Harm's Reach

by Alex Barclay

  Ingrid took a while to answer. ‘No … I’m trying really hard to think. No. She was a little upset about her friend’s mother …’

  ‘What friend?’

  ‘The friend she went to visit in Chicago. Nessa Lally. She was from the same town in Waterford. You might find her on Laura’s Facebook … The trip was last minute. Nessa’s mother died back in Ireland, but Nessa’s illegal, so she couldn’t risk flying back for the funeral. Laura said she was devastated. Oh God, you’re not going to report the girl to immigration or anything, are you?’

  ‘No,’ said Ren. ‘We just need to speak with her, find out some more about their trip and why Laura didn’t fly back to Denver. Were there any problems at work, Mrs Prince – anything you can think of that might have made Laura reluctant to come back?’

  ‘To us? No, not at all,’ said Ingrid, ‘like I said, we were like family. We were very close, and Robert was like a father to her.’

  ‘The trip and the shooting might not be connected,’ said Janine. ‘We just need to get a sense of Laura, what might have been going on in her life.’

  ‘So on the day before she left,’ said Ren, ‘did anything happen out of the ordinary?’

  ‘No,’ said Ingrid. ‘Not that I can think of. She was quiet, but she had just heard about Nessa’s mother that morning – Wednesday. We were just watching TV that night, hanging out … and now … now she’s gone.’

  Ren sat forward. ‘Mrs Prince, have you ever heard Laura mention a place called Evergreen Abbey?’

  ‘No,’ said Ingrid. ‘Abbey? Like, nuns?’

  ‘There used to be nuns,’ said Ren. ‘Now, it’s a community of women who do a lot of work for charity. But it’s also, effectively, a shelter for women …’

  ‘Shelter?’ said Ingrid, ‘but Laura would have no reason to go to a shelter.’ She paused. ‘We … we were her shelter … Robert and I.’

  The hurt in her voice was heart-wrenching. ‘I understand,’ said Ren. ‘Do you think Laura might have had a friend who went there? Did she mention anyone who was in trouble or worried about something or trying to get away from a bad situation? Could she have been going there to visit someone?’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ said Ingrid. ‘She talked a little about her friends, but she was quite private. I knew about the Chicago girl only recently. It was like Laura mentioned friends when it was a big event, an engagement, a wedding, a baby, a funeral. But, you know, if a friend was in trouble and was running away from something, I don’t think Laura was the type to betray a confidence. I can’t see her telling me that.’

  ‘Mrs Prince,’ said Janine, ‘it looks like Laura may have had some information on a cold case from here in Jefferson County. Bearing in mind she is from Ireland, she lives in New York, she is young, she has a small circle of friends, it is quite extraordinary that she could have information. Is this something she was interested in? Cold cases? Websleuthing?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of,’ said Ingrid. ‘She read crime novels, but so do I. Websleuthing – she had access to our computer – I’m sure you can find that out.’

  ‘Can we take a look at the computer?’ said Ren.

  ‘Of course,’ said Ingrid. ‘You can take that away with you.’ She reached over to a side table and handed a laptop to Ren.

  ‘Did Laura ever mention a place called The Flying G Ranch?’ said Janine.

  ‘No,’ said Ingrid. ‘Where is that?’

  ‘It adjoins Evergreen Abbey,’ said Janine. ‘Although The Flying G is now The Darned Heart Ranch for troubled teens.’

  Ingrid shook her head.

  ‘Has Laura ever mentioned the name Margaret or Peggy Beck?’ said Janine.

  ‘No. Who are they?’ said Ingrid.

  ‘She’s a young girl who was murdered there in the early Sixties. Peggy was her nickname.’

  ‘What has that got to do with Laura?’ said Ingrid.

  ‘We’re just trying to connect some dots,’ said Ren.

  As opposed to showing our hand.

  ‘Well, she hasn’t mentioned either of those places to me.’

  ‘OK,’ said Ren. She stood up. ‘Well that’s all for now, Mrs Prince. We are so sorry for your loss. If there’s anything else you can think of, please call either myself or Detective Hooks.’

  They handed her their cards.

  ‘The more information we have the better, obviously,’ said Janine.

  ‘Of course,’ said Ingrid.

  ‘How can we reach your husband?’ said Ren.

  ‘I know he has meetings in New York all day today,’ said Ingrid. ‘I’m sure he’ll fly here as soon as I can get hold of him. I’ll get him to call you right away.’

  Janine’s cell phone buzzed, and the doorbell rang within seconds. ‘That’s the victim advocate,’ she said, ‘let me go get her.’

  Ingrid started weeping. ‘Victim advocate …’ she said. ‘I can’t believe I need a victim advocate …’

  10

  Janine and Ren drove toward Denver.

  ‘Thank you for ferrying me home,’ said Ren.

  ‘Pleasure.’

  ‘That woman is a wreck.’

  ‘I know,’ said Janine. ‘Poor thing. They were definitely close.’

  ‘She’s pregnant and her housekeeper’s pregnant, though …’ said Ren.

  ‘Just a little bit coincidental,’ said Janine.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Ren.

  ‘We need to meet this Robert Prince guy,’ said Janine.

  ‘See if he impregnates us … just with a stare,’ said Ren.

  ‘I’ll say one thing,’ said Janine, ‘that Flynn family …’

  ‘Just a tiiiny bit jinxed,’ said Ren.

  ‘I mean, it’s been one death after another,’ said Janine.

  ‘Maybe they’re like The Incredibles, a big spy family … that has to be taken down …’ said Ren.

  ‘You’re terrible, Muriel … Oh my God, why are we laughing?’

  ‘Because we have to,’ said Ren. ‘Because it’s what we do. Because, why oh why oh why does a pregnant lady get to die today?’

  ‘I know,’ said Janine. ‘Now, explain this to me: the Princes rent a house in November in Golden. They want to ski, I get that. But why are they still here? They’ve rented it all the way through to the end of May. Wouldn’t you cancel that if you found out you were pregnant, so you weren’t going to be skiing, plus you have the option of a second home in the Hamptons if it’s a change of scenery you’re looking for …’

  ‘I know,’ said Ren. ‘It doesn’t make a lot of sense. But, then, it’s not like I’m thinking we’ve just walked away from a murderer … a liar, maybe.’

  ‘I was just about to say the same thing,’ said Janine. ‘Something was a little off.’ She paused. ‘Hey – it’s nine o’clock – news.’

  ‘Already?’ said Ren. ‘This day has flown.’

  The report of Laura Flynn’s death was the top story.

  ‘The pressure is on,’ said Ren. ‘On you.’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ said Janine.

  ‘But we will do everything we can …’ said Ren.

  They talked over the next story, until they were drawn into the mad ramblings of an evangelist.

  ‘Is this still the news?’ said Ren.

  ‘We might learn something …’ said Janine.

  ‘And in so doing, the devil visited upon the Earth a faithful following of fornicators, a plague of pornographers, a harem of homosexuals—’

  ‘A harem?’ said Ren. ‘Seriously? Who’s this dickhead?’

  The report continued. ‘That was the voice of evangelist Howard Coombes, who was assaulted earlier today at Centennial Airport.’

  ‘Woo-hoo!’ said Ren. ‘I cannot stand that man.’

  ‘Coombes, who is here to attend a memorial for the victims of the Aurora Theater shooting, was being interviewed outside the building by one of our own presenters … Here’s the audio …

  ‘“I’m just here as a show of support to the people of Auror
a who were so affected by—”’

  Another man’s voice broke into the interview: ‘“What about supporting the rights of citizens to marry the person they love? What about the rights of a man to marry a man or a woman to marry a woman?”’

  There was the sound of scuffling and it went back to the studio.

  ‘The angry protester threw a milkshake at Mr Coombes, later describing it as an impulse attack, but making a point that the sentiment behind it still stands.’

  ‘High five to the milkshake man,’ said Ren. ‘Howard Coombes – the voice of reasonlessness … High five also to the producer for running the sermon from before Coombes was caught fornicating with a “homo-sekshil”—’

  ‘Did I miss that?’ said Janine. ‘Isn’t he married with mini-me-vangelists?’

  ‘Oh, yes he is,’ said Ren. ‘His son, Jesse, was the child evangelist − he was touring at five, being interviewed on television – it was insane. The family were building up their empire for years. Then the father got caught with a man-of-the-night in a motel. Busted! But he got all repentant, so the family stuck by him and he blamed it all on the other guy. He gave one of the most odious speeches I’ve ever heard, saying the guy was a “homo-sekshil of the worst kind”, the kind who takes money from a married, God-fearing man going through a crisis, a man questioning his life and his ways, a vulnerable man, who did not seek answers from this stranger, but found only more questions. I mean, it didn’t even make sense.’

  ‘He said that? “Of the worst kind”? What an asshole,’ said Janine.

  ‘Well, hopefully, he’s an asshole on a flight back to California.’

  ‘What’s he doing getting all up in our business anyway?’ said Janine.

  ‘I know,’ said Ren. ‘He is out there directing his wrath at people whose sin is to love? He should be pointing his daggers at the kind of people who would take a pregnant lady’s life. OK … deep breaths. Deep breaths.’

  ‘Yup,’ said Janine, ‘take your rantin’ pants off.’

  ‘I like that – rantin’ pants,’ said Ren. ‘I’ll get home, swap them for my fornicatin’ pants.’

  ‘Is yo’ man paying you a visit?’ said Janine.

  ‘No,’ said Ren. ‘Sadly. Realistically? We’re talking pajama pants tonight. Ah, the challenges of the long-distance relationship.’

  Ren arrived home at nine thirty to an exceptional welcome from Misty, her black-and-white border collie and beloved friend. For a little over a year, Ren and Misty had been house-sitting a beautiful Gold-Rush-era home in historic Denver. It was owned by Annie Lowell, a Bryce family friend who had been a widow as long as Ren had known her. She was eighty-two now and busy traveling across Europe. She had been due back two months earlier, but had fallen in love with so many places on her trip, she kept extending it. Ren loved Annie … and loved that she was having such a good time.

  Ren had recently auditioned dog walkers to look after Misty when she was working. She had settled on Devin, a sweet student from across the street, who loved Misty like she was her own. Ren had recently told Devin that Misty was a cadaver dog in her spare time, but it hadn’t broken Devin’s dog-walking stride.

  When Ren walked into the hall, there was a box of Mike and Ike Berry Blast on top of the newel post with a pink Post-it stuck to it. Devin always left little things for Ren inside the door: notes or candy or something totally random.

  Aw. Always something sweet to come home to.

  She read the note.

  Sugar rrrrrrush! Hope you cleaned up the streets today! Misty ran a marathon! Still no dead bodies, tho!

  Devin

  Ren laughed as she walked upstairs. She lay on her bed and called Ben.

  ‘Ben Rader, this is a time for hugs.’

  ‘What’s up?’ said Ben.

  ‘What’s up is we found a pregnant girl dead on the side of a road.’

  He listened quietly as she told him everything.

  ‘Well, I wish I was there to give you those hugs,’ said Ben. ‘I’m sending you some down the phone. And there’ll be real ones at the weekend.’

  ‘Thank you, man.’

  ‘Make yourself some hot chocolate. Crank up the comfort. I need you to be there this weekend. I can’t have you running away to a lady commune …’

  ‘No chance,’ said Ren. ‘And don’t worry – here is always cozy. It just feels like home.’

  ‘Well, I can’t wait to be home with you,’ said Ben.

  Ooh … home. Sounds a liittle too committed.

  11

  The following morning, Ren was in the office by seven. She sat at her desk in the small space where, over the years, the team-within-a-team had been cemented: Ren Bryce, Robbie Truax and Cliff James. There had been a fourth – Colin Grabien, IT and financial expert, and nemesis to Ren. He had resigned from Safe Streets five months earlier, not long after Ren had punched him in the face and told him she knew he had gotten his position by shafting the other candidate. She had kept it quiet; she didn’t want to ruin his career. She hoped he saw the error of his ways. He requested a transfer, and attributed it to the changing career of his soon-to-be-wife. Since then, Gary had drafted in different financial and IT experts from 36th Avenue, but he hadn’t made a decision on his permanent replacement.

  Ren could see Robbie Truax’s computer was fired up. He was the only one in. Robbie was ex-Aurora PD, a solid member of Safe Streets. If honesty, earnestness and goodness could take a physical form, it would take Robbie Truax. He walked into the bullpen and gave her a weary hello.

  ‘You know what I can’t help?’ said Ren, ‘when anyone else sits in Grabien’s chair, I’m kind of thinking that I’ll come in some day and they will have morphed into him … morphed into an asshole. Like the chair itself changes people.’ She started up her computer. ‘I think the chair has taken on an ominous vibe,’ she said. ‘Stephen-King style.’

  ‘So no matter who sits there, we’re in trouble,’ said Robbie.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Ren.

  ‘There’s a lot of darkness in there,’ said Robbie, pointing to her head.

  ‘Caused by the absence of lightbulbs.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ said Robbie. He never let her beat herself up too much, even when she was joking.

  Cliff arrived into the office, looking shattered. He mustered up enough energy to give Ren one of his gorgeous smiles and a wink.

  ‘Hey, big guy,’ said Ren. ‘Were you two pulling an all-nighter or something?’

  ‘Are you saying I’m fat?’ said Cliff. He stretched back on his chair. ‘Why is it that women can say to men they look like crap, but men can’t say it to women?’

  ‘Who said anything about looking like crap?’ said Ren. ‘Maybe I meant you smell like you slept in your clothes.’

  ‘I slept in the nudie, as always,’ said Cliff.

  ‘There is no greater gift than those intimate mental snapshots,’ said Ren.

  ‘Mental?’ said Cliff. ‘They can’t be better than the photo books …’

  ‘The pages are getting tattered,’ said Ren. ‘They’re worn through.’ She paused. ‘Now, speaking of pages, I am about to enter the Facebook world of Laura Flynn.’

  ‘Facebook …’ said Cliff. And his tone expressed exactly how he felt about it.

  ‘This is bizarre,’ said Ren after a few minutes’ trawling. ‘There is no mention of her pregnancy anywhere. She’s not a major poster of photos, but the ones she has put up are all head-and-shoulders shots.’ She scrolled down through the images. ‘Looks like this was a secret pregnancy … but from who? The father? The Princes knew … but they’re not Facebook Friends. So maybe the father is connected to one of these twenty-two Friends she does have. And this is also weird: there’s no Nessa Lally, the girl she was to have stayed with in Chicago. But then, I guess, not everyone is on Facebook.’ She paused. ‘Could this be a surrogacy situation? Could Laura Flynn have been acting as a surrogate for the Princes? Ingrid Prince could well have a Moonbump and a prescription
for Prednisone.’

  ‘And I am going to ask you what the heck both of those things are,’ said Cliff.

  ‘Prednisone is an anti-arthritis drug,’ said Ren, ‘but it causes weight gain that mimics pregnancy weight gain – like water retention in the face and neck. And a Moonbump is a faux pregnancy belly – they’re used in movies or by women who are adopting or using a surrogate and would rather people not know for whatever reason.’

  ‘Gee whizz,’ said Robbie.

  ‘Let me Google Ingrid Prince and see whether there are any suspect baby bump photos …’ said Ren, ‘the kind that fold and the like.’ Ren typed, then paused. ‘Four months is probably a little too early for that … I was thinking six months.’

  ‘So there’s a two-month difference in their due dates,’ said Cliff.

  ‘That way the baby comes before the paparazzi start sniffing around,’ said Ren.

  She went back to scanning Laura Flynn’s Facebook posts.

  ‘Laura Flynn’s friends are almost entirely non-slutty,’ said Ren. ‘Low levels of selfies and duck face. And Laura – she looks like such a regular girl. Just a nice person. Like, she dressed as Little Red Riding Hood last Hallowe’en. A regular one, not an “adult” one. She volunteers at a soup kitchen …’

  Ren did another search. ‘Hold on … more weirdness. I just ran her “illegal” friend, Nessa Lally, through our databases and she is, in fact, one hundred percent legal. If her mother is dead, which I’m now thinking she is not, Nessa is free to go back to Ireland all she wants.’

  She sat back. ‘So, Laura Flynn. Almost-entirely-secret pregnancy, trip to Chicago with secret drive down to Colorado, phone call to Janine Hooks … there was lots of secret shiz going on.’

  ‘Let’s see what the autopsy tells us,’ said Robbie.

  ‘You know we’re also going to take in the ranch and abbey afterwards,’ said Ren. ‘We need to talk to a little old nun-like lady, who may or may not have seen a car being torched.’ She gathered up her things.

  ‘I can’t help feeling I’m drafted in for religious organizations and old ladies,’ said Robbie.

  Ren paused as she walked by him and held a hand to his cheek. ‘But look at that face …’