Time of Death

Ren stood at the carousel in Denver airport, waiting for her cell phone to kick in. It beeped several times with voicemails. As she was about to check them, the phone rang.

‘Hey, Ren. It’s Jay.’

‘Hey,’ said Ren. ‘How are you?’

‘I just wanted to say well done on Ricky Parry. I never would have guessed.’ He paused. ‘Not that I’m saying you guessed either. I’m just saying—’

‘Thank you.’

‘I don’t know how you do it.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘I could barely work out where I was last weekend, and I was there.’

‘Were you?’ said Ren. ‘Is there anyone who can confirm that?’

Jay laughed.

‘So…’

‘How’s everything else?’

‘Good,’ said Ren. ‘Good.’

‘I…How are you getting by without your…doctor? That must be hard on you.’

‘It is,’ said Ren. ‘I can’t even explain how hard.’ Because you probably wouldn’t understand.

‘I want you to know that, if you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m here.’

‘That’s really nice, Jay. Thanks.’

‘I mean, it’s at the other end of a phone, but…’

‘Thank you anyway.’ It’s the thought that counts, I guess. ‘Jay, Mom’s trying to get through, I’ve got to go.’

‘Talk soon.’

‘Take care.’

Her mom sounded manic. ‘Oh, Ren – Daryl Stroud just called me. The man they interviewed who said Beau had been doing drugs has admitted that he made it up.’

Thank you, Daryl. ‘I knew it,’ said Ren. ‘I told you.’

‘I feel terrible now for having believed it.’

Sweet Jesus. ‘Mom, stop it. Stop always finding a reason to feel bad about something. You should listen to yourself some time. You have just been told something that made you feel good. And straight away, you went looking for something to make you feel bad. Did you even pause for a minute to feel the good feeling? Or do you think your whole life might implode if you do?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means: you’re only happy when it rains.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘And because you don’t believe that’s true, it will never change,’ said Ren. ‘It must be exhausting.’

‘I am exhausted.’

Ren let out a breath. ‘Go, get some rest. Do something nice for yourself. Why don’t you and Dad go out for dinner?’

‘I’m worried your father might—’

‘Might what? Steal some of your French fries? Slip on a wet tile in the men’s room? Choke to death on a piece of steak? You need to get a swear jar, Mom, but instead of putting a dollar into it when you swear, do it when you start a sentence with “I’m worried…” Call it a Worry Jar. And by Christmas, you’ll have saved up enough money to go on that cruise around the world that you were worried you would never have enough money to go on. Or would you be too worried that the ship would sink?’

‘Sinking is the least of my worries. People are getting murdered on cruise ships these days.’

Ren started laughing. ‘Oh, you’ll have that money saved up by next week. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Enjoy your dinner with Dad.’

‘What if people in the restaurant are all staring at us?’

‘It will only be because they’re thinking, “Look at that handsome couple. Isn’t it wonderful that a couple who have been together that long can still be so in love?”’

‘Even if your father does drive me crazy sometimes.’

‘B’bye, Mom.’

Ren got a cab at the airport and was about to head for Annie’s when she remembered her Jeep was at Safe Streets. The taxi dropped her off. There was a light on in the office. She went in and took the stairs to the fourth floor. Gary was in his office with the door closed. Ren carried on walking, into the bullpen. There was an envelope on her desk from the lab. It was the results from the DNA cross-match with the semen on Trudie Hammond’s nightgown. She ripped open the envelope and scanned the pages.

I knew it.

Ren looked at her watch. It was 11 p.m.

If I can disturb the dead at this time, I can definitely disturb the living.

48

Peter Everett opened his door slowly and let his arm fall limp at his side. His hair was standing on end, his eyes red, his pupils like pinholes.

‘You must have been a very nervous man over the past few weeks,’ said Ren.

It threw him. ‘Nervous?’ He stared at her. ‘Why would I be nervous?’

‘Can I come in?’

He nodded.

They went into the living room this time. He gave Ren the sofa and stood leaning against the bureau opposite it, his arms and legs crossed.

‘Please sit down.’ Ren gestured to the seat across from hers. He sat down.

‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘Let’s do this.’ She slid a photo across the table between them.

Everett’s eyes shot wide. He frowned.

‘You know who that is,’ said Ren.

‘Uh…yeah. It’s…Judge Hammond’s wife. Trudie.’

Ren nodded. ‘It is.’ She let the silence between them stretch to minutes. He had stopped looking at the photo after his first quick glance. But Ren could sense, behind his eyes, rapid traveling thoughts.

‘I won’t show you a crime-scene photo,’ said Ren.

Tears welled and disappeared into his eyes. In seconds.

‘Tell me,’ said Ren. ‘I know, but tell me.’

Another long silence.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Everett. ‘Tell you what?’

‘I’m not playing this game with you,’ said Ren. ‘This back-and-forth thing. What happened to Trudie Hammond? And do not respond with any variation on “Tell you what?” or “How would I know?” I don’t want to hear it. I don’t have the time or the patience.’

Everett’s hand had a tiny tremor when he lifted it again to rub his forehead.

‘Douglas Hammond moved from the area three months after the murder. You and Lucinda moved within two.’

‘Wouldn’t you have?’ said Peter. ‘The whole place had changed. We didn’t like the idea of bringing up our daughter on a street where someone had been murdered. Especially when the killer hadn’t been caught. And as for Douglas Hammond moving, well, he had even more of a reason.’

‘Anyway,’ said Ren. ‘I’m looking through the file and thinking about all of that and how there was something missing. I don’t know if you know much about cold-case investigations, but the main bummer is that you’re working with, in this case, a twenty-seven-year-old file and the limited homicide experience of the investigators. It was quite