Blood Runs Cold (13 page)

Ren went back to the office and sat at her desk. She quickly typed as much as she could of her conversation with Caroline Quaintance. Paul Louderback wasn’t just her PT instructor. He had given her advice across the board. He always said to write everything down verbatim. Skim over what an interviewee is telling you and you miss vital verbal clues. ‘Put something into your own words,’ he said, ‘and you put yourself into the frame. Never forget that you’re supposed to be the one looking at the picture.’

Ren thought of Terrence Haggart being put in the frame of a missing person’s case and, by association, Oliver Haggart. Maybe her first encounter with Oliver Haggart had influenced her empathy; a man who had come to her rescue after her icy fall.
That was a weird day
. And gradually, something about it started to tug at her.
Crooked man.
Bodily fluid. Boots. Misty the dog
…

* * *

Salem Swade sat on a stool at the bar of the Brockton Filly, looking like there was nothing in the world that could ever trouble him. Ren wondered what medication he took.
And where
can I get some?
Misty lay quietly beside Salem, her leash tied around the base of the stool.

Ren walked over and put a hand on his forearm. ‘Hello, Salem,’ she said. ‘Do you remember me? I’m –’

He gave her a broad smile. ‘My John Prine buddy.’

‘Yes, sir. Would you mind if I talked to you a minute?’

‘Sure, go ahead.’

She nodded toward a booth. ‘You can take Misty with you.’

He untied Misty and they went to sit down.

‘No barking at me today, Misty,’ said Ren, smiling, rubbing the dog’s silky head, massaging her back. ‘Salem, how long have you had Misty?’

‘I want to say five years. Maybe more?’

‘Where did you find her?’

‘I got her from the shelter.’

‘Was it by any chance from Homeward Friends in Rifle?’

‘No. It was a shelter out in Frisco. That I do know.’

‘Oh,’ said Ren. ‘OK.’

‘She was in great shape, I’ll tell you that much. She wasn’t a scraggy thing.’

There was something in the lines in his face, the brightness in his eyes when he spoke. There was a lost boy inside Salem Swade who Ren wanted to wrap her arms around.

‘I think Misty’s got a special talent,’ she said.

‘She sure does,’ said Salem.

‘Well, even more than what you think,’ said Ren. ‘I think your little pal there is a very well trained dog.’

Salem’s eyes shone. ‘Well, how about that, girl?’ He ruffled Misty’s coat, pulling her gently toward him, hugging her tight.

Ren’s gaze was drawn to a man who stood up from a booth in the corner and walked up to the bar. He was heavily built on top, his neck and shoulders broad, his biceps pushing his arms wide of his body, his legs short. He was wearing a white vest with baggy green and pink work-out pants and white sneakers. His hair was pulled back tight into a thimble-sized pony-tail. He brought a bottle of Bud down to his booth with the stiffness of a man whose muscles wanted to pay him back.

Ren turned to Salem again.

‘Do you remember the day the FBI agent’s body was found on Quandary?’ said Ren.

Salem nodded. ‘I do. Same day I hitched a ride to Fairplay.’

‘Did you come home that night?’

‘Nope – the next morning. Cop cars everywhere. I had to go the back way to the cabin.’

‘What back way?’ said Ren.

‘The way that meant I didn’t have to go through the trailhead.’

‘You’ll have to show me. Was Misty with you?’

‘I left her in the cabin. Not a lot of people want to take you with a dog.’

‘Was she chained up?’

‘Yes, ma’am. I left her food and water, too.’

‘Of course you did. She’s a very loved little lady. And when you came home, was she where you left her?’

Salem nodded.

‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘Thanks for that.’

‘No, thank you, ma’am.’

She placed a hand on his and squeezed it. ‘You take care.’

‘Hey,’ he called, ‘what do you think she’s trained in?’

Finding dead people
.

Ren smiled. ‘Karate.’

Ren walked up to the bar and took a stool. She thought about Robbie’s beautiful, arctic photo and the possibility that they were Misty’s paw prints across the snow. Had Misty gotten free of her chains that night and someone had tied her up again? Had Salem? Had he forgotten? Had he deliberately lied? Or had someone else taken Misty, untied her and brought her out into the snow to find a dead body?

Officers were at the trailhead that night, but because of the avalanche threat, no one was right up at what had been the scene. And Salem had said there was another easy route up to his cabin …

Ren watched the guy with the ponytail in the mirror behind the bar. She waited for Billy to come over and ordered a Coke.

‘Hi,’ said Ren.

‘Hi,’ said Billy.

‘Who’s this guy behind me?’

‘Which one?’ said Billy, not taking his eyes off her.
Amazing eyes
.

‘The opposite-of-a-Minotaur guy.’

Billy paused, then laughed when he realized who she was talking about. ‘Head of a man, body of a bull?’

Ren smiled and nodded. ‘That’s the one.’ She felt bad that she thought he might not have known.

‘I don’t know. He’s Mexican, doesn’t speak a lot of English.’

‘Does he come in here a lot?’

‘Once or twice a week.’

‘Anything I need to know?’

‘Jo and him seem to take toilet breaks at the same time …’

Ren glanced over at Jo, who had her bare right foot up on her left knee, dirty sole out.
She was bent low, running a fingernail under each toenail.
Jesus Christ
. Ren watched the guy in the mirror behind the bar. He had the look of a man who was not choosy. Which made her smile when she caught his eyes on her ass. His gaze then slid over in Jo’s direction, a slow, heavy-lidded leer. A shiver ran up Ren’s neck.
This guy is wrong
. He smiled with his mouth closed, his chin raised and a slight nod. Soon he was back staring at Ren’s ass.
Jesus Christ. There’s
a mirror, idiot
. She looked back at Billy. He was looking at her. He quickly looked away. Her heart flipped.
Oh, no
.

‘Do you know what he drives?’ said Ren.

‘The green truck out front.’

Behind her, Salem had taken Misty by the leash and walked to the window.

‘I feel like we’re in a snow globe,’ he said, tracing a finger in circles like the snow falling outside.

‘Snow globes are pretty,’ said Billy. ‘People want to look at what’s inside.’

Aw
.

The sleazy guy got up behind them, zipped up a light ski jacket and gestured to Salem that he would give him a ride.

Ren glanced over at the corner. ‘I’m amazed he didn’t take Jo …’

‘No go for Jo da Ho,’ said Billy.

Ren laughed. ‘OK, Billy at da Filly. I’m done here. Thank you.’

‘Any time,’ he said.

Two magnetic men walk into a bar … one repelling her, the other drawing her in.
There is
no punchline. This is not funny
.

Colin and Robbie were in the office, quietly working at their computers. Ren walked in and dropped her bag at the desk. ‘I have a shaggy dog story.’

Colin didn’t look up. ‘If it is relevant to Jean Transom’s murder, I’d love to hear it. If it’s a sidebar from the CNN website –’

‘Don’t be a dick,’ said Ren.

‘Tell me your story,’ said Robbie. ‘I don’t care.’

‘I
will
admit,’ said Ren, ‘that it may be as irrelevant as a human interest story, but anyway … Remember the day I came back here after the autopsy in Golden? And there was shit on my boots from the autopsy? Salem Swade, the vet up the mountain – his dog sat down and started barking at me when I walked into reception. But she didn’t react that way to anyone else –’

Colin raised an eyebrow.

Ren rolled her eyes. ‘Anyway, I thought about
it. And thought, hold on a second, cadaver dogs are trained to react to putrescine – eau de mort.’

‘Oh de what?’ said Colin.

‘Do you always have to be irritated by things you haven’t come across before?’ said Ren.

Colin said nothing.

‘Eau de mort – I made it up, OK?’ said Ren. ‘Anyway, I remember Cliff saying the cadaver dog that day on the mountain sat down and barked to show he’d picked up the smell. I called his handler and she filled me in – said that was something a lot of cadaver dogs do. Then the handler rewards them with a treat. Which I didn’t do, obviously, with poor Misty, so she kept barking. She stopped eventually, but when I came out again, there she was …’

‘Love the sound effects,’ said Robbie.

‘Thank you,’ said Ren. ‘Anyway, Misty was normal last night when I met her with my new boots on. So there you go.’

‘OK,’ said Robbie. ‘But –’

‘What is the point?’ said Ren, ‘I know.’

‘The point is – guess what? It’s all about Ren,’ said Colin.

‘You know what?’ said Ren. ‘You’re really going to have to go fuck yourself at some stage.’

‘’Cos you won’t be doing it with
her
,’ said Robbie, pointing to Ren.

‘We don’t all want to fuck Ren Bryce,’ said Colin. ‘That’s your special fantasy, Truax.’

‘Leave him alone,’ said Ren. ‘That’s not true.’

‘Yeah,’ said Robbie. ‘And unlike you, Colin, I would know how to treat a lady.’

‘Oh, I know how to treat a lady,’ said Colin. ‘Treat ’em mean, keep ’em –’

‘Repulsed,’ said Ren. ‘Back to the matter at hand – remember the paw prints up on Quandary that were in your photos, Robbie? I think someone who knew about Misty’s little gift took her from Salem Swade’s cabin – he wasn’t there that night – and brought her out to look for the body. Which Misty may or may not have found.’

Colin nodded. ‘OK, that’s interesting.’

‘Is it now?’ said Ren.

‘But who could know that about the dog?’ said Colin.

Ren shrugged. ‘That? I don’t know.’

‘And who knows the dog well enough to be able to get her away from the cabin like that?’

‘Strikes me that the whole town knows Misty,’ said Ren. ‘And she is one very friendly dog. Especially considering what her secret talent is. And she is a food whore. All the restaurants feed her. A nice steak would have her out in the snow right away. And snow is hard to sniff a corpse out in.’

‘My photos rock,’ said Robbie.

‘Update number two is on Caroline Quaintance,’ said Ren. ‘Turns out she was a friend of Jean’s from the animal shelter Jean worked at as a
weekend volunteer. Caroline was seen outside Jean’s house last night. She told me she was looking for Jean’s cat in case he was still there or wandering the neighborhood or whatever. I think she was telling the truth about that. She said Jean and her had been friends for about a year. The animal shelter is in Rifle. It’s called Homeward Friends. I have one of the detectives here getting a list of the employees, so between us we can go talk to them all. And hopefully I can get to the bottom of what it is that Caroline Quaintance is lying to me about.’

She walked out into the hallway and saw Todd Austerval up ahead. She called out to him. He stopped.

‘Hi,’ said Ren, ‘I just wanted to say. I don’t know if you heard Gressett and me talking … that time in Glenwood when you came in from your run.’

‘I did hear,’ said Todd. ‘And what I was guessing was that Gressett was telling you I didn’t make it through the undercover program?’

‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘But –’

Todd shrugged. ‘He loves telling people that, for some reason. I guess it makes him feel –’

‘Not so Tiny?’

Todd smiled. ‘And you were right. I
am
lucky I didn’t make it.’

‘You do have a touch of the White Supremacist about you, though. You could have pulled it off …’

Todd laughed. ‘Anyway, don’t worry, you didn’t say anything to offend me.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I’m not that sensitive.’ He smiled. ‘Hey, I put up with that prick all day.’

When Ren got back to the inn that night, the lights were dimmed and the fire was dying. She went in through the main door and lay back on the sofa in the living room. She pulled a cushion to her side. She expected more people to be up, but then she remembered they would be heading to the slopes early. She closed her eyes. The front door banged shut. She opened her eyes. But whoever it was went straight upstairs. She thought of Billy Waites. What was his story? How did he end up where he was?
How did any of us?

Her eyes closed again. Her body struggled to keep her awake. But for a while, in the darkness of her mind, she was somewhere she did not want to be; she lay on dried earth. A boot was pressing hard on her jaw. Before her, several faces, swelled by humidity, seemed to change expressions like the images on a one-armed bandit. Their eyes bore into her. She didn’t know what configuration of ugly, haunting looks would take shape. She wanted to wipe the dirt from her lips, but she couldn’t move. Saliva leaked slowly from her mouth, the skin on her neck was tight with heat. Her heart pumped harder.

Ren jerked awake. She breathed in and out slowly, slowly. Through the window, she could see snow falling hard. She forced her feet on to the floor. Everything ached. She checked the time – eleven thirty p.m. She wondered had anyone come in and seen her. She wondered had she cried out.

She wondered if she could ever dream gently.

Ren went into the office the next day and asked Bob for the Mark Allen Wilson file. She could not admit she considered the possibility of a link to both crimes. He would think she was nuts.

‘Indulging Ollie Haggart?’ said Bob.

‘Maybe,’ said Ren. ‘I just want to take a look, at least.’

‘Why?’

‘Look, I understand where you’re coming from about Ollie Haggart’s motivation. But you know when something’s at the back of your mind? It’s bound to put a little pressure on the front. So if I can get rid of it …’ She shrugged. ‘It’ll take me a half-hour.’

‘Don’t waste your time.’

‘I can spare a half-hour,’ she said. ‘I’ll take it out of lunch.’

‘I haven’t seen you eat once since you’ve been here,’ said Bob.

‘Excuse me? I had one of your Jolly Ranchers.’

‘Knock yourself out. Talk to Mike, he’ll get you the file,’ said Bob. ‘You looking to distract yourself from something?’

Ren stood up. ‘Miaow.’

Ren drove to Main Street, parked and walked a few blocks to the Crown. It was one of her favorite places in Breck – a café up a short flight of steps in a strip of red-brick stores. The eighties entrance led into a totally different world – frescoes, chandeliers, antique wall lights and comfortable chairs.

The seat by the fire was free. Ren rushed to the counter to order. It was the same every time: the Cinnamonster, like a Cinnabon. It was cinnamon, it was monstrous, it was a cake covered in something she could never find the words to describe. She grabbed a black coffee, got the waitress to throw two espresso shots in it and made it back to the fireside chair before anyone had taken it.

She opened the Missing Persons file on Mark Wilson:

Ren skimmed through the rest of the file – all the obvious parts, the witness statements that added nothing to the overall picture. Every time Billy Waites’ name appeared, she got a sensation she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

She stopped skimming to get a sense of who Mark Wilson was.

Ren slumped back in her chair. It was amazing what people would commit to in a legal document, what awful words they would allow to be attributed to them. Mark Wilson – a tragic man, a troubled drunk, did not deserve to have his disappearance described, she read, by his family as ‘another pathetic stunt’.