Blood Loss (18 page)

Gary and unorthodox?

‘Mark Whaley raped her, or she was a ho and seduced him, he shot her, killed himself, Laurie Whaley’s been returned safe,’ said Colin. ‘The end.’

Gary stared at him. ‘Colin, I’d like you to go to the autopsies with Ren, Robbie and Bob.’

‘But—’ said Colin.

‘It matters what happened in that room,’ said Gary.

Colin’s jaw twitched.

You can’t hide behind your computer screen now, you dickhead.

Taber Grace still had the client file. It was fatter than it used to be. For days it had been like a lump lodged in his throat. Now it was sitting on top of his shredder, where he stockpiled papers until he could bear the sound of the motor grinding through secrets. Or when he needed a little more time to think about whether he really wanted to make something disappear.

He checked his phone. There were seven missed calls from Melissa. And five messages.

‘It’s me. We need to talk.’

‘Tabe, where are you?’

‘Taber, wherever you are, please call.’

‘Call me, please. I’m starting to get worried.’

‘Taber, it’s Melissa again, I don’t care if you can’t talk right now, but just let me know you’re OK. Just send me a text …’

He called her. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘It’s me.’

‘Thank God,’ said Melissa. ‘I was worried. So was TJ.’

‘I texted TJ. He’s fine.’

‘Well, TJ and I haven’t exactly been on speaking terms …’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Missy. He’ll come around.’

‘I just wanted to know that you’re alive. You’ve kinda disappeared since … everything. I was afraid you’d never want to talk to me again.’

‘No,’ said Taber. ‘No.’

‘I was worried about you.’

‘There’s no need, but thanks for your concern.’

‘OK … thanks for letting me know,’ said Melissa. ‘Thanks for calling.’

‘Take care.’

‘You too.’

Taber Grace closed his eyes and the scene in the kitchen kicked off again, like a movie, the images even tinted and sharpened, the voices like surround-sound.

Taber Grace had locked himself away since he walked out on Melissa and TJ that morning, sitting at his laptop, reading about what Cerxus had done to the children it had been prescribed to: some had attempted suicide, others had violent outbursts, some had complete personality changes. Melissa was right – Cerxus was still on sale. The makers, Lang Pharmaceuticals, had just put a black-box warning on the insert saying that it could cause suicidal thoughts and psychotic episodes in children.

Taber Grace didn’t stop with Cerxus – he was sucked into one article after another about drugs that had been rushed to market, marketed illegally, over-prescribed, reacted badly with other medications, increased the risk of strokes or heart attacks, caused fatalities. Every pharmaceutical company he had ever heard of had been sued because of one drug or another, and between them they had paid out billions of dollars to settle claims. And he knew a settled claim meant sealed documents that the public was unlikely to see.

Taber Grace got up from his desk, his head filled with images of TJ’s terrified nine-year-old face, and Melissa bleeding and clutching him, and telling him what to do, and how to lie.

Replace the sound, replace the images.

He walked into his bare living room. He sat on the sofa, and turned on the television. He watched microphones being pushed into the face of a man called Bob Gage, Summit County Sheriff. Behind Sheriff Gage and back a little, was definitely an FBI Agent. A BuBabe. A Bureau Babe. He knew that case agents weren’t authorized to speak to the press, but she would have been a better face for the camera.

The sheriff was speaking: ‘
At four a.m. on the morning of Tuesday, November 17, the bodies of Mark Whaley, 49, and Shelby Royce, 16, were found on Wildcard Drive here in Breckenridge. Following yesterday’s autopsy results, we can confirm that Shelby Royce died of a gunshot wound to the chest. Mark Whaley died from a gunshot wound to the head which evidence confirms was self-inflicted. At nine a.m. on the morning of November 17, Mark Whaley’s daughter, Laurie Whaley, was reunited with her family and is recovering at a private location.’

A reporter asked: ‘
Sheriff Gage, can you tell us the extent of her injuries?’

‘Laurie Whaley is recovering well. That is the last comment I will make on her condition.’

‘Sheriff, is it true that Shelby Royce was sexually assaulted before her death?’

‘Our investigation is ongoing.’

‘Was this a murder-suicide?’

‘All evidence points to a murder-suicide. Thank you for your time.’

‘Sheriff Gage—’

‘Sheriff Gage—’

‘I have no further comment at this time.’

Taber Grace stood up from the sofa.

‘Hate to break it to you, people – that was no murder-suicide.’

He hit the red button and the screen went black.

‘But you’re going to have a hell of a time proving otherwise.’

He walked over to the shredder, took the file from on top of it, and laid it on his desk.

Ren Bryce sat at her desk with her handbag open, throwing in everything she could see that belonged to her.

Gary called her over to his desk. She leaned over the partition, then quickly checked her shirt.

‘I cleaned it,’ said Gary.

‘Good for you, not suffering in silence.’

He smiled. ‘I wanted to ask – how was your appointment with Dr Lone?’

‘Did you know that his sessions are all an hour long?’ said Ren. ‘Not fifteen minutes, not even half an hour. How does that work? Financially? And missing-work-wise?’
And boredom-threshold-wise.

‘You just concentrate on making the most of that hour,’ said Gary.

‘But—’

‘If it makes you feel better,’ said Gary, ‘he only charges a fifteen-minute fee for a one-hour session.’

‘What?’ said Ren. ‘Who does that?’

‘People who like to help people, I guess.’

‘No wonder he can’t afford full shoes …’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Gary.

‘Just … he wears sandals,’ said Ren.

‘Jesus, Ren. Maybe if your approach was not to stare at the floor, you wouldn’t notice his footwear.’

Helen Wheeler had beautiful shoes.

Gary looked up. ‘Are you OK?’ he said. ‘Did I say something?’

‘No,’ said Ren. ‘I’m fine.’

But Helen had beautiful shoes.

Paul Louderback stuck his head in the door.

‘Ren, could I have a word, please?’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind, Gary. I just have to clear something up.’

‘Sure, go ahead,’ said Gary. ‘We’re done here.’

‘Hey,’ said Paul, when she walked out, ‘as we will shortly be parting company, would you like to go for dinner tonight?’

‘Ooh,’ said Ren. ‘I would. Here? Would that be wise?’

‘Wise now that I know your boss is traveling to Denver tonight.’

Ren smiled. ‘Dinner it is, then.’

Her cell phone rang on her desk.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Paul.

Ren ran over and grabbed it.

‘Agent Bryce, it’s Kevin Crowley from The Lowry Hotel in Boston – I just sent you an email – the details you wanted, if you’d like to take a look at it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ren. She hung up, and opened the email and clicked on the attached files. There was one PDF, and six JPEGS. She started with the PDF. It was Mark Whaley’s bill from his stay.

For three nights. Even though his last meeting was on Friday, he stayed on in Boston Saturday night.

She looked at the photos. In the first, a short, smiling blonde was leaning over The Lowry’s reception desk.

Ren clicked on the next photo. It was the lobby bar on the same night. A man was sitting on a sofa in the corner with the same smiling blonde. Her coat was off, and she was dressed in a short, dark-colored, low-cut dress.

‘Gary,’ said Ren. ‘You need to see these.’

Gary came over to her desk.

‘It’s Mark Whaley,’ said Ren, pointing. ‘In The Lowry Hotel in Boston.’

Gary leaned in closer to the screen.

‘So there is a hotel-room precedent with Mark Whaley,’ said Gary. ‘Underage blondes.’

Nail. Coffin.

Paul Louderback was waiting for Ren at a table upstairs in the furthest corner of Modis on Main Street. He stood up as soon as she walked in. He kissed her on both cheeks, and pulled out her chair for her.

Manners. I love it.
‘Thank you,’ said Ren.

‘I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a bottle of Bordeaux,’ said Paul.

Ren raised her glass. ‘Here’s to the first time I’ve ever heard that sentence anywhere other than in a British mini-series.’

Paul made a sad face.

She smiled. ‘Aw, your crest has fallen.’

‘I didn’t want to sound lame
right
away,’ said Paul. ‘I was aiming for somewhere in the middle of dinner.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Ren, ‘feel free to take wine-related liberties at all times and go on to tell me about them in quaint ways.’

He relaxed back into his chair. ‘So …’ he said.

‘Mark Whaley … can you believe it?’

‘I can,’ said Paul. ‘Especially after those Lowry photos.’

And they were off, talking about work, and movies, and books, and music, and shoes.

Eventually, after a lull, Ren looked across the table at Paul.

‘So,’ said Ren.
The question I hate asking, but feel bound to.
‘How’s Marianne?’

Your wife of twenty-four years, the mother of your two daughters.

Paul drained his glass.

‘Oh, some comedy glass-draining,’ said Ren.

‘She left me,’ said Paul at the same time.

Ren waited for him to smile or laugh or say, ‘just kidding’ – anything that would stop him from sensing the visceral reaction that had just rocked through her. ‘Oh my God,’ she managed.

‘She walked out, and took the girls with her,’ said Paul.

‘When?’ said Ren.

‘Three months ago,’ said Paul.

‘Why didn’t you say?’ said Ren.

‘Because I wanted to hear you talk about shoes.’

‘I’m … mortified.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve had the most fun I’ve had in … I can’t tell you when.’

‘But you should have told me at the time,’ said Ren. ‘I would have—’

‘Confused me,’ said Paul.

Uh-oh.

Ren’s heart was pounding.

I could do without the complication.

‘But … why did she leave?’ said Ren. ‘What did she say? Do you mind if I ask?’

‘Are you surprised that she left?’ said Paul. ‘Really?’

Yes. Kind of. No
. ‘Yes,’ said Ren.

Paul laughed.

‘I can’t believe you laughed at that,’ said Ren. ‘I
am
surprised. But … I suppose … maybe … I will now stop speaking.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Paul. ‘I’m not in total denial. I know the kind of husband I was. I love Marianne because she is the mother of my children. I don’t know in the end if I loved her as, you know, my lover. And … well, I guess she found someone who did.’

No-one should use the word lover.
‘Oh …’ said Ren.

‘Yes,’ said Paul. ‘She met a man who is my polar opposite. Hurtfully so, if I’m honest.’

‘I’m curious as to what you consider your polar opposite,’ said Ren.

‘Someone attentive,’ said Paul. ‘Someone relaxed, fun, loving, optimistic.’

‘There’s a barman in Gaffney’s who calls that kind of talk “hindshite”,’ said Ren. ‘Hindshite: looking back on things and distorting them, seeing everything in a negative way. I understand how everything looks like crap right now, because you’re going through something terrible. But there is no way Marianne got married and had two beautiful daughters with a man she thought was inattentive, uptight, or boring.’

Paul shrugged.

‘I don’t buy that,’ said Ren. ‘If this new man’s all that—’

‘He is,’ said Paul. ‘I swear to God. I have no problem with the guy. Can you believe that?’

‘He had an affair with your wife,’ said Ren.

‘Nope, that’s the kind of stand-up guy he is,’ said Paul. ‘He fell in love with my wife. And respected her too much to destroy her marriage, and our girls’ lives, and all the rest of it. So he walked away. He told her if she ever changed her mind, she knew where to find him. This was two years ago. He waited for her all that time.’

‘Wow,’ said Ren.

‘And Lord knows, she tried to make it work with us,’ said Paul. ‘I can see that now …’

‘Do you think she still wants to make it work?’ said Ren.

Silence. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, eventually.

‘Hmm,’ said Ren. ‘Maybe leaving you was a cry for help. Terrible expression, but you get the idea.’

‘I’m in no position to help anyone,’ said Paul.

‘Are they living together?’ said Ren.

‘No.’

‘Has he met the girls?’ said Ren.

‘No. She’s not ready for that.’

‘Well, that could be a good sign,’ said Ren. ‘I’m so sorry to hear all this. None of it sounds easy. How are you feeling?’

‘I don’t think I want her to keep trying …’ said Paul. ‘I think … I think it’s been over a long time.’

Ren poured more wine. ‘I’ll be the wine guy,’ she said.

‘Stick to what you know best,’ said Paul.

Ren laughed.

‘You are a master side-stepper …’ said Paul.

‘What am I side-stepping?’ said Ren.
Apart from the I-don’t-think-I-want-her-to-keep-trying-so-I’m-finally-available thing that we both know I’m side-stepping.

‘Not a thing,’ said Paul.

Good.

Paul smiled. ‘Remember that night at the sexual assault convention …’

‘OK, if anyone overheard just that part of the conversation …’

Paul laughed, then stopped. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to me,’ he said. ‘It’s like my own laughter is an alien sound.’

‘Your laughter
is
an alien sound,’ said Ren.

‘Why didn’t you reply to my emails after the last time in Breck?’ said Paul. He had locked eyes with her.

Please refrain from staring at the animals.
‘I … I don’t know,’ said Ren. ‘I’ve … been busy.’