Harm’s Reach

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 Aurora 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 …’

He shook his head away from her.

‘You have a way about you,’ said Ren.

People told Robbie things because he made them feel that whatever information they gave him, it was a blessing, he would cherish it, and he would use it to successfully fight the forces of evil. No matter where he’d been and what he’d seen, he truly trusted and he inspired trust. His bright blue eyes told them ‘We are going to solve this. I will take care of this.’

Robbie Truax: Action Boy.

Ren glanced at him.

Tired-looking Action Boy.

The little old ladies saw him as the ideal grandson. He was single, Mormon and virginal, because he never wanted to do what so many of his friends had done: marry so he could have sex. Robbie was waiting for the right woman to come along. He had long believed it was Ren. He had once broken his no-alcohol vow for one night only to be a little more like the kind of man he thought Ren would want. He had tried to kiss her and he had told her how he felt. And she let him kindly know that, though she adored him, she thought of him in a different way; the worst way possible for him: as a brother.

Even if she had been physically attracted to him, even if he didn’t believe in no sex before marriage, Robbie wouldn’t do sex. Robbie did love.

Bless you, innocent, pure, breakable Robbie.

The autopsy lasted two hours and was a difficult one for everyone. Ren, Janine, Robbie and Kohler were now standing in a corner, as Tolman talked through the findings. Tolman was a smart, thorough medical examiner, who explained everything clearly.

He glanced at Janine and Ren.

‘You know, Janine, I remember a time when you told me not to speak to Agent Ren Bryce … now look at you guys.’

‘It was a dark moment in our history,’ said Ren.

‘Darker for her than me,’ said Janine.

Shame. Shaaame.

During a previous investigation, Ren had gotten her confidential informant to steal a file from Janine’s office, but he had put it back in the wrong place, and Janine had made the connection to Ren. By the end of the mercifully successful investigation, Janine had also solved a cold case and the two women had ultimately bonded over bad things and good intentions.

‘Aw, the lesser-spotted blushing of Ren Bryce,’ said Janine. ‘Let’s just say that at the time of said incident, Agent Bryce was using her superpowers for good …’

‘Some day you will tell me,’ said Tolman. ‘OK – down to business: we’ve got a twenty-six-year-old woman, pregnant, sustained multiple gunshot wounds, while sitting in a parked car. Cause of death was a severe head injury caused by a gunshot wound at close range. I recovered one projectile from behind the left scapula. Also noted was a gunshot wound to the chest, causing severe injuries. I recovered a second projectile just beneath the scalp behind the left ear. Both appear to me to be from a large caliber weapon. Manner of death: homicide. Time of death – anywhere from ten a.m. to when you found her at 15.48.

‘The pregnancy was approximately six months gestational age,’ said Tolman. ‘The fetus was viable. If it were born today, it would have been capable of living on its own. There were no signs of deformity. The death of the fetus is associated with maternal death, caused by the gunshot wounds.’ He paused. ‘Do you know who the father is? Is there a question of paternity? I’ll retain tissue here – I can get testing through the university lab, if you need it.’

‘Great,’ said Ren. ‘We don’t know yet. We also have to consider it as a possible surrogacy situation.’

‘Well, keep me posted,’ said Tolman.

‘Oh,’ said Ren. ‘Is it a boy or a girl?’

‘It’s a girl,’ said Tolman.

Those words were not meant for this room.

12

Robbie sat with his laptop at a spare desk beside Janine’s. Ren was sitting on the edge of Janine’s desk, her office phone up to her ear.

‘Well, it’s ringing,’ said Ren. ‘And it’s an overseas ringtone. Nessa Lally may just be in Ireland after all.’

Her eyes were on Janine’s piano fingers as she waited.

‘You are such a fast typist,’ said Ren. ‘It’s insane.’

‘You know it, girl,’ said Janine.

‘Hello,’ said Ren, sitting up. ‘Is this Nessa Lally?’

‘Yes.’

‘My name is Special Agent Ren Bryce. I’m with the FBI in Denver. The Rocky Mountain Safe Streets Task Force. Is this a good time?’

‘The FBI?’ said Nessa. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Ren. That ma’am will convince her.

‘Is everything OK?’ said Nessa.

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Ren. ‘I’ve got some bad news about your friend, Laura Flynn.’

‘Laura Flynn?’ said Nessa.

‘Yes,’ said Ren, ‘I’m sorry to tell you that she was the victim of a homicide.’

‘Oh my God,’ said Nessa. ‘No way. Laura? No way. In Denver? What was she doing in Denver? I knew she’d moved to New York, but …’

What? ‘You knew she’d moved to New York?’ said Ren.

‘It’s just … I haven’t seen her in years,’ said Nessa. ‘How did you even get my number?’

‘Aren’t you friends with Laura?’ said Ren.

‘Not now, no,’ said Nessa. ‘I used to be, there was a big gang of us used to hang around together, but we haven’t seen each other in, easily, six or seven years.’

‘Laura told her employers last week that your mother died and that because you were illegal you couldn’t fly back to Ireland for the funeral, so she was going to spend the weekend with you for support,’ said Ren. ‘We obviously now know that you’re legal …’

‘Thank God I am,’ said Nessa. ‘My mam did die last week, but yeah, I came back from Chicago for the funeral. But, Laura … that’s so weird. I haven’t spoken to her in years. Someone else must have told her about mam.’ She gave a grim laugh. ‘In fairness, she always used to use me as an alibi in college when she was lying to her mother about where she was staying.’

I wonder what she was lying about this time.

‘What did Laura study in college?’ said Ren.

‘Psychology,’ said Nessa. ‘She’s got a degree. But it’s impossible to get a job in it. And she would have needed a PhD in the States to do more with it. I don’t know anyone who can afford to do that.’

‘Was there anyone else she might have known in Chicago?’ said Ren. ‘Anyone else from your hometown?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Nessa. ‘But I can ask around for you.’

‘Did any of her friends end up in New York?’ said Ren.

‘Yes,’ said Nessa. ‘I can get their names for you if that would help?’

‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘Thank you. Nessa, what kind of girl was Laura? Was she the type to get involved with the wrong crowd?’ What a shit expression. ‘Was she a risk-taker?’

‘No, not at all,’ said Nessa. ‘Her father and her sister were big drinkers … and that definitely turned Laura off it, like she was very conscious that addiction runs in families. So I doubt she’d ever get into anything serious, like drugs or anything like that, if that’s what you mean. She dated a few losers, but not, like, psychos or anything.’ She paused. ‘Jesus, though, Laura really did have a shitty childhood with her father being such an alco around town and her mother always taking him back or showing up and they’d have huge rows in front of everyone. Laura always kind of rose above it. She was like one of those little flowers you see growing in a weird place. Like on the side of some shitty road in the middle of nowhere.’

Ren slid off Janine’s desk and grabbed a chair to sit on.

‘If you lead a tragic life, don’t you deserve to have a beautiful death?’ said Ren. ‘Garlands of white flowers, unicorns, dancing sprites, lyres, lutes … not sure if they’re the same thing …’

‘Me neither,’ said Janine.

Ren filled her in on the other side of the conversation with Nessa Lally.

‘What I’m kind of confused about,’ said Ren, ‘is the surrogacy thing … if this is a surrogacy. Aren’t the Catholic Church anti-surrogacy, anti-IVF …’

‘They are,’ said Janine.

‘How would that sit with Robert Prince?’ said Ren. ‘Wouldn’t this look bad if it came out? That this prominent Catholic was, in fact, using a surrogate? I mean, that’s a massive conflict right there.’

‘Wouldn’t he have just not gone along with it in the first place if he had such a problem with it?’ said Janine.

‘Who knows?’ said Ren. ‘Change of heart? Or is he one of those men that messes with women’s heads?’ She paused. ‘Maybe it’s the Order of Catholic businessy thing.’ She Googled it. ‘OK – OCBLA. The Order of Catholic Business Leaders of America. Let me go back over this. So he failed in his bid to be elected chairman in 2005, and in 2010.’

Five-year term.

Next election: 2015.

Ren Googled the former chairmen.

‘All the former chairmen were multi-millionaires, all male, all married with kids. Robert Prince was unmarried when he first ran. He was married when he ran a second time in 2010, but he had no children. He didn’t get elected. So, if this surrogacy had been successful, he would have had a child by 2015 … albeit in a manner that would go against the beliefs of all the members of the organization.’

‘Cynical,’ said Janine.

‘Yes,’ said Ren. She searched to see if he was running for the following year. There was no mention of it.

‘Let me call Eli Baer in New York.’ She dialed his number. ‘Instant response, I love it. Eli, it’s Ren Bryce. What do you know about the Order of Catholic Business Leaders of America?’

‘Apart from it takes a long time to say it, it’s an exclusive new-but-old boys’ club …’ said Eli.

‘Secret handshakes …’ said Ren.

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know of Robert Prince’s involvement with it?’ said Ren.

‘I do not,’ said Eli, ‘but I know who to ask.’

‘Also, has anything else come up on Robert Prince … like issues with women?’

‘Nothing serious,’ said Eli. ‘I know a cop who worked private security for him a few times. He said he was a real control freak. That was it. Really cared about his image. He made his date change that night. They went to pick her up, she came down in a really short dress and he got out of the car, went back into her apartment with her and when they came back down, she was wearing something a lot more conservative …’

‘No black eye or split lip …’ said Ren.

‘Nope,’ said Eli. ‘Really, Prince just came across to him as a rich jerk. But I guess he does have an image to protect … and this lady wasn’t quite tying into it.’

‘No escort or hooker tales?’ said Ren.

‘No,’ said Eli, ‘but you know he can afford to be a very careful man if that’s what he’s into.’

‘I know …’ said Ren. ‘OK, thanks for that.’

‘Any time,’ said Eli.

Ren put down the phone. ‘Prince is a control freak,’ said Ren. ‘That’s all we’ve got. And Eli will look into the Order of Secret Handshakes.’

‘Another thought,’ said Janine. ‘A less conspiratorial one – if Laura Flynn had a psychology degree, could she have been going for a job at the ranch?’

‘That’s going to be part of my angle when we go and talk to the private folks of The Darned Heart Ranch. Firstly, I’m all about the employees, not the “guests”. Then – bam! – burning car.’

Detective Kohler stuck his head into the office. ‘Briefing here at six p.m. Ren, Robbie – can you make it?’

‘We sure can,’ said Ren. ‘In the meantime, we’re going to speak with the Faules, see if anyone saw anything, if they know anything more about the car, and if they’re harboring murderous, pyromaniac teens.’

‘OK,’ said Kohler, ‘we’ll see you later.’

Ren turned to Janine. ‘Do you think the parents of the teens know about the Faules’ trusting approach?’

‘Lord, no,’ said Janine. ‘It’s not like they would say that out loud. But, in the Faules’ defense, look at the adjoining property: an abbey. And it’s only the abbey boundary that is really crossable, unless you’re Bear Grylls. The Faules aren’t stupid. If the kids wander into the abbey, they’ll be seen, they’ll be pretty safe, and more than likely, they’ll be treated compassionately if they’re discovered. Obviously, a couple of the kids have strayed further, which is where we came in. What they do is prey on some kindly visitor to the abbey to drop them into town. Or they hide in the back of a truck. Or they reach out to one of the teen volunteers that come in and out of the abbey.’

‘So Kristen Faule thinks she’s got some kind of magic wand that will transform these kids,’ said Ren. ‘When it’s highly likely that most of them have been blackmailed into going there in the first place and are just biding their time. “You won’t get a car for your sixteenth birthday if you don’t get a handle on your behavior/you are forbidden to see your boyfriend or girlfriend/we’ll take away your iPad, trauma of traumas” …’

‘We were simple children, really …’ said Janine.

‘We were,’ said Ren. ‘It’s shitty that some of these parents are sending their kids off just to get them out from under their feet, to get a break from all their drama, or worse, that they want to protect their own reputation. I think the minority are the ones who want their child to be happy and healthy and … fixed. It’s a great thing what the Faules do. I’m sure they’ve helped a lot of kids … I just suspect some of these kids are beyond help.’