by Alex Barclay
‘There’s an old toy factory called the Ostler Building, off Brighton Boulevard. It’s in some way connected with Kurt Vine; he’s posted photos of it on his site. Can you find out who owns it? Vine obviously doesn’t or you would have found out, but he has definitely been inside it, so he had to have keys or know someone who did … unless it’s not locked up, of course. Didn’t think of that.’
‘OK – I’ll check that out and call you back. Did you talk to Gary?’
‘Gary – no, why?’
‘Apparently you, Robbie and Janine are staying after work for a meeting. Everyone else, including me, is to go home at five on the button. He said that was a strict order.’
‘Really?’ said Ren. ‘What the heck is that about?’ She glanced at her phone. ‘Oh there’s a text here from him: My office, 5.30 p.m. Urgent. Woo.’
‘I have no idea,’ said Everett. ‘I’m clearly not one of The Chosen. I presume you added that “woo” yourself.’
‘Also,’ said Ren, ‘before you flee at five on the button, I need you and Robbie to go right away to the auditorium in Denver University – it turns out that Shaun Lucchesi has been doing some very good amateur detective work … that could have put him unwittingly in Duke Rawlins’ sights. Joe went ballistic.’
‘Shit,’ said Everett.
‘Well, we don’t know anything yet – it’s precautionary,’ said Ren. ‘I really don’t believe he’s in danger.’
On the drive, Ren thought about Duke Rawlins watching her, knowing she was on the investigation, following her to her car, finding her and sitting next to her in bipolar support.
A shiver ran up her spine. She was lucky. He had her right there. He could have done anything. She was lucky.
For now …
Ren pulled into RiNo and parked outside the man-gym. She crossed the street and walked the two blocks to the Ostler Building. The building was constructed on different levels, all painted in the same palette of cream with bottle-green trim. All the original signage had been removed from the exterior. The only signs left were Keep Out and Private Property. To the east side was the tallest part of the building – what Ren always thought was a chimney when she caught sight of it from the office. Up close, it looked like a small tower, albeit an adjoined one, twenty feet higher than the rest of the building. In the Sixties, it had the timber doll’s head mounted on the front. Without the head it was clear that the line of small dark windows at the top had played the role of the teeth in the doll’s smile.
Not one bit creepy.
There must be some kind of room up there.
Ren walked around to the north side of the building, where there were eight shuttered loading bays.
Give me a way in, here, people.
She Googled the building. It wasn’t up for sale or for lease, so there was no information or floor plans to be found.
Shit.
Her cell phone rang and she jumped.
‘Everett!’ she said, answering. ‘My heart.’
‘You need to set that thing to vibrate,’ said Everett.
‘I hate vibration,’ said Ren.
Pause.
‘And yes,’ said Ren. ‘All vibrations.’
‘OK, I’m on my way to the university – don’t worry,’ he said. ‘You were right about the building. I won’t bore you with the details, but, basically, when Kurt Vine inherited the land from his grandfather, his cousin inherited that factory/warehouse. So it’s not a big leap to say that Vine borrowed the keys to take the photos.’
‘That would explain how there were vintage photos on Vine’s site too – they were family photos. Where’s the cousin?’
‘Germany,’ said Everett.
‘Which means, unless Kurt Vine mailed the keys back, they’re in his house in Sedalia.’
‘What’s the significance of this building?’ said Everett.
‘I’ll fill you in when you get back,’ said Ren.
‘Okaaay,’ said Everett. ‘Are you up to badness?’
‘Nevah,’ said Ren. ‘I’m going to call Douglas County, see if someone can go look for those keys at Vine’s house.’
But realistically, we both know that is a giant lie and I’m going to break in myself …
62
Ren went around the side of the building and found a doorway with a glass upper half and a window beside it. She looked through into a narrow hallway tiled in pale green. She noticed a small crack in the pane. She looked left and right, saw no one, then struck the crack with her elbow. The glass was old, and shattered easily. Ren covered her hand with her jacket, reached inside and unlocked the door. She turned on her flashlight and went in. To the right, the door into the tower was padlocked. Ahead, an open door led into the main factory, and to the left was a long hallway and an old-fashioned sign over the architrave that read ADMINISTRATION. Ren started with the padlocked door, yanking on it hard.
Shit.
She turned and went down the hallway. The air smelled of damp, and paper and age. There were offices on both sides, all the way to the end.
May find tools in offices. May break padlock. May be delusional.
She pulled out a pair of gloves and put them on.
As she walked, she moved her flashlight along the ground ahead, picking up the thin, threadbare carpet, stained for reasons she didn’t want to consider. She directed the beam up and down the bare walls. She went through the first door on the left: half-open file cabinet in the corner, single broken chair, missing desk, one poster, and marks on the wall from four missing ones.
Why leave one? I never get that.
What was so amazing about the other four?
She went over to the file cabinet, pulled each drawer open wide. There were loose file tabs, an eraser, an orange ticket stub. In the bottom drawer, she found a lonely romance novel with an illustration of a handsome couple clutching each other as if the end of the world was just over the cover.
That writer is dead now.
She walked on, imagining the men and women who worked there and she understood Kurt Vine and how he could want to honor people this way. Real people with lives and loves and families spent their days there with real hopes and dreams and problems and ambition.
And then they died.
Great.
Imagine people coming into an abandoned Safe Streets.
They’d find weird shit in my drawers. They’d question the whole operation …
In the last office, Ren sat down at one of the desks and slid out the top drawer. There was a stack of Seventies-looking brochures – the top one from a furniture company. She started flicking through it, then went to the next one – stationery supplier, then the next one—
Why am I so distracted? Jesus.
She thought about the past and the present and how tenuous everything felt, and how strange futures were, how they could turn from something bright into one big shitshow, based on something as simple as an ordering or reordering of thoughts and the decisions that followed.
Or the words of a horoscope.
She left the admin offices and went into the warehouse. It was at least fifty thousand square feet contained under high ceilings, hung with fluorescent lights. Long narrow tables were pushed back against the walls. Light filtered in dimly from the rows of window at the top of the wall. The floor was concrete, mainly dust-covered, but with trails where it had been disturbed.
So someone was walking here recently. Running. She looked around. Several someones.
There was no sign that toys were ever made there – the bins from Kurt Vine’s photos weren’t here; neither was the wooden doll’s head.
They may be about to put the building on the market.
Ren’s boot crunched over something. She looked down and saw broken glass in blue, green, clear – all the colors that were taken out of Donna Darisse’s feet.
Yes – this is where Donna Darisse was killed. The fucking horror of being hunted through this place.
The flashlight picked up a d
ark stain on the concrete close by. There were more stains as they walked in further. She could smell bleach and urine. But it was a newer smell, not from as far back as Donna Darisse’s murder.
Ren’s heart started to beat a little faster.
Relax. Relax.
She heard a sound behind her.
Oh.
Fuck.
She looked around. A man stood in silhouette in the doorway holding a tire iron.
Joe.
Thank. Fuck.
‘What are you doing here?’ said Ren, walking over to him. ‘Didn’t you wait for the graduation?’
‘I guess I’m not a great peacemaker.’
‘Jesus – it’s his graduation.’
Joe shook his head. ‘I couldn’t stand by his side after what he did. I must sound like an asshole, and maybe I am. But I’d feel like a hypocrite. I’m even more anxious now to nail this son-of-a-bitch while Shaun is safe.’
‘Did you follow me?’ said Ren.
‘Of course I did. I saw your eyes … you had something. You should have told me.’
‘I wanted you to go to with Shaun. Whatever this is can wait.’
‘And you believe that …’ said Joe. ‘Have you spoken to Gary about this?’
‘Gary … no.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, here I am breaking and entering …’
She looked down. Joe was holding bolt cutters. Ren smiled. ‘I thought that was a tire iron that I was about to be beaten to death with.’
‘Duke Rawlins is not getting near you,’ said Joe.
Ren went very still. I’m your do-over. You couldn’t save Anna. You think you can save me. ‘I’m not worried about Duke Rawlins.’
‘You should be.’
But I’m fucking invincible. ‘Now, are you done trying to scare the shit out of me in a darkened and abandoned warehouse? Because it’s not working.’ Because I’m fucking invincible.
63
Joe pointed over to the row of doors on the opposite wall. ‘Where do they go?’
‘They lead into the loading bays.’
Joe counted them: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.
‘There are nine of them,’ said Joe, ‘and there are only eight loading bays outside. So that room on the right over there has no external access. Let’s start with that.’
They went over to the door. Joe broke the lock with the bolt cutters. Inside, a huge plastic lidded bin on wheels stood at the center of the room. With a gloved hand, Ren reached up to the handle on the lid and pushed it up. As soon as it opened a crack, they were hit with two smells: cleaning fluid and death.
Suppress the gagging.
‘Give me a leg up,’ said Ren.
‘Seriously?’ said Joe.
‘Yes.’
He did.
The liquid was murky, gray-green, stinking. And rising to the top, floating tips of blonde hair.
‘That would be Dainty Farraday,’ said Ren, sliding back down.
‘And on and on it goes,’ said Joe.
‘We should check the other doors too, just in case,’ said Ren.
They went through them, one to eight, and they were all cleared out.
Ren’s phone went off. She jumped. Joe laughed.
It was a text from Janine. Where are u? Gary going apeshit.
Ren checked the time.
Five thirty-eight! Holy shit! Where has the time gone?
Ren texted Janine. Cover for me? In the middle of something. Will be there in ten. It will be worth it.
Janine replied: Call Gary first. Seriously. Please.
Grrr.
Ren called Gary.
‘Ren, where the hell are you?’ he said.
‘I’m on my way,’ said Ren. ‘You’re not going to believe this shit—’
The phone went dead.
Oh my God. He hung up on me!
That’s bad.
Really bad.
But do not go back to him without proof. He will think you are insane. Again.
She felt a surge of frustration, a rush of violent impulses she struggled to leash. They were terrifying. And they were powerful. And they were not meant for people like Gary.
‘Shall we enter the tower?’ said Ren.
‘After you, then …’ Joe smiled, gestured forward.
Ren pointed to the tower door.
‘He’s been watching us from up there.’
‘What do you think he could really see?’ said Joe.
‘Honestly?’ said Ren. ‘Not a lot. I think it’s psychological. I think it’s a one-up thing, a fuck-you. I don’t think he’s learned anything – how could he have?’
Joe used the bolt cutters on the padlock. He set it down.
They both took out their flashlights, drew their weapons. Ren walked through, the concrete floor illuminated by the beams.
Ugh.
It stank of garbage.
There were two empty bottles of bleach on the floor.
‘This is it,’ said Ren. ‘We’ve found the monster’s lair.’
She moved her flashlight and they struck the metal steps of a spiral staircase.
Oh, God. The lighthouse.
Ren could feel Joe pause behind her. She checked her phone, then turned to him.
‘I’ve lost my signal,’ said Ren. ‘Could you call Gary, let him know, send everyone in?’
‘I’m coming up,’ said Joe.
‘Please don’t,’ said Ren, setting her foot on the rock-solid bottom step. ‘This staircase does not feel stable. It won’t take both of us.’
She kept walking up. ‘Call Gary. He won’t take a call from me.’
Ren got to the top of the stairs. There were two mattresses on the ground, empty food cartons – the same kind of detritus that people everywhere collect just by going about their lives. She walked over to the window. She looked over at Safe Streets. She had a clear view. The bullpen was in darkness.
Because they’re all in Gary’s office at an urgent meeting.
Where I should be.
But I scored! He can’t be mad.
She looked around: suitcases, clothes, girls’, guys’, Dainty Farraday’s guitar, makeup, syringes, Band Aid, magazines, newspapers, razors; objects that echoed through so many lives, but took on a filthy and sinister quality, strewn around the lair of a killer.
Ren ran down the stairs. ‘Did you get him?’
‘No,’ said Joe. ‘It rang out.’
‘Everything’s up there,’ said Ren. ‘It’s Rawlins.’
Joe started to walk past her through the doorway.
It’s safe. Go ahead.
‘I’ll go,’ said Ren. ‘I’ll get everyone.’
She could hear Joe’s footsteps clanging on the metal behind her, then fading as she ran from them.
Ren got back into the Jeep and drove the two minutes to the Livestock Exchange Building. There were five cars in the parking lot: Gary’s, Robbie’s, Janine’s, Everett’s, and a fancy black sporty one.
That car’s familiar. Hmm …
And why is Everett still here?
She ran up the steps and paused. It was an overcast day, but the lobby seemed unnaturally dark. She pushed open the door into the lobby. She was hit with a smell.
Oh, God. Someone is dead in here.
Oh, Jesus Christ.
64
Ren’s heart pounded. She drew her weapon and walked toward the stairs. In the gloom, she could see feet sticking out from under the stairwell.
Oh, no.
She walked over, hearing nothing but her own footsteps.
The realtor, Valerie, dressed in her beautiful pink suit, was lying by the wall. There was a loose plug socket in her hand, its wires connecting it limply to the hole in the baseboard. She looked pristine, but she was clearly dead.
Oh my God. The electricity. The fault. Rodney Viezel was right. What the fuck?
Ren crouched down, put her fingers to Valerie’s throat. No pulse. Ren stood up, looked up
, saw nothing.
No lights on. The system has shorted. Gary didn’t hang up. But why isn’t everyone down here? Surely they would have come down to investigate?
She took out her cell phone, started to dial 911.
‘Ren!’
She looked up. ‘Janine! Oh my God – what happened?’ Ren ran up toward her.
‘I know. It’s terrible,’ said Janine. ‘We’ve already called 911. They’re on their way.’
Ren ended the call, put her phone away, slid her sidearm into its holster. ‘Are you OK? Is everyone else?’
‘We have our flashlights – Gary’s insisting on finishing this meeting.’
What?! ‘Jesus – am I dead woman walking?’ said Ren.
‘No, no,’ said Janine. She turned and ran up ahead.
This is weird. She isn’t making eye contact with me. Her tone is off.
Ren made it up to the top floor and walked into the Safe Streets hallway. It was eerily quiet.
Gary sent everyone home.
Gary’s office was at the end of the hallway, the door wide open.
Empty.
‘We’re in here!’ said Janine. ‘By the cells.’
Shivers were rolling down Ren’s spine.
Why aren’t you all in Gary’s office?
Something’s not right here. Janine sounds off. Why is she not looking at me?
Ren took the right through the admin offices, and the left into where the cells were.
Oh, God.
Duke Rawlins had dragged a table into the center of the small space and was sitting on it, his arm hooked around Janine, who was now half-leaning, half-sitting on his right leg like a ventriloquist’s dummy. There was an ethereal look of calm on her face. And a knife pressed against her neck, right to her carotid artery.
I can’t risk a shot.
Janine. You look so tiny.
Rawlins gave Janine a squeeze. ‘You did good, you did good. Your colleagues here lived.’
Ren glanced to her left. To the cells. Inside the one closest to the wall were Robbie and Everett. Inside the other, closest to her, was Gary, all of them with their wrists tied behind their backs with cable ties or handcuffs.
Ren laid her weapon on the file cabinet beside her, and raised her hands.
‘I’ll do whatever you want me to.’ I really fucking will.