‘I didn’t want to ask,’ said Ren. ‘It’s so personal.’
He turned to her, his eyes bright with sincerity. ‘But you’re the only person in the world I can talk to about personal things.’
Ren reached out and squeezed his forearm. ‘I love you, Robbie Truax. I’m so sorry. Please talk to me. I know it’s probably like—’
‘Trying to catch a wild horse?’
‘Blindfolded.’
Robbie raised a hand in mock-defiance. ‘His eyes filled, nevertheless, with hope …’
Ren pictured the smiling face of Hope Coulson.
Jonathan Briar, here we come. And this time, we have Hope.
When Jonathan Briar heard that his fiancée’s body had been found, his knees buckled, and he cried out with such force, Ren was startled. She had been standing with Robbie in the living room of the apartment Jonathan and Hope had shared for the previous two years. Ren caught Jonathan as he went down. Now she was on her knees, and he was limp and weeping in her arms.
This was not my vision.
Ren glanced up at Robbie, who had been temporarily immobilized. Eventually, he kicked into action and helped Jonathan Briar onto the sofa. Ren took a seat opposite and looked around the room. It was her first time there.
This is a beautiful place. Cozy and cute. Seems like the home of two people in love. This is … so strange. There is nothing cold here. No sense of death or darkness.
‘How could this happen?’ wailed Jonathan. ‘How? I thought she was alive! She’s … Hope isn’t someone … just she wouldn’t be murdered. By anyone! She was in the garbage, just like that? She didn’t belong there. Jesus Christ! I just thought she was alive!’
‘Where did you think she was?’ said Ren. Seriously. It’s been almost five weeks.
Jonathan stopped sobbing. ‘I couldn’t even bring myself to think about that.’ His hair was standing on end. ‘I just couldn’t go there. Where did I think she was? I was thinking nothing. I was thinking nothing bad. I was—’
In shock. All this time. You weren’t an emotionless asshole. You were resisting being forced to think of a horrific ending. It was the last thing you wanted to think of for your sweet, beautiful, caring Hope.
Jonathan Briar locked eyes with Ren.
The pain. You can’t fake that. That agony cannot be faked. Can it?
Hope Coulson’s autopsy revealed that she had been strangled, and it likely happened not long after she had gone missing. She had been raped with something green and ceramic that had broken, and left shards behind, one of which had a partial fingerprint that matched Jonathan Briar’s. Her father identified her body. Jonathan Briar identified the shards as parts of a tall green ceramic sculpture – an engagement gift they had been given – that he had failed to notice was missing from their living room.
‘Well, being raped with one of your engagement gifts would be a serious fuck-you if you cheated on your fiancé,’ said Ren. She was sitting at the edge of her desk in the bullpen, where most of the squad was gathered. ‘Yet no one in all the interviews has suggested that Briar was anything other than kind and loving toward her. But, of course, behind closed doors … who knows. However, if he raped her with that in the apartment and it broke, which it clearly did, there should be more blood there. And it’s highly unlikely there would be no evidence of the sculpture. Unless he raped her on something that he took away and destroyed. His car was clean. Nothing was found with her in the landfill. The black plastic used has no connection to any product found in their home, which doesn’t mean much. Then there’s the issue – if we are to believe he was the rapist and it didn’t happen in their home – he would’ve had to have taken her somewhere to carry it out, and he would also have had to carefully package up the sculpture and bring it with them. Would someone do that? I don’t think so.’
‘Who gave them the gift?’ said Everett. ‘That could be significant.’
‘If that guy’s innocent, I would be amazed,’ said Gary.
‘Prepare to be amazed,’ said Ren.
Gary stared at her. As Gary often did.
‘We also have to consider the fact that she was raped with a foreign object,’ said Ren. ‘That’s typically carried out by a man with sexual problems, which, again, there is no evidence of in Briar’s case.’
‘That doesn’t mean anything,’ said Gary. ‘He could have had a problem for months not being able to get it up. He’s a young guy, too embarrassed to go to the doctor, she’s too embarrassed to mention it to anyone, thinks it’s her fault … and, maybe, she goes elsewhere to get what she’s not getting at home …’
He has made up his mind.
‘Can you really see a kindergarten teacher having that attitude?’ Ren paused. ‘You should go talk to Briar …’ Open your mind.
They stared each other down.
‘How about we go through the night of her disappearance again?’ said Ren. ‘And how Briar was at work for the entire evening—’
‘And out making deliveries,’ said Gary.
‘All of which he appeared to have made in a reasonable time frame,’ said Ren. ‘Unless he has a cape somewhere …’
‘That entire shift was made up of his dope-smoking, mouth-breather friends,’ said Gary.
‘And we have video to back up most of his comings and goings,’ said Ren.
‘Most,’ said Gary. ‘And they’re in over-sized jackets and baseball caps, faces not very clear …’
Grrrrr.
The meeting broke up, and everyone returned to their desks through the haze of tension. Ren fired up her computer. A rubber band flew through the air and whipped her hair off her face. She looked up. Robbie was standing in the center of the room with a wooden gun. Ren laughed.
‘Beautiful shot.’
‘Thank you,’ said Robbie, blowing imaginary smoke from the top of the barrel.
‘But you do know you are now dead,’ said Ren. ‘There’s a price on your head. Fifty per cent off.’ She slid open her drawer to take her own wooden gun out.
No ammo. Shit.
Ren’s email pinged. She glanced at it. Gary.
Subject: BP support
Oh, here we go …
Tonight. Henderson Hotel.
Control explosion.
Ren went to Gary’s office. Her fist was poised to knock on the door, until she heard his rising voice.
‘Nothing!’ said Gary. ‘Nothing is wrong, Karen! Jesus Christ, I’m going to record it on a loop.’
Gary Dettling was calm, cool, rational, in control. He could rein in any emotion … until it came to his wife. He loved that she was crazy, he hated that she was crazy, she made him crazy.
But Ren knew that in some small way, Karen Dettling was bound to have made Gary more sympathetic to Ren’s own brand of crazy.
‘No, good. Go ahead!’ said Gary. He slammed the phone down hard.