by Alex Barclay
He was dictionary-definition handsome, the type who comes from a long line of handsome men, men who wear chinos and button-down shirts, and smart shoes. He was too classically good-looking for other men to get Ren’s attraction to him. They would think ‘nah – he’s too straight for her’.
Corruptible …
The thoughts that used to run through Ren’s head were trying to run their course again.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
Part of Ren resented Paul Louderback. He should have known better. She was hardly the first student to have a crush on him.
But it wasn’t a crush. It was more than that. It was just … complicated.
When they first met, she was with someone else, someone her own age, her hometown boyfriend, someone she really cared about. And what hundreds-of-miles-away twenty-four-year-old Catskill boyfriend could compete with a thirty-four-year-old FBI PT instructor? Especially when he didn’t even know a starting pistol had been fired. The guilt had consumed Ren. She left her boyfriend, not because he had done anything wrong, but because she didn’t know what to do with her feelings for Paul Louderback.
She took her eyes off Paul, physically shook her head as if that would get rid of the thoughts.
Jesus, stop thinking about men.
Gary Dettling caught Ren’s eye, holding her gaze until she focused back on the top of the room. Gary had asked her once was she sleeping with Paul Louderback, and she was able to truthfully answer no, but … well. The important thing was that she had let the friendship slide, and she wanted to keep it that way.
But ‘wanted to’ and ‘would’ are two entirely different things.
Ren zoned back in when Gary Dettling took over and delivered what he knew about the Royces.
‘Shelby Royce’s parents are Cal Royce, sixty-five years old, and Connie Royce, forty-six years old. They’re married twenty-eight years, and have lived for the past sixteen years in Blue River, four miles outside of Breckenridge. Shelby is their only child. Cal runs The Miner on Main Street. Connie works in Happy Days crèche, also on Main Street.
‘Cal Royce is ex-Sons of Silence, a motorcycle gang – a one percenter. As it was famously said – ninety-nine percent of motorcycle gangs are good guys, any outlaw gangs are called one percenters. Sons of Silence are a hardcore gang – but Cal Royce straightened himself out, got married, moved to a nice house in a nice town, no trouble since. On Saturday night, he and his wife were eating together at the South Ridge Bar and Grill in town and stayed there until two a.m. Multiple witnesses confirm this.
‘The Sheriff will be holding a press conference in an hour’s time,’ said Gary. ‘But we’re keeping details of this investigation at a minimum. It is crucial that the correct information is out there, so please, if you are approached by the media for a comment, refer them to our media team. I don’t need to stress the importance of discretion here.’
Everyone moved into the hallway.
Gary came up to Ren. ‘We’ll meet in Bob’s office, go through what we’re going to say to the press.’
Bob walked over to them. ‘There’s already shit getting out there,’ he said. ‘It’s not good, particularly for Erica Whaley – drunken step-mom. I just spoke with everyone’s favorite dimwit-reporter, Casey Bonaventure: “is it true the Whaley step-mom was drunk?”; “did the Whaleys have a screaming match in the restaurant?”; “did the husband grab her by the arm?” “is Cal Royce a member of a violent gang?”; “was Shelby Royce drinking that night?”’
‘And I’ve seen it’s already on Twitter,’ said Ren, ‘“OMG two girls kidnapped in Breck!” And “OMG such a cute town, v safe” and “OMG was going to stay in that hotel for the Dew tour”. Shocked Smiley face.’
17
Taber Grace was wakened by a sharp slice of early morning sun beaming through his bedroom blinds. His dreams had been a mess he could barely untangle, shafts of faces and places, the vague sense of fear and pain. His hands were clenched, his palms sore from where his fingernails had been buried into them. The client file had fallen from the bed where he had left it, and was fanned out across the floor.
He checked his phone. There was a voicemail from his ex-wife, Melissa.
Taber, wherever you are, please call. TJ got in a fight in school Friday. It wasn’t serious, but … just call.
TJ had gotten into a fight. TJ had no business getting into a fight. This was worth more than a phone call or a text. He checked his watch. He would pay TJ a visit. At nine a.m. on a Sunday morning, that would wake him up.
Melissa and TJ Grace still lived in the home that Taber once shared with them in Stapleton, North East Denver. Melissa’s car was in the drive when he arrived. The drapes were closed. Taber walked up the path and rang the doorbell. There was no answer. He smelled burning. He ran to his car and grabbed the spare house key from the glove box. Things had never gotten that bad that Melissa had changed the locks.
He walked into the hallway, but stopped when he heard raised voices in the kitchen. They hadn’t heard the doorbell. They hadn’t heard him open the door and come in. The smell, he realized, was burnt pancakes. There were no flames, there was no smoke. He started to move toward the kitchen. He could hear Melissa’s voice, but couldn’t make out what she was saying. He walked closer.
‘You screwed up my entire life!’ TJ shouted.
Taber stopped dead. Screwed up his life?
Taber heard Melissa answer. ‘I did what I thought was right,’ she said.
TJ was sobbing. ‘Do you have any idea what it’s like to have to lie the whole time? Do you have any idea?’
Taber’s heart pounded. This wasn’t just teenage drama. TJ sounded traumatized.
‘Yes, I have an idea!’ said Melissa. She was crying too. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I lied too, TJ. And it wasn’t right, but … I thought it was. I swear to God, I thought it was.’
Taber was rooted to the spot. Lied about what?
‘Are you telling me the truth now?’ said TJ.
‘What do you mean?’ said Melissa.
‘Are you?’ said TJ.
‘I don’t know what you mean …’ Her voice was shaking.
Taber could hear something hit the floor. He realized then that he could see his ex-wife and son in the reflection of the open glass door. Melissa bent down to pick up what TJ had thrown at her. It was a bottle of pills.
‘Oh, God,’ she said. ‘Where did you get these?’
‘You can’t even remember where you hid them?’ said TJ.
‘Stop, TJ, please. I told you—’
‘You did what you thought was right,’ he said. ‘I get it.’
‘Please,’ said Melissa, ‘don’t be mad.’
‘Mad?’ said TJ. ‘Mad? You think I’m just mad? Are you for real?’
‘You were depressed!’ said Melissa.
‘I was nine years old!’ said TJ. ‘My parents were divorcing! I was upset. My dad was gone.’
Taber thought about it: Nine years old. When TJ was nine … when TJ was nine … Melissa tried to kill herself. TJ had found his mother covered in blood. He had called 911. Taber had heard the recording, TJ’s desperate voice. ‘I … my … mother is shot. My mother is shot. She—’ They asked for his details, and he sobbed as he gave their name and address. They asked again what had happened. He had covered the phone, then spoken again ‘ … self-infected. She’s self-infected.’ The operator had said, ‘Son, do you mean self-inflicted?’ ‘Yes,’ Melissa had said in the background. ‘Yes,’ TJ had said.
And the ambulance had been sent, and the wound was superficial, and lucky for Melissa Grace, and for all the family, her suicide attempt had been a failed one.
And here they all were, six years later. Taber tuned back into the conversation.
‘Did dad know about these?’ said TJ, grabbing back the bottle of pills.
Taber Grace could feel his stomach churn. He barely realized he had moved until he was standing in the kitchen in front of them.
TJ jumped. Melissa crie
d out.
‘Please tell me what’s going on,’ said Taber.
They both stared at him.
‘Someone, please tell me,’ said Taber.
‘Oh, God,’ said Melissa.
‘We’re all going to sit down,’ said Taber. ‘And you’re both going to tell me what this is all about.’ He reached out to TJ. ‘Hand me those,’ he said.
TJ handed him the bottle of pills. Taber read the label. It was a six-year-old prescription.
CERXUS. Melissa Grace. Take One Tablet By Mouth Twice Daily.
‘How do I know the name Cerxus?’ said Taber. He opened the pills and shook them into his hand. They were bright yellow and stamped with a C.
‘These are … what the hell?’ said Taber. ‘These are … TJ’s Vitamin C? When he used to stay with me, and you gave me that little plastic Monday Tuesday Wednesday pill box, you told me not to forget to give him his Vitamin C. It was this? What, exactly, is Cerxus?’ He turned to Melissa. ‘What is it? What was I giving to him?’
‘It’s … it’s an antidepressant,’ said Melissa. Tears streamed down her face.
‘What?’ said Taber. ‘An antidepressant? I said no to that—’
‘You wanted to change his diet,’ said Melissa, ‘get him into sports more, but I was the one who was going to have to do all that. I was going to have to be the one to make all these healthy meals, to fight with him every mealtime, say no when he wanted to watch television … I’d have to drive him to all his sports. I just didn’t have the time.’
‘You didn’t have the time?’ said Taber. ‘So you gave him drugs? Were you out of your mind?’
‘Yes!’ said Melissa. ‘I was! I had lost my husband! I was suddenly a single mom—’
‘Single mom!’ said Taber. ‘I’ve been in TJ’s life more than any other divorced father I know.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Melissa. ‘I know … It seems crazy to
me now. But … I … I thought I was doing the right thing.’
‘By giving him drugs meant for adults?’ said Taber. ‘I cannot believe—’
‘They were being prescribed to children—’
‘Were they even approved for that?’ said Taber.
Melissa paused. ‘No … not officially, but doctors were giving them to lots of kids. I talked to other moms …’
‘Oh, Jesus,’ said Taber. ‘Now I know how I know the name Cerxus. It was taken off the market. There was something about the side effects in kids—’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ said Melissa. ‘It wasn’t. It’s still on the market. But—’
‘There was a TV special too, wasn’t there?’ said Taber. ‘Something about withdrawal symptoms—’
‘But—’
‘You better tell me the whole truth here,’ said Taber. ‘So help me God.’
‘There were side effects … with Cerxus … with children,’ said Melissa. ‘It made them … it gave them suicidal thoughts. And could … it could cause psychotic episodes.’
‘Psychotic episodes?’ said Taber. ‘Psychotic episodes.’ He turned slowly to TJ. Nine years old. Melissa’s suicide attempt. The 911 call.
‘Oh, TJ …’ said Taber. ‘TJ …’
‘Yeah, it was me,’ said TJ, jumping to his feet. ‘I shot her.’ He stabbed a finger toward Melissa. ‘It wasn’t her, she wasn’t trying to kill herself. It was me. I found your gun. I don’t even know what happened. All I remember is being really angry. Mom told me what to say to the paramedics, she told me over and over …’
‘And I got the same story,’ said Taber. He turned to Melissa. ‘You told him to tell his own father the same story. Jesus Christ, Melissa. What did I ever do to—’ He broke down.
‘You would have gone crazy—’ said Melissa.
‘I’m suddenly a monster, now?’ said Taber. ‘You think you could not have come to me with that?’
‘Of course not,’ said Melissa. ‘I … I knew there would be no way back. I knew that—’
‘All I do every day,’ said Taber, ‘is deal with liars. People who hide things. People who deny things, and screw people’s lives up. And my job is to find out all their little secrets. That’s my job. And for six years, my wife and son have been lying to me. Right under my nose. I cannot believe this.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Melissa. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘And whatever about you,’ said Taber, ‘you made TJ bury all that, have that rotting away inside him – what? For the rest of his life? How could you put him through that?’
‘I didn’t want TJ being branded as some psychopath,’ said Melissa, ‘or having some record because of it. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought he was young, he was confused as it was, and I thought that his memory would fade.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Taber.
‘I was not in a good place,’ said Melissa. ‘I can see that now, but at the time, I thought this was the only way out of a terrible situation. I was in shock. I was trying to think quickly, and … I guess once I started lying, there was no going back.’
‘I can’t …’ said Taber. He stood up. ‘I can’t talk to you right now.’
‘No, dad,’ said TJ. ‘Don’t go, dad, don’t – I’m so sorry, dad, I’m so sorry.’
Taber leaned down and grabbed TJ’s shoulders. ‘TJ – look at me, OK? Look at me.’
Tears were streaming down TJ’s face.
‘TJ,’ said Taber. ‘I love you very much. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing. This is not your fault. I’m leaving right now, but it’s because I have to process all this. I don’t want to say anything I might regret.’
Melissa stood up and reached for Taber’s arm. ‘Taber, don’t. Please don’t—’
‘I do not know what to say to you, Melissa. I … I’m at a loss. I don’t know how to feel.’
‘You hate me now, don’t you?’ she said. ‘You hate me.’
‘I don’t,’ said Taber. ‘I don’t hate you. I … I just have to go.’
Taber managed to make it down the hallway, out into the cold and sit into his car. He closed his eyes. Tears poured down his face. For six years, he had been haunted by a scene where his young son had found his desperate mother lying in a pool of blood after trying to take her own life. Now, he had a new scene, and it was more horrifying than he could ever have imagined. It flashed, strobe-like, in his head: TJ raising his gun, pointing it at Melissa, out of control, terrified …
Taber Grace slumped back in the seat, and started the engine. He couldn’t bear the noise of his own pain. Replace the sound, replace the images. He turned on the radio and got the tail end of a commercial break. Then the lead news story was introduced, but instead of taking him away from his problems, it seemed to draw them all together and mangle them: his no-show client, his job, his wife, his son …
Most private investigators would do no more than the job they were paid to do. Taber Grace was no different. But, for the first time, the contents of the client file beside him meant a whole lot more to him than someone else’s shit.
18
In the command center at the Sheriff’s Office, extra desks had been brought in from other offices, making it almost impossible to move around the room.
‘These desks are breeding,’ said Ren, squeezing through them to reach Gary’s at the back. He was sitting very still with his hands resting on the keys of his laptop. Ren leaned over the chest-height partition in front of him.
‘If you ever wanted to bring the lab to a standstill, you could bag all your fears and send them in.’ She went over to her desk and brought back anti-bacterial wipes. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Don’t be a hero.’
Gary started wiping things down.
‘Just wondering,’ said Ren, ‘how long will the CARD team be here?’
Gary shrugged. ‘Just a couple days. Why?’
‘Just wondering.’ Ren pulled away, and glanced down at her white shirt. There was a line of dirt across it from the top of the partition.
‘Ew,’ she said. She could
hear her cell phone ringing on her desk.
‘Pardon me,’ she said, running over to it. It was her brother, Matt.
‘Hey, Ren, I wanted to say thank you for the gifts you sent Ethan.’
‘My pleasure,’ said Ren.
Silence.
Ren started walking toward the interview room.
‘Are you sure you can afford them?’ said Matt.
Ren stopped walking. ‘Mm … what?’
‘Just … I know that things have been a little tight … and I was wondering … don’t get me wrong—’
‘Oh, I’m not getting you wrong,’ said Ren. ‘I think I’m getting you right.’
‘Don’t be like that,’ said Matt.
‘What’s your point?’ said Ren. ‘I shop, therefore, I’m manic?’
‘Just … shopping when you can’t afford it …’ said Matt.
‘Then there are a lot of bipolar people in the world,’ said Ren. ‘Many of them women with great shoes.’
‘Just … there’s no need to buy Ethan gifts, he’s only a baby—’
‘I can buy my only nephew whatever I like,’ said Ren. ‘Now you are calling me to complain about gifts? Who does that?’
‘I’m not complaining about gifts,’ said Matt. ‘I’m thanking you for them, and hoping that buying them didn’t put you under financial strain.’
Ren laughed. ‘They’re onesies from Target,’ said Ren. ‘I don’t think I’ll be on the streets …’
‘Onesies from Target, a snowsuit from Saks, two sweaters from Baby Gap, booties from Macy’s, two pillows from Pottery Barn Kids, a hat from somewhere …’
‘Are you seriously reading labels?’ said Ren.
‘I’m just worried,’ said Matt.
‘Please don’t worry, Matt. Please. Get on with your life.’
‘I’m concerned your judgment is impaired … that’s what happens.’
‘Impaired judgment? How technical …’ said Ren.
Matt took in a deep breath. ‘OK, let’s forget all that. Tell me, how is your new man?’
‘Gorgeous, and sweet, and fun, and amazing. This could—’