by Alex Barclay
Result.
‘TJ, if your mom doesn’t mind, maybe you could take Misty for a walk? She’s been in the house quite a lot recently because of my work, and I’m afraid she’s going to end up the dog equivalent of those people who have to be removed from their house by a crane through their second-floor window.’
TJ laughed. He looked at his mom. ‘Can I?’
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘OK. Don’t go too far.’
TJ rolled his eyes.
‘Thank you so much,’ said Ren.
TJ went down the hallway to grab his coat.
‘Melissa, why don’t you wait in the living room in the heat? Close over the door. I’ll stay here with Misty.’
TJ came out onto the step with a bright red jacket on.
‘No-one’s going to miss you in that,’ said Ren. She walked down the path with him, and pretended to show him how to operate a leash that was an old-school leash with no fancy system.
‘TJ, I need you to do me a very important favor,’ said Ren. ‘I know your father wouldn’t go anywhere without keeping in touch with you.’
TJ said nothing.
‘Can you pass on a message for me, please?’ said Ren. ‘If he responds, you call my number, the one on my card, OK? If he doesn’t, he doesn’t.’
TJ still didn’t commit.
‘Can you tell your father to check out the rapper Too Short?’
TJ frowned. ‘My dad’s into rap?’
‘He might be into one of his tracks, yes,’ said Ren.
The one called Blow the Whistle.
TJ Grace called Ren that night. His father told him to tell her that was a good track, and that he’d meet her the following morning at ten. TJ gave Ren the address. And he thanked her for Misty. He actually said ‘Thank you for Misty.’
Bless his heart.
61
Taber Grace sat in his brother’s living room, staring at the family photos lined up along the wall. It felt strange being in a warm, feelgood home, drowning in other people’s shit. The doorbell rang. He went to the door and Special Agent Ren Bryce was standing there … the BuBabe he saw behind the Summit County Sheriff at the press conference.
‘Hello,’ she said. She reached out and shook his hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘You too,’ said Taber. ‘Come in, take a seat.’
‘Thanks. So …’ said Ren, ‘Mark Whaley …’
‘Mark Whaley came to me because he wanted to blow the whistle on MeesterBrandt,’ said Taber. ‘He believed that they were involved in illegal practices. The problem was that I found no evidence of that. I found no evidence of anything illegal at MeesterBrandt. I used every method available to me, and that’s what I found out.’
What? ‘But why did he think there was?’ said Ren. ‘And he’s not alone in that belief.’
‘Mark Whaley stood to gain anywhere between $40 million and $80 million for whistleblowing,’ said Taber. ‘As you know – he was entitled to fifteen or twenty percent of what the government would recoup. He wanted to retire next year and he wanted to have a lot of money to do it in style. The second issue was that I was able to access Mark’s computer too, and what I found there wasn’t very pleasant. Photos of teens. Lots of them. The same ones your agents are about to find.’
‘So, do you believe that Mark Whaley sexually assaulted Shelby Royce and took his own life?’ said Ren.
Taber Grace nodded. ‘I think Mark Whaley finally got caught doing what he loved to do. I would have put a bullet in my head if I were as screwed-up as he was.’
‘Do you know anything about ex-Congressman Shep Collier?’ said Ren.
‘Just that he didn’t have the guts to put a bullet in his head when he was caught.’
‘But, what about his connection with Mark Whaley?’ said Ren.
‘I knew nothing about a connection until afterward. I know as much as you do.’
She nodded. ‘So why were you watching the Merritts’ house?’
Taber stared at her. ‘Uh … I know it sounds dumb, but I wanted to find a way to give back the money Mark Whaley paid me: to get it back to his daughter … ’
WTF? ‘How did you think you were going to do that?’ said Ren. ‘Give money to a little girl and expect that to not be noticed?’
‘No, not just give it to her like that. Just, maybe to leave an anonymous package in the mailbox.’
Ren frowned. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Thank you for your time.’
Taber Grace sat down at his desk. His heart was pounding. His shirt was soaked in sweat. His hand was shaking as he picked up the phone.
‘Did you get all that?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said the voice at the other end.
‘Then tell me where … tell me where my wife and son are.’
‘Isn’t she your ex-wife?’ said the voice.
‘Screw you,’ said Taber. ‘Screw you.’
62
Ren walked away from her meeting with Taber Grace in a trance.
I could not have had this all wrong. All this time? I’m trying to clear the name of a man with a thing for teenage girls?
She remembered Matt: ‘I’m concerned your judgment is impaired … that’s what happens.’
Oh my God. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I can’t trust myself. Maybe I can’t trust anything.
Ren went through her conversation with Taber Grace over and over.
Or maybe I just can’t trust Matt.
Then she remembered one thing Taber Grace had said: ‘I was able to access Mark’s computer … and what I found there wasn’t very pleasant. Photos of teens. Lots of them. The same ones your agents are about to find.’
Oh. My. God. He could only have known that we were about to access Mark Whaley’s computer if Nolan Carr had told him. Taber Grace was lying. But why would he lie?
Ren called Cliff.
‘Cliff, it’s Ren. Is there anything you can tell me about Taber Grace?’
Silence.
‘He’s a good guy,’ said Cliff. ‘And he’s an excellent P.I. He’s an IT expert, obviously.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Better than Grabien.’
I love it.
‘I met with him,’ said Ren. ‘He says he was hired by Mark Whaley, because Whaley suspected MeesterBrandt of illegal practices and he wanted to blow the whistle, and to have as much evidence as possible to back that up. Instead, what Taber Grace discovered, apparently, was evidence that Mark Whaley was into teenage girls …’
‘Really?’ said Cliff. ‘Did that ring true to you? We found nothing like that.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Ren. ‘No. Cliff, why was Taber Grace fired?’
‘I don’t know why he was fired, just that he was,’ said Cliff. ‘And I was sad to see him go. Afterwards, I know that his wife tried to kill herself, and that it was really hard on him. Taber Grace’s life took a sad turn. It was like it just drifted away from him. One thing I do know, married or not, he would do absolutely anything for Melissa and Taber Jr.’
‘Like lie in a big way?’ said Ren.
‘If they were in any danger, Ren, you bet your ass. I’d do the same myself, and I wouldn’t lose one night’s sleep over it.’
Ren’s phone rang. It was Glenn Buddy.
‘Meet me at Fuller Park by Humboldt Street and 29th,’ he said. ‘We’ve had a report of an attempted rape.’
‘Shit,’ said Ren. ‘Bad news is I’m forty-five minutes away.’
‘Could you swing by anyway – we’ll probably still be there, we need to talk to as many people there as we can.’
‘Sure,’ said Ren.
Thirty minutes later, Ren pulled in behind Glenn Buddy’s car. She could see him in the driver’s seat. She knocked on the passenger window and he told her to hop in.
‘Turns out,’ said Glenn, ‘that the park is practically empty, because of the last rape. There was barely anyone there to ask questions to.’
‘And what about the victim?’ said Ren.
‘We took her down to the station to try to work w
ith the forensic artist,’ said Glenn.
‘So, my work here is done,’ said Ren.
‘Yup, sorry I didn’t text you, but I figured you were only a few minutes away at that stage.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Ren. ‘Depending on what the victim says, if he fits the bill, we’ll at least have a fourth location – enough to get a decent geographical profile.’
Glenn nodded.
‘You know who to call at the FBI for that,’ said Ren.
‘Yup, thanks,’ said Glenn.
Ren got back in her car and pulled out. She took a right onto 29th Avenue. She started to drive back to the office. Then she thought of Bradley Temple, MD. Then she thought of Gary’s words.
Back off. Until we have proof, back off.
Bradley Temple could have proof.
Casinos. Losing money.
What would I do if I wanted a man with a gambling problem in my pocket? Bring him to Vegas, shower him with money and strippers, then ask for one teeny-tiny favor. Then repeat. For two decades.
Ren drove toward the left-hand turn-off for Steele Street. Gary’s words were there, solid, at the forefront of her mind: ‘I don’t understand. I don’t understand you at all.’
Me neither.
She took the left.
63
Dr Bradley Temple had a medical practice attached to his home on Steele Street. Ren rang the doorbell – there was no answer. She looked at the sign with the opening hours. It was 5 p.m. She was half an hour too early for his evening clinic.
It’s a sign. Go back to the office. Do not incur the wrath of Gary Dettling.
She was turning to leave when a teenage boy walked up the path toward her, shrugging off his backpack.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Are you looking for the doctor?’
‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘I see I’m a little early.’
‘You can wait if you like,’ he said.
‘And can I ask who you are?’ said Ren.
‘Cameron, I’m Dr Temple’s son.’
Cameron, the Vegas tearaway, all growed up.
‘I’m Ren.’
‘Let me open the waiting room door,’ he said. He started to unlock the front door. ‘I have to open it from inside the house,’ he said.
It started to snow. Ren pulled up her hood.
‘You can come inside for a minute,’ he said.
‘I can wait here,’ said Ren. ‘It’s fine. Or, I can go to my car. I’m not sure your father would want me in his waiting room if he’s not here.’
‘It’s cool,’ said Cameron. ‘I’ve done it before. You need a security code to get into his office, so …’ He shrugged.
‘OK, thanks,’ said Ren. She walked into the house.
‘I’ll be right back,’ said Cameron.
Ren took out her BlackBerry and checked her email. One had come in from Glenn Buddy with an attachment. She was about to open it, but she was distracted by a door further down the hallway, banging softly. She walked toward it. Her phone started ringing. Glenn.
‘Hey,’ said Ren.
‘Did you get a look at the geo-profile?’ said Glenn.
‘The email just came in,’ said Ren.
‘You’re not going to believe this,’ said Glenn. ‘That Rigg Raskin kid just called me. He found out about the lightning strikes. What happened was this kid in school, in art class, signed all his paintings that way, like a graffiti artist has a tag. So the day of the party, the guy organizing it thought it would be cool to rip off this guy’s tag for the route to the asylum. It really pissed this kid off, he went crazy. So, I don’t know, maybe this artist guy showed up to—’
The door swung back on its hinges beside Ren.
‘What was that noise?’ said Glenn.
‘A door banging. Let me go get it.’ She went to close the door. It was a bedroom, with the curtains drawn and the scent of teenage boy.
‘Anyway, the Raskin kid gave me the name of the artist,’ said Glenn, ‘and it’s right there, smack bang in the jeopardy zone. We’re on our way now.’
Ren was transfixed by the walls of the bedroom.
Glenn was still talking. ‘The kid’s name is—’
Cameron Temple.
‘Cameron Temple,’ said Glenn.
‘Jesus, Glenn—’
‘What the fuck are you doing in my bedroom?’ roared Cameron.
Ren spun around. He pushed her hard on the chest. She landed on the floor, her back slamming off the side of the bed. Her phone bounced across the floor and disappeared under his desk. Her head was spinning, and as she looked up, all she could see were lightning strikes jumping out at her from his paintings.
‘What the fuck is that?’ he said. He pointed at her. ‘Is that a gun?’ Her pants leg had slid up over her ankle holster. Cameron jumped down on the floor beside her and grabbed her ankle, trying to get the gun free.
Do not fuck with me.
Ren reached down, gripped his head on the pressure point, and buried her thumb behind his ear, pushing up hard to get him to drop his hold.
‘You fucking bitch,’ he said. Ren punched the side of the neck and he collapsed onto the floor. He rolled behind the foot of the bed. Ren stood up and pulled the gun from her ankle holster.
‘Don’t move,’ she said. ‘Don’t move a fucking inch.’
But Cameron had reached under the bed and before she realized it, he had pulled out a baseball bat. He slammed it against her knee, and she dropped. The pain was excruciating. The gun was gone. Cameron picked it up, and laid it on the desk behind him.
Ren’s eyes were streaming. He started to walk toward her, his eyes dead. Ren’s heart started to pound.
You are a psychopath.
Ren froze.
No, no, no.
He was on top of her, now, straddling her. He pulled open her jacket, and ripped the gun from her shoulder holster. His knees were digging into her ribs. She could barely breathe. He threw the gun behind him, and it slid under the desk by her phone. He pulled off his belt and pushed her onto her stomach. He smashed his hand against her knee again. Ren cried out. He wound his belt tight around her wrists, and pulled her onto her back again, with her hands underneath her and her pelvis tilted up.
No, no, no.
Cameron stared down at her, almost in a trance. She could smell what she had read about, see what all the victims had described, how gone he looked – to a place where no words of reason would reach. She could see his hands moving toward her.
‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Don’t do this. I’m an FBI—’
‘I don’t care,’ shouted Cameron. ‘I don’t care who you are.’ He slapped her hard across her face, and split open her lip. He grabbed her breasts, then slid his hands down and pushed them up under her top, pushing her bra up out of the way.
Ren gagged. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Please don’t do this to me.’ Tears started to flow down her face. ‘Please.’ It was like she wasn’t speaking. He was hearing nothing, was now completely shut off from reality. He was smiling. He reached down and started opening the button of her pants.
No. No. No. This is not happening. No.
With all her strength, she reached up and slammed her head against the side of his nose. She heard a crack. He fell off her. Blood poured down his face. He rolled onto his back. Ren was about to run past him to grab her guns.
Channel the dark side. Use it. It will work. Use your anger. He will not be able to beat you.
Cameron Temple slammed Ren to the ground one last time. He grabbed her ankles and yanked her toward him. He knelt down and pressed his hands around her neck and started to squeeze.
Ren’s body went limp underneath him. She closed her eyes.
No. No. No. No. No.
The sound of footsteps came toward her, and suddenly the weight of Cameron Temple was off her, and she was being pulled up, and taken in someone’s arms and passed into someone else’s and she was standing in the hallway with two Denver PD detectives as Glenn Buddy and two more were handcuffin
g Cameron Temple in front of her.
Ren ran for the bathroom and threw up. There was nothing in her stomach except a bright green energy drink with a sugary stench that made her throw up again. Her head exploded in stars.
And everything went black.
64
Ren woke up in her pink frilly bed in the arms of Ben Rader. It was five a.m. He had arrived at eight the evening before, as soon as she was back from her doctor. Janine was not far behind him.
Ren had talked to them about her memories of Annie’s house, how she and her brothers used to play here, all the little hiding places in the house, and all of Annie’s old dolls, and trinkets, and Janine and Ben had let her talk until her eyes closed and Ben had nodded across to Janine, and Janine had given him a sad smile, and he had led Ren into her bedroom, where he helped her into her pajamas.
She crumpled into a ball on the bed. Ben held her close until she cried herself to sleep. He didn’t speak, but every now and then, he kissed her head or wiped teary strands of hair from her face. She knew by his eyes when he came out of the bathroom earlier that he had shed some tears too. She could hear him breathing beside her, and she wanted to cry she liked him so much. He was a good man to the core. She rolled over and buried her head into his chest, and he stirred awake and kissed her.
‘Are you OK?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Ren. Because you’re here.
They got up for breakfast at ten. Ben took a package out of his bag.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘This came for you this morning.’
He handed it to her.
‘What do you mean it came for me?’ said Ren. ‘To where?’
‘To my apartment.’
‘But … it’s a rental apartment. And … how would anyone know? I mean, no-one knows about us yet.’
Her heart started to pound. She opened the package and pulled out a letter with a note on the front that said: ‘Early Christmas present. It was good to meet you. Keep fighting the good fight.’
There was a separate package addressed to Taber Grace and postmarked Breckenridge. It was mailed on Monday, November 16.
‘Oh my God, Ben,’ said Ren. ‘I’ve just been sent a package that was mailed by Mark Whaley on the day he went missing.’