by Alex Barclay
‘When did you last speak with Robert Prince?’
‘That time when he called to thank me for the package.’
‘And how was he?’ said Ren.
‘He was thankful, polite, but I sensed a certain tension,’ said Barbara. ‘I’m sure that realizing that you have a family member who carried out such a callous act as Walter Prince … well, it can’t have been easy. He did say that he was looking forward to the house being restored, being back for the opening, but I wasn’t sure he meant it. And he hasn’t been in contact since.’ She paused. ‘Come to think of it, I sent a second package and he didn’t call to thank me for that.’
‘What was in that?’ said Ren.
‘An army badge, 1st Special Forces. We found it in a garden shed after the first package had already gone. I didn’t know who it belonged to. I wrote a letter to him to say to let me know what he found out, but he never did. A few weeks passed and I did my own bit of research and, would you believe it, it was his father’s, Desmond Lamb’s. Everyone saw Desmond Lamb as kind of a nobody, which is terrible. You know … just the gardener who married the rich employer’s daughter. It certainly didn’t seem like some great passion brought them together. I don’t know why his military history was kept hidden. Apparently, these 1st Special Forces guys had been deployed to Japan, then sent on a secret mission to South Vietnam in 1957, well before the war. Desmond Lamb had been brave, but I get the feeling Robert had always thought him weak. Though I suppose beside a man like Walter Prince, anyone would seem reduced.’
Did you discover any darker secrets than a military history, Robert Prince?
And could Laura Flynn have stumbled across them?
Ren got off the phone and filled the others in on her conversation with Barbara Hynes.
‘I can get in touch with the ME in Butte about the journalist OD,’ said Cliff.
‘Thanks,’ said Ren.
‘Anything on the secret baby front?’ said Cliff.
‘Not so far,’ said Ren. ‘Let me look into the surrogacy more. I’m not really sure how it all works.’ She began Googling. ‘OK – it seems the average surrogate gets paid about fifty thousand dollars and their medical expenses are covered. Everyone seems to have a different kind of relationship with their surrogate. Some parents keep a kind of distance, others are right there in the delivery room. Couples can go through an agency or they can choose their own private surrogate, which is obviously what the Princes did. I’ll call Janine – I think we need to pay them a visit. I guess we can wait until Mr Prince gets back to Golden …’
21
It was Friday before Robert Prince came back to Golden. He welcomed Ren and Janine into the living room and stood awkwardly by the fireplace. He was dressed in navy pleat-front pants and a green short-sleeved golf shirt that was tight on his muscular arms, and clung to his small, incongruous stomach. He looked like a man who was more comfortable in a suit, who felt in some way vulnerable dressed down. He seemed lost in the vast showhouse rental. Ingrid came in from the kitchen and gestured for him to sit down. He nodded. Ingrid sat beside him, taking his hand.
Ren didn’t wait to get to the point.
‘Mr and Mrs Prince, I have to ask you, was Laura Flynn acting as your surrogate?’
The Princes looked at each other. Robert gave a small nod to his wife.
‘Yes,’ said Ingrid. ‘She was. How did you know?’
Ren glanced at Robert Prince, but decided to say nothing about his conversation with Tolman.
‘I … I’m sorry I lied,’ said Ingrid. ‘It was such a personal thing. We had tried for a baby for a long time and nothing had happened. It was not an easy decision, but we desperately wanted to have children. When we decided on surrogacy, we wanted the mother to be someone meaningful in our lives, not a stranger. We approached Laura. She agreed and …’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘We could never have imagined it would end like this. None of this is something you ever think could happen. I … just … didn’t know what to say when you called to the door. I was shocked. Robert wasn’t here to talk to. I didn’t want any public scrutiny. It’s selfish, I know. It’s so horribly selfish. But I was devastated. We lost our baby, we lost Laura. It was all so terrible. Then I was imagining headlines about us, about being fakes and trying to fool everyone. We’ve just had to put an article on hold that was going to formally announce the pregnancy.’
Robert Prince put his arm around his wife and pulled her close. ‘It’s OK, sweetheart. It’s OK.’
It is not OK to lie to us, though. It’s not.
‘And when the baby was born, you would say that it had arrived prematurely,’ said Ren.
‘Yes,’ said Ingrid. ‘That way, it’s before any media attention around the due date, so the paparazzi aren’t hanging around, waiting. It gives us breathing space.’
‘So,’ said Janine, ‘can you tell us about your arrangement with Laura?’
Ingrid straightened herself. ‘She was our gestational surrogate …’ She paused. ‘It was my egg and Robert’s sperm.’
Ren nodded. ‘I’d like to get a DNA sample from both of you, if that’s OK.’
‘Why would you need that?’ said Robert.
‘Just for confirmation,’ said Ren.
‘We’re confirming it now,’ said Robert. ‘We were trying to keep the surrogacy private for no reason other than we’re private people and it was a private decision. We didn’t want our children knowing that they were born to a surrogate. Ingrid didn’t want to be constantly fielding questions about surrogacy every time she was interviewed and nor did I. We would have been included in every pregnancy, surrogacy, adoption, older-fathers article in every newspaper and magazine …’
‘And it’s not what defines us,’ said Ingrid. ‘I want to be known for my charity work, we both do, and Robert for his business interests …’
‘I’d rather not be known at all,’ said Robert.
‘I understand where you’re coming from,’ said Ren, ‘but we still need to run the DNA tests. Laura Flynn and the baby she was carrying – your baby – were murdered. We need to know why. I’m sure you do too.’
‘But that doesn’t have anything to do with Ingrid or me,’ said Robert.
‘We don’t know that yet,’ said Ren. ‘We have to look at every possibility.’
‘What do you need us to do?’ said Ingrid.
‘It’s just a buccal swab – a swab of the inside of your cheek,’ said Ren. ‘I have everything here. I can do it before I go.’
Ingrid glanced toward Robert. He nodded.
‘In terms of payment for the surrogacy …’ said Ren.
‘We cover her medical expenses,’ said Robert, ‘obviously, we cover her accommodation and living expenses, as we always have. And she was to receive a hundred thousand dollars when the baby was born. I insisted on giving her twenty-five thousand beforehand to reassure her. She was not happy about that – she trusted us, of course – but I just felt it was the right thing to do.’
I don’t remember hearing about her bank account having twenty-five thousand dollars in it.
‘Mrs Prince, you spoke to us about Laura having an ex-boyfriend,’ said Janine.
‘Yes,’ said Ingrid.
‘How long ago did they break up?’
Ingrid shrugged. ‘Last year, I think.’
‘So, if he saw his ex-girlfriend was pregnant shortly after they broke up, and he still had feelings for her, his first assumption is not going to be that she is acting as a surrogate, is it?’
Ingrid nodded. ‘No. I understand.’
‘It is important for us to know as much as we can,’ said Ren. ‘There are angles you may not have considered – anything could be relevant.’
‘We’ll do everything we can to help,’ said Robert.
‘Will you be staying in the area?’ said Ren.
‘Yes,’ said Robert. ‘I’ve taken some time out of work.’
‘Is there anything else you can think of that might impact on the inves
tigation?’ said Janine.
‘No,’ said Robert.
Ingrid shook her head. ‘Not that I can think of right now.’
‘Well, thank you for your time,’ said Ren. ‘And I’m so sorry for your loss.’
She couldn’t help glancing at Ingrid’s belly, hidden behind a loose-fitting top. She realized then that Ingrid Prince would be forced to announce a miscarriage in the coming weeks.
22
The evidence vault at the Sheriff’s Office was a giant gray windowless warehouse with cinderblock walls. Ren and Janine went down to hand over the Princes’ swabs to be processed by the JeffCo criminalist at the CBI lab. Janine made the most of a Colorado Bureau of Investigation grant, which allowed overtime to be paid to criminalists to test any evidence likely to have DNA. If Janine pitched a case to her sergeant, and it was approved for testing, and DNA evidence was discovered, she could have thirty hours’ overtime for investigative work on the case. Janine’s first sergeant had been right – she ferreted resources out of everywhere she could.
‘I get it, I really do get the privacy thing,’ said Ren, as they walked back up the stairs, ‘but, Jesus, this is their babymama’s murder we’re talking about. Their baby’s murder.’
‘I don’t think Ingrid Prince knows what to think,’ said Janine.
‘And he’s … cold.’
‘He has not grown up in the real world,’ said Janine.
‘He does seem very protective of his wife,’ said Ren. ‘But in a controlling way … she looks at him a lot before she answers questions.’
‘He clearly loves her, though,’ said Janine. ‘But there’s some strange energy, I don’t know.’
‘I never quite understand those kind of relationships,’ said Ren. ‘I like being looked after, but controlled? I wonder are the cans all facing the same way in the kitchen cabinets …?’
‘I wonder has he ever been inside his kitchen?’ said Janine.
‘We do get a strange little window into people’s lives,’ said Ren.
‘And make swift and damning judgments.’
‘I wonder what people would think about me and Ben,’ said Ren.
‘That you rhyme and that you’d have cute babies,’ said Janine.
‘Babies …’ said Ren.
Janine waited. ‘Are you going to finish that sentence?’
‘I do think he’d make very cute babies,’ said Ren. ‘Weirdly, I don’t see myself as being part of the deal.’
‘Like, he’s self-pollinating?’ said Janine.
‘Stop,’ said Ren. ‘I mean … it’s babies. Ooh – we could have two, call one of them Jerry and the other one Stimpy!’
Janine laughed.
‘But babies …’ said Ren. ‘Routine. Car pool … soccer … baking … jeans that don’t fit.’
‘Yes. And what would happen to all the thoughts that you have carefully lined up in your brain … facing the same way?’
Ren laughed. ‘My thinking patterns are quite depressing.’
Is it the meds? Is it Dr Lone’s favorite, ‘catastrophic thinking’? Is it just how I feel? How the hell am I supposed to know?
‘They are,’ said Janine.
‘What are?’ said Ren.
‘Your thinking patterns are depressing,’ said Janine. ‘It’s more over-thinking.’ She laid a hand on Ren’s forearm. ‘Your life is going to work out, Ren. It already has. Relax. When is Ben back … to continue this spiral of misery?’
Ren laughed loud. She looked at her watch. ‘Two hours.’ She paused. ‘And thank you.’
There was a newspaper in the reception of the Sheriff’s Office with a front-page photo of a sheriff from the neighboring county, speaking at a protest against the changes in Colorado gun law.
‘Look,’ said Ren. ‘Look who’s standing behind him.’
‘Howard Coombes!’ said Janine. ‘Didn’t we just get rid of him? Is he touring now?’
‘He’s quoted,’ said Ren. ‘Blah, blah, blah “This new ban on magazines that hold over fifteen rounds will not stop criminals. As American citizens, we have Second Amendment Rights and … you know, my father was born not far from here – Jefferson County, Colorado, and if he were alive today, frankly, he would be horrified by what the Democratic party is doing to this state. People have the right to defend themselves …”’
‘Against milkshakes …’ said Janine.
‘You have to check out the video,’ said Ren. ‘I feel bad, but I did. And then, strangely, I see a link that his wife is no longer wearing her wedding band. Dramz. If she forgave him for his previous sinning … what is this new development …?’
‘OK, you need to stop following links …’ said Janine.
‘I get paid to follow links,’ said Ren.
‘Not to celebrity gossip,’ said Janine.
‘It stimulates the investigative mind …’ said Ren.
They walked past the conference room.
‘Let’s see if there’s anything new here,’ said Janine.
The room was empty, but there were traces of earlier activity all around it.
‘Kohler will pitch a fit,’ said Janine. She started to walk around, gathering mugs, throwing food wrappers in the garbage. ‘This is disgusting.’
‘It is,’ said Ren, helping her. ‘What is wrong with people?’
‘What is wrong with them is that their mothers always picked up after them, and their wives were dumb enough to carry on the tradition.’
‘We would make baaad wives,’ said Ren. ‘I could manage the whore in the bedroom part, though.’
‘Ladies,’ said Kohler, walking in.
They jumped.
Please do not have heard that last part.
Kohler watched Ren throw some candy wrappers in the garbage.
‘And here we have yet another example of the FBI thinking they can clean up every mess the Sheriff’s Office makes.’
‘You said it,’ said Ren.
‘An interesting development from the lab,’ said Kohler. ‘They found two shell casings in Laura Flynn’s rental car … from a .22.’
‘What?’ said Ren. ‘Not the murder weapon?’
Kohler shook his head. ‘Nope.’
‘That’s nuts,’ said Janine. ‘I’m presuming the rental company cleans their cars out thoroughly each time …’
‘Two shooters?’ said Ren. ‘Which is total overkill.’
‘Two attempts on her life?’ said Kohler.
‘Jesus,’ said Ren, ‘are we sure she’s not some drug queenpin?’
‘Did they run the casings through NIBIN?’ said Janine. The National Integrated Ballistic Information Network was an interstate database of ballistics information. Digital images of shell casings could be automatically matched.
‘Yup – nothing,’ said Kohler.
But Janine had an extra trick up her sleeve. ‘I’ll send them to Consolite for processing,’ she said. Consolite was a lab in the UK that had developed the technology to lift fingerprints from shell casings.
‘OK,’ said Kohler. ‘It’s a long shot …’
‘How long will it take?’ said Ren.
‘A couple of weeks,’ said Janine.
Ren pointed to a large photocopy pinned to the wall. ‘Is this a map of Evergreen Abbey?’
‘Kind of,’ said Kohler. ‘It’s a copy of the original plans – not all of the buildings were built. We got them from Eleanor Jensen when we were searching the grounds.’
Ren squinted. ‘Dated 1906? I hope you searched in costume, hired re-enactors …’
She studied the plans. One side was a map of the interior of the main abbey, the other side featured the rest of the buildings in the grounds. They were all marked with a different letter of the alphabet and there was a key at the bottom of the page.
Ren scanned it: chapel, school, schoolmaster’s lodgings, theater, guest house for visitors. Only the abbey, the chapel and the stables had been built.
‘What happened to these great plans?’ said Ren.
; ‘Funding dried up, according to Eleanor Jensen,’ said Kohler. ‘There were plans to build the school – a boarding school, but it never happened …’
‘Where did the original money come from?’ said Ren.
‘There were a lot of rich Catholics in Denver at the time,’ said Kohler. ‘A lot of them had more money than they knew what to do with.’
‘That’s number one on my list of problems I’d like to have,’ said Ren. ‘It’s a shame they couldn’t finish the work.’
‘There’s a rumor that they might do more in the future,’ said Kohler. He stabbed a finger at the map. ‘OK, Ren, you’d like to hear something creepy, wouldn’t you?’
‘Always,’ said Ren.
‘And we know Janine would,’ said Kohler. ‘Now, see this …’ His finger was on a small square of land to the northeast of the abbey. Ren leaned in, then glanced down at the key of the map.
‘The cemetery,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Kohler. ‘I asked about it when we were there. Eleanor Jensen said not to worry too much about it, it was totally overgrown, barred up, the entrance gates were rusted, it was a ruin …’
‘Ghosts!’ said Ren. Please let there be ghosts.
‘Well …’ said Kohler. ‘Could be. When we got there, yes, it was exactly as she said, it looked impossible to even access. But when we finally found a little clearing to look through, the entire cemetery had been cleaned up. I’m talking weeding had been done, the graves were tended. It was pristine.’
‘How did anyone even get in there?’ said Ren.
‘Two of the fence posts were gone,’ said Kohler. ‘I’m guessing someone squeezed through there … that’s the only place I could think of.’
‘If it wasn’t so inaccessible, I’d say this has Delores Ward written all over it,’ said Ren. ‘She has the look of a grave-tidier about her.’
‘A grave-tidier,’ said Kohler. He turned to Janine. ‘Where do you get these people from?’
‘I drug her up,’ said Janine.
‘To the eyeballs,’ said Ren. She looked at the plans again. ‘How big is this cemetery?’
‘Not big,’ said Kohler. ‘It’s got about twenty plots. It was more a private resting place for the staff at the abbey – well, the nuns, I guess. But apparently, they were kind enough to take in some of the ladies of the night from the surrounding towns too … the types that no one wanted poisoning their good Christian earth.’
