Harm's Reach

by Alex Barclay

‘I’m kidding, relax.’ Except, I’m not really.

  ‘So,’ said Matt, ‘have you had any further thoughts on actually telling Ben …?’

  ‘That I’m nuts?’ said Ren. ‘Ben took his seat just in time for The Sane Show. He doesn’t need to see the coming attractions …’

  Ren was about to walk up the stairs to bed. The files from Janine’s office were on the floor in the hallway. She paused. Then she bent down, picked them up and took them into the dining room. She went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, grabbed a bottle of water and set them both on Annie’s giant mahogany table.

  Screw you, Ben Rader. Coming all this way to fight with me. Dickhead.

  Ren went back into the kitchen, got a box of cookies and the Mike and Ike that Devin had left her. She sat down and opened the Viggi Leinster file.

  OK, let’s see what you’ve got.

  There were fifty witness statements, from the staff and guests at the movie premiere and at Vescovi’s, where the after-party was held. The Vescovis themselves were not among them.

  Assuming that was the name of the owner.

  She opened her laptop and Googled Vescovi’s. It was featured on some obscure New York City nostalgia-style photography websites. She clicked on one and was brought to a page that told her it was owned by Marco and Elisabetta Vescovi. The restaurant was opened in 1954, soon became hugely popular with the glamorous elite of the city, but its popularity waned and by 1959 Marco Vescovi had gambled away his fortune and was unable to maintain the business. But he was still able to open a new restaurant the following year, on a different site, which remained open until his death in 1992. Elisabetta Vescovi was still alive and living in Bensonhurst, New York.

  Ren searched some more, but found nothing else.

  She grabbed her phone and texted Janine.

  R u up?

  Y

  Ren called her. ‘Hey, I’m in the Viggi Leinster file. Do you have any idea why the Vescovis weren’t interviewed … the restaurant owners? There are no witness statements here from them.’

  ‘I do not know that,’ said Janine. ‘It was possibly because they weren’t there that night.’

  ‘On the night of a movie premiere party?’ said Ren.

  ‘They could have been on vacation, they could have been in hospital, jail, anywhere,’ said Janine. ‘I’ll check that out. Have you gone through the whole file?’

  ‘Almost,’ said Ren.

  ‘And?’ said Janine.

  ‘My main issue is the dearth of witness statements for a night like that,’ said Ren.

  ‘I know,’ said Janine, ‘but … that’s not what we’re here for. The exercise is not to solve one of my cases, it’s to find a possible link to Laura Flynn …’

  Ooh. ‘I know,’ said Ren. ‘I’m not trying to do your job or anything, I’m just … curious. There should be more guests on that list. This was a high society event and there seem to be lots of statements from busboys and ticket-takers and waitresses. It’s light on party guests.’

  ‘I know,’ said Janine, ‘but … honestly, hours of your valuable time could go by in a sea of these statements.’

  Grrr.

  ‘And aren’t you supposed to be having a romantic evening with Mr Rader?’

  ‘That’s a story for another time,’ said Ren.

  ‘Please tell me you have not had a fight … Can you only take him by the weekend?’ She laughed.

  ‘No …’ No.

  ‘What is wrong with you?’ said Janine.

  ‘I do not know,’ said Ren. ‘I was tired …’

  ‘Is he there?’ said Janine.

  ‘He stormed out.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure he’ll be back when he’s cooled off. And Ren? Make up with him. Don’t be afraid.’

  ‘Stop that,’ said Ren. ‘You’re assuming this was an insignificant argument.’

  ‘Mm, OK … Was this a significant argument?’

  ‘No,’ said Ren.

  ‘Were some of the things he said to you correct?’ said Janine.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And did you throw in a few nasty comments?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Right, my judgment stands,’ said Janine. ‘In the matter of Ren Bryce v Ben Rader, I order Ren Bryce to get a grip.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Honor.’

  ‘In the meantime,’ said Janine, ‘do not drive yourself nuts with all these. Skim them, if that’s possible.’

  Don’t be ridiculous.

  ‘I called Kristen Faule, by the way,’ said Ren. ‘I’ve set up a meeting with Conor Gorman at two p.m. tomorrow.’

  Ren went back to the file and Janine’s cross-referenced notes with the Angelo Marianelli disappearance. It was in December 1957; six weeks after Viggi Leinster. One witness, a busboy in Vescovi’s, had said that he was aware of an affair between Angelo Marianelli and Viggi Leinster.

  Ren went back to the statement of Viggi Leinster’s neighbor. It was strange that there was no mention of a man ever calling to Viggi Leinster’s apartment. Wouldn’t this man she was having an affair with be visiting her apartment? Or was he wealthy enough that they met in hotels? Starlets were like lightbulbs to moths. She was beautiful. She would have had all kinds swarming around her …

  There was a print-out of Angelo Marianelli’s mugshot clipped to the page. He was a pinch-faced, birdy, mean-looking man. There was nothing of the charming rogue about him.

  What were you thinking, Viggi Leinster?

  The doorbell rang.

  Shit. Ben.

  What were you thinking, Ren Bryce?

  28

  Ren went to the front door, checked it was Ben, and let him in.

  ‘Hey,’ he said.

  ‘Hey,’ said Ren.

  He walked into the living room.

  ‘You’ve been working …’

  ‘Yup,’ said Ren. ‘What have you been doing?’

  ‘Thinking,’ he said. ‘I just drove around … then I called into Gary.’

  Jesus Christ. I forget you are colleagues/friends. Please tell me that Gary Dettling assumes I have not told you I’m bipolar. Please tell me you did not say we had a fight.

  ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything about us,’ said Ben.

  ‘Thank God,’ said Ren.

  ‘I’d never cross that line. Neither would Gary.’

  I feel horrible now. ‘Ben, I’m sorry about earlier. I … really am.’

  ‘I’m sorry too.’

  ‘But I don’t think you have any reason to be,’ said Ren. ‘I didn’t like that you walked out, though … but I can see why.’

  He held his arms open. ‘Come here.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Ren.

  He laughed and hugged her. ‘We have no reason to fight,’ he said.

  He held her against his chest. ‘I know,’ she said. Tell that to the psycho inside me.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I really am.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Ben, pulling back. ‘I know you are. Me too.’ He held her face and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

  Ren woke up in the middle of the night, agitated, disoriented, stiff. Her first thoughts were all about Laura Flynn and second-trimester terminations. She remembered Ingrid Prince’s words about the surrogacy:

  ‘Nothing had changed between when we agreed to this and now.’

  Was that true?

  Ren grabbed her phone and typed in a reminder to go through the Princes and Laura Flynn’s lives over the previous six months.

  Why am I so agitated?

  She looked at the clock.

  It’s five a.m. – that’s why. The biggest piece of shit of a time on the clock.

  She switched off the phone, and turned around to Ben. He was fast asleep, smiling at something. He was a handsome, handsome man. She buried her head against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her.

  Warm and safe, warm and safe.

  The office felt empty the following morning. There was an eerie sil
ence in the hallway.

  The entire building is frowning upon my lateness.

  And walking slowly will not in any way salvage time or halt its passage.

  She went into the bullpen. It was only when she got to her desk that she realized someone was sitting opposite it. In Colin Grabien’s chair.

  Cur-sed chair.

  ‘Whoa,’ she said. ‘You scared the …’

  Broad-shouldered, smartly-dressed, stars-in-a-cop-show good-looking. Dark, non-nerdy side-parted hair, blue eyes. Non-sexy-to-me-but-possibly-to-most-other-women-what-is-wrong-with-me.

  He half-stood. ‘Hello,’ he said, reaching out his arm. Ren walked over and shook his hand.

  Smells of Pasha de Cartier.

  The scent of hotness. And a permanently fired-up boyfriend from my youth.

  ‘My youth’ … grim.

  ‘You must be Ren.’

  ‘Despite all efforts to the contrary, unfortunately, yes, I must be Ren.’

  ‘I’m Cujo Chastain.’

  What. The?

  He smiled.

  Very nice smile.

  ‘The guys told me to say that. My name isn’t Cujo Chastain …’

  ‘Stephen King,’ said Ren. ‘They’re so mean.’

  ‘I believe you think the chair is cursed.’

  ‘No, because only a crazy lady would think that, and I am sane … unless you will be working here for a period longer than a few hours, which is about as long as I can ever keep up that charade …’

  He smiled. ‘I’m Everett.’

  ‘Oh, you were here while I was TDY’d to Glenwood Springs a few years back.’ Exiled on Temporary Duty after Gary worked out I was sleeping with a confidential informant, even though neither of us said it out loud … release breath.

  ‘Yes,’ said Everett. ‘I enjoyed my time here. You were missed, though.’

  Aw. ‘So, where is everybody?’

  ‘Your Shark Bait Bandits have struck again. In Littleton – FirstBank, Chatfield and Wadsworth.’

  ‘Shit – did I miss that?’ said Ren. ‘Shit – did I forget to turn my phone on this morning?’ She had discovered the lateness of the hour from Annie’s wall clock.

  ‘D’oh.’

  ‘I have never done that before,’ said Ren. Not … accidentally. She took out her phone. Shit. She turned it on.

  ‘Well, anyway,’ said Everett, ‘I’m just here working on some horrible trail of financial irregularities that I am one hundred percent addicted to unraveling.’

  ‘You’re one of those,’ said Ren.

  ‘I am,’ said Everett. ‘I used to be a trader.’

  ‘Yet you passed a drug test …’

  ‘When you say passed …’ He smiled, then gave one of the best laughs.

  Excellent power laugh. Four bursts, done. Superb. I like you, Everett Whateverett.

  ‘What’s your last name?’ said Ren.

  ‘King.’

  ‘Son of Stephen?’ said Ren.

  ‘Unless my mother has been hiding something for the past forty-one years … then I’m going to say no.’

  ‘It’s your real name,’ said Ren.

  ‘It is. I. Am. King.’

  ‘I’ll be yo’ queen if you know what I mean and …’ Please stop before you finish with ‘let’s do the wild thing’.

  Everett looked at her.

  ‘Ooh,’ said Ren. ‘Tone-Lōc fan?’

  ‘Isn’t everyone?’

  ‘I didn’t mean that in that sense, by the way,’ said Ren.

  ‘Sexual harassment, day one … this is not looking good for you, Agent Bryce …’

  ‘I’m going to take a seat now. And try not to be myself for the next little while. But I need coffee first. Can I get you one?’

  ‘Yes, please. If you don’t mind.’

  ‘I do not mind.’

  He’s a keeper, Gary Dettling.

  Her phone beeped with seven missed calls; two from Gary, three from Robbie, two from Cliff. There were some ‘Where r u?’ texts thrown in too.

  Shit.

  She brought coffee back and set it on Everett’s desk. ‘Can I be so bold as to ask a favor?’ she said.

  ‘Sure,’ said Everett, ‘go ahead.’

  ‘I’m working on the Laura Flynn case – the shooting of the pregnant woman outside Conifer. Her employer is a multi-millionaire called Robert Prince. Investigators at the Sheriff’s Office are on this, I know, but … if you got through Gary Dettling’s net, I know you have to be good.’ She paused. ‘I was an anomaly.’

  ‘I’m listening …’

  ‘Could you look into Prince’s financials for me, see if there’s anything that might be amiss? He and his wife have been lie-telling and … I’m just not quite sure why.’

  ‘But you think it might be financial?’ said Everett.

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Ren. ‘It’s just, you know the way with a lot of wealthy people, the financial and personal are so tightly intertwined that an issue with one can completely unravel the other?’

  ‘I have certainly seen that,’ said Everett. ‘I’ll look into it …’

  ‘On the down low,’ said Ren.

  ‘Yes, Tone.’

  She smiled. ‘I really appreciate it.’

  When she got through her coffee, she was ready to call Gary.

  ‘Hi, Gary, it’s Ren – I’m sorry I missed your call earlier—’

  ‘Not good enough,’ said Gary.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Ren.

  ‘What the hell were you doing?’ said Gary.

  ‘I completely forgot. I couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night. I turned my phone off. I never do that.’

  ‘That’s not acceptable,’ said Gary.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. So … Bandits: Welton Street first, Glendale, Englewood, Conifer, then Littleton?’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing to say they’re working in a strict east/west order …’ said Gary.

  ‘Anyone injured?’ said Ren.

  ‘One customer with a broken nose, smashed with the butt of the gun.’

  ‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘Are you sure you don’t need me there?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gary. ‘We’ve got it covered.’

  ‘OK,’ said Ren, ‘well, I’ll see you back at the ranch.’ She put the phone down.

  Everett looked up from his computer.

  ‘You have not made your boss happy today …’ he said.

  ‘I have not,’ said Ren. Boyfriend last night, boss today.

  ‘And I can’t say I was too impressed with my coffee,’ said Everett.

  Ren smiled. ‘OK … I really need to find something to redeem myself with this morning.’

  Ren went into Gary’s office when he got back.

  ‘Just so you know, Janine and I will be going to The Darned Heart later to speak with Conor Gorman.’

  Gary nodded.

  ‘And I’m working my butt off on the bandits …’ says Ren as an invisible tumbleweed rolls through the silence …‘I’m just sorry about earlier.’

  Gary nodded. He looked down at his desk. ‘Ren,’ he said, ‘you might want to take a look at your shirt.’

  She glanced down. Two buttons were gone from her gray shirt, showing most of her pink bra and the cleavage it was enthusiastically supporting.

  Oh. Dear. God. ‘Shit.’

  So much for redeeming myself.

  She closed the door behind her and ran to the ladies’ room.

  Please let there be another shirt here. Please.

  She pulled open the door of her locker. There was a white shirt hanging in plastic.

  Please let there be a nude bra here. Please.

  She found one in a pile of other clothes.

  Thank God, thank God.

  She changed, then sat back down at her desk and texted Ben:

  Stop ripping off my shirts …

  Ben replied right away. It’s my ™ move.

  Glad to be one of the lucky ladies.

  He texted back. The only lad
y.

  Hmm.

  Hide this jealous weirdness.

  She texted back XX

  29

  Kristen Faule kept Ren and Janine waiting for over twenty minutes in the lobby of The Darned Heart. Eventually, a short, smiling blonde with legs like a wrestler appeared from behind the front desk and led them to the office. The introductions were awkward. Kristen sat at her desk with Ren and Janine on stiff wooden chairs facing her.

  Pass to the comfortable sofas: revoked.

  ‘I’ll call Conor to the small meeting room when you’re ready to speak with him,’ said Kristen.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ren.

  Kristen clasped her hands and leaned toward them. ‘You have to understand, we were under strict orders to keep Conor’s presence here confidential. Our aim is very simply to help the teens who stay here. You know we’re bound by confidentiality, and it’s unfortunate under these circumstances, but I’m protecting the residents – not because they’ve committed a crime, but because they are in treatment. That’s why they’re here. They need time away from disruption and dysfunction.’

  ‘It’s not as straightforward as “resident X didn’t commit a crime”,’ said Ren. ‘Resident X may have seen something that will help find the killer of a pregnant young woman. There are all kinds of possibilities. Conor got in a bar fight – who knows what could have happened as a result of that? They could have found out where he was, decided to get their own back on him … This is our job, Mrs Faule. This is what we do best. We cast our net wide. And we need your help.’

  ‘I want to help,’ said Kristen. ‘But you know my hands are tied … unless you have something more concrete.’

  ‘Has Conor spoken to you about the death of his aunt?’ said Janine.

  ‘No,’ said Kristen. ‘He may have spoken to one of the counselors, but obviously, those conversations are strictly confidential.’

  ‘Does Conor have any particular friends here at the ranch?’ said Janine.

  ‘We don’t really encourage the kids to break away like that,’ said Kristen. ‘We like them to be supported in a group fashion. If they’re branching off in ones or twos—’

  ‘Mrs Faule, I get what you’re saying,’ said Ren, ‘but I think we both know that it doesn’t always go the way the grown-ups plan. These kids don’t exactly have a good track record with rules. It would help if you could point us in the direction of someone who knew Conor a little better than the rest of you.’