my mama made for me,’ said Ren. ‘And Jay’s in his freaky pants.’
‘What am I in?’
‘Pain, by the looks of it.’
‘Mom never quite got the cut of a boy’s pants.’
God bless Matt Bryce. He stayed on the phone with Ren for over an hour, listening to everything and saying all the right things. Ren always told Matt that he was who she would be if she was male and sane. Matt always replied, ‘You wish.’
There was something wide-eyed about Matt. Like the world was a constant source of fascination to him. In every story he told, there was a dramatic pause, a revelation he wanted you to feel in the same way that he did. Even bleak observations would be delivered in a positive tone. He would talk about a television show he saw where there was human excrement piled up against a crack-house wall, then pause and say, ‘It wasn’t the shit itself, it was the structural engineering …’
He was two years older than Ren, but sometimes she felt like they were twins.
‘Now,’ said Matt, ‘much as I would love to continue to distract you from your freak-out, I have to go and remove my wife’s shoes. That’s the stage we’re at.’
‘Poor Lauren.’
‘Yes,’ said Matt. ‘My final word is – there’s no need to freak out. You’re in a beautiful house, safe and sound with your dog-from-the-dark-side.’
‘Stop that.’
‘Sleep tight. Call me again if you need me.’
‘Thanks,’ said Ren.
‘And remember one thing …’ He paused. ‘You’re an FBI Agent, you loser.’
‘Thanks for that.’ Ren put down the phone and pulled the covers up around her.
This is not a house for one person. It is totally freaking me out. How am I going to get out of this? I’ll die. Annie will be horrified. Where can I go now?
Ren’s eyes started to close. She turned over and drifted into the best night’s sleep she’d had in over a year.
Colin Grabien sat at his desk with print-outs of Greg Sarvas’ bank statements and a computer screen with more of Greg Sarvas’ bank statements. He had the look of a teenager forced to study for his SATs when all his friends were out to play.
Ren glanced over at him.
‘This is bullshit,’ he said.
No one responded. He looked up, annoyed.
‘What is bullshit?’ said Ren. Her voice was flat.
‘I don’t see Gregory Sarvas’ name up on that board—’ He pointed to the Most Wanted list. ‘Gartman is out murdering little deaf girls, and here I am, going through these boring bank statements. A lawyer with one and a half million dollars spread across four bank accounts. Call Ripley’s Believe It or Not.’
Grow the fuck up. ‘Nothing else?’ said Ren. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary?’ She got up and walked over to his desk.
Colin pointed to his screen and scrolled through a ridiculous amount of data. She rolled her eyes.
‘No strange payments in or out of his bank accounts,’ said Colin. ‘One property – the family home in El Paso. Mortgage of two hundred thousand dollars outstanding. No other debts. Monthly retainers from five clients, totaling eleven thousand.’
‘Ah, but one property he was more keen to get rid of than his wife suspected,’ said Robbie. ‘I’ve got his phone records here and it looks like he made several calls to real estate agents in the area.’
‘Before or after the rape?’ said Ren.
‘Both,’ said Robbie. ‘A little more so after. Ren, can I borrow a highlighter?’
‘Sure – in my drawer. Grab one. Not the pink one.’
‘I can see why Sarvas would want revenge,’ said Cliff. ‘I’d want to take my wife the hell away from there.’
‘I’m thinking you might be more honorable than a man who wouldn’t report his wife’s rape,’ said Ren.
‘Maybe it was the opposite,’ said Colin. ‘Maybe Sarvas was very honorable. And wanted some old-style vigilante revenge.’
‘Pistols at dawn,’ said Ren. ‘Yes, I thought of that.’
‘Since when do you play cards?’ said Robbie. ‘Ren has a deck of cards in her desk.’
Ren frowned. ‘The bottom drawer has the highlighters, you loser. And no, I don’t play cards.’
‘You never said the bottom drawer.’
‘That’s not the point. There could have been anything in there …’
‘I’m going to call these real estate guys,’ said Robbie.
‘What about Sarvas’ clients?’ said Ren to Cliff. ‘Did you speak with them?’ She went back over to her desk.
‘From what I can gather so far, Sarvas basically worked remotely,’ said Cliff. ‘He had twelve clients. Three of them had never even met him. They were a mix – mainly small-business owners, all in Texas. Across a range of businesses—’
Cliff looked up as Gary strode into the office and up to Ren’s desk, holding a red Sharpie out to her. She stared at him.
‘Your basket is dead,’ said Gary.
‘Exsqueeze me?’ said Ren.
Gary pointed at the gallery.
‘Erubiel Diaz?’ said Ren.
‘Yup,’ said Gary. ‘How about you put a big red X through that face?’
‘Oh my God,’ said Ren, taking the pen from him. ‘Whatwhywhenwherewhohow?’
‘His headless body was found on a burning pyre in Nogales, Mexico,’ said Gary.
‘Shit. Really?’ Ren stood up.
‘Yup.’
She paused. ‘Maybe I should wait ’til they find his head before I put the X through it.’ She walked across the room and drew an X slowly across Diaz’ face. ‘What happened?’ said Ren. ‘Was this a drugs thing? Were there other people being served at this barbecue or was he found alone?’
‘Here’s what I know,’ said Gary. ‘Diaz ended up dead as part of a message being sent to the Nogales police. Earlier that day, they arrested the second-in-command of the Puente cartel. The guy’s associates
