Killing Ways. Alex Barclay

      Ren went back into the bullpen, sat quietly at her desk, shuffled papers.

      ‘That’s it?’ said Everett.

      ‘That’s it,’ said Ren.

      ‘You’re killing me …’

      ‘Let’s just leave it at “Well, that was surreal”.’

      ‘Did you trade blows?’ His eyes were sparkling.

      ‘I’m a lover, not a fighter.’ NOT a lover, in fact. ‘What did I miss?’

      ‘The media has gotten hold of the Donna Darisse story – they’re not revealing she’s a prostitute, but they are saying she was last seen on Colfax. They have already interviewed some fantastic creatures there. Some will be viral by close of business.’

      ‘Oh, no,’ said Ren.

      ‘Oh, yes. One woman was so high … it was just cruel to put her in front of a camera.’

      ‘I hate that shit.’

      ‘That would be like filming you in Gaffney’s.’

      ‘Jesus, the idea of watching my vulnerable self …’

      ‘Is vulnerable the new euphemism?’ said Everett. ‘Oh my God, I was so vulnerable last night. Where’s my pineapple juice?’ He grabbed the remote control. ‘It’s on again,’ he said. He turned up the television. ‘Check out this goddess.’

      ‘This is a very safe area!’ the woman was saying. ‘Always has been! Now I’m afraid of my life.’

      ‘Ahm afeardamalaff too,’ said Ren.

      ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Everett, nodding toward the door.

      They laughed loud, then turned their attention back to the screen.

       ‘Donna Darisse was last seen at lunchtime yesterday on Colfax Avenue. If you know anything about Ms Darisse’s whereabouts, please contact Denver PD …’

      ‘Fuckerooni,’ said Ren.

      She went back into Stephanie Wingerter’s file. ‘Stephanie Wingerter disappeared at night. This was lunchtime. So, does he have a nine-to-five job he has to work around? Or does he cruise whenever he feels like it?’

      ‘You’re sticking to the one killer theory,’ said Everett.

      ‘I am. I’m not afeardamalaff to do that.’

      ‘Agent Bryce was always so brave,’ said Everett. ‘Even – no, no especially – on the dance floor.’

      They looked up. Gary was in the doorway, his face set.

       Not the time to bring up serial killing.

      ‘I have an appointment this afternoon,’ he said. ‘My calls will be redirected to you, Ren.’

      ‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘See you tomorrow.’ I hope your life isn’t imploding.

      Ren called Glenn Buddy.

      ‘Glenn, have you got many statements from today’s canvas on Colfax?’

      ‘I’ll have some tomorrow,’ said Glenn. ‘I don’t know what you guys are equipped with over there, but my guys have one pair of hands each to type with.’

      ‘Fair point,’ said Ren. ‘Have you got any names of johns who—’

      ‘Ren, what I got is five live homicide cases giving me a pain in my ass. Which victim will I swap for the missing hooker – the dead child or the other dead child?’

      ‘Glenn, I think this is a serial case …’

      ‘I have no doubt you do,’ said Glenn. ‘You’re like one of those people who sees dead people.’

      ‘Are you saying I’m imagining this?’

      ‘No,’ said Glenn. ‘I believe in ghosts. I just need to see a body first. I need a pin in a map before I can make a network with my red string to the next pin.’

      ‘You don’t do that.’

      ‘I do not. Stay safe.’

      That night, Ren lined up photos of the victims on her kitchen table:

      Stephanie Wingerter. Hope Coulson. Donna Darisse.

       Sorry, Donna. I know we haven’t found you yet. But I know we will.

      Underneath, she laid down printouts of the bullet points of the cases she had made at the office earlier.

       I need a beer.

      Her phone rang. Janine.

      ‘Hello, lovely lady,’ said Ren. She went to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of Coors Light.

      ‘What happened today?’ said Janine. ‘I believe I missed some action.’

      ‘You don’t want to know, trust me,’ said Ren. ‘A Dettling domestic. They’ve happened before. Though not quite with such dramz.’ She opened the beer.

      ‘I heard from admin that she called you a bitch. What was that about?’

      Shiiiiit. It’s out there. ‘Ugh. She thought I was having an affair with Gary. Please don’t say that to anyone.’

      ‘I won’t, don’t be ridiculous, but … shit.’ She started laughing.

      ‘I know,’ said Ren. ‘But the worst part about it was that I have been really attracted to him lately even though he’s a total asshole to me.’

      ‘Oh, God – don’t be that girl.’

      ‘No, I’m not, that’s the thing. I like being treated well. Anyway, I’d never act on it.’

      ‘Neither would he,’ said Janine.

      ‘I know that,’ said Ren, laughing. ‘It’s embarrassing, though. I hope Karen didn’t get that vibe off me.’

      The doorbell rang. She checked the intercom screen.

      ‘Holy shit,’ said Ren. ‘That’s him at my door.’

      ‘Gary?’ said Janine. ‘Maybe Karen planted the idea in his head …’

      ‘Stop!’ said Ren. ‘You brat. Call you later.’

      ‘Behave.’

      ‘Jesus!’

      ‘Oh, and don’t call tonight,’ said Janine. ‘I have serious lady pain. I’m planning to be unconscious.’

      ‘Aw, you poor thing. Hot-water bottle. Lots of love.’

      Gary rang the bell again.

       Yikes. I don’t think he has ever been in any of my homes. Weirdness.

      Ren buzzed him in.

      She poured the beer down the sink, and put the empty bottle in the cabinet underneath. She put on the kettle. She tidied away the photos and pages on the table, put a magazine on top of them.

      Gary walked right past her into the apartment, and into the living room without saying a word.

      This place is so tiny. You look so big.

      ‘Nice place,’ he said.

      ‘Sit down,’ said Ren.

      Gary nodded. ‘Ren, look, I know this is inappropriate.’

      ‘No it’s not—’

       Oh, you’re not talking about calling in here.

      ‘I need you to do something for me,’ said Gary. ‘It’s … just … Karen