Bob smiled. ‘Yeah? Well, whatever you do, don’t look at his file. Whoa. That’s some sick shit.’
Ren’s eyes widened. ‘What?!’
‘I’m kidding. Little lamby.’
Ren pressed the cellphone to her ear with an icy hand as she walked down Main Street.
‘Putrescine and perverts combined with shoe-shopping,’ she said. ‘What a start to my day. Never have business and pleasure collided so well.’
‘I’m laughing, and I’m not sure why,’ said Paul Louderback.
‘OK – my nice boots got ruined with chest-cavity juice yesterday. And I’m going to buy a new pair in a store Jean Transom visited a few weeks back, owned by a man who was arrested for child porn thirty years ago.’
‘Well, you never know,’ said Paul.
‘Exactly.’
‘Anything else you want to tell me?’
‘Let me see – weird paw prints in the snow that probably mean absolutely nothing. Spoke to the guy who served Jean supper on Monday, January fifteenth – not a lot there… I’ve gone through Jean’s case files and nothing jumped out at me. Jean’s neighbor saw a lady visitor at the house a few times – no ID on her yet. I’m about to check out the pervert I mentioned. And I’m going to go talk to Jean’s one-three-seven tonight.’
‘Sorry,’ said Paul. ‘Gotta go.’
‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘I’ll keep you posted.’
‘Yup. Next week on Clues and Shoes …’
Wardwell’s was a basement store with dummies in the window that were meant to be life-like but weren’t quite hitting the mark. Inside, every inch of floor space was taken up with rails of tops and tables of folded jeans and sweatshirts. A young, handsome guy was standing impressively still beside a messed-up pile of T-shirts. Ren got him straightaway: I’m tall, thin, beautiful, my jeans are too big, they’re belted below the band of my boxers, I rock.
‘Hey, what’s up?’ he said. He had come alive.
Like Mannequin. ‘I’m doing good,’ said Ren. ‘How are you this morning?’
‘Well, I’m good too, as a matter of fact.’ He beamed a genuine smile.
Ren gave him a break. ‘That’s great,’ she said. ‘That cold out there is something else.’
‘It sure is.’
‘But we’re in here all over-cheery and polite.’
He laughed. ‘Well, we’ve got to fight it some way. Is there anything I can help you with today?’
‘I’ve shopped before,’ said Ren.
He paused, then smiled. ‘Well, I’m here if you need me.’
‘I appreciate it.’
‘You bet.’
She wandered up a few steps to the back of the store, where she spotted the man who had to be Malcolm Wardwell. She knew he was seventy-one years old. Any years he could have dropped with his muscular frame were added back by rheumy eyes and slack skin.
‘Hello,’ said Ren. ‘Are you Malcolm Wardwell?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m Ren Bryce with the FBI. We’re investigating the death of Special Agent Jean Transom.’
‘Oh, yes. Hello.’
‘If I showed you a photo of her, would you be able to tell me if she came into your store?’
‘If it was a day I was here, I hope so.’
Ren handed him the photograph.
He nodded. ‘Yes, she was in here. I remember her. She was with her daughter – a little blonde girl.’
Niece, probably. ‘And when was that?’ said Ren.
‘It was a couple of weeks back. And I know it was a Wednesday and it was before lunchtime, because we were clearing floor space for a delivery, so we were all trying not to get in the way.’
‘OK.’
‘It was right after New Year, in fact,’ he said. ‘That same week.’
I know that.
‘I’m sorry to hear about her death,’ said Wardwell. ‘I remember thinking she was a nice lady.’
‘She was,’ said Ren. ‘Was there anything you noticed that you think might help the investigation?’
He paused, then shook his head. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’
‘OK. Thank you for your time.’
Ren walked through security at the Sheriff’s Office and grabbed her purse as it slid out of the X-ray machine. She searched through it for her cellphone.
‘Pardon me, Agent … Bryce?’
Ren turned around. It was one of the attorneys who’d caught her when she fell up the steps.
‘Oh, hi,’ she said. ‘Did I look like I was about to fall again?’
He smiled. ‘No, you were doing OK. You’re with the FBI, right?’
‘Yes. And you’re …?’
‘Ollie Haggart. Oliver Haggart. I’m a defense attorney.’ He gestured back toward the courtrooms.
Ren tried to hide any recognition when she heard the last name. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘Could I have a word with you?’ he said.
‘Sure. Go ahead,’ said Ren.
‘I guess you’ve seen the news report about the guy who went missing last year? Mark Wilson?’
‘Yes.’ She looked at him.
‘My brother is Terrence Haggart. He was the last person to be seen with Mark.’
‘Ah. OK …’
‘And I don’t think he had anything to do with Mark going missing.’
‘OK.’
‘I know he was always getting into trouble, but he just wouldn’t have done something to someone like that … He’s my brother, I’d know.’
‘OK,’ said Ren.
‘I know, I’ve just come up to you with this. But … I’m having a hard time with it all. So are my parents. And Terrence leaving town did not help. He looks guilty.’ He shrugged.
‘Do people around here really believe he did something to Mark Wilson?’
‘He was mentioned in all the news reports,’ said Haggart. ‘This is a small town. You’ve seen the Summit Daily News is everywhere. It kind of kept it in people’s psyches.’
‘I can see how that might happen.’
‘Terrence would not have done anything bad like that. He just wasn’t from that kind of family … we’re not that kind of family.’
Ren smiled at him kindly.
‘I know,’ said Haggart. ‘Probably everyone says that.’
‘In your line of work, you know that.’
Haggart nodded. ‘Yes. But just seeing that news report was kind of bam – there it was in full-color widescreen, all dragged up again.