Peter Everett’s house was another in Ren’s straight run of beautiful homes with not-so-beautiful stories to tell. He invited Ren in and led her to his study, a room with a glass wall that overlooked a softly lit pool area surrounded by pale granite flagstones, dotted with patches of snow. The house was tastefully designed and decorated, but the sadness was overwhelming.
Everett’s face betrayed it all – he was a very attractive man being seen at his worst – exhausted, puffy-eyed, hollowed out. He was tall and slim with dark hair in an old-fashioned side parting. He was dressed in a pink V-neck cashmere sweater with a white T-shirt underneath, a pair of dark blue jeans and brown loafers. Despite the preppy look, Ren imagined he drew all kinds of women to him without even trying and without even realizing it.
‘I’d like to talk to you about Helen,’ said Ren.
Everett nodded, but looked as though it was the last thing he wanted to do.
‘She was a wonderful person,’ said Ren. ‘You must be devastated.’
He seemed thrown. ‘Yes. I…you knew her?’
‘I always had a lot of time for Helen.’
He rubbed his face with his hands. ‘Everyone did.’ His voice cracked.
Ren could barely hold it together herself. ‘Mr Everett, I wanted to talk to you about the book you said Helen was writing?’
‘It was in its very early stages.’
‘Did Helen say what the book was about?’
‘It was about her practice, about the treatment of a broad spectrum of mental illnesses, about medication versus talk therapy, et cetera.’
‘And when did she start writing it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Peter. ‘I wouldn’t say she had particularly started writing it. It was more at the thinking stage. Maybe for the past few months.’
‘Did she have a publisher?’
‘No. But I don’t think that would have been a concern at that stage. What she’d really been working up to was putting together a synopsis and a pitch.’
‘And had she requested permission from any of her patients for their details to be included?’
‘As far as I know, not yet,’ said Peter. ‘It wasn’t going to be public knowledge any time soon. Helen wouldn’t have dreamed of releasing anything without a patient’s permission. And a publisher would certainly never publish without it. She was even careful about the initial notes she was making.’
‘The only thing she had done were the notes that you have. She and I were the only ones who knew that that was what she was doing.’
‘Yes, we have the notes, but there’s not a lot of information in them.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. Helen was discreet…obviously.’
Ren nodded. She stood up. ‘Thank you for your time.’
‘May I ask how the book is relevant to the investigation?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t disclose that information,’ said Ren. ‘Oh, by the way, I was just speaking with Mia Hammond – Douglas Hammond’s daughter…’
‘The judge?’
‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘She told me you used to be neighbors.’
‘A long time ago.’
‘You weren’t at the funeral.’
‘No.’
‘Your ex-wife, Lucinda was there. She went up to Mia Hammond and introduced herself.’
‘Ah,’ said Peter. ‘That’s the type of thing Lucinda would do. Yes. We lived in Everdale on the same street as the Hammonds. It wasn’t for long. I guess it was just a year or so.’
‘Were you living there when Trudie Hammond was murdered?’
‘Sadly, yes,’ said Peter. ‘It was a terrible time.’
‘Were you in Everdale for long after that?’
‘No – Lucinda was pregnant with our daughter. Everdale was only meant to be a temporary home, while our new house was being built.’
‘Ah,’ said Ren. ‘Did you know the Hammonds well?’
‘No. They were across the street and down a few houses. But they seemed like a nice family.’
‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘Well, thank you for your time.’
‘That’s no problem,’ said Peter. ‘If there’s anything else I can do…’
Ren shook his hand and left.
Gary called Ren into his office when she arrived back.
‘Good news,’ said Gary. ‘Looks like your files are going to remain secret for a long time. One of Helen’s patients got wind of the cops wanting to access privileged files, the word spread and a whole bunch of patients’ lawyers waded in.’
‘Thank God,’ said Ren. ‘Thank God. I wonder how it got out.’
‘Could’ve come from anywhere. Helen’s secretary would be a strong candidate…’
‘Yes.’
‘So there you have it.’ Gary nodded. His we’re-done-here nod.
Ren stood up. ‘You are…’
Gary looked up at her. ‘What?’
‘You are…’ Ren paused. ‘Do you play poker?’
Gary laid his pen down. ‘Yes. As a matter of fact.’
‘Do you win a lot?’
‘Yes. But I don’t play for real money.’
‘Isn’t that part of the fun?’
‘Maybe to some people.’
‘And when you say “people”, you mean “losers”?’
Gary was back writing. He didn’t look up. ‘Every opponent of mine is a loser by definition.’
33
Ren went to her desk and sat very still, her hands in her lap, her eyes straight ahead, staring at nothing.
She couldn’t quite believe it would stay that way. She pulled her keyboard toward her and typed Trudie Hammond’s name into Google. Almost a decade ago, Trudie Hammond’s murder file had become the responsibility of the Jefferson County Cold Case Unit – a one-person unit run by a detective Janine Hooks. Ren went to the website and scrolled through the forty cases posted on it – missing persons, homicides, unidentified remains – the text broken up with images of the victims or their possessions or their reconstructed clay faces. She scanned through the reports. Trudie Hammond’s case was the twelfth one in and read like the news report. There were three other cold cases listed whose victims had last names beginning with H. Ren picked one at random and studied it. Then she grabbed her jacket and purse and headed for the door.
The Jefferson County Cold Case Unit was housed in a government complex off Main Street in Golden. Ren had been there before – to Dr Barry Tolman’s office, the pathologist to sixteen counties, including Jefferson. Ren went
