‘You bet.’
Just as she hung up, another call came through.
‘Mr Truax, how can I help you?’ said Ren.
‘I’m helping you, Ms Bryce. Your prints are back from the beer bottle.’
‘And?’
‘Nada. No match.’
‘And that’s supposed to help me how?’ said Ren.
‘Well, if helping you means ruling out for now that this man is a hardened criminal with a string of violent crimes under his belt, yes.’
‘Not that, in fact, he is such a criminal mastermind that he has eluded us for decades to commit some of humanity’s vilest atrocities?’
‘While you’ve been fixing your makeup …’
‘That’s crime-fighting in itself.’
Ren walked into Bob’s office. ‘OK, if you could put your fingers in your ears, say “la la la la la” at the same time, while also listening to my question and answering it, I would be very grateful.’
‘La la la la la …’
‘Where did you all search for Mark Wilson last year?’
‘All over town. And out McCullough Gulch Road to the Brockton Filly, around the Filly. We had a hundred volunteers.’
‘And no one even found any of Wilson’s belongings, nothing?’
‘No.’
‘Bob, he went missing around the same spot as Jean must have.’
‘We don’t know that.’
‘It’s highly likely.’
‘Well, all roads lead to the Brockton Filly,’ said Bob. ‘Maybe it’s not the big shadow of Quandary Peak we should be worried about. Maybe it’s the big shadow of Billy Waites. Maybe Waites is the common denominator here. And what better front than being pals with the FBI? A career liar with friends in all the right places.’
Charge the paddles to three hundred.
Bob shrugged. ‘It happens,’ he said. ‘People go missing. They drink too much – the cold, the alcohol, the altitude gets to them, the snow covers them up. It’s all nice and tidy.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Ren.
‘Based on what, though? Feelings, nothing more than feelings?’
‘I like my feelings.’
‘What do you think might have happened?’ said Bob.
‘That is the mystery,’ said Ren. ‘I guess, you know, the poor guy shows up, he’s from out of town –’
‘Hey, everyone here’s from out of town,’ said Bob. ‘Nobody is from Breck, as the saying goes. A lot of people want to be, they’ll tell you they are – in an English, Australian, Norwegian accent.’
‘My point is, this guy is not expendable,’ said Ren. ‘And I guess it just feels like someone thought he was.’
‘We don’t know that he’s dead,’ said Bob.
‘Oh, come on.’
‘But please tell me you don’t think it’s connected to Jean Transom.’
Ren made a face that kept it up for grabs.
‘But they are entirely different circumstances. Sounds to me like Mark Wilson was an accident waiting to happen.’
‘Sounds to me like he suffered from a disease called alcoholism and that he’d given up all hope.’
‘God bless you,’ said Bob. ‘And save you.’ He paused. ‘Are you looking for a distraction?’
‘Are you nuts?’ said Ren. ‘Plus,’ she checked her watch, ‘I have one hour to get to a meeting in Denver. Not going to happen. As if there’s not enough for me to do. But you know how something just gets to you …’
‘Yes. Doesn’t mean I know why this is getting to you.’ He started shifting in his seat, dragging his keyboard toward him. ‘Are you still here?’ he said, glancing back at her.
‘Aw, Bob, don’t be mean to me,’ she said.
Robbie Truax stood in the shiny foyer of the Livestock Exchange Building. Four floors up was the Safe Streets office. The elevator that could take him there was open in front of him.
Ren walked in. ‘Hello, there. What are you waiting for?’
‘No way.’ Robbie hopped from left foot to right. ‘Not when it opens unbidden. That thing is a freak. It’s baiting me.’
‘Unbidden – I love it,’ said Ren. ‘What do you think it’s going to do to you?’
‘Squish me in the doors, take me to a floor with no floor? Slam me down to the bottom of the shaft and spit me out in the haunted basement? You haven’t even been there, it’s fucked up –’
‘You need a night-light …’ Ren stepped forward. Robbie didn’t move.
‘Oh, come on,’ she said. ‘I could hold your hand …’
‘If my hand is the best you can do …’
‘You’re so scared, grabbing your ass would be a biohazard.’
He paused before he got it. ‘Aw, that is gross.’
The elevator doors slid slowly together, paused, shook and finally shut. All the numbers lit up.
‘See?’ said Robbie, stabbing a finger at it. ‘That is not normal. It’s got, like, human energy. Look at my arms – I got chills.’
‘Are they multiplying?’ said Ren.
A voice from behind them sang a few more lines.
They turned around. ‘Good afternoon, Clifton,’ said Ren. ‘Grease lightning.’
‘Is he having his elevator thing?’ said Cliff. ‘Let’s try the stairs, scaredy.’
‘Go ahead, you guys,’ said Ren. ‘I’m good with the elevator.’
‘The stairs will tighten your ass,’ said Robbie. ‘I mean, not that it needs –’
‘Robbie? Shut up,’ said Ren. But she followed
