by Alex Barclay
‘I just don’t know how I can help you,’ said Collier.
‘You didn’t sleep with Tina Bowers, Mr Collier.’
Something in his face changed. ‘Why would I admit to sleeping with an underage prostitute if I hadn’t?’
‘Well, you tell me,’ said Ren. ‘She said that she didn’t sleep with you.’
‘She hasn’t gone on the record with this …’ said Collier.
‘You seem very sure of that,’ said Ren.
‘My lawyer would have informed me.’
That or you know the ruthlessness of the people behind this.
‘I am not giving up on this,’ said Ren.
Collier stared at her, for what seemed like minutes. ‘I said everything I have to say one month ago …’ He paused. ‘I was standing in front of the whole country, and I thought that was it, that was the end. I just can’t have this coming into my home any more. My family is too important to me. I love my wife too much.’
His eyes were boring into Ren’s, she could feel the intensity.
Something is going on here. What the hell is it?
‘I’m sorry I can’t help you,’ said Collier.
‘I can’t say that this will end here,’ said Ren. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Well, I can only hope,’ said Collier. ‘It’s difficult for a man like me to lose control over events in his life.’ He paused. ‘If just one person could take another look at what it was that first impressed them about me … well, it would be a positive step. Who knows what that could lead to?’
‘Thank you for your time, Mr Collier,’ said Ren.
Ren ran to the rental car and jumped inside. She grabbed her notebook from her purse. Paul Louderback’s advice came back to her: ‘write everything down verbatim: skim over what an interviewee is telling you and you miss vital verbal clues.’
It was simple advice that had been implanted early on, and reinforced constantly by Gary Dettling in UC training.
You can’t pull a notebook out during a drug deal.
Ren wrote down as much as she could remember of what Shep Collier said to her. She shoved the notebook in her bag, put the car in gear, and made it to the airport in half the time it had taken her to get to the restaurant.
She checked in, went to the airport shop, and bought two boxes of candy. She sat in the lounge and began to read what she had written. She underlined, she separated phrases, she closed her eyes, she remembered the nuances in his delivery: where he paused, when he stared.
She finished by writing out again the words she believed that Shep Collier wanted her to hear.
“I said everything I have to say one month ago. I was standing in front of the whole country.”
He’s talking about his press conference. When he resigned, a month ago …
‘I just can’t have this coming into my home any more.’
Whatever ‘this’ is, he is protecting his family.
‘It’s difficult for a man like me to lose control over events in his life.’
What he’s gone through is out of his hands.
‘If just one person could take another look at what it was that first impressed them about me … ’
Me! He didn’t mean his voters. His eyes had riveted hers. And the first thing that had impressed Ren about him was his resignation speech. She had told him that on the phone.
‘I was impressed by parts of your resignation speech. They didn’t sound scripted.’
He had ended today with: ‘ … it would be a positive step. Who knows what that could lead to?’
Holy shit. Whatever ‘this’ is, if I can work that out, it would be a step forward, it would lead to something.
Ren pulled out her laptop, and fired it up. Her flight was being called.
No. No. No. Not now.
She went on line, she opened YouTube. She searched for Shep Collier’s press conference. Then she heard her name being called out over the tannoy.
No. I have something I have to watch right now.
Ren heard her name again. She looked up at the desk, and the three uniformed staff members with their bored faces, filing things away, shutting things down, and stretching a piece of fabric from one pole to another to stop anyone …
Ren slammed the laptop shut and ran for the desk.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
‘Have you got Wi-Fi on board?’ said Ren as she held out her ticket.
The attendant looked at her as if to say, ‘You barely have a seat.’
‘No, ma’am,’ she said.
‘Shit,’ said Ren. ‘I’m sorry, but shit.’
‘Ma’am, you really will have to make your way to the aircraft.’ A fake smile stretched across her face.
I want to punch you all. You assholes.
53
The plane landed at Denver airport and Ren ran. She found a bank of seats and sat down. She pulled out her laptop. Beside her, a mother leaned forward suddenly and picked up her son who had been whining on the floor in front of her. For a moment, Ren wondered if the woman thought she looked dangerous, with her black eye and air of panic, but she was focused only on her son. She stood the little boy in front of her, and held his shoulders.
She said very seriously, ‘You mustn’t pretend to be sick, just because you don’t want to be here. It is dangerous. What if you really were sick, and mama just thought you were pretending?’
The little boy stared at his feet.
‘Now, sit up here beside your mama, read your book.’
She smiled at Ren.
‘Beautifully done,’ said Ren.
The mother laughed. ‘He is a trying child.’
Ren went to YouTube. She put on her headphones and watched Shep Collier’s speech. She watched it again.
Nothing. What am I supposed to be hearing here, what am I supposed to be seeing?
She watched it again. She took off the headphones.
Nothing.
Ren drove down I-70 toward the office. She was thinking about Shep Collier. He was framed. He had clearly been stepping on toes.
And what about Mark Whaley? What had he done?
She dialed Gary’s cell.
‘Gary, it’s Ren. There’s something going on with Shep Collier, but I don’t know what. He stuck to his story, but it seems to me that he has no choice. He was dancing around something. I think he was implying that I should watch his press conference, but I did, several times, and I got nothing. He must be under surveillance. If I was listening in, everything he said was solid, it sounded like he was giving me nothing. But I think he was giving me something. I just … don’t know yet what that is.’
‘So, it was a wasted trip …’
‘No,’ said Ren. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve built up a trust with him … to some degree.’
‘That’s great, Ren.’ His voice was flat.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Ren dialed Colin’s cell phone. ‘Colin? It’s Ren. Will you come with me to MeesterBrandt headquarters on Monday?’
‘Why?’ said Colin.
‘I need your charm to talk to the boss.’
‘Well, it’s in no short supply,’ said Colin.
‘R-O-T-F-L,’ said Ren.
‘Why are you calling me now?’ said Colin.
‘Why not?’ said Ren.
‘Hey, hold on,’ said Colin. ‘Naomi wants to talk to you.’
‘Hey, girl,’ said Naomi. ‘We missed you the other night! Heard about your fender bender. Get your ass out here. You owe me. We’re in … where are we, Col?’
‘I can’t,’ said Ren. ‘I’ve got to—’
‘I’m not taking no for an answer,’ said Naomi.
‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to,’ said Ren. ‘I gotta go!’
She’s more nuts than me.
Ren’s phone beeped with a text: It’s Saturday night. Do you know where your tutu3 is?
Ren laughed and texted back. Tutu3 – love it. Am back.
Paul Louderback replied: Drinks it is!
&nb
sp; Paul was sitting in a Larimer Street bar, with a lite beer in front of him.
‘Girl’s drink,’ said Ren.
Paul smiled. ‘Ouch. Your face is worse than I thought.’
‘I look like a thug.’
‘Let me get you a glass of champagne to counter that.’
‘Then I’ll look like a moll.’
‘Why I oughta …’ He called the waiter and ordered the drink.
Ren sat down. She filled him in on Shep Collier.
‘The thick plottens,’ said Paul.
Ren nodded. ‘It sure does.’ She could hear her cell phone vibrate. I bet that’s Ben.
She stared into her drink.
‘Where have you gone?’ said Paul.
She turned to him.
‘You look serious,’ he said.
‘Paul, I think you need to go back and work things out with Marianne.’
‘What?’ said Paul.
‘I hope I’m not being too blunt … ’ But I feel sorry for Marianne, I feel bad for being in on a secret that she isn’t.
‘But … I thought …’
Me and your protégées could share?
‘What did you think?’ said Ren.
‘I … don’t know,’ said Paul. ‘Maybe that you and me could try and … maybe we could work.’
The romance.
‘You and Marianne still love each other,’ said Ren. ‘It’s obvious.’ Her cry for help is echoing all the way to Denver.
Paul stared down at the table.
‘It sounds to me like Marianne only left you as a last resort.’
He looked up. ‘Maybe.’
Then how did you let it go so far? ‘It’s not too late, is it?’ said Ren.
‘Maybe not,’ said Paul. ‘I … I wasn’t there for her. I can see that now. Or the girls. They are spending more time with me now than they were when I was living with them. They have hours of my time in a row …’
‘And look how happy they are,’ said Ren. ‘At least with that part of it. Go call Marianne. You can work this out.’
‘What about her … new man?’ said Paul.
‘I think her old man is the one she wants,’ said Ren. ‘That old man is her husband. For better or worse …’
Paul said nothing.
‘Men need sex to feel loved,’ said Ren. ‘And a lot of women need to feel loved to have sex. I’m not one of them, but you get the picture. I think you thought I’d solve the sex end of things for you, and maybe Marianne thought her new man would solve the emotional end of things for her. We look elsewhere for the things we’re not getting at home …’
‘I think you’re being harsh on everyone with all that,’ said Paul. ‘I wasn’t just interested in you for sex.’
‘I actually know that,’ said Ren. ‘I don’t think you’re that much of an asshole. But, I also know that you were never really looking at me as a serious contender …’
‘And neither were you looking at me …’
‘That’s probably true,’ said Ren. Yet how foolish was I to let it muddy the waters for so long?
‘So,’ said Paul.
‘So,’ said Ren. ‘Without managing to do each other any great harm, we’re not really good for each other, are we? We’re in that strange gray area. But, despite being someone who I think is wonderful, well, I think you’re going to have to be someone else’s wonderful.’
She thought of the inscription on the little blue hardback.
‘But you are beautiful, Annie, and you are wonderful, and you are joyful.’
She smiled at Paul Louderback.
You can be someone else’s. I’d like to be someone’s Annie.
54
Colin and Ren stood in the foyer of MeesterBrandt Pharmaceuticals, waiting for the elevator.
‘Do you think that up there in those offices,’ said Ren, ‘they feel any connection with the rest of the world? Or do they just stare at accounts and see massive figures and think “high five” and keep on trucking?’
‘Keep on trucking …’ said Colin.
‘I’d love to just grab one of them and say, “sorry to bother you while you’re counting your profits, but come with me,” and take them to some broken-down home, where a mother, doped up on antipsychotics, is laying on her sofa watching daytime television, while her three children, diagnosed with behavioral disorders to qualify for disability, are crying because they miss their big brother who’s in prison because he’s been doped up too and went crazy and killed someone and he’s fifteen … and say to this pharma guy “You know those amazing drugs you make? Congratulations, you really are changing lives.”’
People had started gathering around the elevator. Colin was frowning at Ren. She stopped talking. The doors opened and they rode to the thirty-fifth floor. Ren took a deep breath as she got off.
Bring it on, bitches.
Nolan Carr was as close to attractive as he could ever be, and it was money, not taste, that had brought him there. He was well-groomed, he wore the right clothes. His shoes, his watch, his cuff links were high end, but ultimately, he was a plain man with a water-retention problem.
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Ren.
‘Likewise,’ he said, shaking her hand.
Eye-dart to the tits.
Carr shook hands with Colin.
‘Mr Carr,’ said Ren. ‘We’re here because new evidence has emerged that casts doubt on our belief that the deaths of Mark Whaley and Shelby Royce were a murder-suicide.’
‘Oh,’ said Carr, nodding. ‘OK. I had assumed that … what happened was … what happened.’
‘We’re now looking at the possibility of foul play,’ said Colin.
‘I’m not sure how I’m the best person to help you,’ said Carr. ‘I know very little about Mark Whaley’s personal life.’
‘We’re here because we don’t think this concerns Mr Whaley’s personal life,’ said Colin.
‘You think it’s about his professional life?’ said Carr.
‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘You work in a multi-billion dollar industry, and it’s not uncommon in an industry where there’s that much money at stake …’ She paused at his reaction. ‘I’m sorry. Are you surprised by that?’
‘I know you might find this hard to believe,’ said Carr. ‘But MeesterBrandt doesn’t feel that way to me. It feels like a small company to me. I see a company whose staff works very hard to make it a success. I find it hard to see it as part of something sinister.’
Small company, my fat ass.
Colin leaned forward. ‘Did MeesterBrandt have any significant business deals in progress? Anything that might have impacted on Mark Whaley or on the company?’
‘Mark was our CFO,’ said Carr. ‘It’s a behind-the-scenes job, effectively. He was in charge of the financials, but he wasn’t out there making deals, or … he just wasn’t visible.’
‘What kind of relationship did you have with Mark Whaley?’ said Ren.
‘I spoke to another agent about that during the investigation,’ said Carr.
‘That was more about what you suspected about Mark Whaley’s private life,’ said Ren. ‘I’m interested in whether or not you and Mark Whaley got along.’
‘I was his boss,’ said Carr. ‘That was our relationship. We wouldn’t have socialized outside of work, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Did you know that Mark was planning to take early retirement next year to spend more time with his kids?’
‘No, I did not know that,’ said Carr.
‘But you can understand,’ said Ren, ‘how a man one year from retirement mightn’t be the number one candidate for suicide.’
‘A married father caught sleeping with underage girls would always be a candidate for suicide,’ said Carr.
‘Why did you say underage girls, plural?’ said Ren.
‘Well, I hardly suspect this was his first time,’ said Carr.
‘Is there something you know about Mark Whaley and underage girls, Mr Carr?’ said Ren.
‘N
o. I … it just came out, there’s nothing to it.’
‘Are you familiar with Title 18, United States Code, Section 1001?’ said Ren.
‘No,’ said Carr.
‘It’s a crime to lie to a federal agent,’ said Ren.
‘I don’t know anything about Mark Whaley and underage girls,’ said Carr. ‘I swear to God.’
‘We’d like to get your permission to search Mr Whaley’s office and to take his computer away for forensic examination, please.’
‘That won’t be a problem,’ said Carr. ‘Can I ask what new evidence came to light?’
‘No,’ said Ren.
He paused.
Well, that’s someone who’s not used to hearing no.
‘Could you please take us to Mark Whaley’s office?’ said Colin.
Carr stood up. ‘Yes, absolutely. Follow me.’
‘I find it fascinating,’ said Ren, as they walked along the hallway, ‘I read a quote recently about Henry Gadsden. Who was he again? Merck’s Chief Executive. Thirty years ago, he said he’d like the company to be like Wrigley’s. He’d like to sell drugs to healthy people, because then he could sell to everyone.’
She could see a smirk at the corner of Carr’s mouth. ‘Gadsden was a very successful man.’
‘Was he, though?’ said Ren. ‘Define success in that instance. Couldn’t we all sit down and come up with a diabolical plan? I have no doubt, for example, that I could commit the perfect murder. If I went ahead and did that, would that make me successful?’
Nolan Carr slowed and turned to her.
‘Or,’ said Ren, ‘would it only be successful if I made a huge amount of money from it? Or if I didn’t get caught?’
‘Agent … I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name?’
Asshole.
‘How do you make sense of things?’ said Ren.
‘I’m sorry?’ said Carr. ‘Of what?’
‘Just how people talk about the amazing advances in the pharmaceutical industry, yet the number of people on disability because of mental illness more than doubled in the twenty years since Prozac was launched. And it gets worse when it comes to kids: in the same time period, the increase was thirty-five fold.’
Ren and Colin walked to his SUV. Colin was carrying Mark Whaley’s computer.
‘What the fuck was that about?’ said Colin.