by Alex Barclay
‘Oh my God,’ said Ren. ‘Back in November, Robert Prince was given letters from the Prince mansion that were to do with a Butte law firm.’
‘Well, it mightn’t have made good reading for him,’ said Everett, ‘because the second tract of land does come with mineral rights. The land he got is worthless, but the land the mystery benefactor got is worth anywhere up to fifty million dollars.’
‘Ouch,’ said Ren. ‘But, I don’t get it … there was obviously no bad blood between Walter and Acora and Robert. From what I read, she inherited everything when her father died … and then it went to Robert when she died.’
‘Walter Prince either had someone else he was close to …’
‘… or he was forced to sign over the deeds to someone for baaad reasons,’ said Ren. ‘If Robert Prince found this out, I can’t imagine he would have taken that information lightly.’
‘No,’ said Everett.
‘Could Robert Prince already know who owns this land?’ said Ren.
‘I don’t know,’ said Everett. ‘It’s possible.’
‘Does he have any claim on it?’ said Ren.
‘If it was handed over because of a blackmail situation, yes, but only if the blackmail could be proven.’
‘So many years have gone by – I’m wondering how easy it would be to prove …’ said Ren.
‘Maybe he was able to prove it, hence the new company,’ said Everett. ‘What do you know about Walter Prince? Was he involved in shady dealings?’
‘What I know is that he wasn’t a nice man at all,’ said Ren. ‘When he was only a teenager, he rounded up a posse to beat a man to death. Albeit a suspected pedophile … the father of one of three young girls who disappeared slash were murdered – it was called the Orchard Girls case …’
‘Did Walter Prince do time for it?’ said Everett.
‘Oh, no,’ said Ren. ‘The Princes were far too untouchable. And it was all rumor.’
‘Well, if I can follow more of this trail, I could wend my way closer to the truth,’ said Everett. ‘What makes him blackmailable.’
‘Go, Everett, go!’
Robbie had tuned into their conversation, after he had ended his phone call. He was listening to them, but with a faraway look in his eye. When five o’clock came, he got up and gathered his things.
‘See you tomorrow,’ he said. He left, his head down.
I can’t watch him suffer any more.
Stay out of it.
Don’t.
He needs help.
Don’t be so naïve. Maybe he loves this new life of pornography.
He is miserable.
Go.
Ren ran down the stairs after him.
‘Hey,’ she said.
Cold feet. Cold feet.
‘Hi,’ said Robbie.
‘Can we chat for a second?’ said Ren.
‘Sure,’ said Robbie. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Let’s go sit in your car,’ said Ren.
‘OK … I’m getting nervous.’
She laughed. ‘Don’t be.’
I’ll take care of that part.
44
Ren and Robbie got into his car. He turned on the air conditioning.
‘Ooh, that’s nice,’ said Ren.
‘So, what is it?’ said Robbie. He had his hands on the steering wheel as if he was about to drive.
How do I do this? Why am I doing this? Am I helping? Am I making things worse? Will this destroy our friendship? I cannot tell him that Ben has also seen his iPad. Or would that bother him? Maybe not. But I don’t want him to think I snooped. I didn’t. I was thrust into this nightmare. Everything happens for a reason. Shut up. Maybe he left the iPad with you for a reason. Oh … maybe he did.
Ren looked at him.
‘It’s just,’ said Ren, ‘is everything OK?’
He shook his head, really slowly. Eventually, he said, ‘No.’
‘I thought not,’ said Ren. ‘Do you want to talk?’
‘I don’t know if I can,’ he said.
‘Please,’ said Ren. ‘There is nothing you can’t say to me, you know that.’
‘I know.’
‘And it will go no further.’
‘I know that too.’
Wait. Wait. Wait.
‘I’ve …’ He paused. ‘I’ve developed a problem … with pornography.’
Thank God I got my Home Alone shocked face out of the way with Ben.
Ren nodded. ‘It’s OK, Robbie. Really.’
‘What?’ said Robbie. ‘It’s not. You don’t mean that.’
‘I do,’ said Ren. ‘I know you. I know this is not what you want. I understand how it could happen.’
‘Can you see how repelled I am by this?’
‘I can feel it,’ said Ren. Radiating off you. ‘And my heart is breaking for you. Because I know who you are. I really do.’
‘If you had told me that I ever, in a million years, would be this guy …’ said Robbie. ‘I know what I want in life. I want to get married to a nice girl. I want her to be the one. The first one. Girls like that, nice girls … they’re hard to meet.’
‘Guys like you are hard to meet,’ said Ren. ‘Life’s good guys.’
‘You still think that?’ said Robbie. Tears welled in his eyes.
‘Of course I do,’ said Ren. ‘Nothing changes that.’
‘But these women … they’re so degraded and I’m …’ He paused. ‘Enjoying that.’
‘And you are not alone,’ said Ren.
‘Does that make it right?’ said Robbie.
‘It’s not about right,’ said Ren. ‘It’s about you suffering. I just don’t want you to suffer. And I can see that you are. You’re not the cheery Robbie I know and love. You’re preoccupied. And it’s affecting work now too. I just didn’t guess it was this.’
‘The choirboy …’
‘Hey,’ said Ren.
‘You know what I mean,’ said Robbie. ‘I’m a virgin Mormon Boy Scout. I’m not stupid. I get it. But all it does is make me feel worse. Like if people really knew me, they’d think differently.’
‘Listen, everyone thinks “if people really knew me”,’ said Ren. ‘You are not the first man to have done this. And definitely not the first Mormon. So, just stop.’
Robbie let out a breath.
‘I don’t know how much you want to tell me,’ said Ren, ‘but … has it gone any further?’
‘I … went to a bar,’ said Robbie. ‘I picked up this one girl. She was beautiful. I took her home … but nothing happened …’ He paused.
‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it? Your dream is still intact.’ She studied him for a moment. ‘And, you know what, Robbie? Even if your dream wasn’t still intact, things could be even better with the first woman you sleep with in a relationship. Or with your future wife, if they’re not the same person. They don’t have to be the same person, Robbie. You don’t have to—’
‘OK … I did sleep with her,’ said Robbie. ‘I slept with her, and more. Other women. And …’ he shrugged. ‘I don’t want to be that guy.’
‘You’re not that guy,’ said Ren. ‘But you can’t be the beat-yourself-up-guy either.’
‘Remember a few months back we were talking about sex addiction …’
Ooh. Ren nodded. ‘Yes. You were very annoyed with me …’
‘Not about that,’ said Robbie. ‘You were talking about sex and you said to me “Who knows what might happen when you get a taste for it” …’
‘And you said I was being insensitive.’
‘Yup,’ said Robbie. ‘Because you were right. I had waved goodbye to my tenth one-night-stand that morning.’
‘It was nice of you to wave,’ said Ren. ‘And there must be some kind of merit badge for ten.’
Robbie smiled.
‘And – hello – you let her stay all night …’ said Ren. ‘That’s nice too.’
‘I’m sure I’m the only loser hanging in there for hugs,’ said Robbie.
‘Well, I give free hugs … and they’re free of guilt too, so you know where I am.’
‘I am so ashamed of this,’ said Robbie.
‘Um, it’s me, Robbie,’ said Ren. ‘Sexual shame—’
‘Well, I wish I could be as breezy as you about it.’
‘I’m not breezy! The rest of the sentence was: sexual shame is more common than you think.’
They sat in silence.
‘I want you to know something,’ said Robbie, eventually. ‘When … when I told you how I felt about you … that wasn’t about sex. It’s … was … more than that. I don’t want you to think that was where I was coming from. What I mean is, this whole problem of mine is only over the past six months or so.’
Thank God I didn’t drive you into a world of one-night stands.
‘I know that,’ said Ren.
‘I mean, not that I’ve never thought about—’
‘OK, Robbie, OK – you should talk to someone about all this. You need to give yourself peace.’ Ren paused. ‘And about the other thing, don’t worry, OK? You don’t need to say anything more about it. We’re friends. Nothing is going to change that.’
‘Ben is a great guy,’ said Robbie.
‘Hey, I’m surrounded by them,’ said Ren, smiling.
‘You’re being so kind,’ said Robbie. ‘But I still think I’m damned.’
‘You know what they believe at The Darned Heart Ranch?’ said Ren.
Robbie waited.
‘That you can knit a problem away.’
‘What?’ He turned to her.
Ren was miming knitting. ‘You know … idle hands …’
For the first time in months, she heard Robbie’s wonderful laugh.
Ren drove home that night, thinking of the pain Robbie had been trying to hide and how heartbreaking it was that he had been suffering alone.
I hope you’ll be all right, Robbie Truax. You deserve to be.
Her cell phone rang. Yay, Janine!
‘Well,’ said Janine, ‘we got our guys for the Conifer robbery: it was, indeed, Morgan Greene with sidekick, another Kendall’s employee, Reece Gill. I think we also have them for the car at the ranch. Looks like an insurance job, but we can’t prove anything yet. That’s the only explanation I have for Greene and Gill still working for Kendall after he stiffed them back in March: he told them to burn out the car during the ranch job and they’d get their money when his insurance kicked in.’
‘Kendall was a little smarter, to give him his dues,’ said Ren. ‘He bypassed the insurance company hoops by having the Faules cover it. He probably persuaded them that the insurance company would go straight to the theory that one of the kids was responsible for the arson.’ She paused. ‘But the Faules must think someone was capable of this. Why else would they pay out all that money?’
‘That’s a good point,’ said Janine.
‘The Faules must have had proof,’ said Ren. ‘They must have either seen it happen or had proof that someone under their care did it. They know. They’re lying to us.’
‘The key is – are they lying because of something more sinister than just lighting a car on fire?’ said Janine.
‘I mean, if you just shot someone, you’re going to have blood all over you,’ said Ren. ‘You get back into a car, that’s going to have blood all over it.’
‘Exactly.’
‘If we’re going to get to the bottom of it,’ said Ren, ‘it’s Greene, Gill or Kendall who we’re going to have to put the pressure on …’
‘We can leave them stew a little while,’ said Janine. ‘Let them think about what’s in their best interests … I’ve already scared Greene, that he could be tied in to a high-profile homicide.’
‘What if it’s a high-profile resident at the ranch that’s the problem?’ said Ren.
‘You mean our firestarter, Jesse Coombes?’
Ren nodded. ‘No God-fearing petty criminal would want to stir up the wrath of Howard Coombes.’
‘That might explain why Greene went so weird about the whole thing,’ said Janine. ‘Jittery.’
‘Like the Faules.’
‘Greene is definitely sweating,’ said Janine. ‘Oh, and another piece of dramz – Burt Kendall didn’t donate the bus to the abbey. Apparently, an anonymous donor sent him a letter with a cashier’s check and told him to pretend he donated it. It would help the abbey, but it would also guarantee Burt Kendall the exposure in the newspaper and get him some goodwill. Win–win in his eyes. Except he was in so much crap, nothing would get him out of it.’
‘Did you see the letter?’ said Ren.
‘No,’ said Janine, ‘he got rid of it, but he did say it was postmarked Cheyenne. It arrived in the mail on April 7th, so it was probably sent the day before. I spoke with the bank and the check he received was dated March 31st.’
‘So, basically, whoever was paying for the bus was going to do it anyway, but was helping out Burt Kendall at the same time.’
‘It appears so,’ said Janine.
‘So, can we assume that whoever it was is acquainted with the abbey and with Burt Kendall? Someone local?’
‘Probably,’ said Janine. ‘But does any of this really matter to us? This anonymous donor is not a bad guy on the loose.’
‘Janine Hooks, I am shocked,’ said Ren. ‘It matters, it all matters. It’s Nancy Drew shit. It’s about solving things. Any things. All things.’
‘I’ve been getting it wrong all this time …’ said Janine.
‘Hold on – where was the check from?’ said Ren.
‘Butte, Montana,’ said Janine.
‘That’s where the Prince family is originally from …’ said Ren. ‘Everett’s been filling me in on Robert Prince’s various holdings.’
‘So …’ said Janine.
‘What do you make of that?’ said Ren.
‘An origami swan.’
‘Calming,’ said Ren.
‘Oh, and I spoke with Stateville,’ said Janine. ‘No visit from Laura Flynn to Derrick Charles. She’s not on his visitation list, she hasn’t put in a request to be on it.’
‘Shit,’ said Ren. ‘So … she just chose the Ramada nearby for the holy hell of it? Or could she have been meeting someone there?’
‘Kohler would have said if there was a known link between her and any of the other guests,’ said Janine.
Aaaagh. My instincts are failing me.
Is it the meds?
45
The following morning, Ren awoke to an email in her personal account that sent a bolt of panic through her. She read it again.
No. Not now. Please. No.
She called her brother, Matt.
‘I feel mean saying this,’ said Ren. ‘Really mean. But I just got an email from Annie. She’s coming home next month. I am about to be homeless.’
‘It’ll be nice for you to see her again?’ said Matt.
‘I know – I’m horrible,’ said Ren.
‘I’m kidding, I’m preying on your guilt,’ said Matt. ‘Shit. That’s a bummer. What are you going to do?’
Probably go off the rails …
‘Bear in mind … moving house, Ren. It’s a possible trigger for you …’
Triggers … the sparks that light the fuse that sends the bipolar person shooting into the atmosphere on a high or spiraling underground into darkness.
Ren leaned toward mania. She knew her triggers. Some were the things that affected everyone, sane or otherwise: stress, moving house, bereavement, the end of a relationship. Then there were triggers common to most bipolar people: travel, sleep-deprivation, tension at work/home, junk food, excess caffeine. Then there were the ones brought on specifically by her job: criminals and the high-energy pursuit thereof.
It was the best job in the world.
Adrenaline, adrenaline, adrenaline, mania.
Stress, stress, stress, mania.
Party on.
‘Are you there?’ said Matt.
Ren sighed. ‘Trigger W
atch with Matthew Bryce …’
‘Shut it,’ said Matt. ‘And talk to Batman about these things.’
Dr Leonard Lone sat at his desk, part-framed by two leafy plants, one on each end of the window sill behind him. Outside, the sun was beating down and it seemed to be making him glow.
‘You know, Ren, that triggers are not respecters of medication,’ said Dr Lone. ‘If you can think of them, maybe, as kryptonite.’
Woo-hoo! Superhero stuff!
‘Triggers get through the net,’ said Lone. ‘They know where your weaknesses lie. As long as you know that you’re not invincible by being on meds.’
‘I’m too normal to feel invincible.’ Ren laughed. ‘You can’t feel invincible if all you’re doing is, like, washing the dishes.’
‘Do you wash the dishes a lot?’ said Lone.
‘No,’ said Ren. ‘That was a bad example.’
‘Do you feel ordinary on medication?’ said Lone.
‘I know I’m ordinary,’ said Ren. But sometimes I’m Ren Rader! Fearless delusionist!
‘You’re not ordinary,’ said Lone. ‘Trust me – you’re not someone I would ever file under the word “ordinary”.’
‘Am I extraordinary?’ said Ren.
He laughed. ‘Yes, Ren. You’re extraordinary …’
‘Thank you.’
‘Your mood is stable, Ren. But you can’t associate stability with “ordinariness”.’
Ren thought of Conor Gorman sitting on the sofa of The Darned Heart. Conor Gorman is like me. Uncomfortable in ordinariness. Likely to buck against whatever makes him feel that way … stable home, ranch with a bunch of teens he probably feels he has nothing in common with …
Dr Lone continued. ‘It’s a dangerous thought to allow to take root.’
And Jesse Coombes believes God whispers in his ear. He can’t possibly think he’s ordinary.
‘No one wants to feel ordinary,’ said Lone. ‘The problem is that, if you associate that with meds, your first step in trying to feel “extraordinary” is to stop taking them.’
Ren nodded.
In forty-three residents of The Darned Heart, could Conor Gorman and Jesse Coombes have found each other? Who’s going to tell me that? What about the abbey? Could either of the boys have been sent there to help out? As punishment? Would Eleanor Jensen tell me if they were?