Harm's Reach

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.’

‘Well, thank you, Kohler, that was suitably creepy,’ said Ren.

‘And thank you for the litter drive,’ said Kohler. ‘Heads will roll.’

‘Oh,’ said Ren, ‘did you find twenty-five thousand dollars in Laura Flynn’s checking account?’

‘Twenty-seven,’ said Kohler. ‘And five in a savings account. The twenty-five in the checking account was a lump sum that came from Robert Prince’s personal account.’

‘That was the first surrogacy payment,’ said Ren.

Ren and Janine walked down the hallway. ‘OK, I shall take my leave,’ said Ren. ‘Mr Rader is back. I need to get the hell out of the office at five.’

Ben Rader didn’t look like an FBI agent. He looked like he trashed stages with a guitar, that beneath his clothes he was tattooed and pierced. As an undercover agent, he had been the perfect chameleon, because his looks could be dirtied up and his charm was never far from the surface.

He walked in the door of Annie’s house when Ren opened it, dropped his bag, slid his arm around her back, and kissed her as he pushed her to the end of the hall and against the wall.

You are the sexiest man alive.

‘Hi,’ he said. He stared into her eyes.

He does this in real life.

‘Hello, there,’ said Ren.

‘I like this,’ he said, touching the small black bows on her shoulder strap, running his hand down the black corset. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘it unhooks here... at the front.’ He started at the bottom and popped the clasps achingly slowly, without dropping his gaze until it had fallen to the floor.

‘Hello to you too,’ he said. ‘I have missed you.’

‘They’ve missed you too,’ said Ren.

‘Well, they’re getting an extra three days with me,’ he said. ‘I did a switcheroo.’

‘Get nekkid.’