Time of Death

head.

‘What could have happened?’ said Ren. ‘Helen left work, didn’t make it home? Helen left work, was abducted outside? Carjacked? Walked home and was attacked? Helen made it home, was abducted there, taken to the warehouse? What the fuck?’

‘It could be anything at this stage,’ said Cliff. ‘Glenn’s going to drop by later. See if you can help in any way’

‘Psychiatrists know a lot about a lot of people,’ said Colin. ‘Maybe someone felt she knew too much. Or had stored something on her computer that could compromise them.’

‘It’s pointless guessing,’ said Ren, ‘because we have no real details yet.’

‘Mmm…I do,’ said Cliff. ‘If you feel able to hear them.’

Ren put a hand across her stomach – the first place her emotional pain ran for.

‘Do you want me to talk through this in private?’

‘No, Cliff,’ said Ren. ‘Everyone will hear it anyway.’

‘OK. Ren, I’m afraid your friend was tortured…’

‘Oh my God – in what way?’

‘She was beaten. And she had fingers broken. And fingernails…removed.’

‘I’m sorry…what? I…’ Ren ran to the bathroom and threw up. She stood up slowly in front of the mirror. Her head swam. She pressed her forehead against the cold tiles.

Sixty-two-year-old women don’t get tortured. They don’t get shot and thrown into a warehouse. They read literary fiction, crime novels, discuss world events, take long walks, spoil their grandkids, garden, meet their friends for coffee…help people.

Ren sat down on the slatted bench by the wall. Her entire body felt hollowed out. Helen had once said to her, ‘You work from the neck up, Ren, you never go below.’ She had put her hand to her heart and said to Ren, ‘You need to start going below – to what’s inside.’

Helen had led Ren to the place Ren had never wanted to go – the black hole where everything she had never wanted to face was awaiting her. Helen was the one guide she had trusted. And now she was gone.

And now I really am all alone.

16

Glenn Buddy and Cliff James must have drawn attention whenever they went out together. Cliff was six foot four, Glenn Buddy was six foot six. They both had huge guts – Glenn’s looked like it was from beer, Cliff’s looked a little softer.

Glenn had brought a sandwich and chips with him to Safe Streets, apologizing for having to eat while he was there. His sandwich was over-filled, so he had to open his mouth too wide to fit it in. He threw the chips into his mouth as if he was trying to stone his larynx. Ren tried to focus on the words, not the pictures, but her stomach was tightening.

‘OK,’ said Glenn, shifting his food to one cheek and speaking out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Here’s what we got. She was tortured…like someone was trying to get information out of her…’

Dr Helen Wheeler, attractive, intelligent psychiatrist…and suddenly she’s in a warehouse being tortured.

‘Are you sure?’ said Ren.

Glenn glanced at Cliff.

‘It’s just totally…surreal,’ said Ren. ‘It’s like a different world.’ She struggled to avoid welling up. Stay composed or they’ll keep you out of the investigation.

‘It sure is,’ said Glenn, shrugging again, taking a bite of his sandwich.

‘Was she robbed?’ said Ren. ‘Had anyone been in her office? Or her home?’

‘So far, it looks like a no to all of the above. All her keys were found with her – house, office, car.’

Ren shook her head. ‘What do you think the scenario was? Was she taken from her office?’

‘Probably in the parking lot, on the way to her car.’

‘And where was her car found? It wasn’t in the office parking lot.’

‘It was by the warehouse.’

‘And she was killed outside the warehouse? Inside?’

‘Inside.’

‘And she was beaten.’

‘Very badly. Some kind of blunt instrument was used.’

Ren had nothing to say to that. Nothing that a ripped-apart feeling inside her couldn’t express.

‘What kind of person was she?’ said Glenn.

Shit. She was a therapist: a person you knows you, while you don’t know them. ‘She was…a really good person. Very kind. Intelligent. Witty’ Got stuff out of me that no one else ever could.‘She was warm, friendly. A real lady. Dressed conservatively, spoke softly…’

‘Hardly the type to get involved with a bad crowd,’ said Cliff.

‘Yes, but don’t forget she would have had a few fruitcakes on her books,’ said Glenn.

Step away from the patients. ‘It’s easy to jump on that,’ said Ren. ‘but it seems a little…convenient.’

Cliff shifted in his seat. Glenn finished his potato chips and wrapped up the remains of his lunch. He wiped his mouth, then opened the envelope he had laid on the table.

‘Are you sure you want to see these?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Ren. Before your very eyes, watch how I shut myself down.

The first photo was a long shot across the warehouse parking lot – wet concrete with patches of snow dotted across it, enclosed in meters and meters of grim chain-link fencing.

The second photo was inside – a distant fully-clothed body, garishly flood-lit. Ren held her breath and turned to the next one. The corpse now had a face and a name. Helen Wheeler lay with her head turned toward the wall, her blonde hair obscuring her features, her chest torn apart. Too much red. Ren slowly released her breath. She moved through the rest of the photos. Helen had a broken nose. Her eyes were black. An earring had been ripped from her ear. Ren could see the missing fingernails and broken fingers.

What happened to you?

Ren sat back in her chair, staring at the ceiling, letting tears well briefly in her eyes but travel no further.

Focus.

‘OK,’ said Ren, ‘is the warehouse operational?’

Glenn shook his head. ‘It hasn’t been used since the DNC.’

‘What was security like?’ said Cliff.

‘There’s a swipe-card system,’ said Glenn.

‘And did someone use a swipe card?’ said Ren.

‘Yup,’ said Glenn. ‘The former head of security is being called in as we speak.’

‘Any cameras?’ said Ren.

‘Yes,’ said Glenn, ‘out of commission. The place is empty, they figure who’s going to go in there in March, in the snow. It’s not like it’s particularly convenient—’

‘Huge isolated space where no one will hear your screams or find your body?’ said Ren. ‘Hey, who did find the body?’

‘Our guys,’ said Glenn. ‘A former client from out of town had showed up at the warehouse early this morning, tried to use his swipe card and it didn’t work. He calls an old friend who worked there. The friend tells him the warehouse has been shut down for months. And the out-of-town guy goes, “Well, there’s a whole lot of tire tracks here that are telling me otherwise.” And that’s when we got the call. We had to cut through the fence.’

‘Has this out-of-towner been run through the databases?’ Ren was leaning forward in her seat. Glenn was slowly leaning back.

‘Everyone to do with the place is going to be checked out.’

‘I know…I know…’ said Ren. ‘Let us know what we can do on that score.’