Margaret paused. ‘Oh, I see where you’re going with this …’
Ren paused. ‘I’m not going anywhere … I’m just wondering about other visitors.’
Margaret shook her head. ‘I saw her brother – I’ve met him; nice man – but that was it. I wish I could tell you something to help you find who did this to her. And I’m guessing already that I can’t.’
‘We don’t know that. Can you tell me what car the woman who came to see her was driving?’
‘A red one.’
Ren’s pen hovered.
‘I don’t know the first thing about cars,’ said Margaret.
‘OK. Anything else I need to know about Jean? Anything that might have stood out?’
‘Nothing stood out about her,’ said Margaret. ‘And I really don’t mean that in a bad way.’
‘No, I understand. Would you remember – did you see her on Friday, January 12th?’ said Ren.
Margaret thought about it. She nodded. ‘I saw her when she came back from work, around seven o’clock.’
‘And after that?’
‘No, I did not,’ said Margaret. ‘But I was in bed by ten thirty.’
‘And what about Saturday morning?’
‘Her car was gone by the time I got up. So she could have been there all night, or she could have stayed somewhere else.’
‘OK, Margaret. Thank you so much for your time,’ said Ren.
‘A pleasure. And here’s where I get your card in case my memory springs back to life with a vital clue and I save the day.’
Ren smiled and handed her a card. ‘Now, don’t let Pinocchio get his hands on that …’ She walked down the path to her car. ‘Hey,’ she called back, ‘where’s the cat?’
‘McGraw?’ said Margaret. ‘He’s not in the house?’
Ren shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Margaret.
‘What’s he look like?’
‘Evil. Tabby.’
‘Is he Quick Draw? Or Phil?’
‘Tim,’ said Margaret. ‘Tim McGraw. My cat’s called Faith Hill.’
‘Really?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Cats? No way. They don’t give a damn about anyone.’
‘And clearly your dog gives a big shit about you.’
Margaret let out a laugh, almost slipped on an icy patch and let out another laugh. Ren waved goodbye.
Poor McGraw. Please don’t be out in the snow.
I-70 was a slow-moving stress-fest. Ren checked her watch. It was four p.m. Shit. Skiers and snowboarders had started to make their way down off Vail Pass. Ren gripped the steering wheel, swapped her old gum for new gum, changed the temperature settings, rubbed moisturizer into her hands. One minute passed. Shit. She punched through her phone contacts until she got to H.
‘Hey, Helen. It’s Ren. Can you talk?’
‘Sure. How are you doing?’
‘I’m OK. Oh, hold on.’ She braked, slamming her hand on the horn. ‘You idiot! Fuck you, too, mister. Asshole. I’m sorry, Helen.’
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes. I am. How are you?’
‘Well, I’m fine. You under pressure?’
‘Not really, I …’ She leaned out the window. ‘I do not believe this shit. Another rollover. Another idiot lady driver in an SUV without chains. I am going to be so late.’ She closed the window.
‘Ren,’ said Helen.
‘Sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I got this new case – the agent who died in Breck.’
‘Ah.’
‘I’m lead investigator.’
‘Will you be in Breck for the next while?’ said Helen.
‘Yup.’
‘Is there any hope of seeing you?’
‘I …’ Ren rolled down the window again and stuck her head out. ‘This is a nightmare. Why today? When I need to get back for a briefing and I am in charge of –’
‘Ren, what I’m getting is you calling me on your way to and from meetings. I’m on speaker phone, you’re in the mountains, your signal’s going … it’s not great.’
‘I know. I’m sorry –’
‘There’s no need to be sorry. Just, why don’t you come to Denver?’
‘I can’t. I’m sorry. If I drove to Denver, I’d lose half a day.’
‘You might lose half a day, but do you think you might gain something?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that. I just –’
‘It’s been a while.’
‘I know,’ said Ren. ‘I really want to. But for now, the phone’s the best I can do.’
‘I guess it’s better than nothing.’
‘I gotta go. It’s moving a little. I’ll call you.’
Helen paused. ‘Sure.’
The conference room at the Sheriff’s Office was full. Ren was three-quarters of an hour late by the time she arrived.
‘OK, everyone,’ she said as she stood at the desk, staring out at the assembled team. Get your shit together.
‘You’re lucky we can confirm the MVA on I-70,’ said Bob.
Ren stared at him. Not in front of the children.
‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘The last known sighting of Jean Transom was at the Glenwood RA on Friday, January 12th by her colleagues, Tiny Gressett and Todd Austerval. Our White Collar Squad is going through the financial records. What we got so far are recent transactions. So we know that that evening she went to the nine p.m. showing of a chick flick at Rifle Creek movie theater. We’re waiting for an ID on her there. The movie was over at eleven p.m. If she went straight home, earliest she would have made it was eleven thirty. I’ve just come back from speaking with her neighbor, Margaret Shaw. She saw her walk into her house at seven p.m. and didn’t see her later on that evening. Mrs Shaw herself had gone to bed by ten thirty.’
Ren looked through the notes that had been left for her by the Sheriff’s Office detectives and the Safe Streets guys. ‘On Saturday morning, January 13th, Jean paid for breakfast at Mort’s Diner in Rifle at nine a.m. She went to the outlet mall in Silverthorne. She bought a shirt in J Crew, a necklace in Zales and a grill pan in Le Creuset. They were still in bags in her house. She then went to the Open Book in Frisco. The owner called here after she saw the news. She remembered Jean, says she was polite, they talked briefly about the weather, that was it.’
You can go through a day, a week, a month, a year without ever thinking that someone will end up retracing your steps because you’ve never come home.
‘Colin Grabien over there,’ said Ren, ‘is our phone expert in Safe Streets. He’s waiting for Verizon to get back