free. Her mind was filled with what they would do and where they would go.
My whole life is Billy Waites.
Her heart was traveling fast, her body felt light. She couldn’t let him go. She would tell him to stay, promise him one hundred per cent. We’ll go out tonight, find a hotel room, drink champagne, have sex all night…
She kept her foot on the accelerator and sped into the turn-off for Five Points.
Billy will be here. Everything will work out. I can not be alone. I can not be alone.
She pulled into the parking space outside Stray Eddie’s. I cannot be alone. The car was gone. I cannot be alone. She looked up at the dark window of the apartment. Where are you Billy? I cannot be alone.
Tears welled in her eyes. She had been here before. The drama of breaking up with someone and wanting them back. The high of pursuing them. The motivation that, when stripped away, was wrong and was the one that was ringing clearly in her ears. Not I love Billy. Not I cannot be with anyone except Billy. Not Billy, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Just I cannot be alone.
And Billy Waites deserved more than a damaged woman not wanting to be alone. With tears streaming down her face, Ren turned on the engine and reversed out.
I want a man whose rings I will wear for the rest of my life. My own Edward Lowell. A man with a yellow tie.
Two thousand miles away, investigators unearthed the skeletal remains of Louis Parry in a deep grave, fifty miles west of Catskill. Two hours earlier, his mother, Rita Parry had passed away.
Ren lay on her bed that night, imagining what could have happened on June 20th, 1981: Louis Parry walking down the shaded path from his parents’ house and into the bright sunshine. In his pocket was a folded-up flier: The Czech National Orchestra Plays Haydn. Performances 4 p.m., 6 p.m., 8 p.m. Louis had piano practice with Beau at 4 p.m. And he had to be at home for supper at six. And he might have decided that he would risk being late. His mother would think his class had overrun – he had an exam the following week – but that he was safe with the Bryces. He was right – that was exactly what Rita Parry had thought.
Desperate to see the performance, Louis went to the park with no money in his pocket. Instead, he climbed a tree by the tent and was going to settle for listening to it…until Jakub Kral came outside to adjust a tent peg. He looked up and smiled when he saw the little blond boy. He called him down, told him he would get a better view from a small nook at the side of the stage, as long as he didn’t move a muscle. Louis Parry was thrilled. He was even happier when, afterwards, Kral solved another problem – knocking ten minutes off Louis’ journey home. He had pulled his van right up outside the back of the tent to sneak Louis out from under the tarpaulin and give him a ride right back to his front door. Ren imagined Louis, smiling and enthusiastic and grateful, giving precise directions to a man who had no intention of ever doing anything this little boy asked; no intention of stopping the van, of letting him out, of stopping hurting him, of letting him live.
Kral had locked away each detail of the twenty-nine hours he had held on to Louis Parry, while strangely, not recognizing the little boy’s face when he was shown his photograph. What Kral remembered was the evening’s performance.
The world is so fucked-up.
Ren cried.
Stop. Crying. Jesus.
59
Ren walked into Gary’s office before allowing the knock on the door to register with him. He jumped.
‘God…I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I wouldn’t normally just barge in.’
Gary looked up at her. ‘It’s not that.’ There was a struggle behind his eyes.
Ren sat down in front of his desk. ‘Is everything OK?’ she said.
Gary slid open the top drawer and pulled out a pamphlet. He threw it down in front of her. ‘Take a look at this.’
There was a horse on the front, rearing up on its hind legs. And above it was written in curly script: Can You Rise Up To Your True Height?
Bizarre.
Ren opened up the folded card. There were several photos of pretty, smiling teenagers. Across the top of the page was a banner that read Who you are is what is right.
Ren looked up at Gary. ‘It’s the Messiah of the Most Wanted? Jim-Jams?’
‘Jonah Jeremiah Myler,’ said Gary, nodding.
‘Well, he hasn’t lost his creative touch,’ said Ren. ‘He is truly nuts. Why do these kids respond to such insane images and language? Is this what the disenchanted youth is looking for?’
Gary struggled to speak. ‘Do you want to know where I found it?’
‘Yes. Where?’
‘Claire’s book bag…’
Oh my God. ‘Your daughter Claire?’
Gary nodded.
Holy shit. ‘But…people are always handing out fliers,’ said Ren. ‘She probably just—’
‘Let me skip your niceties,’ said Gary. ‘There’s a cell phone number on the bottom of that. Claire has called it. Four times. And texted a boy called Ruben five times.’
Whoa. ‘Did you confront her?’
Gary was staring into space. ‘So,’ he said as if he didn’t hear her, ‘it looks like som
etimes the disenchanted youth is sitting across the breakfast table from you.’
‘Did you say anything to her?’ said Ren.
‘I would have had to defuse years of landmines to get close enough.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes,’ said Gary.
‘But…what are you going to do?’ said Ren.
‘Start by bringing down this fucking freak,’ said Gary, taking the flier back. ‘Sick son-of-a-bitch…’
‘Teenage girls can be so innocent,’ said Ren. ‘Even these days. They’re oblivious to danger. She was probably flattered by the attention. Teenage girls—’
‘—should be happy and secure enough not to be sucked into…this,’ said Gary. ‘And it’s my responsibility to take care of that. It is a father’s job to make his daughter feel loved and respected and safe, so she isn’t looking to some dirtbag older man to do it in the wrong kind of way.’
‘It wouldn’t have come to that,’ said Ren. ‘She wouldn’t have got that close to him. Claire’s a smart kid.’
‘She’s a kid, period,’ said Gary. ‘And having this pamphlet in her book bag is already too close.’
‘I know. You’re right,’ said Ren. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Kill him if we find him. Kill him.’
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that…’
‘I would have no problem doing it.’ Gary shook his head. ‘You see me here. I’m not exactly…I’m not an emotional person. I…’
‘But—’
Gary looked up at her. ‘Ren, it’s not like I come home at night and turn into Wonderdad, OK?’
‘Gary, you’re not this horrible father,’ said Ren. ‘You know that. Kids need to accept that parents are people too. They have their own shit going on. It’s just that my parents’ generation or yours gave the impression that everything was OK in the world and that they had no problems.’
‘My father slept with two of my friends’ moms and asked me to cover for him on three separate occasions…’ said Gary.
‘Alrighty, then.’
He smiled. ‘But thanks anyway. So, you knocked on my door. What did you want?’
‘I was just coming in to ask you for some of those giant rubber bands to flick at Robbie.’
‘And the fate of the nation rested with one woman…’
‘Do you have any?’
Gary shook his head slowly. ‘On the filing cabinet.’
‘Thanks,’ said Ren, waving a handful at him.
‘There’s one more thing,’ said Gary. ‘There is one little undercover job I’d like you to take care of.’
‘Uh-oh. What?’
‘I told Claire you might help her with her Spanish…’
‘Ah…’ said Ren.
‘She won’t talk to her mother about boys or anything like that. But she might talk to you. To someone like Claire, you would appear cool.’
‘What do you mean just “to someone like Claire”?’ said Ren. She nodded. ‘Sure, I’ll do that. No problem.’
‘I appreciate it,’ said Gary.
‘But she still knows you’re my boss, she mightn’t say a word.’
‘I don’t know – be conspiratorial. Make up something shitty I did to you.’
‘“Make up”?’ Ren smiled.
Gary’s phone rang. Ren took it as her cue to leave.
That evening, Ren pulled into the parking lot of the Jefferson County Cold Case Unit and dialed Janine Hooks’ number.
‘Janine? Hi, it’s Ren Bryce. I’d just like to apologize again for everything.’
‘There really is no need,’ said Janine.
‘I know, but still…I’d like to…make amends. I’m outside your building and—’
‘What?’ said Janine.
‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘Can you spare a minute?’
Janine paused. ‘OK, but—’
‘If you could come out to the parking lot, I’d like you to meet someone.’
‘You can bring them up to my office,’ said Janine. ‘That’s not a problem.’
‘I can’t. Please, it’ll only take a minute.’
‘OK,’ said Janine. ‘This is a little strange.’
‘That’s how I roll,’ said Ren.
Ren got out of the car when she saw Janine crossing the lot. Janine was already looking into the car. She frowned at Ren.
‘She’s on the floor,’ said Ren. She opened the back door and Misty stood up.
‘Wow,’ said Janine. ‘She’s beautiful. Hello, girl. You are beautiful,’ she said, crouching down. Misty threw herself at Janine.
‘I saw the dog photos in your office,’ said Ren. ‘All over your office.’
‘What, and you bought me a dog?’ said Janine. ‘You must be riddled with guilt.’
Ren laughed. ‘Yes. And no, I did not buy you a dog, I brought you a…colleague.’
‘What?’
‘Meet Misty,’ said Ren. ‘She’s my cadaver dog. A warm friend to cold cases. We are at your service. If you’d still like to search those possible burial grounds you mentioned.’
Janine stood up. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Yup.’
‘Do you think she’d be any use?’
‘You bet,’ said Ren. ‘She’s very well trained.’
‘Thank you so much,’ said Janine. ‘I’ve always wanted to work with a cadaver dog.’
‘Well, here we are.’
‘I really appreciate it,’ said Janine. ‘I might take the hex off you, now.’
Ren laughed. ‘OK, well, we better get going. Send me an email and we’ll go from there.’ She turned to put Misty back in the car.
‘Ren,’ said Janine. ‘My first case here, there was this woman, she was eighty-two years old, one of the nicest little old ladies you could meet. And I believed that her son had killed his pregnant girlfriend in 1972. He had disappeared the same day the body was found. No trace of him since then. So I called to this lil ol’ lady’s door, pretending I had gotten lost in the neighborhood. She was so blind, she thought I was about nineteen years old. She brought me in, made me tea. I called back with flowers, I took her grocery shopping another day…’ Janine paused. ‘Look, her son’s in jail now because of my finest efforts. He had gotten back in touch with her when the dust had settled. He would call her, visit if he could. And I took him away. I get what it’s like to do what you have to do—’
‘Wow,’ said Ren. ‘You played an old lady? You are one mean bitch. Stay away from my dog.’
They laughed.
Ren’s cell phone rang. ‘It’s my boss,’ she said. ‘I better take this.’
‘Sure,’ said Janine. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
‘Cool,’ said Ren. She hit Answer.
‘Ren, get into the office. Now.’ He hung up.
Half an hour later, Ren was walking down the hallway registering the barely contained fury on Gary’s face as he stood in his doorway with his arms folded.
Oh shit.
Ren paused in front of him. ‘What’s this ab—’
‘Grab your coat. We’re going to Stout Street.’ Stout Street was the FBI’s federal building in downtown Denver.
‘Why?’ said Ren.
‘A man called James Laker has just walked in there with footage of Javier Luis’ murder, saying Domenica Val Pando was responsible.’
Oh my God. James Laker is alive?
‘Aren’t you going to ask me why you’re coming with me?’ said Gary.
‘I guess we both know why I’m coming with you.’
‘I don’t think you know. Laker is saying he was forced at gunpoint to falsify information about Special Agent Ren Bryce on the same tape. He wants to make a sworn statement to the contrary.’
Oh, thank God. Thank God.
Gary glanced at her. ‘I don’t know what’s on this tape. All I know is that you have nine lives, Ren Bryce. And you are running through them faster than anyone I have ever met.’
Acknowledgements
Thank you, always, to my agen
t Darley Anderson and the fabulous team at the Darley Anderson Literary, TV and Film Agency. Special thanks to Camilla Bolton, criminal mastermind.
Love, thanks and fond farewell to Wayne Brookes, the star who shines wherever he goes.
Thank you to Lynne Drew for her wisdom, insight and thoughtfulness.
Many thanks to Belinda Budge, Moira Reilly, Tony Purdue and everyone at the wonderful HarperCollins.
To Anne O’Brien – thank you for never missing a trick.
I am thoroughly grateful to all the experts who give up their time, share their expertise, and understand that I have to play with the facts. Very special thanks to SSA Phil Niedringhaus and to everyone at The Rocky Mountain Safe Streets Task Force. Thank you to David Aggleton, Aggleton & Associates, Inc.; Cold Case Investigator, Cheryl Moore; Kerry O’Connell; Billy L. Smith Sr.; L.E.T.S. International, Inc.
To Sue Booth-Forbes, thank you always for your kindness, generosity and inspiration.
To Paul, for everything you do, thank you out loud.
Love and thanks to my endlessly supportive family and friends.
About the Author
TIME OF DEATH
Alex Barclay lives in County Cork, Ireland. She is the writer of three other bestselling thrillers, Darkhouse, The Caller and Blood Runs Cold.
For more information about Alex Barclay and her books, please visit her website, www.alexbarclay.co.uk
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Praise for Alex Barclay:
‘Right now, she’s the rising star of the hard-boiled crime fiction world, combining wild characters, surprising plots and massive backdrops with a touch of dry humour’
Mirror
‘Explosive’
Company
‘Darkhouse is a terrific debut by an exciting new writer’
Independent on Sunday