Blood Loss by Alex Barclay Page A

It’s, like, the involuntary vocalization of what he is going to do in an investigation.’ She paused. ‘All anyone else needs to do is not to succumb to regular Tourette’s in response …’
    ‘I hear you,’ said Bob.
    ‘Consider this an apology on his behalf.’
    ‘No need,’ said Bob. ‘Gary is … well, he’s a Fed …’
    ‘Textbook,’ said Ren.
    ‘You’re more … Facebook.’
    ‘I don’t know where you’re going with that,’ said Ren.
    ‘Nowhere, it just sounded kind of catchy. What next?’
    ‘I’m going to read through more of the guests’ statements, and then I’d like to talk to the stepmother. We can all go to the hotel, then back here for the press conference.’
    Bob raised an eyebrow. ‘That Tourette’s is catching …’
    Ren followed Bob into the small interview room where Erica Whaley had been taken. The furniture was the result of checks in boxes on the order forms of an office supply catalog. A long fluorescent strip light glared down on the cheap glossy veneer of the oval table. There was a strong smell of alcohol in the air. A young female detective stood up and left the room when Bob gave her the nod.
    Erica Whaley sat at the end of the table with a glass of water in front of her. She was dressed in a heavy silk silver halter-neck that crossed over just under the neck. Ren could see gray pants legs and silver sandals. Her blonde hair was pinned up, but had fallen loose around her face. Her cheeks were red, the foundation washed away with tears and rubbed away with Kleenex, her mascara smudged under her eyes.
    She looked up, blinking with panic … then hope. Ren had seen the reaction a thousand times, when a door opening took on an unimaginable significance.
    You thought your night would end so differently.
    Ren reached out her hand. ‘I’m Ren Bryce, I’m with the FBI; the Rocky Mountain Safe Streets Task Force in Denver. We’ll be working alongside the Sheriff’s Department on this.’
    ‘Thank God,’ said Erica, standing up, shaking Ren’s hand. She glanced at Bob. ‘I didn’t mean that the Sheriff’s Office isn’t …’ She trailed off.
    ‘The Sheriff’s Office knows Breckenridge and the surrounding area inside out,’ said Ren. ‘As you know, their officers are already out there looking for your daughter. My colleagues from Denver will be processing the scene, seeing if we can get any information from that, interviewing staff members and guests, looking at CCTV footage, we’ll canvass the town, carry out road-side canvasses. And Sheriff Gage here has already emailed Laurie’s photo to every law enforcement agency in the country, and to the media.’
    Erica nodded at almost every word.
    ‘OK … OK … thank you,’ she said.
    ‘Let’s sit down, Mrs Whaley. I’ve read through the statement you gave to Undersheriff Delaney. I’d just like you to go through everything with me again.’
    ‘I mean, it’s a regular thing to do, going to a hotel, getting a sitter, you just don’t think twice,’ said Erica. ‘It’s a four-star resort, you don’t question it, which seems ridiculous now. We were only downstairs, like my husband said. It’s kind of like being at home, isn’t it? You leave your kids upstairs when you’re at home, don’t you? It’s all the one building, a hotel at least has security, or should have had security. Now, of course, I’m thinking “how many people work at the hotel?”, sure I guess most of them are good people, but who
are
all these people? Are they pedophiles, druggies, wife beaters? Are they psychopaths? Are their jobs just nothing to them, just what they do to make money to pay for child porn? Is the owner of this place a do-gooder, savior of mankind who employs ex-cons, or—? What if there’s a guy who never touched a child, but suddenly decides, well, hell, I’ll take these girls, I get caught, I get caught, I’ll go out on a high, I’ll give in to my sick fantasies …’
    She didn’t draw breath. She