Blood Runs Cold (16 page)

Ren woke the next morning at seven and texted Gary.

Cn we meet 2day?

Y. Whn?

7.30?

OK.

Ren liked to have an hour to get ready in the morning.
Not any more
. She left the inn with minimum makeup and wet hair. By seven twenty-five she was in the conference room with a giant coffee and a toasted sesame bagel.

‘Hey,’ said Gary, walking in. He took the seat beside her. ‘What’s this all about?’

Ren looked at him and wondered how things would change if her answer was,
I slept with Billy
Waites
. She looked at him and said instead, ‘The investigation. I’m getting a little anxious …’

‘OK. Talk to me.’

‘Well, I have nothing.’

‘I can tell you that’s not true, for a start. Everything that could be followed up on, has been. And what we have done is to rule out a hell of a lot already.’

‘I’m fine with the ruling out if I’ve got lots of ruling in going on too,’ said Ren. ‘I’m like, “What the fuck happened to you, Jean?”’

‘Ren – you’ll answer that yourself. If you start thinking that you won’t, it’ll be reflected in your work. Begin every day like it’s the first day of the investigation.’

‘That’s good advice. Thanks.’

‘So, give me updates.’

‘It seems to be just me getting hunches about people. This guy who drinks at the Brockton Filly – creepy. Caroline Quaintance – lying, even though the animal shelter people had only glowing reports on her; her bosses the same.’

I won’t mention Misty
.

‘Ren, your hunches are usually very good,’ said Gary.

I hope so
. ‘I feel bad because, in a fucked-up way, I wish Jean Transom had had more going on in her life to give us a wider scope. She lived in a tiny little world and I still can’t seem to navigate my way around it.’

‘Ren, it’s not all about you,’ said Gary. His voice was kind. ‘You’re having a day of doubt. So put that aside and turn this all outwards, OK?’

‘Ugh. You’re right.’

‘Go, do it. OK?’

‘Thanks, Gary.’

She went to the kitchen to make coffee and eat cookies she didn’t like or want. She was alone. She sat at the table and closed her eyes.
I need to
separate the part of Billy Waites that is under my skin
from the part of Billy Waites that should be under investigation.
I need to take a little step back right now – I
am too close. And personal
.

She grabbed her coffee, went back to her desk and opened the Mark Wilson file again. Wilson had stayed in the hostel part of The Cheapshot Inn the month before he died.
Why does The
Cheapshot Inn sound familiar?
She remembered.
The
Welcome Center
.

The Welcome Center had barely opened for the day, but the manager let Ren in. She went quickly to the display she was looking for: the photo montage of Ridge Street through the decades. In one of the photos, a sign swung from the branch of a stooping oak, most of its letters hidden by the leaves:
The Cheapshot Inn
. And in smaller print,
Est.
1962
. Except that it was no longer an inn. Ren knew what someone would find now if they walked through the door – the dark, narrow hallway that led to Dr Charlie Barger.

The manager came over to her. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘Yes, there is, as a matter of fact,’ said Ren.

She pointed to the photo. ‘I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about The Cheapshot Inn.’

‘Charlie Barger’s place? Well, it’s closed now. He closed it last December.’

Who closes an inn in Breckenridge during peak
season?

‘And it’s been an inn since 1962?’ said Ren.

He nodded. ‘His father set it up – Emil Barger. He was part of a small group that ended up owning a big part of Breckenridge, but I guess instead of steamrollering his way in, he kind of rode in on a white horse.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, this would have been in the sixties, when the town was going through a slump. The economy needed these guys – and they knew it. The difference with Barger was that he gave back. He lobbied for affordable housing, he paid his workers well, he took care of people …’

‘How did he end up owning part of Breckenridge?’ said Ren.

‘Barger was a 10th Mountain vet. And, like all the others, when he came back from the war, he was looking for something to do. These guys had trained for years before they were sent to Europe, so these were some skilled mountain men. They fought well in the war and, when they came back, a lot of them ended up working at resorts in Colorado in one way or another.’

‘When would that have been?’

‘Oh, quite a while after the war. We would be talking late fifties when it started to kick in. Developers knew when they were on to a good thing, so they were hiring these 10th Mountain guys left and right.’

‘So Emil Barger was hired by developers?’

‘Not so much hired – he had family money, so he was right up there with the best of them. He was a developer himself. And, I guess, his own technical advisor. He made some clever choices.’

Ren thought of Salem Swade and how, twenty years later, the mountains welcomed him back from his war. ‘I guess it worked out well for Emil Barger,’ she said.

‘And The Cheapshot Inn was one of the ways he said thank you …’

‘Ah,’ said Ren.

‘For most of the year, he got one of the trainee managers from the resorts to take care of it. Then his son, Charlie, took over every time he was back from medical school on vacation.’

‘Right.’

‘Why the interest in all this?’ said the manager.

I get sidetracked
. ‘I just like the town,’ said Ren. She smiled. ‘This place is great. You’ve done a really good job.’

‘Thank you. Call back again if there’s anything else you need.’

* * *

Ren checked her watch and decided enough time had passed that she could call Helen without waking her up.

‘Helen? Hi. It’s Ren.’

‘Hi. I’m just with someone right now. Can I call you back in two minutes?’

‘Like, two minutes or five or ten?’ said Ren.

‘Two.’

‘OK.’

‘Are you OK? You sound –’

‘No, no. I’m fine,’ said Ren. ‘I don’t want to bother you.’

‘You’re not. I’ll speak to you in a little while.’

Ren breathed out. She looked around the quiet streets of Breckenridge and helped herself to calm down. She stayed, suspended in a silent, baseless panic, until the phone rang.

‘How are you doing?’ said Helen.

‘I’m good, I’m good,’ said Ren. ‘Well, I’m kind of freaked out. Which is, I guess, why I called.’ Her laugh was nervous.

‘Why are you freaked out?’

‘Well, I just had this thought,’ said Ren. ‘You know the way I’ve been spending time with Billy? In the bar…’

‘Yes.’

Ren’s pause stretched for half a minute, time that Helen still didn’t break into.

‘I know this sounds stupid, OK?’ said Ren eventually. ‘But I’m like, oh my God, what if they’ve
bugged the bar? What if Billy and I are sitting there or, you know … and they’re listening in to everything?’ Her voice sped up, the sentences rushing out of her, riding a wave of panic. ‘I’m screwed. My career’s ruined. My life is over. I love my job I –’

‘Ren, whoa, whoa. Think about all this logically. What would Billy be under suspicion for?’

‘Anything! The murder, drugs, UFAP …’

‘What is you-fap?’

‘Unlawful Flight to Avoid Prosecution.’

‘And is Billy on the lam?’

‘Well, no …’

‘And who is the “they” you’re referring to when you say “they’re listening in”?’

Ren shrugged, then said, ‘I don’t know. Other agents. Another agency. Maybe one of his former suppliers. Gangs like that, they won’t let things go. Those feuds are lifelong. I mean, feud is not even the word. You’d need a new word for what that is. It’s a violent –’

‘Ren, Ren, slow down, OK? You would know if the bar was being wire-tapped by law enforcement, right? Realistically.’

‘Well, yes,’ said Ren after another long pause.

‘And can we agree it’s unlikely any gangs are bugging the bar? Aren’t they the type to just show up and blast him away?’

Ren let out a reluctant laugh. ‘Yes. I guess so.’

‘So why are you working yourself up?’ said Helen.

‘It’s just … I guess I’m freaked out. I love my job. There’s nothing else I can do. I don’t want to screw up. I’m worried I already have. I –’

‘Ren, has the case suffered yet because of you?’

‘No.’

‘Are you going through the tasks you have been given and that you have created using your experience and your observations?’

Ren paused. ‘Yes.’

‘OK, so why don’t you take a little break from beating yourself up? Why not say, “Well done, Ren. Good job.”’

‘Because, ugh …’

‘Because it’s easier for you to beat yourself up. And it’s harder to give yourself a compliment. Try it once in a while.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Well at least let me try it. Let me say, “good job” to you.’

‘Thanks.’

‘But Billy …’

‘I know. I know.’

‘I’m serious. You know what you need to do.’

Ren sighed. ‘Knowing what I need to do and what I want to do and what I’m capable of doing? Well, they’re such different things, aren’t they?’

Ren arrived, drained, at the Sheriff’s Office. She didn’t want to think any more about how she may have compromised the investigation. She just didn’t want to think about the investigation. She knew Billy Waites would jump out at her from every page. Her fear would tie him into every part of Jean’s life and implicate him in every part of her death. And now the case she was so desperate to solve could become the one case she would never solve because of her own actions.

Her cellphone rang.

‘Hey, Ren. How are you?’

‘Oh, hi, Vincent,’ said Ren. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine. You?”

She gave a sad laugh. ‘Shit.’

‘Yeah, me too.’ He paused. ‘Any particular reason?’

She sighed. ‘Too many to get into.’

‘How’s the investigation going?’

‘Shit too.’

‘How cheery are we?’

‘I know,’ said Ren. ‘How’s work for you?’

‘Not much better …’

‘We are in high spirits today.’

He laughed. They were quiet for a little while. ‘Look… I miss you.’

‘I miss you too.’

‘I was thinking of maybe coming to Breck at the weekend …’

‘Oh.’

‘Once more … with feeling.’

‘I’m sorry. It’s just … if you’re coming to see me …’

‘That would be part of the plan,’ said Vincent.

‘I just won’t have the time. I’m …’
Too busy
fucking things up for myself
‘… working.’

‘Not even one evening off?’

‘I could do lunch maybe.’

He laughed. ‘No alcohol, broad daylight, a set time frame –’

‘Stop,’ she said. ‘It’s not like that.’

‘Oh, even if it is, I’ll take it.’

‘I’m glad,’ said Ren. ‘Text me Saturday morning.’

‘You bet.’

Just as she hung up, another call came through.

‘Mr Truax, how can I help you?’ said Ren.

‘I’m helping
you
, Ms Bryce. Your prints are back from the beer bottle.’

‘And?’

‘
Nada
. No match.’

‘And that’s supposed to help me how?’ said Ren.

‘Well, if helping you means ruling out for now that this man is a hardened criminal with a string of violent crimes under his belt, yes.’

‘Not that, in fact, he is such a criminal mastermind that he has eluded us for decades to commit some of humanity’s vilest atrocities?’

‘While you’ve been fixing your makeup …’

‘That’s crime-fighting in itself.’

Ren walked into Bob’s office. ‘OK, if you could put your fingers in your ears, say “la la la la la” at the same time, while also listening to my question and answering it, I would be very grateful.’

‘La la la la la …’

‘Where did you all search for Mark Wilson last year?’

‘All over town. And out McCullough Gulch Road to the Brockton Filly, around the Filly. We had a hundred volunteers.’

‘And no one even found any of Wilson’s belongings, nothing?’

‘No.’

‘Bob, he went missing around the same spot as Jean must have.’

‘We don’t know that.’

‘It’s highly likely.’

‘Well, all roads lead to the Brockton Filly,’ said
Bob. ‘Maybe it’s not the big shadow of Quandary Peak we should be worried about. Maybe it’s the big shadow of Billy Waites. Maybe Waites is the common denominator here. And what better front than being pals with the FBI? A career liar with friends in all the right places.’

Charge the paddles to three hundred
.

Bob shrugged. ‘It happens,’ he said. ‘People go missing. They drink too much – the cold, the alcohol, the altitude gets to them, the snow covers them up. It’s all nice and tidy.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Ren.

‘Based on what, though? Feelings, nothing more than feelings?’

‘I like my feelings.’

‘What do you think might have happened?’ said Bob.

‘
That
is the mystery,’ said Ren. ‘I guess, you know, the poor guy shows up, he’s from out of town –’

‘Hey, everyone here’s from out of town,’ said Bob. ‘Nobody is from Breck, as the saying goes. A lot of people
want
to be, they’ll tell you they
are
– in an English, Australian, Norwegian accent.’

‘My point is, this guy is not expendable,’ said Ren. ‘And I guess it just feels like someone thought he was.’

‘We don’t know that he’s dead,’ said Bob.

‘Oh, come on.’

‘But please tell me you don’t think it’s connected to Jean Transom.’

Ren made a face that kept it up for grabs.

‘But they are entirely different circumstances. Sounds to me like Mark Wilson was an accident waiting to happen.’

‘Sounds to me like he suffered from a disease called alcoholism and that he’d given up all hope.’

‘God bless you,’ said Bob. ‘And save you.’ He paused. ‘Are you looking for a distraction?’

‘Are you nuts?’ said Ren. ‘Plus,’ she checked her watch, ‘I have one hour to get to a meeting in Denver. Not going to happen. As if there’s not enough for me to do. But you know how something just gets to you …’

‘Yes. Doesn’t mean I know why
this
is getting to
you
.’ He started shifting in his seat, dragging his keyboard toward him. ‘Are you still here?’ he said, glancing back at her.

‘Aw, Bob, don’t be mean to me,’ she said.