Harm's Reach

49

Ren woke up the next morning, her head throbbing, her stomach hollowed out.

Where am I?

The drapes... the walls. Oh. Janine’s. Oh... Robbie. Oh... Ben.

Shit.

Ren picked up her cell phone.

She texted Ben:

Ben replied:

Ooh. You’re right.

You actually are right. Who the hell do I think I am? I need to stop speaking to everyone.

She texted Janine.

Janine texted back.

Ren sat in front of a half-eaten plate of waffles, bacon and blueberries, an almost-empty glass of orange juice and a half-full mug of coffee. Janine had a fruit salad and a black coffee.

‘I need drugs,’ said Ren.

‘Your wish...’ said Janine. She handed her a bottle of Advil.

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you. I can’t believe I ran out.’

‘Neither can I.’

Ren’s phone started to ring. ‘Ooh,’ she said. ‘Eli Baer, N.Y. — please let it be something enlightening.’

She picked up. ‘Hey, Ren, it’s Eli — I’ve got some interesting news for you. I’ve taken another look at the phone records of the Princes’ home phone. There’s a cell phone number on it that we’ve traced to a Carolina Vescovi.’

‘Oh my God,’ said Ren. ‘As in Vescovi’s restaurant? As in the last place Viggi Leinster was seen alive?’

Janine’s eyes went wide.

‘Yes,’ said Eli.

‘So the case Laura Flynn wanted to talk to Janine about was definitely that?’ said Ren.

‘Looks like it,’ said Eli. ‘I’ve mailed you her number.’

‘Thank you, Eli. We could use some good news on this day of great suffering.’

‘What happened?’ said Eli.

‘Drinking, Eli. Drinking happened.’

Ren hung up. ‘Can you believe that?’

‘Wow,’ said Janine. ‘A breakthrough over breakfast.’

The door to the inn opened, the bell rang. Ren turned around. ‘Oh my God,’ she said, turning back to Janine, leaning in. ‘It’s the guy from the bar.’

Janine looked past her. ‘Don’t look — I shit you not, he’s coming our way.’

‘Ladies,’ he said.

‘Hi,’ said Ren and Janine.

‘Did you enjoy your night?’ he said.

‘Yes, we did,’ said Ren. ‘But we’re definitely regretting some of it. You?’

‘Well,’ he said, eyeballing her. ‘It could have ended better...’

You baaad man. ‘Well,’ said Ren, ‘maybe next time you’ll have a happy ending.’

He laughed out loud. Janine did too.

Oh. Dear. God. That wasn’t even on purpose. ‘Well, enjoy your day!’ said Ren.

He handed her his business card as he was leaving.

‘You have to be kidding me,’ said Ren when he was gone. ‘Men are unbelievable.’

‘That was high-larious,’ said Janine. ‘Don’t you admire his courage?’

Ren held up the business card. It felt alive in her hand. ‘Please let it say he’s a clown. Or any kind of circus performer. Or a wedding planner.’ She looked down at it, then turned it toward Janine. The only thing printed on it was a phone number.

Janine raised her eyebrows. ‘Serial killer it is, then...’

‘Imagine sleeping with that guy,’ said Ren.

Don’t imagine that. Why would you do that?

‘I mean, he looks normal,’ said Ren. ‘And he’s gone in the morning and the only thing left behind is this! I’d be in the shower for a week.’

‘That’s why I don’t do anonymous hook-ups,’ said Janine.

‘I’d love to say “neither do I”. Well, I can say neither do I... any more.’

‘It’s just so dangerous,’ said Janine.

Ren pointed a corner of the business card at her. ‘So you’re absolutely sure you don’t want this...’

They finished breakfast laughing, and stepped out onto the street.

Ugh. Too hot. Too hot. Someone up there is actively trying to set me alight. A dark angel with a magnifying glass... Ben’s guardian angel. Smile at another man: feel the wrath of a thousand suns sear your skanky soul.

Ren threw the card into the next garbage can.

I just smiled at the guy. Jesus.

Imagine if I had slept with him. Stop.

But imagine.

What is wrong with you?

Janine was staring at her phone. ‘I’ve always wanted to say this,’ she said, looking up.

‘Say what?’ said Ren.

‘Well, well, well...’

Ren laughed. ‘Well, well, well what?’

‘I just got a text from Kohler,’ said Janine. ‘Sweating has taken place: Morgan Greene has decided to sell someone’s soul to the devil to get a lighter sentence on the robbery.’

‘Whose soul?’ said Ren.

‘Jesse Coombes’,’ said Janine.

‘Praise the Lord.’

Kohler was waiting for them in an empty interview room at the Sheriff’s Office. There was a paper evidence bag on the table.

‘Greetings, ladies,’ said Kohler. ‘Take a look inside of this.’

‘What is it?’ said Ren.

‘It’s an offering from Morgan Greene,’ said Kohler. ‘Turns out we had the story of the car at the ranch all wrong. It seems Jesse Coombes was up to his old firestarting tricks. And more...’

Ren and Janine put on latex gloves. Janine reached into the bag and pulled out a journal: dark, once white-edged, now dirty, partially burnt.

She opened it. Ren leaned in to look. There was a photo clipped to the corner of the blank contents page. It was of Conor Gorman. There were more photos... Conor Gorman, sitting on one of the sofas at the ranch, smiling.

Handsome young man.

There were a few more underneath: Conor in the tack room, his back to the camera. Conor on the basketball court. Conor walking into the shower block. Conor...

Whoa.

WTF?

‘That headless body shot,’ said Ren. ‘That’s Conor. I know by the red bracelet.’ She looked at the next one.

‘Well, that’s a fresh tattoo,’ said Ren. ‘Look at the scabs.’

Across the bottom of his back was a tattoo of a reclining black cat with its paw stretched up toward his right shoulder blade.

‘He had to have gotten it while he was at the ranch,’ said Ren. ‘Ranch security is as high as ever. Is there a tattoo parlor in Conifer?’

‘No,’ said Janine. ‘But there’s Ink Corp in Golden.’

She flipped through the rest of the pages of the journal. Each was titled Sermon, followed by a colon, and the subject. Sermon: Pain, Sermon: Ability, Sermon: Shame, Sermon: Penance. The final one: Sermon: Betrayal. Betrayal. Betrayal.

‘This belongs to Jesse Coombes,’ said Janine.

She went through more of it. There was one last photo of Conor, a simple headshot, and all over it was scrawled in red ink:

Rubyman Rubyman Rubyman Rubyman Rubyman Rubyman.