Time of Death

‘Daryl, hi, it’s Ren Bryce again. I’m sorry we got disconnected.’

‘Hello, Ren. How are you doing?’

‘Shell-shocked. What’s going on, Daryl? You know Beau had nothing to do with this.’

Silence. ‘I’d love to agree with you,’ said Daryl.

‘But I’m at a loss as to how you don’t.’

‘Because of the tip-off,’ said Daryl. ‘Because of the fact that Beau knew and was trusted by Louis—’

‘OK, let’s scratch that last one for a start: the whole town knew Louis. And he was a trusting type of kid. Where did the tip come from? What was it exactly?’

‘Oh, come on, Ren. You’re an agent with the FBI. You wouldn’t tell a suspect’s family member what you got.’

‘That depends. If it were you, Daryl … Come on, this is nuts. Please take a look at this tip and the nature of it, where it came from and what its reliability is. Please, Daryl.’

Stroud’s tone changed. ‘That’s not just an FBI way of handling things, you know. Here in the sticks we think that might be a good idea too. That is, when we’re not sitting on our hoods, flirting with old ladies outside the diner.’

‘I didn’t mean anything by that,’ said Ren. ‘Here’s how it is – I’m not worried, because I know Beau is innocent. But I am desperately worried that it will be pinned on him anyway. It seems so sudden and random.’

‘I won’t treat this any differently than any other investigation.’

That is not reassuring. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to. Just please remember Beau and who he was.’

‘I really am so sorry for your loss.’

‘You know something?’ said Ren. ‘It’s been twenty-four years and those words are still welcome. They still help. So, thanks. But please, please do everything you can. Beau’s death was devastating enough. The pain is so … I …’

She stopped.

‘Ren? Are you still there? Ren?’ Daryl hesitated. ‘Please don’t cry.’

There was another pause before Ren answered. ‘Thank you. I gotta go.’

Sinking into the chair, she stared at the ceiling, holding her head back to keep the tears from falling. It was a few minutes before she was ready to dial Information for a number she knew she shouldn’t call, but would regret if she didn’t.

She felt sick as she listened to the pulsing dial tone.

‘Is this Ricky Parry?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ricky, it’s Ren Bryce.

Silence. ‘Oh. Hi. I … should we be talking?’

‘I really think we should,’ said Ren. ‘What is going on, Ricky?’

‘Someone came forward with information.’

‘Who? And what was this information?’

‘Don’t you know? Like, with your FBI contacts—’

‘They’re not going to tell me,’ said Ren, ‘But I hope you can. We all know that Beau didn’t have anything to do with this. Your whole family knows that. Our families are friends, Ricky. I’m in shock here. Why did none of you tell the police that this information was bullshit? What about your mom?’

‘Mom has cancer,’ said Ricky. ‘She’s very ill. Not that she’s ever really been well since … then. And losing Dad last year was … terrible …’

‘I know,’ said Ren. ‘I understand that. We were all there at the funeral.’ My whole family was there to support you.

‘I know …’ said Ricky.

‘Ricky, this new information is false. I’m concerned that you’re latching on to—’

‘Oh, come on!’ Ricky spat the words. ‘Why would Beau kill himself if he was so innocent? There has to be a reason. I’m betting the guilt ate him up and he couldn’t take it any more. He checked out because he could not live with the knowledge of what he did to Louis.’

Silence. When Ren spoke her voice was quiet. ‘I … I am devastated that you think that. You had all been so good to us when Beau died.’ She paused. ‘I’m so sorry about your mom. I hope she gets better.’

I know how hard it is to lose someone.

Ren stood up and kicked the chair halfway across the conference room. Then she walked over, picked it up and sat down on it. She scrolled through her contacts to Helen Wheeler’s number. When she dialed, it went straight to message minder.

‘Helen, hi, it’s Ren. Could you give me a call, please, whenever you get a chance? I’d really like to talk … nothing urgent … just … something’s come up. But if you’re busy, don’t worry about it. Thanks so much. Bye.’

I am about to descend into my own private hell and it’s ‘nothing urgent’. What a loser.

Ren made coffee and went back to her desk. Cliff and Robbie were both on the phone. She sat and listened to them and it calmed her. This was her life, this was normal, these were good people. For several minutes, she just sat and drank her coffee.

Cliff and Robbie had a gift for getting people to talk to them, but their styles were completely different. Robbie would sound eager and excited by any piece of information he was given, making the person feel that they could possibly be the key to solving an entire investigation. Robbie played the role of Robbie. Cliff had an alter ego. He made people feel like he was their buddy, they could tell him anything and nothing would surprise him, that he’d been around the block and, really, the world’s a piece of shit and we’re all just grinding along. He called his colleagues ‘these people’. These people need to know if you’ve seen your bank-robber husband any time recently … as if it was all out of his hands and Cliff had as little interest in the whole thing as the person on the other end of the phone.

Ren glanced over at Colin frowning at his screen, the phone clenched to his ear. ‘You will send me this – I need these financials – What you’re gonna do is …’

Colin managed to be an even bigger asshole than he was with her.

12 (#ulink_a54804f4-6f96-5f5c-8887-eaf9ad25f8b1)

Ren picked up the phone to do something – anything. She was beginning to get side-eyes from the others.

‘Let’s hear what Catherine Sarvas has to say about Diaz,’ said Ren to no one.

She dialed the number. ‘Catherine, it’s Ren Bryce. I have some news for you – Erubiel Diaz’s body has been found.’

Catherine gasped. ‘Oh, Lord. Where?’

‘In Nogales, Mexico. He was decapitated and his body was burned.’

Catherine paused. ‘That’s shocking. But … I’m relieved.’