Blood Loss

by Alex Barclay

  Laurie nodded. ‘OK.’

  Ren opened the door to Robbie. ‘Well?’ she said.

  ‘The neighbor in number four saw the car yesterday afternoon, about 3.30 p.m.,’ said Robbie.

  ‘Where?’ said Ren. ‘On the street?’

  ‘No. At the basketball court on the next block. Laurie Whaley was there with a group of kids.’

  ‘They were there on their own?’ said Ren.

  ‘No,’ said Robbie. ‘Dale Merritt was there too, talking to one of the other fathers.’

  ‘Did the other father get a license plate number by any chance?’ said Ren.

  ‘No.’

  ‘And he didn’t call the cops?’ said Ren.

  ‘He said he didn’t see any assault.’ He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘In the words of your people, “oh, Lawsy”.’

  ‘In your words,’ said Robbie, ‘well …’

  ‘It’s all asterisks, hash and dollar signs,’ said Ren.

  Robbie dropped Ren off outside Safe Streets, and went to buy lunch. Ren walked into the foyer to catch the elevator. Colin was standing waiting.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  ‘Hi,’ said Ren.

  They stepped into the elevator, known for having a personality of its own, suspected of being operated by a ghost. It moved to the first floor, and between that and the second, it stopped, and started to rattle.

  ‘Colin,’ said Ren, ‘it isn’t my business, and I’ve thought about whether to say this to you, but … it’s about Naomi …’

  ‘What about her?’ said Colin, turning to her.

  ‘It’s … well, you know I really like Naomi. And hanging out with her is such a blast. But when you’re not around … she’s kind of … she just seems interested in other men.’

  ‘Really?’ said Colin. ‘So, she drinks and gets flirty? Imagine that.’

  Why, Ren, why? ‘This is not about me,’ said Ren. ‘And it’s more than flirting, OK? Why would I bring up drunken flirting, for Christ’s sake?’

  ‘You tell me,’ said Colin. He stared at her. ‘What’s really going on here, Ren?’

  Oh, sweet Jesus. ‘Nothing is going on. I am trying to tell you, I just thought her behavior was … a little off for someone in a relationship.’

  The elevator struggled back to life. Ren banged her head off the wall.

  ‘Ow,’ she said. ‘I’m not dating her but if I was … maybe I’d be a little wary if I were you.’

  ‘Look, whatever,’ said Colin. ‘You’ve said what you’ve said. You can relax now. Your hours of agonizing can come to an end. Your message has been delivered.’

  He stepped off the elevator, and walked quickly down the hallway.

  I thought that went well.

  Ren’s office phone was ringing when she walked in.

  ‘It’s Robbie – are you at your desk?’ He paused. ‘Obviously you are …’

  ‘Yeees,’ said Ren.

  ‘I’m getting lunch,’ said Robbie, ‘but I got a call from one of the parents at Laurie’s school who heard we had called.We’ve got a license plate if you want to run it.’

  Ren took down the details. She put down the phone, and ran the plate through CCIC, the Colorado Criminal Information Center, and NCIC, the national one.

  The car was registered to a man named Taber Grace. Ren read more.

  Holy. Shit.

  Taber Grace:

  Private Investigator.

  Ex-FBI.

  Ex-Rocky Mountain Safe Streets Task Force.

  What. The. Effin. Crap?

  47

  Ren’s heart was pounding. An ex-member of Safe Streets – whom she had never even heard of – had the crap kicked out of him for loitering outside the house of an eleven-year-old girl who was the victim in a Safe Streets abduction investigation.

  Ren took a deep breath.

  Who the hell do I ask about this?

  She looked around the office at everyone. None of them had ever mentioned a man called Taber Grace. There must be a reason for that. And asking about him, without being armed with a little more information, was not a wise move.

  Ren walked down the hallway into one of the conference rooms. She called Paul Louderback.

  ‘I believe you are back in Denver,’ said Ren.

  ‘I am,’ he said.

  ‘A couple of things have come up in the Mark Whaley case,’ said Ren. ‘Are you free to meet up?’

  ‘I’m intrigued.’

  ‘How about Gaffney’s? Just to be original.’

  ‘Isn’t there anywhere else you go?’

  She could hear him smiling.

  ‘The champagne bar on Larimer Street,’ said Ren, ‘but I’m trying to watch your wallet. Gaffney’s is all about the wings, and the jalapeno poppers. I’ve been obsessing about them all morning.’

  ‘What time is it now?’ said Paul.

  ‘Two o’clock,’ said Ren.

  ‘Can we say seven?’ said Paul.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Ren. She paused. ‘This is between us, OK?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Paul.

  Why break a seventeen-year tradition?

  Colin let out a whistle from his desk.

  ‘That Sylvie Ross is hot,’ he said. He turned his screen toward Cliff, and a little toward Ren. It was on a charity website. Sylvie Ross was in shorts and a tank, smiling at the finish line of a race, holding up a medal.

  ‘The forensic child lady?’ said Cliff.

  ‘Paul Louderback’s little protégée,’ said Colin.

  The what now?

  ‘She was not hot,’ said Robbie.

  ‘Her shoes were terrible,’ said Ren.

  ‘I noticed the shoes too,’ said Cliff. ‘That’s what you’ve done to me, Ren. That was not a well-designed shoe.’

  Could I love you any more?

  Don’t ask. Be cool. ‘What do you mean Paul Louderback’s protégée?’ said Ren.

  ‘One of his ladies. He gets off on it. They follow him around like little puppies,’ said Colin. ‘I don’t get it. Do you, Ren?’ He gave her a shit-eating grin. ‘Do you like Paul Louderback’s shoes?’

  Does that even the score, you piece of shit? And while I’m at it – Paul Louderback, you’re a piece of shit too.

  Gaffney’s was uncharacteristically quiet. Paul Louderback was at a table facing her, wearing a blue flannel shirt.

  Very old-school … for a multi-protégée-timer.

  Beside him were two gorgeous young girls.

  Uh-oh. Not ready for this.

  ‘Hey, there,’ said Paul, standing up. ‘Girls, this is Special Agent Ren Bryce, we’re working together in Denver. And Ren, these are my girls, Emma, and Lucy.’

  ‘Hello, there,’ said Ren. ‘How are you doing?’

  They smiled politely. ‘Nice to meet you.’ They both shook her hand. Adorable.

  Emma was twelve years old, tall and thin, dressed in skinny jeans and a sweater, with long auburn hair in a ponytail. She had a perfect white smile, and the same sharp cheekbones as her father. Lucy was eight years old, and had blonde curly hair, a cute little face, and bright blue eyes.

  ‘Would you care to join us?’ said Paul.

  Ren smiled. ‘If it’s OK …’ A warning might have been nice.

  ‘The girls’ nanny was held up,’ said Paul. ‘We’re just finishing up. And the girls like the idea of getting rid of their father and having a table to themselves …’

  ‘No, we don’t,’ said Lucy, but she was smiling at Emma.

  ‘They have things to discuss, apparently,’ said Paul.

  ‘And we don’t have a nanny,’ said Lucy. ‘We’re not babies.’

  ‘What is she, then?’ said Paul, smiling.

  ‘Our entourage,’ said Lucy, laughing.

  ‘She got you there,’ said Ren.

  Lucy turned to Ren. ‘You can stay if you like.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Ren. ‘Thank you, Lucy.’

  Emma moved closer to her father to make room for Ren. Her eyes were slightl
y narrower than Lucy’s …

  ‘Would you like some fries?’ said Lucy.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ren, grabbing one.

  They talked about all the things the girls had done in Denver, and what they liked to do at home, and who their friends were. Lucy was the more outgoing, performing every story she told.

  The girls went to a table of their own for dessert – two tables away. They started taking pictures of each other on their cell phones.

  ‘I think they like their independence,’ said Paul.

  ‘I think they like their dad,’ said Ren. ‘They might even adore him.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know …’

  ‘I wanted to ask would Sylvie Ross talk to Laurie Whaley for us?’ She waited for a reaction.

  He frowned. ‘Yes … why?’

  Ren filled him in.

  ‘Sure,’ said Paul, ‘I can’t see that being a problem.’

  The door of Gaffney’s opened and a cold breeze shot through.

  ‘Ah,’ said Paul. He smiled. ‘Gary.’

  Ren turned around. Gary walked over to the table. Ben Rader appeared behind him.

  And for the second time that night, Ren heard Paul Louderback say, ‘Would you care to join us?’

  You have got to be kidding me.

  Ren had no time to talk to Paul Louderback and find out if he had ever worked with or trained an agent called Taber Grace. She had time, however, to sit through one of the most excruciating gatherings of her lifetime, second only to attending a charity dinner with the parents of her high-school boyfriend … an hour after they had walked in on their beloved son and his girlfriend in their newly installed en-suite shower.

  Ren zoned back in on the conversation. There was great news – Paul Louderback was leaving to take the girls back to the hotel. Next to go was Ben, who had tried desperately to hold eye contact with Ren.

  Ben to the left of me. Paul to the right. Here I am …

  Ren spent half an hour more with Gary, talking about all the developments, and what they could mean. He slid his chair back, about to announce his departure.

  ‘Wait,’ said Ren. ‘Sorry, but … I have to ask you something.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Gary. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Who is Taber Grace?’

  Gary’s poker face performed as expected. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because he was the man in the black sedan watching Laurie Whaley … until he got the crap kicked out of him.’

  The poker face was struggling.

  ‘What is it?’ said Ren. ‘Who is this guy?’

  ‘Taber Grace originally had Colin Grabien’s job,’ said Gary. ‘For the first three months of Safe Streets. And then he fucked up.’

  End of story.

  WTF? ‘In what way?’ said Ren.

  ‘He had lied on his application,’ said Gary.

  ‘What do you mean “lied”?’ said Ren.

  ‘He wasn’t entirely honest about his past.’

  ‘Was it something serious?’ said Ren.

  ‘That he lied?’ said Gary. ‘Yes, Ren. That happens to be serious.’

  Dig. Dig.

  ‘But you hired him,’ said Ren. ‘He was here for three months …’

  ‘It only came to light after three months,’ said Gary.

  ‘How?’ said Ren.

  ‘This is old ground,’ said Gary.

  But I am dying to know what this guy did.

  All eyes had been on Gary when he was setting up Safe Streets. Multi-agency task forces were new, and it took him a long time to convince everyone it would work.

  And in the first three months of the task force, something had failed. Taber Grace had failed. Therefore, Gary Dettling had failed. And Gary Dettling had zero tolerance for failure. Even his own.

  ‘Just – you’re very thorough …’ said Ren. ‘I’m surprised anything slipped through the net.’

  Silence.

  ‘Why do you think he was watching Laurie Whaley?’ said Ren. ‘This isn’t some elaborate revenge thing is it? I mean, could he be trying to get back at Safe Streets or something?’

  ‘This is not a movie, Ren,’ said Gary.

  ‘But … it’s all so weird,’ said Ren. ‘Why would—’

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Gary. ‘And it’s Denver PD’s responsibility.’

  ‘But – the Merritts … that’s our—’

  ‘Taber Grace is not my concern,’ said Gary. ‘And he’s certainly not yours.’

  48

  Ren walked up the path to the Graces’ house, contemplating the ghosts of Dettling’s past freak-outs. It was a fleeting contemplation, not because the ghosts were few but because Ren had successfully filed them in the la-la-la-la-la file. Whatever Gary Dettling told her not to do, she would do if her gut told her otherwise. Her gut beat everything.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Grace,’ said Ren, holding up her badge. ‘I’m SA Ren Bryce from Safe Streets. Can I come in?’

  Melissa Grace frowned. ‘Safe Streets?’

  ‘Yes.’ I’m afraid so.

  ‘But … is this about Taber?’

  ‘Could I please come in, Mrs Grace?’ said Ren.

  Melissa swung the door back. ‘Yes, yes. Is Taber OK?’

  ‘It appears that your ex-husband has been the victim of an assault, but—’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Melissa. ‘What happened? Is he OK?’

  ‘He was badly beaten,’ said Ren. ‘We don’t have all the details. But what we do know is that he was well enough to be able to drive away from the scene.’

  ‘He drove away?’ said Melissa. ‘But … did anyone see where he went? Did he make it to the hospital?’

  ‘No hospital has admitted anyone matching his description,’ said Ren.

  ‘But … if he was beaten …’ said Melissa. ‘If … maybe he didn’t look like himself. Or … did he get a head injury? Maybe he’s lost his memory or is passed out somewhere.’

  ‘According to witnesses, he did receive a head injury,’ said Ren. ‘We were hoping that maybe he had come to see you. Detectives from Denver PD have been to his apartment, and he’s not there.’

  ‘No,’ said Melissa. ‘No. Oh my God – I can’t believe this.’

  ‘Is there anywhere you can think of that he might go?’ said Ren. ‘Any family he might have gotten in contact with, any friends?’

  ‘I … I don’t know,’ said Melissa. ‘We’re divorced, and Taber … well, he does his own thing. I don’t know what he’s doing most of the time. I have to keep on at him to know where he is or what he’s doing … for our son’s sake, more than anything.’

  Hmm. Not just for his son’s sake if your face is anything to go by.

  ‘Did your ex-husband mention a case that he was working on—’

  ‘No,’ said Melissa, shaking her head. ‘No – he worked confidentially, and he was very protective of us. So he would never have told us anything. Who did this to him?’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ said Ren. ‘That’s why we need to talk to him. He could be in danger.’

  ‘Is that a line you throw out there to get me to cooperate?’ said Melissa.

  ‘I’m presuming you’re already cooperating,’ said Ren.

  ‘I am,’ said Melissa. ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘Your ex-husband was seen watching the house of an eleven-year-old girl,’ said Ren.

  ‘If he was doing that, he was hired to do it, to protect her,’ said Melissa. There was no pause before her answer.

  ‘Do you know that for sure?’ said Ren.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t … But I know for sure that Taber watching the house of an eleven-year-old girl could only be because of an assignment.’

  ‘We’ve looked into that,’ said Ren. ‘We have no evidence that he was hired to protect this girl.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean that that evidence doesn’t exist,’ said Melissa.

  ‘Is your son here?’ said Ren.

  ‘Yes,’ said Melissa. ‘TJ. Why do you ask?’

  �
�I’d like to speak with him,’ said Ren.

  ‘Do you have to?’ said Melissa.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ren.

  Ren knocked on TJ Grace’s door. He didn’t respond. She told him that she was an FBI Agent and he told her she could come in. He was lying on his bed, his long hair covering his face. He pulled himself up as she walked in.

  ‘Mind if I sit down?’ said Ren. She pointed to the chair in front of the computer.

  He shrugged. ‘Sure, go ahead.’

  ‘TJ – have you seen your father?’ said Ren.

  Eye dart. ‘No.’

  ‘It’s very important that you let us know if you have, OK? Your father’s been injured, and he might need medical help.’

  Or someone might want to go back and finish what they started.

  TJ nodded.

  ‘Are you telling me that your father has not come to visit?’ said Ren.

  He looked down, and nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘He hasn’t been here.’

  Ren glanced down at the shelf under TJ’s desk.

  ‘Ah, you have Wii Sports,’ she said. ‘I am a Hula Hoop champion.’

  He smiled.

  ‘Mind if I take a look?’ she said.

  ‘You want to play Hula Hoop here?’ he said.

  Ren smiled. ‘No – I just want to have a look at your game.’

  ‘But if you’ve got it already—’

  Her expression was enough to get him to hand her the controls.

  ‘Could you switch the TV screen to the right channel?’ she said.

  ‘Sure,’ he said.

  ‘D’oh – you’ve hit the wrong button,’ said Ren. She took the control from him, and brought up the Wii Sports screen. It was paused on a wakeboarding game. There were two players’ names on the bottom: TJ and P.I.

  ‘TJ, can I check out your Miis?’ Miis were characters designed by players: you chose their features, hair, body shape, even their birthday. You could clone yourself and use that, or you could choose a different player every time you played.

  ‘Did you make this Mii?’ said Ren. ‘The one called P.I.?’

  ‘Yeah … I make all the Miis.’

  ‘I’m guessing it’s your dad. It looks really like him,’ said Ren.

  TJ nodded. His face was grim.

  ‘Based on experience,’ said Ren, ‘your friends are not going to choose your father as their Mii when they’re going wakeboarding …’ said Ren. ‘Unless your father is a world-champion wakeboarder.’