Blood Runs Cold (19 page)

Ren spent an afternoon under the shadow of Mark Wilson. The file was more than just a distraction. She knew it had come her way for a reason. Misty’s job the day before had been to clear her hangover and see if she could pick up the scent of a body that may have been overlooked in the search. She succeeded in fifty per cent of her task.

Mike Delaney was dragging file boxes from behind his office door and piling them up behind his desk.

‘I think they were hidden better behind the door,’ said Ren.

‘Ah,’ said Mike, ‘maybe from people coming
in
to the room. The loser behind the desk had to look at them all day. Until today. I have decided to keep my problems behind me for a little while.’

Ren smiled. ‘It could be a self-fulfilling-prophecy thing.’

‘I hope so.’

‘I was wondering – being the mountain man that you are – would you have a map of the whole area at the base of Quandary Peak and out the road toward Fairplay?’

‘Sure,’ said Mike. He opened one of the drawers in his desk, checked through a few maps and handed her one.

‘Thanks,’ said Ren. She went back to her office, opened it out and laid it on the table. It covered a wider area than the previous maps she had been looking at.
Or getting the guys to look at and report
back to me on
.

There was a tract of land on the map between the Brockton Filly and Fairplay that had no name or reference number but was marked as private property. Ren went back in to Mike.

‘Mike,’ she said, ‘do you know what this is here? Is it anything?’

He looked where she was pointing. ‘It’s the old Barger Brewery.’

‘Like Charlie Barger Barger?’

‘Yup.’

‘How does a doctor wind up with a brewery?’ said Ren.

‘It started out as his father’s. Charlie’s father, Emil, set up one of the first breweries in town. Have you been to Big Mountain Brewery?’

‘Yup.’

‘They still sell Lime Beer there. It’s a Barger
beer – Emil backward. I’m guessing he was kind of a dork. But the beer is good.’

‘Oh, so it’s not because it tastes of lime,’ said Ren.

‘No, but Big Mountain Brewery gets a kick out of confusing the customers.’

‘So BMB used to be owned by Emil Barger?’

‘Kind of,’ said Mike. ‘Emil Barger started brewing his own beer in his garage when he retired. This was the late seventies. Anyway, he can’t help himself and, within a year, he had bought that place off McCullough Gulch Road. I guess you’d call it a micro-brewery. Two years on, it’s huge, it’s the Barger Brewery, supplying to a lot of the bars around town, and people are loving it. Emil passes away, leaves the brewery to Charlie who, sadly, runs it into the ground. The brand was bought out and it became Big Mountain Brewery. Charlie got to hang on to the building and land. BMB, as you know, has premises just on the edge of town.’

‘Jesus,’ said Ren, ‘his father’s got the Midas touch, Charlie’s got the everything-he-touches-turns-to-shit thing. The guy in the Welcome Center told me about the Bargers owning half of Breck. And I’m guessing that’s not the case any more.’

‘I don’t know, Ren … I’d rather not … Charlie’s a friend.’

‘I understand that. And I don’t want you to betray anything or anyone. But it’s in plain sight
that his house is run down and his daughter has a touch of the meth face.’

Mike looked at her.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I shouldn’t have said it that way. But there is a sadness about that house.’
A terrible, cloying, sadness
.

Mike let out a breath. ‘OK – Shannon Barger is a meth addict. And Charlie’s in debt. He has been bailing that little bitch – God forgive me – out since she was sixteen years old.’

‘Sixteen? How old is she now?’

‘Twenty-five.’

‘Oh my God, I thought she was, like, over forty.’

He nodded. ‘It’s very sad. She’s been to rehab a dozen times.’

‘And he’s a doctor,’ said Ren. ‘That’s gotta hurt.’

‘And the son of a very successful man, a war hero, an athlete, one of the founding fathers here … He owns nothing of what his father built up, and everyone knows it. Apart from the house –’

‘That used to be the Cheapshot Inn –’

‘Yup, which obviously didn’t go too well.’

‘No.’

‘He told me he’s thinking of starting the brewery again,’ said Mike. ‘Of making money that way.’

‘Getting into brewing?’ said Ren. ‘That will cost him money. Why doesn’t he just sell the land? That would probably cover his debts. I mean, I don’t know how much they are, but … none of his idea makes any sense.’

‘Charlie is far from dumb,’ said Mike. ‘He is an outstanding doctor, researcher, biochemist … His mind is just not big business.’

‘Yeah, but you hire in the guys to take care of that,’ said Ren.

‘He tried that,’ said Mike. ‘But when the boss is away …’

‘Well, wouldn’t you learn from experience? I mean –’

‘Ren – Charlie saved my son’s life,’ said Mike.

‘Oh,’ said Ren. ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea.’

‘I know,’ said Mike. ‘I just wanted to let you know I’ll fight you to the death to defend him.’ He was smiling as he said it.

‘That’s about done it for me,’ said Ren, smiling back. ‘Is your son doing OK?’

‘He is. Thank you. One hundred per cent OK.’

‘Saving children’s lives versus getting people shitfaced,’ said Ren. ‘You can’t argue with that.’

Even though I would love to keep talking about
Charlie Barger, because something is not right with this
picture
.

Mike looked at her as if he could read her mind.

Ren went back to the inn and sat on the sofa in her room, speeding through the menus in the Gourmet Cabby guide. She went from pizza to salmon to burritos to sushi and back to salmon. When she placed her order, the guy at the other end of the phone said, ‘Hey, Ren. Room number nine, right?’

‘Hello, yes. Thanks.’

They had all her details.
Grim
. The whole of Breckenridge was going out to party and she was having a thing with Gourmet Cabby. When the food came an hour later, she went downstairs to pick it up. The other guests were drinking wine, watching TV, reading books.

‘Hey,’ she said.

‘What’s up?’ said one cute snowboarder.

‘Not much,’ said Ren, hovering, wanting to stay and talk, but finishing with a ‘Have a good one’ and going back upstairs.

Five hours later, through the window in the darkness, a snowplow moved like a Transformer toward her, mounting inclines, the cab rotating on its tracks, casting golden light across the snow. She couldn’t take her eyes off it as it moved past the church and turned back her way. She sat with a stack of notes and a bottle of water on the table in front of her. Two empty boxes of Mike & Ikes were on the floor at her feet. In the window and by her bed, church candles flickered, the flames coming to life a second time in mirrors and glass.

Her eyes started to close, her neck slowly falling toward the pillow at her back.
No, no no. Do. Not.
Stop
. She sat up. She had Jean’s phone records and bank records in front of her – everything marked with arrows and question marks and Post-Its. Colin Grabien had already been through them;
he had good radar and fresh eyes. Ren had too. And if there was anything new in them, her eyes were blind to it.

She had stacks of witness statements. She had maps. She had photos. She had multicolored pens. She had sketch pads. If she hadn’t spent so much time organizing it all, she would have swept the whole lot on to the floor. Instead, without even realizing it was happening, she picked up a coffee mug and pitched it across the room.

‘What is important in all this shit?’ she shouted.

The mug bounced off the wall in one piece, leaving no mark. She shook her head slowly.

I can’t do anything right. Shut up. I can’t. Shut up.

The next morning, Ren parked outside Caroline Quaintance’s house and sat staring down at the photo of Billy Waites and his intense, intelligent –
lying?
– eyes.

He could have any woman he wanted. Why did he pick me? She glanced over at the house.
When maybe tall, athletic twenty-seven-year-
olds were
his thing
.

She breathed through an irritating stab of jealousy and got out of the car. She jogged across the street to the house and rang the doorbell. Caroline came out, struggling to find an alternative expression for her disappointed face.

‘I’m Ren –’

‘I know,’ said Caroline. ‘Come in … again.’

‘Thanks. I won’t take up a lot of your time.’

‘That’s OK. I’m surprised to see you, that’s all. I feel like I’m being involved in something I just don’t know much about.’

They went into the kitchen. Ren sat down. Caroline stood looking at her.

‘I know
you’re
supposed to be asking the questions,’ said Caroline, ‘but are you … OK? You look –’

‘Yes. I’m fine,’ said Ren. ‘Why do you ask?’ Ren was training herself to use this question more. She’d read somewhere that it was the perfect response to a personal question that you didn’t want to answer. If someone couldn’t give you a good enough reason for asking, you could bypass revealing something you didn’t want to.
My weakness
.

‘Oh … I’m sorry,’ said Caroline, ‘I just …’

Result
. ‘I’m here to show you a photograph, to see if you recognize this man.’

‘No,’ said Caroline immediately.

‘Never seen him before?’

‘Should I have?’

‘Well, no. But …’

‘No,’ said Caroline again. ‘Why?’

‘I’m just asking around,’ said Ren. ‘Anyone who has cropped up in the investigation.’ She stood up. ‘Thank you for your time.’

‘No problem. But I really can’t see why –’

‘Look,’ said Ren. ‘I’m doing my job, OK? It’s for me to know why I’m asking what I’m asking. And why I’m calling to your door, OK? Is it killing you to give me five minutes of your time?’ She glanced toward the television, where
Desperate
Housewives
was playing. ‘Or are you too busy watching fake people’s lives to give a damn about a real person’s death?’

At some point, Ren realized, Caroline had taken a step back from her.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I just …’
Stop talking
.

‘Really, I do wish I could help,’ said Caroline, but I just don’t know that guy.’

At least you’re not lying this time. I think
.

A text came in from Vincent when she got back to her office. She checked the time and sent him back a Yes. She drove down to Main Street and parked outside the Crown. She had been having more success with parking in Breckenridge than Bob had led her to believe.

The Crown was quiet inside, a few couples, a few readers, no one playing board games. Vincent was sitting on the sofa facing her. He stood up, smiling.

‘Hey,’ he said. They kissed on the cheek.

‘Hi,’ said Ren. She took off her jacket and hung it on the coat stand beside them. ‘It’s cold out there.’

‘Tonight’s going to be worse,’ said Vincent. ‘Fifteen below.’

‘Ugh.’

‘Do you have to be anywhere?’

‘Inside working, so it could be worse.’

‘Crank that heating up.’

‘Wow,’ said Ren – the waitress arrived with two coffees and a Cinnamonster.

Ren gave him a warm, sad smile. ‘Thank you.’ She stared at him a little too long.

‘What?’ he said.

‘It’s just … it’s lovely to be known that well. You knew I’d be on time, so you could order. And you knew
what
to order …’

‘Noo,’ said Vincent. ‘I just thought it was appropriate ordering you something with “monster” in the title …’

Ren laughed. ‘Is that better or worse than Ren Noir?’

‘Better.’

They sat in silence for a while, then they talked about work.

‘You are the only person in the world I can be totally honest with,’ said Ren.

‘And you are the only person in the world who I can tell straightaway is lying to me.’

Ren frowned.

‘Yes, Ren, you
are
honest. Most of what you say to me is the truth. But you are selective in what you say to me.’

Ren opened her mouth and closed it again without speaking.

‘When you have looked me in the eye today, it’s been nervously,’ said Vincent. ‘But most of the time, you haven’t been able to.’

‘That’s not true,’ said Ren.

‘Bing! Lie!’ His tone was not unkind.

‘Look, stop,’ said Ren. ‘Come on.’

‘Something is making you uncomfortable with me,’ said Vincent, ‘and because I know that you can’t lie – really – I’m not going to ask you what it is. Because I’m not really sure I want to know.’

Ren looked down.
Ugh
. ‘I am a loser.’

‘Well, I just hope you’re a loser who is not doing too much damage to herself.’

Oh, you have no idea
.

Ren turned on one light in her suite that night when she got back to the inn. Everyone was flooding her brain without really telling her anything. Checking Billy’s phone had resolved nothing. And he could have a hundred other phones. Yet there was something about him she inherently trusted.
But can I trust my trust?

Later she lay in the dark, filled with hope for the morning. Hope that didn’t last. Fear started to dissolve it, like the black, liquid edges of burning plastic. And as she drifted into a world where the worst possible outcomes lived, her mind took her deeper again … and the dream came back. This time, it ended with locked door after locked door. This time she didn’t make it out alive.

She woke howling, desperately trying to catch her breath. She dragged herself upright to the edge of the bed. Her head felt ice cold inside. She held a hand over her mouth and ran for the bathroom.
She retched, but nothing came up. Her face was red, her eyes streamed. And her heart rate was soaring. She brushed her teeth and put a freezing cloth to her face before she went back to bed. She took her purse with her, shook everything out, couldn’t find anything she could take to calm her down. Which made her worse.

I need to sleep. I cannot do this. I cannot do this. I
cannot do this alone
.

She looked at the clock. It was 1.30 a.m. He would be finishing up about now, he could be here in thirty minutes. She reached for her phone and dialed Billy Waites.