Blood Loss

by Alex Barclay

  ‘Be IT?’ said Matt.

  Ren paused. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Matt.

  ‘I can’t just think someone is amazing without there being an issue?’ said Ren.

  ‘You know him two weeks,’ said Matt.

  ‘Unbelievable, isn’t it?’ said Ren, ‘that someone can take less than ten years to propose …’

  ‘Propose?’ said Matt. ‘What do you mean—’

  ‘Not like that,’ said Ren. ‘I’m saying you took ten years to propose to Lauren, so you’re hardly a swept-off-your-feet kind of person …’

  ‘But being repeatedly swept off your feet is a true sign of love?’ said Matt.

  ‘Wow,’ said Ren.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Matt. ‘I am. That was—’

  ‘No, no,’ said Ren. ‘Kick me when I’m up. I love that.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘I can’t really talk,’ said Ren. ‘But thanks for your over-concern. It’s amazing.’

  Mark Whaley was sitting with a detective in the interview room. They were talking sport. He had a glass of water cupped between his hands. He stopped talking when Ren walked in, and looked up at her with hopeful eyes.

  ‘How did the press conference go?’ he said.

  ‘We issued photos of the girls, the Sheriff made an appeal to the public, and corrected any misinformation they had,’ said Ren. ‘The media wants to help.’

  And wants to demonize your wife.

  She sat down opposite him. ‘Can we talk about the forty minutes between when you left the restaurant to when you returned?’ said Ren.

  ‘What?’ said Mark. ‘Forty minutes? It was twenty. Where did you get forty minutes from?’

  ‘There are forty minutes unaccounted for,’ said Ren.

  ‘There couldn’t be … but even if there was …’

  ‘Forty minutes,’ said Ren. ‘You left the table at eleven thirty-five p.m. You told us that yourself. And we have a text from your wife, sent to her sister at twelve fifteen a.m. saying “Gotta go … he’s back”.’

  ‘But … forty minutes?’ said Mark. ‘I’m sorry – I had no idea. I …’

  ‘It’s quite a long time,’ said Ren.

  ‘Did that text send when it was supposed to send? This makes no sense to me.’

  ‘It did send when it was supposed to send,’ said Ren. ‘So, it’s a proven fact that you were gone for forty minutes. And thirty minutes later, you discovered that your daughter and her sitter were gone.’

  ‘I … that might sound bad,’ said Mark. ‘But I had nothing to do with this. I don’t know what’s going on here.’

  ‘Mr Whaley,’ said Ren. ‘The reason your wife was texting her sister was … because you were gone so long. We’ve talked to her, we’ve gone through some of her correspondence …’ Ren paused. ‘Did you know that your wife thinks you’re having an affair?’

  ‘I didn’t know that – not until last night.’

  ‘But you didn’t think to mention that?’ said Ren.

  ‘Because I’m not having an affair!’ said Mark. ‘I didn’t want you going down a route that would lead to a dead end. I would never have an affair. I’ve never cheated on anyone … if I didn’t have affairs when I was a raving alcoholic, I’m not going to start now. I love my wife.’

  ‘Are you saying, for the record, that you are not having an affair?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mark. ‘I am not having an affair. Never have, never will.’

  ‘Your wife said that you spend a lot of time at the office.’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Mark, ‘but I’m in the den at home more. Why is she saying all these things? I don’t get it. Why now? This is just going to distract everyone.’

  I’m ignoring that. ‘As part of an investigation like this,’ said Ren, ‘we would ask close family members to submit to a polygraph.’

  Mark Whaley stared at her. ‘So you don’t believe a word I’m saying.’

  ‘It’s standard practice to ask for a polygraph,’ said Ren.

  ‘Uh … I … well, go ahead, then. I’ve got nothing to hide.’

  ‘You are willing to take a polygraph …’ said Ren.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mark. ‘Absolutely.’

  She stood up. ‘Thank you.’

  He nodded.

  ‘You’ve been stuck here for hours,’ said Ren. ‘Would you like to get a coffee in the break room?’

  Mark nodded. ‘That would be great. Thank you.’

  19

  Paul Louderback walked down the hallway toward Ren, his face red from the cold, his hair in tufts. His navy ski jacket was hanging open over a black fleece. Ren smiled at him.

  She turned to Mark Whaley. ‘Could you hold on there for just one moment?’

  ‘No problem,’ said Mark.

  She walked over to Paul. ‘So, how did the search go?’

  ‘We had to abandon it for now,’ said Paul. ‘Snow is falling thick and fast. We had eighty volunteers show up – we searched a two-mile radius. We’re still waiting to hear back from some of the owners of the vacant holiday homes nearby for permission to search their properties. We’re hoping to get back out there at eight a.m. tomorrow, but the forecast is not promising – ten inches of snow are expected.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Where are you two headed?’ said Paul.

  ‘To the break room, just so he can stretch his legs, and grab a decent coffee. The walls of that interview room must be closing in on him. They’re closing in on me …’

  ‘OK – catch you later.’

  Ren led Mark Whaley to the break room. She knocked on the door. There was no-one inside. Mark took a seat at the table. The television was playing silently in the corner. Ren turned around to the machine to make coffee. She reached out to hand a mug to Mark Whaley. He didn’t move. The images on the television screen had changed, and a crimson strip across the bottom was detailing his pain:

  BREAKING NEWS: MISSING GIRLS

  Breckenridge, CO: Laurie Whaley, 11 years old, Shelby Royce, 16 years old, missing since midnight from The Merlin Lodge & Spa.

  Mark Whaley reached for the remote control, his hand shaking. He struggled to find the volume button. Ren took the remote control gently from him, and turned up the volume. Mark looked around. ‘Thank you,’ he said. Then he watched, tears streaming down his face.

  Detective Owens walked into the room. Ren handed him Mark Whaley’s coffee. She nodded toward him. ‘Can you keep an eye on him?’ she said quietly.

  Ren went down to Bob’s office. The television screen was now showing the photo of a child who had disappeared from a motel in Park County two years earlier and had never been found.

  ‘Any connection?’ said Ren.

  ‘Nah,’ said Bob. ‘My money’s on the mother for that one. Everyone’s money’s on her. And that’s without the public knowing some of the shit I know. Do you know something? In her second interview, an investigator asked her what she would like most in the world – bearing in mind her five-year-old kid is missing – and she says “a red Ferrari”.’

  ‘You are shitting me,’ said Ren.

  ‘That’s what you’re dealing with. How’s Whaley?’ said Bob.

  ‘He’s just been watching this, so not good, I’m guessing,’ said Ren. ‘I’ve left him with Owens.’

  ‘What next?’ said Bob.

  ‘I wanted to let you know that he’s agreed to a polygraph. We can have someone here from Denver right away.’ Ren pointed to the television. ‘Ooh – look,’ she said, ‘another Repuritan bites the dust. Or the tight ass of a hooker …’

  ‘Mississippi Congressman, Shep Collier …’ said Bob. ‘This will be good.’

  ‘And there we have it,’ said Ren, reading the scrolling text at the bottom of the screen, ‘the press conference that will address the prostitution claims …’

  Congressman Shep Collier took the podium.

  ‘Check out The Good Wife,’ said Ren.

  Shep Col
lier’s wife was standing two steps to her husband’s right, and one step back. She had brown hair, swept off her round face. She was full-figured, dressed in a lilac and mauve pants suit. She looked like a woman who never wore a skirt because she didn’t like her legs. She looked like the woman in the grocery store who would pick up something you had dropped and hand it to you with a smile. She looked like the neighbor who would make you a casserole and leave it on your doorstep with a note. Right now, she was the woman who the women of America were rooting for.

  ‘Thank you all for coming,’ said Shep Collier. ‘I am standing here today as a proud American, a proud Republican, and … a man—’

  ‘Thanks for clearing that up …’ said Ren.

  ‘A man in whom, at this moment, I can take no pride,’ said Collier.

  ‘What about at the moment of being caught?’ said Ren. ‘Or at the moment of … the money shot.’

  Shep Collier turned to his wife.

  ‘Now, that is one ashen-faced man,’ said Ren. ‘Yes, asshole, you have, indeed, been burned.’

  On screen, Shep Collier had his eyes on his notes. ‘On the evening of October 24th last …’ He glanced up, ‘while on a business trip to Boston,’ he glanced down, ‘I availed of the services of a prostitute.’ He glanced up. Flashes exploded.

  Collier laid his hands flat on the podium.

  ‘No other language can be used to make my actions sound any less deplorable. I am a carbon copy of those who have gone before me, public figures who have been branded liars and cheats.’ He looked out at the crowd.

  ‘Although we were certain of the promises we made to our supporters, we discovered at the nexus of political and private life, a misleading god and an abuse of power, the results of which you see here today.

  ‘My wife, Marie, patiently bore the trials of being married to a politician for over a decade, and despite the devastating impact of my actions, remains by my side today, and is bravely dealing with the effects, both psychological and physical, on all our family, particularly on our children.’

  He looked down.

  ‘Strange-ass little speech,’ said Ren. ‘Most people would say “false god”, not misleading. I mean, is he saying he was misled? Does that mean he’s not really taking responsibility?’

  On screen, Collier looked directly at the camera.

  ‘Wow,’ said Ren. ‘He looks … genuinely anguished. That’s a first.’

  ‘I never believed …’ said Collier, ‘that my beautiful, and beloved wife, Marie, would become … The Good Wife.’

  ‘Holy shit,’ said Ren, turning to Bob. ‘No speech writer wrote that.’

  ‘And she is a good wife,’ Collier continued. ‘To her core. She touches so many people—’

  ‘Just not her husband …’ said Ren.

  ‘I never thought,’ said Collier, ‘that I would be a man, like the others who have gone before me, men we have all watched, apologizing on national television for their transgressions.’

  A reporter shouted from the crowd. ‘Tina Bowers was underage, Mr Collier. She was seventeen years old. Are you going to talk about that?’

  ‘I was about to address that,’ said Collier. ‘Under no circumstances was I aware of Miss Bowers’ age.’

  ‘It’s your legal responsibility to confirm the age of a prostitute before you engage in sexual relations,’ said the reporter.

  ‘That’s a matter for the Massachusetts Attorney General,’ said Collier.

  ‘Shame it’s not Eliot Spitzer …’ said Ren.

  ‘I would like to take this opportunity,’ said Collier. ‘To tender my resignation from the U.S. House of Representatives.’

  An explosion of flashes followed, and for a brief moment, Collier took the dazzling lights. But he didn’t take the questions. Instead, he turned and took the hand of his good wife.

  ‘Your commentary really added to my enjoyment of that, Ren,’ said Bob.

  ‘Why, thank you,’ said Ren. ‘OK – gotta get back.’

  Ren walked into the break room. It smelled bad. She could see a dark patch of sweat down the center of Mark Whaley’s back. There were rings of coffee on the white table in front of him, as if all he had done since she had left was move the mug around. It was almost full. He half-turned to her. His eyes were swollen.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to take the polygraph.’

  20

  Bob was in the command center showing Cliff and Gary a map of the town when Ren came back from the break room.

  ‘These are the six registered sex offenders in Breck,’ said Bob, pointing to the red pins on the map that represented their location. ‘We’ve got four solid alibis here, and these other two were home alone.’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ said Ren, ‘but did red-Ferrari-lady fail a polygraph?’

  Bob nodded. ‘She sure did.’

  ‘And I’m guessing that while I was on my walk to your office earlier the news report mentioned that,’ said Ren.

  Bob paused. ‘Did our guy change his mind?’

  ‘He sure did,’ said Ren.

  ‘If he crosses his fingers for a black BMW, we’re in trouble,’ said Bob.

  ‘Ren?’ said Gary. ‘A word, please.’ He took her to one side. ‘Go get some rest,’ he said, his voice low.

  ‘What?’ said Ren. ‘Did I do something wrong?’

  Gary looked at his watch. ‘By my calculations, you’ve had three hours’ sleep in the last forty-eight hours.’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Ren. ‘But … who else has had any sleep? Are you singling me out, here? That’s not—’

  ‘Ren, if I choose to single you out, you run with it,’ said Gary.

  Do not react.

  ‘As it happens,’ said Gary, ‘Colin and Robbie went back to their hotels after the search. Robbie will be back to spend tonight at the hotel with the Whaleys in case a ransom demand comes in. Colin will be with the Royces. And look – Cliff is packing up too.’

  ‘But—’ said Ren.

  ‘You won’t be any use to the investigation unless you rest,’ said Gary.

  ‘I’m wide awake,’ said Ren.

  ‘Well, try not to be.’ He moved past her. ‘Goodbye, Ren.’

  Ren put a call in to Karen Nyland, the owner of The Firelight Inn, a cozy Victorian Inn close to Main Street.

  ‘Hi Ren,’ said Karen, ‘it’s good to hear from you.’

  ‘You too,’ said Ren.

  ‘I’m guessing you’re here for all the wrong reasons,’ said Karen.

  ‘Sadly, yes,’ said Ren. ‘And I was wondering if there is room at the Inn. I’d need it right away. I’m on enforced rest.’

  ‘Someone beat you to the suite by minutes,’ said Karen. ‘But I have a room on the second floor. It’s yours for as long as you need it.’

  ‘That’s great, thank you,’ said Ren.

  ‘Those poor girls,’ said Karen.

  ‘Did you know Shelby Royce?’ said Ren.

  ‘No,’ said Karen, ‘but we know her parents to talk to in a small-talk kind of way. And we send people to The Miner and Cal Royce sends people here. We exchange bottles of wine at Christmas, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Can I ask, off-the-record, about Tom Olson at The Merlin?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Karen. ‘Well, Tony and I wouldn’t share the same opinion of him, that’s the first thing. Tony thinks Tom is the does-a-lot-for-the-community good guy,’ said Karen. ‘He organizes community events, that kind of thing. I think Tom’s the Breck native who’s spent his life getting by on his looks, and is ultimately out for his own gain … ish. If that can be an “ish”. I don’t think he’s a bad guy – I just think that he wouldn’t be beyond screwing someone over if he had to. Not in any terrible way, but …’ She paused. ‘Oh … I don’t think that he would have anything to do with taking those two girls. Not at all. I can’t imagine that.’

  ‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘So … what did he do before he opened the hotel?’

  ‘He owned an inn, not unl
ike ours,’ said Karen. ‘He was doing great.’

  ‘Until …’ said Ren.

  ‘He overstretched himself with the hotel venture. It looked like he was going to run out of money by the end. He’s broke, by all accounts,’ said Karen. ‘That’s why he opened before he was ready. The Dew tour brings in a lot of visitors. Accommodation can be hard to find. Tom wanted to have a few weeks’ practice before the real crowds showed up. Take this with a grain of salt – and I don’t even know if it has any significance – but I heard that Tom’s anywhere up to three million dollars in debt. But we’re a small town, there are always rumors out there, and no-one really has a clue what goes on in people’s houses or bank balances.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Ren. ‘Is there anything else you can think of that might help?’

  ‘No,’ said Karen. ‘Nothing that hasn’t been in the news.’

  ‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘Well, let me know if anything comes up. Anyway, I’ll be seeing you in about ten minutes. I’m just packing up here.’

  As Ren was about to close her laptop, an email popped up from Glenn Buddy in Denver. Subject: Kennington Witness Statement. It had two attachments – audio from the interview with the Kennington rape victim and a color scan of the drawing the rapist had left behind. Ren clicked on the drawing.

  It was a simplistic black-and-white line drawing, but the artist was not without talent. A line down the center of the page bisected a primitive rendering of a monkey suspended by chains that were attached to his wrists. On the left-hand side of the page, the chain hooked on to a bed post with a bird perched on it. On the right, the chain – threaded with a life preserver – disappeared inside a megaphone.

  Freaky.

  There were bloody fingerprints at the edges of the pages, smears of blood, tiny droplets.

  Blood that had been very real, but was now represented by red ink on a page.

  Ren took her headphones from her desk drawer and put them in to listen to the audio file.

  ‘This is Detective Glenn Buddy, with Denver PD. What follows is the witness statement of Ally Lynch, aged fourteen, from Skyland, Denver.’

  Ally Lynch’s voice was trembling. ‘I was at a Hallowe’en party in Kennington Asylum with my friends. But I lost them. I met this guy I liked from school … I was talking to him … it was maybe midnight. Then … I saw this kid come in. He was around the same age as me, maybe a little older. It was like … he kind of appeared out of nowhere. He wasn’t in the party all night. But … then, I’d been drinking …