Killing Ways

by Alex Barclay

  Gary looked up. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have any more information for you.’

  I have a really bad feeling about this. You will sound nuts if you say that out loud.

  ‘Thanks!’ said Ren. Bright and breezy.

  Ren sat at her desk, and went through all the case files again. She started picturing the autopsy photos. And then Janine’s face on her Wall of Horrors.

  Her stomach turned.

  Stop.

  Janine’s personal effects.

  She tried Janine again, left a voicemail.

  Do. Not. Panic.

  Dainty Farraday’s knife. Knives. Plural.

  Stop.

  Janine’s memorial service.

  Duke Rawlins’ accomplices. He will have more. Multiple accomplices. Terri? Could she really be someone else? Dainty? The sister, Robin, back from London?

  That’s nuts.

  But … what if it’s not?

  Work, go home, make dinner, relax. Jesus.

  Janine – where are you?

  Her heart started to pound.

  51

  Ren got back to the apartment after work, and went to the refrigerator. It was empty of food.

  Shit. But who did I think would have filled it? I need a housekeeper. Or Ben to come back.

  Where is Janine?

  Her heart started to race again.

  The cupboard: noodles, coconut milk, Thai green curry spice mix, vegetable stock cubes. Freezer: peas. Refrigerator door: lime juice from a bottle. I can work with that.

  Janine! Why haven’t you called me back?

  Wall of Horrors.

  Beer.

  She opened a bottle of Coors Light, turned on the radio and started to cook.

  She threw the dinner together.

  It’s missing about five ingredients.

  I am so not hungry.

  Where is Janine?

  She turned on the television and watched an episode of Friends.

  Where is MY friend?

  She opened another beer.

  I’ve tried her ten times now. No response. There is something very wrong.

  I’ll just call over. What’s the worst that can happen? The embarrassment of the last time.

  Ren jumped into the Jeep. She drove down I-70, listening to pounding music at full-volume, slowly increasing her speed to eighty-five miles an hour. Her back window filled with flashing blue lights.

  Oh no you don’t.

  She hit the accelerator harder. The sirens struck up.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Ren pulled in. She rolled down the window. She took out her creds. As the cop walked toward her, she held it out the window.

  ‘Officer, I’m SA Ren Bryce from Safe Streets. I’m on an urgent—’

  The cop leaned in to the window. ‘Ma’am, have been drinking?’

  What the? ‘No!’

  ‘Ma’am, could you please step out of the vehicle.’

  ‘Officer, this is a life-or-death situation here. I have to—’

  ‘Ma’am—’

  ‘No fucking way!’ said Ren. ‘My friend … my colleague is in very real danger. We’re working on the serial killer investigation. I’m not fucking around here—’

  ‘Ma’am, I can smell alcohol on your breath.’

  ‘But I—’ Oh shit. Oh shit. Her heart started to pound. ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘I apologize, Officer. I had one and a half bottles of beer. I … I … forgot.’ How could I forget that?

  ‘One and a half,’ said the officer.

  ‘Yes, I swear to God,’ said Ren. ‘I was preparing dinner. I … I completely forgot. I don’t usually do that. I …’

  ‘If you’re promising me that’s all you had, I’m going to let you go. And I’m going to forget the attitude.’

  ‘I really am sorry,’ said Ren. Her hand was on the key in the ignition. ‘My friend …’

  The officer slapped the roof of the Jeep. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you so much.’ I’m a fucking idiot.

  She put her foot to the floor.

  She kept trying Janine’s cell phone on the drive. It kept being off. Ren sped into the parking lot of Janine’s building, punched in the code, ran up the stairs. She rang Janine’s doorbell.

  Please be here. Please be taking a nap. Or watching a box set. Or anything at all. Because nothing else matters as long as you’re here.

  Ren rang the doorbell.

  Or somewhere safe. Anywhere. Don’t be dead.

  Ren rang the doorbell again.

  OK. You’re asleep.

  Ren put her spare key in the door, opened it, walked in, listened, called out Janine’s name, walked further in, called out Janine’s name. She saw her cell phone on the table. She saw her wallet.

  Oh. God. She’s dead.

  Jesus … she’s gone for a walk.

  Ren could feel her legs shaking. She sat down on Janine’s beautiful cozy sofa.

  This is not good. I know this is not good. But I often think things are not good when they’re perfectly fine. I hate this. What am I supposed to think?

  She stood up.

  Janine is in danger. I just know she is. I can feel it in my heart.

  She went into Janine’s bedroom, pristine as always, smelling of beautiful smells. She went into the bathroom, the same. She went into the kitchen, she opened the fridge.

  Salad, apples, salad, apples. Why don’t you look after yourself? Eat! Be strong! Be able to fight back more! Where are you?

  Ren went back into the living room and sat down. She called Robbie.

  ‘Robbie, have you heard from Janine?’

  ‘No,’ said Robbie. ‘Should I have?’

  ‘I wish you had,’ said Ren. ‘She’s not here … I’m at her apartment. Her cell phone’s here, her wallet …’

  ‘Are you worried?’ said Robbie.

  She could hear him shifting in his chair.

  You’ll sound like a lunatic. Who cares? It’s Robbie. ‘Yes. I’m really worried. I have a bad feeling.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I just do,’ said Ren.

  Silence. ‘She’s probably gone for a walk,’ said Robbie. ‘Maybe she’s gone to Woody’s for pizza, just didn’t want to be disturbed.’

  They shared a small silence at the unlikelihood Janine would leave her phone behind.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Ren. ‘I’ll go check. Thanks.’

  ‘I mean, is there something else going on?’ said Robbie. ‘Are you worried about her state of mind? She’s looking a little gaunt.’

  Now he notices! ‘No, no – she’s fine. Just let me know if she calls.’ Ren stood up. She looked at Janine’s phone.

  Ooh, last dialed calls.

  She turned on the phone. The caller list was cleared.

  Hmmm.

  Ren scrolled through her contacts.

  I feel dirty.

  Terri! She might know. Ren dialed the number. It beeped like a discontinued number.

  No! Terri! Something is wrong. She’s not who Janine thinks she is.

  52

  Ren left Janine’s apartment and locked the door behind her. She drove to Woody’s and parked outside.

  Why am I even doing this? I know she’s not here.

  She sucked in a breath, suddenly overwhelmed by Janine’s cell phone in her hand, a rock-solid reminder that she was unable to do anything to locate her. Cell phones were strange objects – turned off, left behind, diverted … they stripped people of power in a way a regular phone never had. Everyone had their cell phone with them.

  Didn’t they?

  Where are you?

  Ren sat at a table in Woody’s.

  What am I supposed to do now? Maybe I’m losing it. She’s probably fine.

  A cheery server came over to Ren.

  ‘Hey, there. What can I get you?’ she said.

  I might as well eat. I’m here now. ‘Just an order of Jalapeño poppers and a Coke. Thank you.’

  ‘You bet.’

  Ren sc
rolled again through Janine’s phone.

  I’m not reading the texts – that’s wrong. But, then … they could explain a sudden absence, the fleeing, the leaving shit behind.

  There were epic text exchanges between Ren and Janine … they were the bulk of the texts. There were more to different people. But none to Terri.

  Weird. Unless Janine was protecting her privacy. Unless she was just deleting sensitive exchanges. But then, she hadn’t wiped the sensitive exchanges with me. And we’re closer.

  Maybe Terri was having some kind of problems.

  Privacy! The Privacy of Lunatics Act. Eating disorder! Maybe she met Terri at a support group. That’s why it seemed so covert.

  Ren looked at her contact details. Terri’s address was there – under her first name only – ten minutes away.

  Oh, thank God. I’ll do a drive-by, if I see Janine there, I’ll keep going.

  Ren got up to leave and met the server walking towards her with her orders. She slapped fifteen dollars on the tray, took the Coke, said thank you and left.

  Ren pulled into Terri’s street. It was quiet, lined with ranch houses in various states of disrepair. Terri’s was one of the better ones, nothing dazzling, nothing shabby. There was no car outside. Ren went up the path. She rang the doorbell.

  What the hell do I say if she comes to the door?

  There was no answer. She looked in the small window.

  Her stomach sank.

  This house does not look lived in. Nothing on the walls. Nothing under the stairs. She could see down the hallway that there was nothing on the kitchen counter.

  Ren ran to the living-room window.

  Oh shit. Oh fuck.

  It was entirely empty. There was absolutely nothing in the room.

  Terri no longer lives at this address. She may never have.

  She’s Duke Rawlins’ accomplice. She’s Dainty Farraday. Or her sister. Or someone else entirely. Oh. My. God. Janine doesn’t know I found Dainty today. Janine has never seen the Farraday twins’ photos. Not the recent ones.

  Ren ran to the neighbor’s house. She hammered on the screen door, held up her creds. A woman in her thirties came to the door, tentatively. She studied the badge. She opened up.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘I’m Special Agent Ren Bryce from Denver Safe Streets. I want to ask you about the woman next door … Terri …’ She paused. ‘I don’t know her last name.’ I have no fucking idea. Jesus Christ.

  The woman looked surprised. ‘No one lives next door. Not for at least two years.’

  Everything in Ren’s body felt like it was plunging, melting, breaking, shattering.

  ‘Terri …?’ said Ren. ‘There’s definitely not a Terri next door. Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the woman. ‘They’ve been trying to rent it for a while, though the sign’s been down for the past three months, so maybe someone was planning to move in. I don’t know.’

  Ren’s heart was pounding.

  The targets are Gary. And me. The fallout is Karen Dettling for him … and Janine for me. Ben is too far away.

  No. No. No. No. No. No.

  Oh, God. Carly Raine – Golden. Maybe Rawlins was really there for Janine.

  She called Gary. His phone was diverted.

  What is wrong with everyone? Where are you all?

  Think, Ren. Where could Janine be? At the store. At a bar. Being killed. Support group! At a support group! Tonight is Wednesday! That was the night I called to the house when Terri was there!

  Ren Googled eating disorder support groups in the area and found only one that met on Wednesdays in a community hall in Evergreen, a twenty-five-minute drive from Golden.

  But wouldn’t Janine have brought her phone?

  And is it ridiculous for me to drive all that way?

  The meeting was ending as Ren arrived.

  Have I missed Janine? Did she go with Terri, get a ride back with her?

  Ren waited until everyone left before going into the room. A woman was tidying up some pamphlets on the table at the back. Ren knew from the web page that she was Megan Knight, the support group supervisor.

  ‘Megan Knight?’ said Ren.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid you’re a little late for the meeting.’

  Stop eyeing me that way.

  Ren held up her badge. ‘Actually, I’m here about another matter.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Megan, her eyes wide.

  ‘Don’t worry – I understand you have to protect people’s privacy, but I’m trying to find this woman.’ She showed Megan the photo of Janine.

  ‘Yes – I’ve seen her,’ said Megan. ‘She’s been coming over the last – I want to say – three months?’

  Good for you, Janine. But I’m stung you didn’t tell me.

  ‘She never speaks,’ said Megan, ‘but we don’t like to put people under pressure. They’ve shown up, that’s a positive step we don’t want to undo.’

  ‘She’s a very private person,’ said Ren. ‘Megan, I believe she made a friend there – a woman called Terri?’

  Megan nodded. ‘Yes, there’s a Terri who comes here. She often talks about her dogs, how much she loves her dogs.’

  Shit … that would totally suck Janine in. ‘Did she ever mention where she lived?’ said Ren. ‘She told Janine that she lived in Golden, but I don’t think that’s true.’

  ‘Really?’ said Megan. ‘Why would she lie?’

  Because she’s a killer. Or a killer’s accomplice. ‘I don’t know,’ said Ren. ‘Is there anything you can think of that might help?’

  ‘The nature of what we do allows for so much secrecy,’ said Megan, ‘I’m not sure how useful I can be. Let me rack my brains …’

  ‘Were they here tonight?’ said Ren.

  ‘No,’ said Megan, ‘which was a little strange, because Terri was planning to speak again tonight.’

  Oh, shit … why would she not show?

  ‘What does she look like?’ said Ren.

  Oh! The Farraday girls’ photo!

  Ren showed Megan the photo of Robin Farraday. ‘Is that her?’ said Ren. ‘Or if you could maybe imagine that face thinner, with different hair?’

  Megan shook her head. ‘No – Terri looks nothing like that. She’s a little heavier … she would have auburn hair, smaller eyes, and a wider nose. Definitely not this lady.’

  Thank God.

  But I know this is temporary relief. Because Duke Rawlins has all kinds of accomplices.

  I feel so sick.

  Ren drove back toward Golden. She tried Gary’s phones three times. Eventually, she left a message.

  ‘Gary, answer my fucking calls! I’m not fucking around here. Where the fuck are you? This is serious shit. Janine has dropped off the face of the earth. I’m worried about her. Call me!’

  I need to fucking talk to people! Where are my people?

  Ren drove back to the address Terri had given Janine. Maybe she could check the mailbox, take a walk around the back this time, see was there anything there that would reveal anything.

  Ren’s mobile started to ring. She looked down.

  Robbie.

  ‘Did you find her?’ said Ren.

  ‘No,’ said Robbie. ‘I was just calling to see, did you?’

  ‘No!’ said Ren. ‘I’m really worried. I—’

  ‘You sound it,’ said Robbie.

  ‘I’m concerned her new friend is someone Duke Rawlins sucked in,’ said Ren. ‘I think …’ She started crying. ‘Her name is Terri …’

  ‘Ren, Ren, calm down,’ said Robbie. ‘I’m sure it’s all very innocent.’

  ‘Are you?’ said Ren, wiping her eyes. ‘Are you? I can’t handle this.’ I can’t breathe. ‘What if this is Colin Grabien and he knows—’

  ‘What is this Colin Grabien thing?’ said Robbie. His tone was gentle. ‘Colin Grabien is right now being an idiot in Vegas. Someone emailed me a screen grab of one of his Facebook posts. OK? Does that help?’

  Jesus. Tha
nks, Robbie. ‘Yes, yes, it does.’

  I am losing my mind.

  ‘Oh my God!’ said Ren. ‘There’s a car pulling up! I gotta go—’

  ‘Pulling up where?’ said Robbie. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m outside … I’m …’ Don’t tell him. ‘I’m—’ I can’t breathe. ‘Oh my God! It’s Janine! She’s fine. She’s alive!’

  ‘Well, good to know. Are you OK now?’

  ‘Yes!’ said Ren. ‘Yes!’ She ended the call. She slid down in the seat and watched as Janine and Terri got out of Terri’s car and took out bags from Bed, Bath & Beyond, and carried them up to the front door.

  Of Terri’s new rental, obviously. Stupid fucking neighbor not knowing that. Scaring the shit out of me.

  Ren collapsed into tears.

  I’m so tired.

  When Janine and Terri had gone inside, Ren drove away, went back to Janine’s apartment and returned her phone.

  Jesus Christ.

  How can the pieces add up so perfectly to create the wrong answer?

  53

  Dainty Farraday was lying naked on the messed-up mattress. It was a raw nakedness, rough and careless, with nothing sensual about it, no attempt to be sensual. She had just taken a hit and was limp and dozy. Lights streamed through the high windows above her, making bright squares on her flesh and across the mattress.

  Duke walked in and lay on the next mattress along, on his back, arms behind his head, legs crossed at the ankles.

  He didn’t like it when she stayed here. But the Feds had descended on Benny’s apartment. There would be no going back there. Duke knew there was nothing of him in that place – he had never been there. But Dainty … Dainty was a powerful link.

  ‘Dainty, get on over here,’ said Duke.

  She smiled her junkie smile. He knew that smile. He’d seen it a hundred times before. She was the daughter of an addict; he was the son of an addict. He went one way – drank in moderation, she went the other – down her mama’s junkie path. That suited him, though, that suited him down to the dirty ground. He was the one who guided her along it.

  ‘Dainty,’ he called. ‘Dainty lady. I’m waiting for you.’ He didn’t tell her about the pills he took to get him hard, she could be real mocking, like her bitch mama. ‘This is your fault,’ he called, pointing to his crotch. ‘You need to take care of a man. Look at what you’re doing to me. I’m waiting.’ He took off his jeans. He took everything off.