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Ren and Gary walked toward his SUV. They looked up when they heard the sound of an engine coming from the same direction they had driven in.
‘What, pray tell, is this?’ said Ren.
A minibus appeared up ahead.
‘We need to screen this off,’ said Gary. He took a crime scene screen from the trunk of his SUV and went back to the victim’s car. Ren approached the minibus, holding up her badge. The driver leaned out the window.
‘Where are you coming from?’ said Ren.
‘Boulder,’ said the driver, a warm-faced woman with a frosted nest of honey-colored hair. ‘Just taking m’ladies back to Evergreen Abbey.’ She smiled.
Ren looked in and saw twenty or so women. The ones who weren’t sleeping were craning their necks toward her and out the front of the bus.
Ren leaned into the driver. ‘We’ve got a crime scene up ahead … Is there another way you can reach the abbey?’
‘There sure is,’ said the driver.
‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ said Ren. ‘Thank you.’
She nodded.
You are dying to ask me what’s going on.
‘Can I take your name and the name of the director of the abbey?’ said Ren.
‘Sure,’ said the driver. ‘She’s Eleanor Jensen, and I’m Betty Locke, chaffeuse, locksmith, carpenter …’ She smiled.
‘OK, Betty, thank you,’ said Ren. ‘We’ll be in touch.’
Ren went back over to Gary.
‘Ladies of the abbey,’ said Ren. ‘Someone better go talk to them before this gets legs.’
This is beyond screwed up. There is a pregnant woman behind that screen in front of me.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Why, on this beautiful, seventy-degree, clear-blue-sky Monday is a pregnant woman lying dead on the side of the road?
Where were you going? What were you hoping to do? Had you named your baby, had you picked out clothes, painted a nursery?
Stop.
Ren stared up at the sky, but the clouds were moving too quickly, morphing into strange shapes, drawing her eyes left and right, making her head spin. She lowered her head and let out a deep breath.
She looked into the car. There was an iPod on the floor, some candy wrappers. She looked into the back. There was a pair of women’s shoes behind the passenger seat. Ren glanced down at the victim – she was wearing silver and blue sneakers, but she had nice black pants on, ones she could have dressed up with different shoes.
Maternity pants …
‘She either had a passenger or was about to have one,’ said Ren to Gary. ‘A lady driver would keep her change of shoes in the passenger well, unless she didn’t want them in the way of a passenger. Where was the purse?’
‘Behind the passenger seat,’ said Gary.
‘Someone was about to join her very soon,’ said Ren. ‘Driving alone, she would have that beside her otherwise.’
Ren looked around the car, the trees, the road. She walked out into the middle of the road and did it all over again.
‘So,’ she said, ‘the car was parked. If this woman had arranged to meet someone … she could have chosen this spot, where the trees are diseased … there’s just one short stretch of reddish brown along this part.’
They turned as a Jeep came toward them.
‘It’s Dr T,’ said Ren.
Barry Tolman was the Medical Examiner for Jefferson County. He was quiet and unassuming, a dignified pacifist of a man who got to see the results of the violent happenings of Jefferson County and sixteen other counties. They met him by the victim’s car.
‘Hello, there, Ren, Gary.’
‘Hi, Dr Tolman,’ said Ren.
‘You’re going to have to start calling me Barry.’
‘Sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I know. My parents drilled respect for doctors into me.’
‘You can say “elders”,’ said Tolman.
Ren laughed.
‘This is what I’m talking about …’ said Tolman, looking down at the body.
‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘I read your interview in the Post.’
‘I am a tired old man,’ he said. ‘No one is listening. “People kill people, not guns”, “Take the guns out of the hands of the mentally ill”. It’s always the crazy activists with the catchphrases. Like the mere act of repeating their mantras legitimizes them. Hell, a sane guy buying a gun is not necessarily going to be sane ten months later when he walks in on his wife sleeping with his best friend … or when he’s up to his eyeballs in debt and his employer throws him out on the street … Do we hand this person a weapon that can kill sixty people? The voices inside are the loudest.’
‘New World Order,’ said Ren. ‘I’m really looking forward to it.’
He smiled. ‘What is the sorry tale here?’
More cars began to pull up: Sheriff’s Office investigators, and Kohler.
Gary waited until they had all gathered before he filled them in.
Crime scene investigators arrived and began processing the scene.
‘We’ll leave you guys to this,’ said Gary. ‘Ren and I will pay a visit to the abbey …’
‘Would eight a.m. tomorrow morning work for you?’ said Tolman.
‘An autopsy,’ said Ren, ‘always a bright start to the day.’
The temperature was rising and the sun beating down as they arrived at the abbey, deepening the rich brown of the clay roof tiles, making the white stucco walls glow. Evergreen Abbey was Spanish Colonial Revival; a protruding porch, curved gables and parapets, and a vast arcaded entrance under an arched window of similar size. The rest of the building was set back, spreading out on both sides, with perfect rows of arched windows. The building was simple, elegant, welcoming, but austere.
‘Wow,’ said Ren.
‘Everyone should work in a building with a little history,’ said Gary.
‘I thank you for that every day,’ said Ren. Though the main FBI building in Denver was a dazzling new office on 36th Avenue, the Safe Streets team, at Gary’s insistence, worked out of a building that was only ten minutes, but a world away in The Livestock Exchange Building, built in 1886.
They walked up the abbey steps to the huge wooden door. Ren rang the intercom bell and they were buzzed in to a cool, dark foyer, tiled in an ornate pattern of rich blue, yellow and white. There was no office, just two battered leather sofas and a door with pin code access.
‘I think we’re in some kind of delousing chamber,’ said Ren. ‘They know where I’ve been.’
The internal door opened and a woman in her late fifties walked through. She looked more bohemian gallery owner than head of a retreat for women. She had short, springy black hair with a narrow, off-center band of gray curving through it.
‘Eleanor Jensen,’ she said, shaking Ren’s hand first. ‘You’re very welcome.’
‘SSA Gary Dettling,’ said Gary. Gary’s tone had fallen on the right side of confident, the side that didn’t make him sound like an arrogant asshole, which he wasn’t. Ren had seen how some people reacted to him if his tone was off.
With Eleanor Jensen, she saw a flash of something different across her face. Ren sometimes forgot how Gary fit so well with how women imagined an FBI agent to be: tall, fit, serious, in control. He was the handsome hero who made them feel safe. And made them want to sleep with him.
He had never made Ren feel she wanted to sleep with him. Sleep with? No. Fuck hard all night? Yes.
But he was her boss. And he was a loyal husband, with a teenage daughter. And he had no interest in her. And he gave nothing sexual away.
Which makes you sexier. Which annoys me when it occurs to me.
She and Gary had been alone together many late nights – in the office or in some strange bar in a strange town during a boring investigation … and she sometimes felt that, after the tip-you-over final beers, they almost bounded off to their separate beds in relief.
Disaster averted …
I. Am. In. An. Abbey. Jesus.
I haven’t had sex in nine days. Nine!
Ben Rader, come back.
Give my roaming filth a destination.
6 (#ulink_c3112993-6066-5691-899b-d5b545e8e26a)
Eleanor Jensen led them through a beautiful carved wooden door into a white marble hallway.
‘We’ll go up to the library,’ she said.
‘Well, that’s an offer we can’t refuse,’ said Ren.
‘It is rather beautiful,’ said Eleanor. ‘The first abbess here was a well-known author. She wrote many books on the Benedictine life. We pretty much live by those principles.’
You are babbling for comfort. You came to this remote place for a reason, to shelter from the cruel outside world, and now it has crept in after you.
Ren’s cell phone rang, startling her, a violation in the quiet hallways. It was Janine.
‘I’m sorry, I’ll have to take this,’ said Ren. She stopped.
‘Ren? Apparently, there was a second call from The Darned Heart saying that they had the burning vehicle under control, that there was no need to involve the fire department or the Sheriff’s Office. I just called them there to tell them, under the circumstances, that we would be sending investigators.’
‘And whose vehicle was it?’ said Ren.
‘A car belonging to Burt Kendall – from Kendall’s Auto Sales and Auto Parts. He also provides machine operators for his vehicles. They’re digging foundations for building work at the ranch. They don’t work Mondays. They had left some vehicles and machines there over the weekend.’
‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘See you in a little while.’
Eleanor Jensen was guiding Gary through the door of the library, a spectacular room with a line of floor-to-ceiling arched windows overlooking the grounds. The remaining walls were lined with mahogany bookshelves.
‘Wow,’ said Ren, as she followed behind. ‘This is beautiful.’
‘Please take a seat,’ said Eleanor. ‘I believe you are the bearers of bad news.’
‘Yes,’ said Gary, waiting for the women to sit down before he did. ‘I’m afraid we found the body of a young woman on Stoney Pass Road. We’re trying to piece together what happened, and we’d like to ask you a few questions.’
‘Oh my goodness,’ said Eleanor. ‘That’s terrible … what happened? Can you say?’
‘It was a shooting,’ said Ren. ‘We found her in her car.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ said Eleanor. ‘It’s so safe here. I’ve never questioned that for a second.’
‘We’d like to talk to everyone who was here today,’ said Gary. ‘How many people live here?’
‘Thirty-four,’ said Eleanor. ‘At least I can make your workload a little lighter; the bus you met … there were twenty-two women on that who have been in Boulder for the past two days. We lend our support to different causes in different places, depending. Eight more women are in Denver at a seminar. So, including me, there were just four of us here.’
‘If we could get a list of all the residents before we go, that would be great,’ said Gary. ‘Just mark in the four who were here. Investigators from the JeffCo Sheriff’s Office will be arriving to take care of interviews.’
‘OK,’ said Eleanor.
‘Can you give us a sense of what you do here at the abbey?’ said Ren. ‘What kind of women come here, how does it work?’
‘Well, a lot of women have come here from very different lives,’ said Eleanor. ‘They’re looking for freedom of all kinds. Usually they’ve been controlled by something else – addiction, a violent partner, sex, money … They don’t want to feel controlled by anything else, by what they may see as the restrictive nature of being, for example, in a religious order. It’s psychological. So the abbey suits them, in that it’s a spiritual community.’
Gary’s cell phone rang. ‘Excuse me,’ he said. He stepped outside.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Eleanor. ‘I’m talking too much, I’m babbling … please stop me. I know you’re busy people …’
‘You’re being very helpful,’ said Ren. ‘Don’t worry. I was wondering, could you tell me a little about The Darned Heart?’
‘Well, they’re a private organization – some of those kids are from important families. And they’re vulnerable. The owners are very protective.’
Ren nodded. ‘Your property adjoins the ranch – do you see much of the kids?’
‘A little,’ said Eleanor. ‘They’ve got stables, so we often see the kids trekking. And we take care of the ranch’s laundry. Sometimes Kristen sends kids over here to work – she wants to show them a different life to what they’re used to. These are often privileged kids, they have everything done for them, they have that sense of entitlement – you can’t really blame them. It’s all they know. They have no respect for anything. It’s really sad that their parents have allowed that to happen. And in a few hours here, there’s little we can do to change that. All I could wish for is that they see something that inspires them to change, but I’m probably being a little naïve. They probably laugh at us over there, I’ve heard them call us Dyke National Forest … you know, the ranch borders Pike National Forest … but some of them, some of them are nice, polite, respectful kids. Some of them talk more than others, tell us a little bit about their lives. Others come in, do their duty like it’s the worst penalty they’ve ever been given.
