‘No, no. I’m fine … maybe just a glass of water.’
She sat down on the sofa in the living room and when he came back, he sat on the chair opposite, creating an awkward distance between them. He seemed to notice, then decide out of nervousness, to ignore it.
‘I’m sorry to have to do this,’ said Ren, ‘but I’m going to have to talk to you about some of Jean’s personal details. Again.’
He frowned. ‘“Personal” as in …?’
She paused. ‘Well I got some additional information from the pathologist today. And it appears that, Jean, at one point, gave birth.’
He stood up. ‘What?’
‘Did you have any idea she was ever pregnant?’
‘What? Do I look like I had a clue?’
Ren waited.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘No. I didn’t know. I mean, Jean has never had a boyfriend as long as I’ve known her. When was she supposed to have this baby?’
‘It’s impossible to say,’ said Ren. ‘But it is definite that she did. And it couldn’t have been in the last fourteen years because she was at the academy or working for the Bureau, so we would have known. And … so would you.’ She gestured to him. ‘You should probably take a seat.’
‘Have you found any other evidence that she had a baby? Are there birth records? Did the baby live? Did she put it up for adoption? Jesus.’
‘I know. It’s extremely difficult in a situation like this to have to come to a family member with this kind of news, but obviously we have to look at every aspect of Jean’s life in order to find the person responsible for her death.’
Patrick started shaking his head. ‘I’m just in shock about Jean. I … is there anything I can do as her family? Is there anywhere I can look or anyone I can ask about this?’
‘Did Jean ever hint at anything or give you the impression that there was something she was hiding or –’
He half-laughed. You’ve probably worked out that Jean wasn’t stupid. If she wanted to hide something, she’d do a damn good job of it. You folks all seem very good at not betraying any emotion.’
‘Well, I hope you can sense the sadness we all feel at her loss.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It was a compliment. I wasn’t talking about –’
‘I’m sorry. I just was hoping you didn’t think we were all robots.’
‘Not at all,’ said Patrick. ‘I’ve seen the grief. And it was very touching.’
Breckenridge looked closed by the time Ren drove through. When she got back to the inn, she grabbed a book from the shelf in the living room, something set in a pretty place with a pretty girl and a handsome guy. She went up to the suite, locked herself in and turned on the bedside lamp. She went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, changed into pale pink flannel pajamas and got into bed. She lay back with the book on her chest under her hand. She leaned up, opened it and started. Line four talked about a woman with blonde hair. Jean Transom. Two paragraphs later, someone’s bedroom was painted lavender. Jean Transom. By page two, the book was on the night stand and Ren’s eyes were dead ahead. Tiny pulses of anxiety struck up all over her body. Her breathing was a mess.
I am a failure. Everyone has been working under me. I have led them all into a dead-end. I cannot take my mind off all this with a book.
She pulled back the covers and got out of bed. She grabbed the coffee pot, turned on the kettle and laid files across the bed while she waited. When her coffee was made, she took her mug and wandered over to the window.
Staring out at the damp, late-evening streets and the solid mountain peaks, she could believe for as long as she stood there that the world was a beautiful place.
Ren sat on her bed with a bottle of water beside her. The sun was slowly warming her room. Someone knocked on her door. Quick, relentless knocking – her favorite.
It was the maid. ‘Excuse me? Can I clean your room?’
Shit. Ren checked her watch. It was nine a.m. What? She had slept twice that night, an hour each time. She looked around the room. There were towels draped on the side of the bath, coffee mugs on every surface, chocolate wrappers, empty and half-empty chip bags, shorts, tops, shoes. Please clean my room. Then she looked at the bed and its cute patchwork of crime scene and autopsy photographs.
‘No thank you,’ said Ren. ‘Maybe, if you left a tray for me outside and maybe a cloth and some cleaning supplies …’ I would be miserable.
‘Maybe when I finish the rest of the house.’
Ren stood up and escorted herself into the shower. When she was finished and dressed, she went to tidy the pages on the bed. In the back of one of the files was the work photo of Jean Transom. Little Amber Transom had touches of her aunt in her features. Ren pulled out another photo of Jean – the one Gressett had given her. It was a long shot of Jean at a summer party, half-turned to the camera, laughing and holding a red Frisbee by her side. When she smiled, all you could see was dark, straight, long lashes. Ren stopped. Oh my God. She grabbed the photo of Amber and the photo of Jean and looked back and forth between them. Oh my God.
The drive felt epic. No speed was fast enough. Ren called Gary to let him know what she had discovered and where she was going. If she was taking definitive action on something. Gary needed blocks of complete information – a thoroughly considered theory that explained why she was doing what she was doing. You could theorize with Gary, but if the pieces weren’t all in place, you did not act on it until you knew more. It made Ren be a better agent. And it drove her nuts.
She was reeling from a wave of hits about Jean’s life. Jean had been murdered and the life she had kept so secret was going to have to be exposed. Ren wished it could be another way.
She pulled up outside the small stuccoed house where Caroline Quaintance lived and walked up the path to the front door.
‘Caroline,’ said Ren, ‘it’s Ren Bryce again.’
There was movement behind the stained glass of the door, but no response.
‘Please let me in,’ said Ren.
Caroline Quaintance opened the door and looked like she was about to try a smile. Ren was looking at her from a new angle. And Caroline knew it.
‘I’m guessing you know why I’m here,’ said Ren.
‘I have no idea,’ said Caroline.
‘Right, OK,’ said Ren. ‘Well, I’m going to have to just say it. I know you are Jean Transom’s daughter.’
Caroline turned away from Ren, but pushed the door open wider behind her as she walked
