The Drowning Child. Alex Barclay

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       9

      Ren and Gary stood in the parking lot of Tate PD, watching the volunteers arrive. A table had been set up to sign them in, manned by two members of Team Adam. Ren watched as they went through a process they’d gone through countless times before – Team Adam was a program run by the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. It was made up of retired law enforcement officers, who, like CARD, had specialist expertise, and mobilized as soon as they heard a report of a missing child anywhere in the US.

      Ren studied the crowd. ‘Sometimes I feel so guilty thinking some of the shit I think about these kind people,’ she said. ‘They’re here sacrificing whatever it is their day would have held, while some stranger lady is thinking they’re Ted Danson. I mean, Ted Bundy.’ Hello? Charles Manson, maybe?

      Gary glanced at her briefly.

      ‘You know,’ said Ren, ‘it still blows my mind how often the guilty party shows up. Whatever about the ones who are so close to the victims that it would be suspicious if they didn’t show. But I’m thinking of those peripheral nutjobs who put themselves in the frame by hanging around. The ones who might never have been on our radar otherwise – and they can’t see how that’s what they’re doing. I mean, even if you change channels on your television in a micro-second these days, there’s a crime show helping your ass out with these things.’

      ‘We like the dumb ones,’ said Gary.

      Ren scanned the crowd again.

       Is there a psycho among you?

      Gil Wiley was moving through the line, greeting the people he knew.

      ‘Wiley looks like he’s on the campaign trail,’ said Ren. ‘His voice … it’s like it’s being garbled for a TV interview to protect his identity. Like we should only ever be seeing him in sil-you-ette.’

      Gary held in a laugh, but still managed a low-volume sound of approval.

      ‘It’s not Denver cold,’ said Ren, ‘but it’s still cold. That Puffa jacket might have been fine for the walk to school, but if Caleb Veir’s been out overnight …’

      Gary nodded. ‘I know.’

      People continued to arrive, and the crowd began to expand toward them.

      Ren’s heart started to pound.

       Oh, no, please don’t do this. Not here.

      She swallowed. She swallowed again.

       No, no, no. Not now. Not here.

      And the sensation struck, again.

       Drowning, drowning.

       Keep it together, bitch.

      ‘Gary …’ One word, and it came out like it had needed the Heimlich maneuver to make it.

       Oh, God. My legs.

      She pressed her hand against her thigh.

       Like that’s going to help.

      ‘Gary,’ she said. ‘I’m not feeling a lot like being around big groups of people.’

      He turned to her. He was waiting for more.

       Breathe. Breathe.

       Speak.

       Speak!

      ‘Ren?’ said Gary.

       Crowds people I’m going to pass out don’t you won’t stop breathe in out in out breathe I can’t you’re going to pass out.

      Gary took her to one side. ‘Are you OK?’

      ‘I’m … I’m feeling overwhelmed.’

      He studied her face.

       Oh, no. Not the grave concern. No fucking way.

      ‘I just need a moment,’ said Ren, ‘I’m fine.’

       No you’re not.

      ‘I just … don’t feel like being in the thick of this right now,’ said Ren, ‘or, like, in the middle of search teams or lunches where I have to do small talk with people. I just—’

      ‘If that’s how you’re feeling,’ said Gary, ‘I’m glad you told me. So I know to make sure you do exactly those things.’

       You have got to be shitting me. I can’t believe I said ‘lunches’. Jesus.

      ‘Come on, Ren – what did you think I was going to say?’ He was looking straight ahead. ‘Do you think I’m carrying around free passes for people? No. You’re here one hundred per cent or you’re not here at all. That’s how this works. They were the conditions.’ He paused. ‘I know you’re not a big fan of conditions, Ren.’ He looked at her. ‘I’ve got your back. Conditionally.’

      ‘Great.’ Greaaaat. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘The good news is,’ said Gary, ‘there’s only one condition – that you do the best job you can. And that means being no more special than the next investigator or the next. Or the one standing beside you minus half his left triceps.’

       Ooh, even you know that sounds like it’s a competition.

      A touch of awareness flickered in Gary’s eyes.

      ‘I, however, will give you a free pass for that,’ said Ren.

      She had been in the room, inches from him, watching as the bullet ripped through his arm, and the memory still drove a spike of pain through her core.

      ‘I think you need to see Dr Lone more often,’ said Gary. Dr Leonard Lone was Ren’s psychiatrist. Her job was dependent on regular visits with him. ‘Every two weeks is clearly not enough.’

      Sweet Jesus. Gather yourself. Do not let him see you like this again. ‘OK,’ said Ren. Oh. Fucking. Kay.

      Ren slapped a studied frown on her face as her heart pounded.

       Fake it ’til you make it.

      She drew subtle, slow, deep breaths through her nostrils as she scanned the crowd again. She saw a pretty blonde in her СКАЧАТЬ