Harm's Reach

by Alex Barclay

  ‘Did you know he disappeared six weeks after Viggi?’ said Janine.

  ‘No, I did not,’ said Carolina, ‘but it all sounds very strange …’

  ‘Thank you so much for finding all this out for me,’ said Janine.

  ‘I want to tell you, though, my mother is very, very sorry,’ said Carolina. ‘She’s lived with this for so long.’ She paused. ‘And that poor woman’s family … what must it have been like? God help them.’

  Janine didn’t tell her that she had never known a thing about Viggi Leinster’s family. It was as if she was beamed down from above, a falling starlet with a blank-slate past.

  Janine was reeling. Walter Prince had been a pedophile. He had abandoned his family in Butte, traveled to New York with a girl young enough to be his daughter. He had preyed on an eight-year-old girl under her parents’ noses. It seemed like the only thing that stopped it going any further was the intervention of Viggi Leinster … who disappeared shortly afterwards. Poor, dear Viggi Leinster. And a paid-off kitchen porter sent the rumor out that Viggi Leinster had run away with another man and they had lived happily ever after, location unknown. So what happened? Did Walter Prince follow them and have them both killed? Or had Viggi been killed the night of the film premiere and the sighting in Denver was a hoax? Had Marianelli been sent to look for her? Had he found her? Had he killed her? Did Walter Prince worry that she would reveal his secret? Was it a secret?

  Then it hit her. The Orchard Girls. The vigilante attack. Walter Prince led the posse of men, not because he was honorable, not because he wanted justice, but so he could lay the blame at a dead man’s feet, so he could play the hero. It was pedophile Walter Prince who murdered those three little girls when he was only sixteen years old.

  58

  Janine walked back into the interview room. She locked eyes with Ren.

  What have you got?

  ‘We’ll be right with you, Jesse,’ said Ren. She and Janine went out into the hallway.

  Janine talked her through the conversation with Carolina Vescovi.

  ‘Let me call that woman from the Prince mansion,’ said Ren. ‘See if she can shed more light on Walter Prince.’

  Ren went through her phone and found ‘Prince Mansion Lady’. She called her office number. A woman answered.

  ‘I’d like to speak with Barbara Hynes,’ said Ren.

  ‘Mrs Hynes no longer works here,’ said the woman. Curt, clipped.

  ‘Oh,’ said Ren. ‘Do you know how I could get a hold of her?’

  The woman hesitated. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid not.’ She hung up.

  Ren stared at her phone. ‘Well, someone’s been acrimoniously terminated …’

  Ren and Janine searched online and Janine eventually came up with a cell phone number for Barbara Hynes.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Hynes?’ said Ren. ‘This is Special Agent Ren Bryce from Safe Streets in Denver. We spoke a while back about Walter Prince …’

  ‘Yes,’ said Barbara, ‘and it cost me my job.’

  ‘Your job?’ said Ren.

  ‘Yes,’ said Barbara. ‘I didn’t get the memo. Once the story about the murder of Robert Prince’s housekeeper hit the media, all staff were instructed not to speak about the family to anyone, and to refer all questions to their legal team.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Ren.

  ‘Not as sorry as I am,’ said Barbara.

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell me about Walter Prince?’ said Ren. ‘Anything else you knew about the vigilante attack on the Orchard Girls father?’

  Barbara didn’t reply.

  ‘Were there any rumors about Walter Prince?’ said Ren. ‘Anything you mightn’t have mentioned to me before. This is really important.’

  ‘Well,’ said Barbara, ‘isn’t it interesting that, before the year was out, Patrick Prince – Walter’s father – had bought a site to build his mansion on and he moved the family lock, stock and barrel out of town? The orchard is part of that site.’ She paused. ‘All I can tell you is that, when my father was a boy, he was told to never touch an apple from that orchard, that he’d probably end up choking on bones.’

  Ren repeated the conversation to Janine.

  ‘I was thinking about Viggi Leinster,’ said Janine. ‘If she arrived in New York with Walter Prince, then do you think she might have traveled with him from Butte? If she was sixteen/seventeen in 1957, that makes her having been born 1940, ’41.’

  Ren Googled Viggi Leinster, Butte, 1941, 1957.

  ‘Oh God, said Ren. ‘I’ve got a news story: Christmas Day tragedy, 1955, at the home of the Leinster family in Butte, Montana: Father, Bruce; Mother, Lynda; Sons, Teddy and Thomas. All their years of birth are included, the youngest being their daughter, Virginia … b. 1941.’

  ‘Virginia … Viggi,’ said Janine.

  ‘The names Teddy and Thomas were signed on the postcard that fell from Delores Ward’s wall,’ said Ren. ‘She told me about the man who broke her heart. She said it was “not before he had taken my family away from me”. Delores Ward is Viggi Leinster.’

  Christmas Day, the day after their annual ball, Walter Prince burned her family’s house down, so he would have no resistance, so they couldn’t fight him, so everyone would think she had died along with them.

  So ‘he could take her away’.

  So she could become Viggi, and she could be his … for as long as he wanted her.

  Janine paused. ‘The headstone! The chaplain in Evergreen Abbey. Didn’t you tell me that the Princes were originally O’Sullivans? Patrick “Prince” O’Sullivan was one of the first of the family to emigrate to Butte. If the chaplain here was born in the 1870s, then he could have been Patrick Prince’s brother … he may not have traveled as far west as Montana. And he may just have been persuaded to give Viggi Leinster shelter after what she went through at the hands of his nephew, Walter Prince.’

  ‘That last sighting in Denver was real,’ said Ren.

  Ren called Eleanor Jensen.

  ‘I’m sorry for leaving you hanging,’ said Ren. ‘We’re just looking into a few things. I wanted to ask you about Fr Daniel O’Sullivan. What do you know about him?’

  ‘Not a lot,’ said Eleanor. ‘Just that he was the first chaplain here, he lived at the abbey, he said mass here every day of his life. He welcomed every nationality, he turned no one away. He accepted alcoholics, down-and-outs, ladies of the night – the kind of people who wouldn’t be welcome elsewhere. He was a hero around here.’

  ‘Was he Irish?’ said Ren. She could hear Janine’s cell phone ringing behind her.

  ‘Yes,’ said Eleanor. ‘A Cork man, from what I gather.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ren. She was nodding at Janine, but Janine was engrossed in her call.

  ‘Agent Bryce,’ said Eleanor. ‘What about Delores Ward?’

  ‘I can’t get into that right now,’ said Ren, ‘but you have nothing to be concerned about.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Eleanor.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ren.

  ‘Because she’s here at the abbey right now.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Ren. ‘She’s not in her cabin?’

  ‘No,’ said Eleanor. ‘We finally persuaded her to move in here. They’re dismantling the cabin today. Delores came to an arrangement with Burt Kendall. Can you hear that rain? Honestly. I don’t think that cabin could survive that kind of downpour.’

  ‘We need to find out some more details,’ said Ren, ‘and we will be coming by to speak with Delores later on.’

  ‘Who is she?’ said Eleanor.

  ‘Someone we believe had a terribly tragic life,’ said Ren. ‘Until she came to Evergreen Abbey.’

  Janine finished her call, then stared at her screen intently. She walked over to Ren.

  ‘OK, I just got a call from a case manager at Stateville,’ said Janine. ‘She heard about the inquiry about Laura Flynn and Derrick Charles. She says that the name Laura Flynn came up in connection with a totally different inmate.
They had a mail watch on him. Laura Flynn sent him a letter.’

  ‘Who is he?’ said Ren.

  ‘A man called Frankie Gorman, currently serving an eighteen-year sentence for aggravated sexual assault and burglary.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Ren.

  ‘Conor Gorman’s deadbeat dad.’ They both said it at the same time.

  ‘Holy shit,’ said Ren. ‘Ho. Lee. Shit. What did the letter say?’

  ‘She emailed me a PDF,’ said Janine. ‘It says: “Dear Frankie, Conor and I are in trouble. I know it probably seems unfair getting in touch after all these years, but I couldn’t think of anyone else who would care enough to help. I will be in Chicago on May 12th. I’m staying at the same hotel as my sister. I don’t know if there is time to put me on your visitor list, but, Janey Mac, you know how much I’d love to see you. Regards, Laura (Flynn).”’

  ‘And did he try to get her on his visitor list?’ said Ren.

  ‘No,’ said Janine. ‘This was only sent a week before she died. She probably didn’t know she’d have had to be background checked, she would have needed more time. But why would she go to Chicago if there was no guarantee of meeting with him?’

  ‘Did the case manager ask Gorman about all this?’ said Ren.

  ‘Yup – he said he got the letter, big deal, he hadn’t seen her in ten years, since right before he went to prison.’ She paused. ‘What does Janey Mac mean?’

  Ren laughed. ‘That, I learned, is the Irish way of saying Jesus Christ … if you don’t want to piss your “mammy” off.’

  ‘That guy taught you a lot,’ said Janine. ‘Why is Laura Flynn saying she’d love to see Frankie Gorman, when we know that the family thought he was a loser?’

  ‘Looking for money?’ said Ren. ‘Like, support for Conor if she was about to take him out of the country? Letting his father know in person that they were leaving the United States? But, again, I can’t see her doing that, because of his loserdom.’

  ‘She says “I’m staying in the same hotel as my sister.” Why would she say that? Why would he care where she stays?’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Ren. ‘I do not know.’ She told Janine about Delores’ move from the cabin. ‘I mean, it wasn’t long ago that she didn’t want to budge. She was adamant she was going nowhere. Now, this turnaround. Conflicting behaviors all round …’

  ‘That’s for sure …’

  ‘The headstone was revealed by Jesse several weeks ago, were anyone to have noticed the cemetery,’ said Ren. ‘But Delores must have only realized that a few days ago … otherwise she would have gotten Conor to take care of it as soon as she knew. Maybe she’s planning to leave. She could hardly say that to Eleanor. She would go along with whatever new accommodation she had set up for her in the abbey.’

  ‘She’s been hiding something in that cabin,’ said Janine.

  They both considered it.

  ‘Angelo Marianelli,’ said Ren. ‘What if Angelo Marianelli tracked her down … and she … took care of him?’

  ‘I think you’ve got it,’ said Janine.

  Ren’s phone started ringing. ‘It’s Everett,’ she said. She put him on speaker.

  ‘OK, I have updates,’ said Everett. ‘Burt Kendall has set up a new company. It’s called ETS, Energy Transport Services. And they’ve just been awarded a one-million-dollar contract from NOVA. From Robert Prince. The company is registered in Williston, North Dakota. Do you know how many trucks are going back and forth there every day? Water, chemicals, drilling equipment, pipes … this is a one-million-dollar contract, but it’s worth a hell of a lot more than that.’

  ‘That has to be through Delores Ward’s recommendation,’ said Ren.

  ‘And yes, flight records confirm Robert Prince has taken several trips there …’ said Everett.

  ‘Were any of them around the beginning of April?’ said Ren.

  ‘Yup,’ said Everett. ‘He was there April 4th through 7th.’

  ‘That was the same time as Delores Ward,’ said Ren. ‘I think we’ve just found out who owns the second tract of land with the energy rights.’

  59

  Rain poured down the library windows of Evergreen Abbey. It had started without warning; instant gray skies quickly turned black, the rain fell, aggressive, relentless. Through the blurred glass, Delores Ward had been watching the tracks of the green digger move through the thick mud, Burt Kendall at the wheel. The bucket rose and struck the walls of the cabin, gouging out chunks. He was gone now, driven away by the downpour.

  She hurt. For six decades, she hurt. She had prayed and prayed and prayed. She had sought forgiveness, but she hadn’t found it, not in her heart, not where it mattered.

  There was a knock on the library door. Conor Gorman walked in, drenched, his boots covered with mud, his jeans spattered. He slumped into one of the chairs at an old mahogany table. Delores sat down opposite him. He slid a battered metal box toward her. ‘I think they’re all there.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Delores. ‘God may just be on my side after all.’

  ‘Whose bones are they?’ said Conor.

  ‘A bad man,’ said Delores. ‘Sent by an even badder one.’

  ‘Badder – I like that,’ said Conor. He smiled. ‘Who was the badder one? Seeing that you killed this one.’ He pointed to the box.

  Delores frowned. ‘It’s not a joke. The other man, I recently discovered, you have a connection to. Robert Prince is your guardian? Well, it was his … grandfather, Walter, who sent this gangster after me.’

  ‘Why?’ said Conor.

  ‘It’s all in the past now. Robert Prince has turned out to be nothing like him.’

  Conor snorted.

  ‘Really?’ said Delores. ‘I’ve found Robert Prince to be nothing other than charming and generous.’

  Conor stared at the ground.

  ‘You don’t seem to like him,’ said Delores.

  Conor shrugged.

  ‘Let me return your things,’ said Delores. She reached behind a line of books at the bottom of one of the bookcases. She took out a military-style bag and handed it to him. It was limp, mainly empty, with just a few objects gathered at the bottom.

  ‘Thank you for looking after this for me,’ said Conor, setting it on the table in front of him.

  ‘Well, you kept my little secret for me, all these months,’ said Delores. ‘And you helped with the gravestone.’

  Conor shrugged.

  ‘So, what’s in the bag that’s so important?’ said Delores.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Conor. ‘Just … it’s hard to keep anything private over there at the ranch.’

  Delores let out a breath. ‘So you’re leaving …’

  ‘Yes,’ said Conor.

  ‘I’m sorry I got you in trouble because of the cemetery.’

  ‘It was a pleasure,’ said Conor.

  Delores shifted in her seat. ‘Are you running away?’ she said. ‘Or have you been expelled into the care of the Princes?’

  ‘I’m running,’ said Conor. He looked around. ‘But not so I end up somewhere like here. How can you live here? And for so long?’

  ‘This place was the only good thing that came out of my time with Walter Prince,’ said Delores. ‘Walter was sent here by his father when he was seventeen. That was a long, long time before I knew him. His uncle Daniel used to be the chaplain here. Fr Dan was still here when I arrived. I confessed my sins to him. And the sins of his own nephew, but they didn’t seem to come as any surprise to him. He was an incredible man. The abbess here was an incredible woman. They took me in, they saved my life. They gave me a new identity. Later, when the abbess was dying, she told me about Walter, that he had been sent there that summer by his father, Patrick, “to be straightened out”. But she said there was something “very wrong” with Walter Prince. She caught him, she said, “interfering” with one of the girls, the daughter of one of the workers at the abbey. And do you know what the abbess did? One night, she took a shotgun, marched down to the barn where Walter was w
orking and she pointed the barrel right between his eyebrows, told him to leave and never come back. The whole debacle caused a family feud. Patrick Prince and Fr Daniel never again laid eyes on each other. Patrick Prince wiped him out of the family history.’

  ‘Sounds horrible,’ said Conor.

  ‘That’s one word for it,’ said Delores.

  ‘Well, I gotta get out of here,’ said Conor. ‘You won’t tell anyone?’

  ‘No,’ said Delores. ‘I’m setting your young soul free.’ She smiled. ‘Just promise me, Conor, that you will fill your life with goodness. Help people. This is your chance.’

  They heard footsteps down the hallway, voices getting louder. Instinctively, Conor reached for his bag, sliding his hand into it, pulling out the bloodstained gun inside.

  Delores’ eyes went wide. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No. A gun? You? But … oh my goodness. You … but that was your aunt. That was your family and you …’ She held a shaking hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my … oh my …’

  ‘Shhh,’ said Conor. ‘Shhh.’

  ‘And I had it here all along?’ said Delores. ‘How could you? You told me—’

  Conor pointed the gun at her.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she said. ‘Conor!’

  ‘I said shut up,’ said Conor.

  The voices and footsteps became more distant. The only sound was the rain.

  ‘Laura was taking me away,’ said Conor. ‘I didn’t want to go, OK? I didn’t want to. I have my reasons. She was going to ruin my life. And do you want to know what else? See this gun? I know where she got it. From my father. He’s alive and she never told me. So, do you think that’s someone I can trust? Fuck her, coming to “save my life”. She didn’t know shit about my life. She had no clue what mattered to me.’

  ‘But surely she mattered to you,’ said Delores. ‘You have to turn yourself in.’

  Conor laughed. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m going take my inspiration from … you.’

  He pulled the trigger. He pulled it a second time.

  As the rain poured down the windows, and the blood seeped from her body onto the white tiled floor, Delores Ward felt washed away. In her dying moments, she was Virginia Leinster again, Virginia before Viggi. She had buried Viggi the night she buried the corpse of Angelo Marianelli.