Blood Loss (11 page)

Silence.

Ren started walking toward the interview room.

‘Are you sure you can afford them?’ said Matt.

Ren stopped walking. ‘Mm … what?’

‘Just … I know that things have been a little tight … and I was wondering … don’t get me wrong—’

‘Oh, I’m not getting you wrong,’ said Ren. ‘I think I’m getting you right.’

‘Don’t be like that,’ said Matt.

‘What’s your point?’ said Ren. ‘I shop, therefore, I’m manic?’

‘Just … shopping when you can’t afford it …’ said Matt.

‘Then there are a lot of bipolar people in the world,’ said Ren. ‘Many of them women with great shoes.’

‘Just … there’s no need to buy Ethan gifts, he’s only a baby—’

‘I can buy my only nephew whatever I like,’ said Ren. ‘Now you are calling me to complain about gifts? Who does that?’

‘I’m not complaining about gifts,’ said Matt. ‘I’m thanking you for them, and hoping that buying them didn’t put you under financial strain.’

Ren laughed. ‘They’re onesies from Target,’ said Ren. ‘I don’t think I’ll be on the streets …’

‘Onesies from Target, a snowsuit from Saks, two sweaters from Baby Gap, booties from Macy’s, two pillows from Pottery Barn Kids, a hat from somewhere …’

‘
Are you seriously reading labels?’ said Ren.

‘I’m just worried,’ said Matt.

‘Please don’t worry, Matt. Please. Get on with your life.’

‘I’m concerned your judgment is impaired … that’s what happens.’

‘Impaired judgment? How technical …’ said Ren.

Matt took in a deep breath. ‘OK, let’s forget all that. Tell me, how is your new man?’

‘Gorgeous, and sweet, and fun, and amazing. This could—’

‘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.’

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 Collier’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.’

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.’