The Drowning Child. Alex Barclay

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СКАЧАТЬ opened her eyes, and picked up her phone again. She went into Album.

       Don’t.

      She found a photo of the boyfriend she had yet to call her former, her late … Ben Rader. The Late Ben Rader.

      Tears filled her eyes. In the photo, Ben was cooking, smiling at her over his shoulder. He had a beaming smile, and was one of the most beautiful men she had ever known; short, tanned, dark-haired, fit.

       You look so young.

      A man as handsome as Ben Rader could have relied on his looks, developed nothing more than his body, but Ben developed a soul that radiated kindness.

       I loved watching you cook Jesus you’re dead now you’re fucking dead this is so screwed up dead Jesus and you only look about eighteen you are so hot were no I can’t do past tense are are are amazing arms steady grip strength of all kinds love love love gone gone gone stop stop stop.

      She still had his texts; they felt like a weight in her phone that she was always aware of, but could never remove.

       Can’t imagine ever sending another loving text filthy text miss-you text to any other man I don’t want a stranger in my bed I don’t want another man in my head.

      Her cell phone rang. GARY flashed on the screen.

       No way.

      Her boss, Supervisory Special Agent, Gary Dettling.

       Yeah hey Gary I’m in Manny’s yeah the bar where the serial killer who killed our friends picked up one of his victims yeah what is that telling you what is it telling me who fucking cares have you been drinking Ren yes Gary two beers and I’m about to leave …

      She let it go to voicemail.

      Gary left a message, and followed it with a text.

      Call me – CARD

       Shit.

      Three months earlier, she and Gary had joined the North West Region’s Child Abduction Rapid Deployment team – CARD. There were sixty members in the country, split across five regions, ready to deploy at the invitation of local law enforcement to help in the crucial early stages of a child disappearance or abduction. Though an invitation was welcome, it wasn’t a requirement – when it came to a ‘child of tender years’, twelve years old and under, the FBI was automatically involved, whether there was an interstate element or not.

      Ren called him back.

       Breathe speak slowly breathe speak slowly enunciate.

      ‘Hi, Gary – sorry I missed you.’

      ‘Get a good night’s sleep,’ said Gary. ‘We’re—’ He paused. ‘Where are you?’

      Um … ‘On my way home.’

      ‘From a bar?’

      ‘From a bar.’

      Pause. ‘We’re booked on a six a.m. flight to Portland, Oregon, heading for the town of Tate. Missing twelve-year-old boy: Caleb Veir, last seen by his father at seven forty-five this morning when he left the family home to take the fifteen-minute walk to school.’

      ‘OK.’ Say as little as possible.

      Pause. ‘Ren—’

      ‘See you at five.’ Ren hung up.

       Step away from the phone.

      She put it on the bar, picked up her beer and drank the last of it. She ordered another. She checked her watch.

       Ugh Denver airport five a.m.

      Denver airport – where memories flew at her like razors, where she had welcomed Ben, kissed him, hugged him, seen him off. Denver airport – the last place she was before she drove home to find out that he had been killed.

      She looked back at his photograph as she waited for her drink.

       That’s it. Life over.

       I should have taken more photos.

      Her stomach turned.

       You were an asshole to him that night anyway just delete it you were always an asshole to him he loved you and you were an asshole.

      She started to cry.

       Get your shit together you stupid bitch go home just go you’re a mess everyone’s looking at you you mess.

      She stood up, pulled on her coat, paid for the drinks. She walked into the cold night, and her stomach spasmed, her throat constricted.

       You fucking loser again fucking asking to enrage Gary you self-destructive I can still get five hours’ sleep yeah whatever whatever I’m still here I’m still alive no one died yes they did you asshole yes they did fucking die.

      She started to walk toward her Jeep.

       Shiiiiiit. My CARD team Mac is at the office. Fuuuck.

      Ren pulled up outside the Livestock Exchange Building where Safe Streets had the fourth floor. She put the Jeep into park, paused until her eyes could focus.

       I can’t believe I drove here of course you drove you don’t give a shit a bit late to care now you loser you’re going to die.

      She grabbed her phone, scrolled through iTunes, picked a song from the filthy rap collection, and put in her earpods. Since the shootings, it was her routine any time she walked into Safe Streets alone: she didn’t want to risk hearing the banging door she heard that evening, which she found out later had been the door to the basement where Ben’s body had been thrown after Duke Rawlins shot him dead.

      As she walked toward the building, a car door slammed behind her. She didn’t see it, couldn’t hear the footsteps behind her. She jogged up to the door, stood in front of the keypad.

       Jesus could everything just be in focus.

      She punched in the wrong code.

       Shit.

      She tried a second time, punched in the wrong code again.

       Fuuuck.

      Just as she was trying a third time, she saw the silhouette of a man reflected in the glass.

       Oh oh oh fuck.

      She pulled out her earpods with her left hand, went for her sidearm with the right.

      ‘Ren! Don’t fire – it’s Cliff! It’s me!’

      Ren turned around, weapon raised, then СКАЧАТЬ