Killing Ways

‘It’s not exactly something I’m going to throw out there …’

‘True. Anyway, there it is, my sorry tale.’

‘It doesn’t change a thing as far as I’m concerned,’ said Janine. ‘But, yes, I’m glad you told me.’

‘Well, now that we’re working together …’

Janine frowned. ‘Now that we’re working together?’ She paused. ‘Are you trying to tell me I can’t rely on you?’ She was half-smiling. ‘That if we were in a gun battle you might be across the room dancing to “Happy”?’

Ren laughed. I love you, Janine Hooks. ‘Thanks.’

‘All I will say is please talk to me if you’re struggling … or if there’s anything on your mind.’

‘Of course,’ said Ren. ‘And you can talk to me too.’

Now, have you anything you’d like to tell me? Like about your possible eating disorder?

There was a sparkle of the onset of tears in Janine’s eyes. She blinked and they were gone, swallowed up.

Just like that.Talk to me. Or do you think I’m just not the right kind of friend?

‘Gary makes me go to these bullshit support groups every two weeks,’ said Ren. ‘In that shit-ass Henderson Hotel. It’s enough to make you blow your brains out. Shit – I was supposed to be at one last night.’

‘Don’t the meetings help at all?’ said Janine.

Not right now. At all.Ooh. You, troubled lady, need to know support groups help. ‘They do help,’ said Ren. ‘Just sometimes they remind me that there’s something wrong with me. And, like, I feel great. I could go there in the best humor ever, and someone’s up at the lectern talking about killing themselves or getting injected in the ass with clozapine and I’m like “that is not my life”.’

‘Of course that’s not your life,’ said Janine. ‘I mean, look at you.’

Yes. Seconds from a clozapine shot at all times. Ooh: that’s a great idea. Shots called Clozapine. I’ll have a round of Clozapines. Like Mind Erasers. Mind Numbers. With a silent ‘b’. The pharmaceutical company probably wouldn’t allow a brand name to be used. Obviously.

She let out a breath.

‘And, Ren, I want you to know I can’t be your friend in half-measures. Like, I don’t half-care about people. I’m all in. Which I hope explains why I was the way I was last night. So if that doesn’t sit well with you …’

‘It’s just …’

‘What?’ said Janine.

I hate my behavior being scrutinized. I hate being watched. I hate being stopped. I hate my fun being curtailed. I shouldn’t have told her. Now I have another person in my life with a worried look on their face. Fuck that.

‘Just … thanks,’ said Ren.

Ren started the drive back to her apartment. She kept thinking of Hope Coulson’s party pictures.

I am missing something. I need to talk to Jonathan Briar.

Fuck his lawyer.

You really don’t want to do that.

Gary will go—

La la la la la …

Ren rang the buzzer outside Jonathan Briar’s apartment building, waiting patiently for him to pick up.

‘Hey,’ he said.

‘Jonathan, it’s Ren Bryce here from Safe Streets …’

Silence.

‘I was looking at Hope’s Facebook page and there’s something I need to ask you.’

‘I have a lawyer now,’ said Jonathan.

‘This will take five minutes,’ said Ren. ‘Please. You want to find out who did this to Hope, don’t you? You’re not a suspect. I just have a couple of questions.’

‘What about her Facebook page?’ said Jonathan.

‘Something doesn’t add up,’ said Ren. ‘Please – can I come up? I’ll show you.’

Silence.

Then the buzzer.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

9 (#ulink_005708df-daa6-58f7-84a1-af0993a75738)

The apartment was a mess. Ren pushed aside cushions, a hoodie and two dirty plates to sit on the sofa. Jonathan went into the kitchen to make coffee. Ren could see him through the doorway, leaning against the countertop, gripping it, his head bowed. She got up and went in after him. There were fast-food wrappers, Styrofoam boxes, empty soda cans, empty chip packages, all across the countertops. The bin was overflowing.

‘Why don’t you sit down on the sofa,’ said Ren, putting a hand on Jonathan’s back. ‘I’ll take care of this.’

He looked up, tears welling in his eyes. ‘You don’t have to.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Ren.

‘Thank you,’ said Jonathan. ‘Thanks.’

Ren opened the cupboard under the sink, took out a garbage bag and started to fill it up. Then she loaded the dishwasher, washed down the countertops and put the kettle on. As she waited for it to boil, she looked around the kitchen. The side of the refrigerator still had notes signed by Hope, and a calendar that had been turned to the new month. Ren went over and flipped it up. Every Monday from the beginning to the end of the year, read: Good Shepherd, 6 p.m.

Eerie. A schedule that would never be followed through on …

Ren took out her cell phone and photographed all the months of the calendar.

Just in case …