‘Right there,’ said Billy, ‘right there is how you’re going to charm me.’
‘Listen to me, you fu—’
‘We’re done,’ said Billy.
‘No,’ said Ren. ‘No, we’re not. You owe Jean.’
Billy tilted his head. ‘Were you two close?’
Ren paused. ‘She was a brilliant, talented agent –’
‘Oh, say can that star-spangled banner …’ He spoke the words.
Ren stared through him.
‘I’m not surprised you weren’t close,’ said Billy.
‘What makes you say that?’ said Ren.
‘Why are you all defensive?’ said Billy.
‘I’m just wondering,’ said Ren.
‘You care now what Billy fucking Waites says?’
Ren sighed and got up. ‘This is bullshit.’
‘Damn right it is.’
‘Billy,’ shouted one of the old guys at the bar, waving a drunken arm around, ‘keep your mind on the job. People need beers.’
Billy smiled tightly and pushed himself upright. ‘People need beers,’ he said.
‘They always do,’ said Ren. She followed him back to the bar. He looked at her like she was nuts.
‘OK,’ said Billy. ‘Was I the last person to see her alive? Maybe the last you know of. Maybe the ninth last you know of. You know the killer is the last. And I, at least, know that’s not me. You’ll get there, though.’
‘You think so?’ said Ren.
‘You look smart enough,’ he said. ‘Sheriff Gage’s a good guy. Between you – who knows?’
‘You have got to give me more,’ said Ren.
‘I can give you my view of Jean Transom. Brisk –’
‘Do you mean brusque?’ said Ren.
Billy stared at her. ‘If you see a major difference between the two words …’
She looked at him. ‘You have a point, there.’
‘Thank you. OK, Jean, from my point of view, was business-like: no small talk, ordered a Diet Coke, asked me what she needed to ask me, sometimes came in with that blond dork, but I think trusted me enough not to have him there all the time. Leave him home to go brush his big teeth.’
Ren tried not to smile.
‘When she was alone, did she ever talk to anyone else while she was here?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Did you always just meet here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because no one bothers me here.’
Ren glanced out toward the customers. The lights above her head were tilted backward, the customers were shielded by darkness, like she was on the stage and they were the audience.
‘I’m it,’ said Billy. ‘I’m not the boss, but I’m like the boss. And I couldn’t give a shit what any of those losers out there think. Same as they couldn’t give a shit about me. I’m the man who gives them beer.’
‘Oh – do you ever get a guy in here called Salem Swade?’
‘Yes.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘Gets a little out of hand if he drinks too much, but he’s a good guy. He’s always welcome here. Makes me laugh.’
‘Is he in here a lot?’
‘It’s the closest bar to his cabin, so he comes in quite a bit.’ He shrugged. He was eager to turn away.
Ren smiled extra-wide. ‘Thanks for your time.’
‘Sure. Whatever.’ His sneer unsettled her. But he held her gaze. And he didn’t give her the eye-fuck … which most guys in a power play do. Even if they have no weapons, they’ll always have the eye-fuck.
But then, maybe Billy Waites has an arsenal.
It was early enough that everything seemed wrong – the color of the sky, the silence, the sharpness of the trees and the leaves. Ren was hit with the sensation of walking through a bright airport after a long-haul flight; weighed-down, cold, disorientated.
The first time she woke in the middle of the night to study, she was seventeen years old and motivated by fear. The alarm went off and she wanted to stay in her bed and have the whole world disappear around her. But she got up and realized that, once the coffee kicked in, her brain had a strange alertness she could use. So for years, around exam times, she would get up, sick and dry-eyed at six a. m., and take her textbooks down to the sofa while her family slept. She needed to find the quickest way to process the information so that the answers would be right. She never imagined her interrupted sleep would take her, twenty years later, on to the snow-covered streets of a Colorado morning with the same plan.
Her skin felt tight. Vincent used to tell her how her face could transform depending on her mood, that when she was angry she looked like a different person – an ugliness came out. Ren hated when he said it, and could never see it herself, but she knew that every time he said it, she felt the same as she did this morning. She didn’t want to eat. Her breakfast would be coffee and case notes.
When she got into the office, there was a message at reception for her to call Margaret Shaw, Jean Transom’s neighbor. Ren sat at her desk and dialed the number.
‘Hello, Margaret? It’s Ren Bryce here. You left a message for me.’
‘Yes, I did. I didn’t want to call your cellphone. I thought that might be too personal.’
‘Oh, you can call that any time,’ said Ren. ‘How’s your dog?’
‘He’s getting there. I’m just not quite sure where “there” is …’
Ren laughed. She pulled a Post-It pad toward her and grabbed a pen. ‘Now, what can I do you for?’
‘I feel dirty,’ said Margaret. ‘I’m an old hippy. And here I am helping the Feds.’ She paused. ‘I took down someone’s car registration last night. For you. Can you imagine? It was the lady I told you about, the one who visited Jean.’
‘Really? That’s great, Margaret. Shoot.’
Margaret called it out. ‘Now, I only saw her leave. I was nervous enough about my carpets with the dog. The spying nearly killed me.’
‘Well, the FBI – your favorite – thanks you very much.’
‘I would say it was a pleasure, but it was really terrible,’ said Margaret. ‘I couldn’t do what you do.’
Colin Grabien sat at his borrowed desk, scrolling rapidly through a screen of numbers. On the wall beside him, the regular owner of the desk had created a beautiful world of kittens hanging out of buckets, tugging on balls of wool, hanging off tables, licking ice-creams.
Ren walked up to him. ‘Hey, P. asterisk asterisk asterisk asterisk Magnet.’
Colin looked up at her. ‘What?’
‘I can’t use bad language in front of Robbie.’
Colin paused, then laughed. Cliff