Killing Ways. Alex Barclay

       Well, fuck that. I like Karen. We get along. I like Claire. I … respected you. Respected. Shit, Gary, you’re the moral one. Don’t make me lose faith in humanity. I didn’t realize how much I respected you until I stopped … round about two seconds ago.

      ‘Why would she have thought it was me, though?’ said Ren.

      Gary gave her a patient look. ‘I know you enough to know you’re not a homewrecker,’ he said. ‘But, not all women see you that way.’

       That’s not very fair. Though I am, even now, thinking about fucking you. What is wrong with me? But I never would. So, yes, it is unfair.

      ‘But I get along with Karen,’ said Ren. ‘I like her a lot.’

      ‘I know,’ said Gary, ‘she’s obviously not thinking straight right now.’

      ‘How come you didn’t cover your tracks better?’ said Ren. ‘What did she find out?’

      ‘My saving grace is your love of champagne …’ said Gary.

      ‘It’s my saving grace too,’ said Ren.

      Gary shot out a laugh of relief. ‘A champagne cork … ended up in my overnight bag …’

       La la la la la la la …

      ‘Karen found it,’ said Gary. ‘I needed an explanation. And you were the quickest one I thought of.’

      ‘So, I’ve already helped you on this …’ said Ren.

      ‘Yes …’ said Gary.

      ‘What do you need me to do?’ said Ren.

      ‘Back me up,’ said Gary. ‘Call her.’

       This is grim.

      ‘So – let me get this straight,’ said Ren. ‘You said what exactly? That we were—’

      ‘In Breck,’ said Gary. ‘We had a bottle of champagne in the room, where my bag was open, but nothing happened between us. I hate champagne, she knows that. You were a safe and logical choice to be the person drinking it.’

      ‘Me, safe, logical and champagne …’ How have these words come together?

      ‘Well, it backfired anyway,’ said Gary. ‘She still thought something was going on.’

      ‘I’m kind of offended …’

      ‘Don’t be,’ said Gary. ‘She’s a wife who found a champagne cork in her husband’s overnight bag …’

      ‘I’d have a hard time believing anything after that.’

      ‘So, can you call her?’ said Gary.

      ‘Yes, of course,’ said Ren. ‘But … fuck.’

      ‘I know,’ said Gary.

      ‘If I’m going to do this very wrong thing,’ said Ren, ‘I’m going to do it right. You need to arm me with all the facts, so I don’t fuck up. There is no going back if I fuck this up. For either of us.’

      Gary nodded. ‘Thanks.’

       The fucking pressure.

      ‘Dates and times, please,’ said Ren. ‘And you’ll have to tell me who this woman is. I don’t want to know, that’s your business. But I need to know.’

      ‘I ended it,’ said Gary. ‘It’s over.’

      ‘Promise m—’

      ‘It’s over.’ He pulled out a notebook and tore out a page with a list of dates.

       Alrighty, then.

      ‘Thanks, Ren. I appreciate this.’ He stood up.

       I don’t want to do a quid pro quo, but …

      ‘Before you go,’ said Ren, ‘I want to run something by you …’

      She got up and gathered together the photos she had brought home from the office.

      ‘Did you print these at Safe Streets?’ said Gary. ‘In color?’

      Ren nodded.

      ‘Stop wasting ink and paper.’

      Internal eye roll. ‘On an unrelated note – here are three victims of a violent rapist and murderer … can you see how similar they look?’

      Gary looked across the line of photos. He looked back at Ren. ‘Yes.’

      ‘Three victims … that makes a serial killer, official definition. I’d like to call a meeting with DPD, see if we can—’

      ‘Who’s this third one?’ said Gary.

      ‘Donna Darisse, a prostitute reported missing this morning.’

      ‘So she’s not dead.’

      ‘Not found. She’s been missing since yesterday afternoon. Didn’t show up to collect her six-year-old from a play date. Apparently, that was totally out of character.’

      Gary stared at her. ‘Let me know when you have a body.’

      ‘There will be a body,’ said Ren. Mark my words!

      ‘I’m not doing this unless you’re one hundred per cent,’ said Gary.

      ‘OK – who …’ the fuck ‘could be one hundred per cent about something like this?’ Seriously.

      ‘At the very least, a body is a one hundred per cent guarantee of a death.’

      High-larious. ‘I want Donna Darisse to be safe and well,’ said Ren. ‘I just don’t feel in my gut that she is.’

      ‘Let me know when you have a body.’

       I heard you the first time.

      ‘There’s another thing,’ said Ren, ‘I spoke with Jonathan Briar, and—’

      ‘And his lawyer, I hope …’

      Not so much. ‘Well, I just had a few little—’

      ‘Ren, for crying out loud! What were you thinking? He’ll never let us talk to him again if you—’

      ‘It was fine,’ said Ren. ‘We got along OK. I helped him out in his apartment. He answered my questions, but … he was lying about something, about a night out they had two weeks before Hope Coulson disappeared.’

      ‘If you think he was lying,’ said Gary, ‘that he’s got something to hide, then the next time we might need him for something, that lawyer won’t let us within a mile of him. Jesus Christ, Ren. You know this. Why are we having this conversation?’

      Gary’s phone beeped. He checked it. He turned the screen to Ren.

      ‘Looks like you’ve got your one hundred per cent guarantee,’ said Ren.

       13

      Ren and Gary drove through the city of Arvada and ten miles along Highway 72 into the unincorporated part of Jefferson County.

       And another jurisdiction joins the party.

      The flashing lights of the police cruisers led them to the small collection of warehouses where Donna Darisse’s body had been found by a carload of college kids looking for nothing other than an out-of-the-way place to go through a few six-packs.

      Cliff James was standing sentry.

      ‘Hey,’ said Ren, hugging him.