Time of Death

Robbie and Ren were parked outside a Five Points’ alleyway dive, waiting for Francis Gartman. He had been drinking there from noon until six p.m., but had left. The barman’s girlfriend had called in the tip, and said that she expected him back.

Ren looked at the time. ‘This has been a most pleasant five hours, thank you for coming, but y’all are going to have to make your way home now.’

‘I know,’ said Robbie. ‘This feels a little … over.’

‘He’s not going to come back,’ said Ren. ‘He sat in that bar watching the pretty snowflakes pile halfway up that tiny barred-up window and that was his cue to leave.’

Robbie’s cell phone rang. ‘Gary,’ he said.

‘Let this be our cue to leave.’

Robbie listened as Gary spoke. ‘Gartman,’ he mouthed, then shook his head slowly. He nodded, took down an address. ‘We’ll be right over.’ He started the engine and turned to Ren.

‘Aw, fuck Gartman,’ said Ren. ‘What did he do?’

‘He shot dead a fourteen-year-old deaf girl who didn’t drop to the floor when he tried to hold up a convenience store. And shot her ten-year-old brother a few aisles down who, with his hands in the air, tried to explain why she didn’t.’

‘God, why were those kids out so late?’

‘So early. The family were on their way to the airport to catch a flight. The girl was going for surgery to—’

‘No, I can’t even hear that,’ said Ren. ‘That is just too much.’

‘And,’ said Robbie, ‘when Gartman walked in to the place, he was already soaked with blood.’

6

The Safe Streets team were back from the convenience store crime scene by eleven a.m. Ren sat at her desk with a half-full coffee pot. Coffee pots are half-full. Beer bottles are half-empty.

‘Gartman does not give a shit,’ said Ren. ‘He just walks right in there, covered in blood from God knows what, kills a little girl, puts her brother in the hospital … and does not really care who sees his fucked-up face.’

‘When this gets out, there’ll be a bunch of people he’s screwed over who’ll want to hang him out to dry,’ said Cliff.

Ren’s computer pinged with an email. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, turning to her screen. ‘I just got my email from El Paso on the Sarvases.’

She clicked on the jpegs first. Rows of photos popped up in iPhoto under her brother Matt’s wedding photos.

A beautiful day that happened under black clouds and rain.

She looked at the destruction of the Sarvas family.

A terrible day that happened under a blue sky and a hot Texan sun.

The first photo was similar to the one of the SUV that Ren had seen online. But when you looked at the driver’s side, something was clearly wrong: Gregory Sarvas’ limp left leg was hanging out the open door. Ren continued through the sequential photos and focused on the car’s interior and the melting corpse of Gregory Sarvas. He was a big man with a full gray beard; more lumberjack than lawyer. He was dressed in a pale blue shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows and beige shorts to his knees. He was slumped across the passenger seat, his face turned toward the glove box. The gun had been fired point blank through his left temple. The hole ripped in his skull was filled with flies. The windscreen was spattered with red, like an exploded dye tag.

The next photo was of the back seat, an eerie reminder of the two people now missing. It was an incomplete picture of a terrible day.

Ren wondered what the chronology was. Did Luke and Michael Sarvas watch their father die? Did someone tell them to run before it happened, so that they wouldn’t have to? Did one of the boys pull the trigger? Did they plan this together? Are they lying dead somewhere else? Are they on a beach in Rio?

The last photo attachment was of the two boys. Luke Sarvas, the seventeen-year-old, had a surfer-dude look, messy blond hair, tanned, healthy, lean, smiling. His arm was resting around fifteen-year-old Michael’s shoulder. They were so clearly related, yet styled by a different hand. Michael was brown-haired, wore metal-rimmed glasses and had a more reserved but genuine smile as he looked up at his brother. The only concession to his age was a black long-sleeved T-shirt with skulls down one of the sleeves. Luke and Michael Sarvas looked like regular, happy kids.

Ren often wondered about mothers and whether their instincts about missing children were right. She had so often heard them say ‘I know he’s still alive’ or ‘I know she’s still out there’ even when there was no evidence, even when years had passed. Was it instinct? Was it denial? Or was it just hope? Fathers would usually stand quietly by, slow to comment but reluctant to hurt their wives by focusing on the facts.

Was Catherine Sarvas right? Were her boys still out there? Or was it the talk of a woman desperate to believe that, in the space of a few minutes on a beautiful summer’s afternoon, God would not choose to wipe out her entire family?

Ren went through the rest of the email. There was something missing.

She dialed Kenny Dade’s number. ‘It’s Ren Bryce again from Safe Streets in Denver. Thanks for that email on the Sarvases. Just one thing – I can’t see the original report on the rape, filed by Gregory Sarvas. All I’ve got here is the statement taken from Catherine Sarvas after he was killed.’

Dade paused. ‘Uh …’

Uh, what? ‘Yes?’ said Ren.

‘There was a slight problem with that request,’ said Dade. ‘See, Gregory Sarvas never filed a report.’

‘What?’

‘There was no rape reported.’

‘But … I spoke with Catherine Sarvas yesterday and she told me that her husband had reported the rape.’

‘I know,’ said Dade. ‘But the first we heard of Catherine Sarvas was when we found her dead husband. Then, when we were interviewing her, out of the blue she asked could his murder have been anything to do with her rape. We were kind of confused at this point. She said that her husband had reported it to Detective Juliana Hyde in our office. We kind of all looked at each other, because Juliana had been on maternity leave for three months at that point. So … well, I figured we would just get the details of the rape from Mrs Sarvas all over again, which we would have done in any case. She would have been able to give us more details than her husband.’

WTF? ‘Does Catherine Sarvas know that her husband didn’t report the rape?’

‘Well, we didn’t tell her,’ said Dade. ‘What was the point? He was dead. She couldn’t get any answers from him.’

‘Jesus, didn’t you find the whole thing a little strange?’

‘Of course we did.’ Dade sounded irritated. ‘But at least we knew he hadn’t reported it. We could factor that into our investigation. We weren’t the ones in the dark about it. So, yeah, we’ve been looking into whether there was any connection between the two things.’

‘Or the three things,’ said Ren: ‘the rape, the non-reporting of the rape and the murder.’

‘Well, we haven’t been able to connect them, either way.’

‘I’m going to have to tell her.’

‘What?’ said Dade. ‘And she’ll know we all lied to her? No way. No way.’

‘Trust me,’ said Ren. ‘She really won’t give a good goddamn about that. This is a woman whose two teenage sons are missing right now. She will want to know everything that has gone on, so that she can do everything she can to get those boys back. If they can be gotten back.’

‘Do you have to give her this information?’ said Dade. ‘Her whole family is gone. She—’

‘I have no choice,’ said Ren. ‘Because if she realizes that her husband did not report her rape, her brain might take another route, she might start thinking why and maybe we’ll all get something we want out of this.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You want to get your guy. I want to get mine,’ said Ren. ‘And Catherine Sarvas wants her boys.’

‘Your guy – is that the Erubiel Diaz you mentioned yesterday?’

‘Yes. Catherine Sarvas ID’d him.’

‘Any idea where he’s at?’

‘Not yet,’ said Ren. ‘We’re working on it.’

‘If you know anything more about the Sarvas family, I’d like to know,’ said Dade. ‘Our case dead-ended.’

‘I’ll keep you posted.’

‘OK,’ said Dade. ‘I appreciate it.’

Ren put down the phone.

Gregory Sarvas did not report his wife’s rape? WTF?

7

Ren re-read everything she had on the Sarvases. How did this all work? She thought again about the good neighborhood Catherine Sarvas said she lived in, the security at their house. Why would Erubiel Diaz choose to rape someone with those odds stacked against him and – of all the houses on that street – why did he choose the Sarvases? Had he been watching her? And could it really be a coincidence that, two weeks later, her husband is killed and her teenage sons go missing?

Why would Gregory Sarvas not report his wife’s rape? Ren flipped to a new page in her notebook and began writing the first string of questions that came into her head.

To protect her? He was ashamed? He was angry? He blamed her? His reputation would be tarnished? Or … he planned to take care of the problem without any police involvement? She underlined the last question. Had he already done that? Had he been killed in retaliation? Had he killed someone’s son and now his own sons were taken away/killed? Rape … Murder … Abduction???

Ren picked up the phone and called Catherine Sarvas. There was a depressingly hopeful tone to her voice.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Sarvas,’ said Ren. ‘I’d just like to go over a few things from our conversation.’

‘Yes, no problem. And please, call me Catherine.’

‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘You told me that your husband took care of reporting the rape.’

‘Yes, he did … I couldn’t bear going through all the details with a stranger … I mean, I knew I would have to talk to the police in the end, but at that time, I guess I was afraid that if I did nothing, if I waited too much longer, that he … the rapist … might … he … I just couldn’t bear the thought of one of my friends or my neighbors having to go through—’ She broke down.

‘I understand how difficult it would be to talk about.’ Ren paused. ‘So … you asked Gregory to take care of it, and he agreed that he would.’

‘Yes.’

‘And it was El Paso PD?’

‘Yes, it was El Paso PD. He said that he spoke with a Detective Hyde.’

Ren paused as if she was writing the name down. ‘Catherine, what was your husband’s demeanor before his murder?’

‘Well, he was concerned for me. He was worried. He didn’t want to leave me alone. But he had to work, too.’

‘What was his reaction to your rape?’

Catherine paused. ‘Well, he was devastated, like any husband would be. I’m not sure I know what you mean …’

Here goes. ‘I don’t know how to tell you this,’ said Ren. ‘But your husband didn’t report the rape to Detective Hyde.’

‘What? Who did he report it to?’

‘I’m afraid he didn’t report it at all.’

‘But … he did. That’s ridiculous. Of course he did. He came home and told me that evening. He even passed on a message from her, saying that I could speak with her in my own time.’

‘And did you speak with Detective Hyde?’ said Ren. Which I hate to ask, because I know the answer is no.

‘No,’ said Catherine. ‘But … but … why would Greg not report it? I don’t understand. There would be no reason not to. I asked him to. He had my permission.’

‘Maybe he wanted to protect you,’ said Ren. ‘What was your state of mind at this time?’

‘I had just been raped.’

‘Had you seen a doctor?’

‘No.’ Her voice fell to a whisper.

‘Could your husband have been worried about your mental health – worried about what reporting this could have meant for you?’

‘But … I told him to report it. I was traumatized. I didn’t want to report it myself. But I was adamant that he should.’

‘Did your husband override your wishes before?’ said Ren. ‘Did you ever ask him to do things and he ignored your wishes, maybe for what he felt was your own good?’

‘I’m sure every husband does that at some point.’

Not about reporting a rape, I would venture.

‘Catherine, can I ask you a few more questions?’ said Ren. ‘I know we’ve been over some of this already, but I’d like to make sure I have everything straight.’

‘OK.’

‘Who had access to your property?’

‘We each had a set of keys – Greg, Luke, Michael and I.’

‘What about tradesmen, a gardener …?’

‘No,’ said Catherine. ‘We hadn’t had any work done on the house in over a year. The boys look after the garden.’

Ren looked back at the notes she had taken when Catherine had described the rape. ‘You mentioned you had been shopping at The Homestore. Were you taking any delivery items in?’

‘No. I was just buying small things. I … just wanted to make the place nice. Greg had brought up the idea of us moving house, nothing concrete. I wasn’t interested, but I guess even the thought of moving made me want to dig my heels in a little more …’

And I’m sure you’d rather be any place but home right now.

‘So, no delivery people had access to your house.’

‘No.’

‘OK, Catherine, I’m going to go away with all this and start making enquiries. Thank you for taking my call.’

So Gregory Sarvas wanted to move house. His wife didn’t. If someone was hoping to sell their house, the last thing they would want to do is report a rape and stamp a black mark on the neighborhood.

Could a husband be that screwed up?

Gary walked into the bullpen. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Can I get an update?’

‘This Sarvas case is getting weirder,’ said Ren. ‘Erubiel Diaz rapes Catherine Sarvas. A week goes by, and her husband tells her he will report it on her behalf to spare her the trauma – yet he doesn’t. Within days, he gets murdered. And his two teenage sons go missing.’

‘Do you think it’s all connected?’ said Gary.

‘I can’t see how it wouldn’t be,’ said Ren. ‘Even though it makes no sense.’

Colin shrugged. ‘It does if the kids are screwed up. They rape their own mother – which is why she doesn’t want to report it – their father finds out, they kill him and run.’

‘But she called and ID’d Erubiel Diaz,’ said Ren.

‘Picked a random rapist from the internet?’ said Colin. ‘That can happen. People lie. People get desperate. She wants to find her boys, doesn’t care what they’ve done, plans to forgive them, but needs someone on the case with the resources to track them down. And maybe someone who will believe her sorry tale.’

Oh, like me, maybe? Screw you. ‘Of all the people in all the gin joints?’ said Ren. ‘No, her sons did not rape her. That’s not what any of this sounds like. I’m not sure what the hell is going on, but I know it’s not that.’

‘Do you think we need to look at the husband?’ said Gary.

‘I’m thinking, why not?’ Ren shrugged. ‘His behavior is off. Not reporting the rape rings serious alarm bells. She also said he talked about moving house around that time.’

‘I’d want to move too,’ said Cliff.

‘This was before the rape.’

‘Ah,’ said Cliff. ‘And did she want to move?’

‘No.’

‘Maybe he hired someone to scare her out of the neighborhood, to make her feel unsafe there, so she’d want to move, but the guy went too far?’ said Colin. ‘Sarvas tracks him down to beat the shit out of him, but the guy gets in first, blows him away?’

Cliff sucked in a breath. ‘You’d have to be seriously desperate to get out of your neighborhood to go that far.’

‘Maybe the man had every reason to be desperate,’ said Gary.

‘Maybe he was boning one of the hot neighbors and she turned psycho on him,’ said Colin.

Ren looked at him. ‘Always quick with the fucked-up scenarios.’

‘Did you get everything from El Paso PD?’ said Gary.

Ren nodded.

‘Split it up between you and see what you can come up with,’ said Gary. ‘No one’s to neglect Gartman in all this. All eyes are on us. And the Gregory Sarvas murder could be a time-consuming tangent.’ He turned to Ren. ‘You’re looking at this as your route to Val Pando? Via Diaz?’

Ren paused. The correct answer is …

‘Be careful,’ said Gary. ‘Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.’

8

That night, Ren and Misty walked out the motel-room door for the last time. Ren smiled.

Who could ever be sad, leaving a motel?

She thought about that: husbands going back to their wives, wives going back to their husbands, people who have had bad sex, guilty people, short-changed hookers, Catholic chamber maids … who, on reflection, would have been sad going in in the first place … Ren stopped reflecting.

OK, lots of people. Just not me.

Robbie walked behind Ren up the path to Annie’s house. Ren was pulling a suitcase, Robbie had a stack of boxes in his arms. She turned the key in the front door and had to push hard with her shoulder to open it. She dragged the suitcase on to the black-and-white tiled floor. Robbie laid the boxes down beside it.

‘Do you need me to take these anywhere?’ Robbie nodded toward the stairs.

‘Here is fine, thank you.’

‘Can I do anything else?’

‘You have done more than enough,’ said Ren. ‘Will you stay for a soda?’

‘I’d love to, but I’ve really got to go. I think this should be your night with Misty.’

‘You’re a sweetheart.’ Ren gave him a hug and glanced out to the Jeep. ‘I hope she likes it.’

‘What’s not to like?’

Ren walked down the path with Robbie and said goodbye.

Misty sat on the back seat of the Jeep and stared out the window at Ren. Then she wiggled back as far away from her as she could.

‘Please, baby, do not do this,’ said Ren. ‘You have to love what Mommy loves. That’s the deal.’

Misty’s expression was hard to read.

‘You used to live in a shack on the side of a mountain,’ said Ren. ‘Surely a historic dwelling is …’ Ren paused. ‘Oh, is this place too fancy for you?’

Ren leaned in the Jeep door and carefully hugged Misty toward her. ‘Come on.’ They made their way up the path.

Misty paused on the threshold.

‘Hey, get in here, young lady,’ said Ren. ‘This is your new home.’ She crouched down and rubbed Misty’s back. ‘How do you feel about that?’ Ren stood up. ‘Misty-fied, clearly.’

Misty walked into the hallway as if to prove a point. Ren closed the door behind them. Silence. For as long as they stood there, there was no sound. No creaking floorboards, no ticking clock, no rattling pipes.

I am completely alone.

Since she turned sixteen, Ren had rarely been without a boyfriend. It was one long relay race where one man was always handing the baton over to another. He just didn’t know it. And sometimes, neither did Ren. But something would make her feel safe enough to leave and, if she admitted it, it was knowing that there was a new man waiting in the wings. Even if it never happened with that particular guy, she at least knew he was there. But … it always happened.

Ren’s men never came without drama. The last person she really cared about was a confidential informant that could have gotten her fired. She had forced herself to walk away from him eight months ago, and for the first time in her life, she’d had no one lined up to take his place. No flirtation to follow through on. No cute guy in the diner. No hot agent on a visit to Denver. Ren Bryce had jumped without a safety net. A few months later, she had a week-long fling with an extreme rider performing at the National Western Stock Show. A beautiful man. A futureless fling. Endless comedy potential for the guys.

Ren took a deep breath.

No. More. Men.

The thought made her feel weak.

Misty came and rubbed up against Ren’s legs. ‘Aw, but I’m not totally alone,’ said Ren. ‘Come on. Let me show you around.’

Misty clung to Ren’s side as she gave her a tour of the house. It was 3,500 square feet; sixteen rooms over four floors. She kept glancing down at Misty.

‘I put too much faith in your vibes,’ said Ren. ‘I have to accept that your reactions are not gospel. It’s not all about you.’ She kneeled down in front of her and rubbed her ears. ‘Even though, really, it is. You are way too cute.’

They got to the bedroom Ren used to stay in as a child. She looked down at the carpet – rose pink, deep and fluffy.

I miss carpet. Carpet has to come back.

Ren took off her boots and socks and walked barefoot across the room. Annie had left the bedside lamps on; warm light through pink pleated shades. The bed was white wrought iron, covered in a faded pink and gray floral quilt. There were two green pillows thrown on it and an indentation where someone had been sitting. When Ren moved closer she saw why. Her old teddy bear – adopted from Annie – was tucked between the two pillows. Huggy Bear with the stripy legs. Annie must have sat down to make him comfortable. Ren smiled. She must know empty beds are not usually my thing.

There was also a single bed and a bed for Misty in the corner. Ren brought up her suitcase and took out the new pajamas she had packed on top. She got ready for bed, then slid under the flannel sheets. She turned off the lamp and the room was lit by the moon. She looked around at one of her favorite places in the world.

This is not a house for one person. It is totally freaking me out. How am I going to get out of this? I’ll die. Annie will be horrified. Where can I go now? My mother will go nuts. Everyone at work will laugh at me. I’ll have to find another house-sitter for Annie. I won’t have time to do that. This is not a house for one person. It is totally freaking me out. How am I going to get out of this …

She picked up the phone and called her brother, Matt.

‘Hey, Renald McDenald,’ he said. ‘How are you? What strange number are you calling me from?’

‘Annie’s.’

‘You’re in?’

‘I am. In my old bed.’

‘Bless your heart,’ said Matt.

‘How are you?’

‘Very in love with my baby-mama.’

‘Aw. How’s she doing?’

‘Thankfully, she’s past the The Exorcism of Emily Rose phase.’

‘Phew.’

‘How has Misty taken to her new digs?’

‘She paused for effect, then entered as though doing me a huge favor.’

‘So … you haven’t answered,’ said Matt. ‘How are you?’

‘Well, apart from a late-breaking freak-out – wonderful.’

‘What were you freaking out about now?’

‘Now: I like that—’

‘But how could someone freak out in Annie’s? Even you?’

‘OK … first of all, there are no limits to where I could freak out. Secondly – remember how huge we thought the house was? Well, it wasn’t just because we were kids. The place is still huge.’

‘Ren, you’re not much bigger than when we were kids. I’ve grown … I might find it very compact.’

‘If you put on two hundred pounds, maybe.’

‘Does Annie still call you Orenda?’

‘Not quite the way you do.’ Matt dropped his r’s.

‘Lucky I have high self-esteem.’

‘Vewwy lucky. And no, she calls me Wen.’

‘When?’

‘Ha. Ha. Do you know what’s on the wall in the living room?’ said Ren. ‘The photo of us outside the zoo. And I’m in that all-in-one short-suit.’

‘Ooh, put together from scraps of other material. Your coat of many colors.’

‘That my mama made for me,’ said Ren. ‘And Jay’s in his freaky pants.’

‘What am I in?’

‘Pain, by the looks of it.’

‘Mom never quite got the cut of a boy’s pants.’

God bless Matt Bryce. He stayed on the phone with Ren for over an hour, listening to everything and saying all the right things. Ren always told Matt that he was who she would be if she was male and sane. Matt always replied, ‘You wish.’