Killing Ways

Ren looked up. He was rattling a clearly unstable guardrail along the second floor balcony.

And who the fuck might you be?

‘Is this even forty-two inches high, I have to wonder,’ he was saying.

Really? Do you?

He made his way up to the fourth floor.

The Safe Streets floor.

Ren recognized the woman rushing up the stairs behind him as Valerie, the real estate agent – giving him a tour. There were four office spaces to rent in the building.

On other floors.

Oh – Valerie! She might help me and Misty find a home!

Ren continued up the stairs. ‘Sir, this is not the floor with the vacant space,’ Valerie was saying. She looked down at Ren, exasperated.

‘That’s not the point!’ said the man. ‘How well maintained is this building is what I’m thinking.’ He tried to rattle the guardrail on the fourth floor, but it held firm. He looked disappointed.

Ren smiled at him as she passed by to walk through the door into Safe Streets. He was standing about four feet to her right. She paused. ‘We don’t walk out around there,’ said Ren, pointing down to the second floor balcony. ‘No one does, so, we’ve never noticed the problem. That’s a dummy door at the end. The elevator bank is down the other way. However, I’m sure we can get the guardrail that you will never use fixed for you in no time, so that when you never use it, it will be safe, and you won’t plunge down if you never fall from a place where you will never again be going.’

She walked through the door. She could hear Valerie rambling about the fourth floor being a federal area.

‘And there’s no security in the building?’ said the man. ‘No scanners? Nothing?’

‘This is not the FBI’s main federal building in Denver,’ Valerie was saying. ‘Would you really want to have to be scanned every morning coming to work, Rodney, really? Emptying your pockets? Taking out your phone, your coins, having your bags searched?’

Ren was smiling as she walked down the hallway. No, Rodney, you would not. I wouldn’t want that myself. God bless our compact little squad in our beautiful historic home.

Ren’s cell phone rang.

Ben!

She picked up. ‘Hey, baby.’

‘Hey,’ said Ben. ‘Thought I’d catch you before work. How you doing? How was your night?’

‘Great,’ said Ren. ‘Just let me take off my jacket, sit down. Yes, great night. We met some hilarious guys at the bar … one of them gave me a ride home. Janine forgot her keys—’

‘Who was this guy?’ said Ben.

‘Just a guy called JD,’ said Ren. ‘Why?’

‘Why? I don’t know – rides home with strange guys and I can’t ask who he is?’

‘“Strange guys” … one guy. A regular guy, not strange. Janine met him.’ And tried to keep me away from him. ‘He was fine.’

‘Good to know.’ He paused. ‘Aren’t you exhausted? All these nights out?’

‘No, Mom. I’m good.’

‘Fine, I’ll let you get back to work,’ said Ben.

‘Great,’ said Ren. ‘Talk to you later.’

‘Don’t call me late.’

‘I won’t.’

Bo. Ring.

Everett came into the bullpen with two mugs of coffee and put one on Ren’s desk. ‘We must stop meeting like this,’ he said.

She smiled. ‘God bless you and the caffeine I’ll ride out on.’

Ren opened up her laptop again, and went back to Hope Coulson’s Facebook page.

Something is not right here.

She filled Everett in on what she had read the previous night. ‘I need to pay a visit to Jonathan Briar,’ she said.

‘Well,’ said Everett, ‘news just in: he’s lawyered up.’

‘No, I know,’ said Ren. ‘Janine told me. I just want to ask him about that one night.’

Everett shook his head. ‘Not without his lawyer … who, by the way, is well aware of the lack of hard evidence against his client.’

‘As am I,’ said Ren. She leaned in. ‘Has Gary mentioned to you his exact theory on what happened to Hope Coulson?’

‘No,’ said Everett, ‘but doesn’t he seem a little … distracted to you?’

Ren nodded. ‘Yup. I don’t think he’s himself right now.’ Something is rotten in the state of his marriage.

‘I don’t know him well enough to know what “hisself” is,’ said Everett.

‘I know him too well,’ said Ren. ‘And he’s still a fucking mystery.’ She looked up. ‘Speaking of mysteries …’

‘Hello, flatmate,’ said Janine, walking in.

‘Where did you get to this morning?’ said Ren.

‘I took Misty for a run.’

‘Oh my God – you took my dog for a run. Bad mom, bad mom.’

‘That’s not how it works,’ said Janine. ‘You are hungover. I needed a run, Misty did too: win-win.’