Harm's Reach

by Alex Barclay

  She thought back to the last night that she saw her best friend, Acora Prince. They were both just seventeen years old, standing on the balcony above the foyer of the Princes’ magnificent home. Acora’s mother stood between them. They were all dressed in exquisite ball gowns. Acora’s mother brought the room to silence with a delicate clap of her hands.

  ‘On my right,’ she said, ‘is my baby girl, Acora, and on my left, her dearest friend, Virginia, such beauties, both. Sisters, really.’ She paused. ‘Though Virginia may be something quite different to my husband, Walter?’ she said. ‘Maybe whore … or harlot …’

  Virginia Leinster shivered at the memory of the awful hysteria that was creeping into the woman’s voice, at the gasps and shrieks that had broken out in the crowd. She remembered Walter rushing toward them – to rescue who, she was not sure. But before he made it to the balcony, his wife had taken Virginia by the hair and was pulling her backwards until she was lying, face up, watching the rage, the mental breakdown of her best friend’s mother. She began to drag Virginia by the ankle down the stairs. Virginia remembered the bump of each step against her spine, how her dress began to hike up around her thighs, how she desperately clawed at it to keep it down. She was crying, trying to cover herself and Acora’s mother snapped, ‘I would think you’ve been looking for these,’ and held up a pair of red satin panties. She threw them at Virginia, leaned in, and stuffed them down the front of her dress. And she started to drag Virginia down again, her head now banging off each step.

  Virginia felt it as if she was there all over again. Her spine ached, the back of her head, her heart. It was a piercing pain that she rarely allowed in. And it brought with it a shame of extraordinary depth, a shame that had blossomed inside, filled every space it could. She had never wanted to accept who those red panties belonged to. She accepted it only on the day that Walter Prince told her he was leaving New York to go back to his family. But she had always known … Acora had stumbled in church one day; they must have been no more than thirteen years old. Her dress had caught on the pew and Virginia had rushed to protect her friend’s modesty. Though she had spared her blushes, she caught sight of what that man had forced her to wear.

  It was the scarlet under the white that he liked.

  60

  Janine ran down the steps of The Darned Heart and grabbed one of the Sheriff’s Office investigators.

  ‘Could you please come with me? I just need you to look after a young man we’ve been interviewing.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said.

  ‘Any sign of Conor Gorman?’ said Janine.

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘Walk with me,’ she said.

  As they got to the top of the steps, Ren was running toward them.

  ‘I just got a call from Eleanor Jensen,’ she said. ‘There’s been a shooting at the abbey. Delores Ward is dead.’

  Janine turned to the investigator. ‘Third door on the left!’ She pointed him down to where Jesse Coombes was waiting, Kristen Faule standing guard outside.

  Ren and Janine pulled up outside the abbey, abandoned the Jeep, ran up the steps and through the open door. Eleanor Jensen stood at the top of the stairs in the open doorway of the library, white-faced and covered with blood.

  ‘Are you injured?’ said Ren, running up to her, two steps at a time.

  ‘No,’ said Eleanor. ‘No …’

  ‘Who’s in there?’ said Ren.

  ‘Just Delores,’ said Eleanor. ‘She’s been shot. She’s dead. She’s dead.’

  Janine went past Eleanor into the library.

  ‘Did you see who did this?’ said Ren.

  ‘No,’ said Eleanor. ‘I just heard the gunshot, I came running. Then I could hear a car being driven away.’ Her legs buckled under her.

  Ren crouched down and helped to move her to a sitting position against the wall. ‘Wait there, I’ll get you a chair.’ She went into the library … where the lifeless body of Delores Ward lay.

  ‘One to the head, one to the chest,’ said Janine. ‘No sign of the weapon.’

  ‘That poor woman,’ said Ren.

  Not far from the body was an open metal tin and dark bones scattered across the floor. Janine walked over to it.

  ‘Looks like we’ve got a partial jaw bone, femur, tibia …’ she said.

  ‘The broken pipe must have washed them out from under the cabin,’ said Ren. ‘My guess is that the bone the girl saw someone waving about was real. And it was Conor Gorman who found it. If Delores saw him looking around, or if he called to the cabin … he might just have agreed to keep her secret. And later, she would keep one for him. Was it just that he was making sure he could get away from the ranch? Was he getting rides with Kendall’s crew or something? Was that how he got into Golden the night of the bar fight?’

  Janine looked down at the body. ‘The pull of a trigger … and the whole world is changed.’

  Ren was staring out the window at the rain, at the broken-down cabin.

  Triggers. Oh my God. Triggers.

  ‘Triggers!’ said Ren. She turned to Janine. ‘You said there was a tattoo place in Golden …’

  ‘Yes,’ said Janine.

  ‘Can you find out when Conor Gorman got his tattoo?’ said Ren.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I need to make another call,’ said Ren. She walked a few feet away and Googled the number for the Southampton Police Department in New York.

  ‘My name is SA Ren Bryce. I’m calling from Safe Streets in Denver. I need to speak with whoever handled an MVC on New Year’s Eve last,’ she said. ‘Driver’s name was Conor Gorman.’

  ‘Let me put you through to Detective Lin,’ said the operator.

  Ren introduced herself and repeated her request.

  ‘Yes, Conor Gorman,’ said Detective Lin. ‘Do you want to know what he did – he crashed a Lotus Series 2 Super Seven into a tree on Tuckahoe Lane. I died a little inside. It was like watching Ferris Bueller, only they trash the car before they make it home.’

  Ren laughed. ‘Was he alone at the time?’

  ‘He was,’ said Lin. ‘Thrown right from it, without a scratch. Unbelievable. Lucky little shit. He had the arrogance to take that baby out – no clue how to handle it. That car has evil manners …’

  Evil manners. I love it.

  ‘I heard later from a neighbor that before he took it, there was a disturbance outside his home about a half hour earlier,’ said Lin.

  ‘Outside the Princes’?’ said Ren.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lin.

  ‘He had a fight with Robert Prince, then took his car?’ said Ren.

  ‘No – with the wife,’ said Lin. ‘She probably asked him to take the garbage out. The kid’s a brat.’

  ‘Did she come pick him up?’ said Ren.

  ‘In the end, yes – he had been on a bender for a couple days before we picked him up,’ said Lin. ‘She showed up, spared him Robert Prince killing him, I’d say.’

  ‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘Well, thanks for filling me in.’

  So, Conor Gorman fights with Ingrid, implodes, then realizes: act out, and Ingrid will come my way. Rinse, repeat.

  She turned to Janine. ‘Conor Gorman fought with Ingrid Prince New Year’s Eve – right before he crashed Robert Prince’s Lotus,’ said Ren.

  ‘Conor Gorman got that tattoo late May,’ said Janine.

  Ren checked her calendar. ‘That was after I interviewed him. I told him that Ingrid Prince was the one who said he should stay at the ranch. Robert Prince said she was creating distance, she didn’t want Conor to see her as a mother figure. She must have been getting vibes from him. Every time Conor Gorman has acted out … it was connected to Ingrid Prince. She’s his trigger.’

  ‘He’s obsessed with Ingrid Prince.’ They both said it at the same time.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Ren. ‘She abandoned him today, too. She was supposed to pick him up. She didn’t show.’ Then something hit her. She could feel herself go cold. ‘Janine … Laura Flynn wanted t
o take him away from Ingrid Prince … and he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to leave Ingrid. He killed Laura. It was Conor Gorman.’

  61

  Ren called Kohler and explained her theory.

  ‘We’ll put the ranch and the abbey on lockdown, and issue an alert. Any idea where he’s headed?’

  ‘We don’t know yet which car he’s taken,’ said Ren. ‘We’ve got someone here trying to work that out. We think he could be headed to the Princes’ rental in Golden.’

  ‘We’ll send someone there,’ said Kohler.

  ‘We’ll meet you there,’ said Ren.

  Ren called Kristen Faule. ‘Did you hear back from Ingrid Prince?’

  ‘No,’ said Kristen. ‘I also tried Robert Prince, and had no luck.’

  Shit. ‘If Ingrid arrives at the ranch or if she makes contact with you in any way, please go directly to one of the Sheriff’s Office investigators at the ranch. Do not try to contact the Princes yourself.’

  ‘OK,’ said Kristen. ‘OK.’

  The panic in your voice. Your baby is under attack.

  Janine’s phone started to ring. She picked up.

  ‘Detective Hooks? This is Casey from Ink Corp tattoo shop. That kid you were asking about that came in for the cat tattoo? He’s just been here. He wanted another tattoo – lettering this time. I told him the guy he needed for that wasn’t here, he wouldn’t be back for another half hour. He was so pissed.’

  ‘What lettering did he want?’ said Janine.

  ‘Uh … “Angry cats get scratched skin” … but in Swedish. Weird.’

  ‘Did you see where he went?’ said Janine.

  ‘No,’ said Casey. ‘But he was mad as hell.’

  ‘When did he leave?’ said Janine.

  ‘Right before I called you,’ said Casey. ‘I’m not sure about his mental state. And I thought I might have seen, like, blood on his neck. Like he had tried to wipe it away …’

  ‘Thank you for letting me know,’ said Janine.

  She ended the call.

  Ren and Janine sped toward the Princes’ rental.

  ‘His father abandoned him,’ said Ren, ‘his mother died, Laura’s gone. He’s been pushed over the edge.’

  Ren phoned Ingrid Prince. She picked up. Hallelujah. ‘Mrs Prince, have you seen Conor today?’

  ‘No,’ said Ingrid. ‘I was to pick him up at the ranch this morning, but I’ve been tied up here at the house. Robert is going tomorrow instead when he gets back.’

  ‘We believe that you might be in danger,’ said Ren. ‘We’re on our way. Do not open the door to Conor Gorman. Lock yourself in.’

  ‘To Conor?’ said Ingrid. ‘Why not? Why isn’t he at the ranch?’

  ‘We think he’s very angry with you for not showing up today, Mrs Prince,’ said Ren. ‘We think he’s fixated on you. We believe that he killed Laura Flynn because she wanted to take him away from you. And we think you upset him too by not showing up today. Please, stay safe. We’re on our way.’

  ‘I don’t want to stay here, if he’s coming this way,’ said Ingrid. ‘What if he’s able to get in? I should go somewhere.’

  ‘It’s a secure property,’ said Ren. ‘Have the security gates been breached?’

  ‘No,’ said Ingrid.

  ‘Is there any other way onto the property?’ said Ren.

  ‘No,’ said Ingrid. ‘No.’

  ‘Then stay right where you are,’ said Ren. ‘Lock your doors. The Sheriff’s Office should be there right away.’

  ‘I’m afraid to stay here—’ said Ingrid.

  ‘It’s the safest place to be,’ said Ren. ‘Trust me.’

  Twenty minutes later, Ren and Janine were pulling up to the gates of the rental. They were wide open. Cars from the Sheriff’s Office were abandoned out the front, lights flashing.

  Fuck.

  Ren and Janine jumped out of the Jeep. The first thing they saw was a stream of blood snaking down the driveway. It was coming from under a black tarp, the shape of a body clear.

  Oh God.

  The driver’s door to Ingrid Prince’s Range Rover was open.

  Kohler started walking toward them.

  Ren could vaguely hear crying. They looked beyond the body, beyond the driveway into the house where Ingrid Prince was rocking back and forth, an investigator beside her, her arm around her.

  ‘What happened?’ said Ren.

  ‘He must have gotten the code,’ said Kohler. ‘He got in the back door. She heard the noise. She came out the front, tried to leave, he ran after her, he raised the gun. She says she barely remembers. She panicked. She reversed. She knocked him down. She’s distraught in there. She’s covered in blood. She won’t see a doctor, says she’s fine. She just wants her husband. She said she tried to help him … but it was too late. She said he said sorry, though. He said sorry about Laura.’

  Ren looked past Kohler to the lump under the tarp. ‘What the fuck is all I have to say. What the fuck …’

  ‘Better him than her, I guess …’ said Kohler.

  62

  A week later, Ren, Janine and Robbie managed to have the same evening off. They sat in Woody’s having pizza.

  ‘Can anyone call this a celebration?’ said Ren.

  ‘Definitely not,’ said Janine. ‘This is called simply: sustenance.’

  Bare sustenance for you, my beautiful, delicate friend.

  ‘Do you want to hear something beyond fucked-up?’ said Ren.

  ‘Coming from you?’ said Janine.

  ‘It’s about Walter Prince,’ said Ren. ‘I realized how he stalked two of those little Orchard Girls – it was the letters the Irish immigrants dictated to him. They weren’t just telling their families back home what was going on with their children – they were giving him information he could use to find them or gain their trust. Like “Little Mary is eleven now, getting so big, walks home every day by the creek …” Walter Prince didn’t mail those letters, not out of spite, but because they could have been used as evidence against him … What a sick fuck.’

  ‘That just gives me shivers,’ said Janine.

  ‘People will visit the Prince mansion for the Christmas Eve ball or pay for the guided tour …’ said Ren. ‘When really, I think it should only be open for Hallowe’en.’

  ‘I think we should go,’ said Janine.

  ‘Sign me up,’ said Ren. She turned to Robbie. ‘Do you have your iPad?’

  ‘Yup,’ said Robbie.

  ‘Can I take a look?’ she said. Please tell me you’ve cleared your History.

  ‘Sure, go ahead,’ said Robbie, handing it to her.

  ‘I just want to see if the grand event’s still going ahead after the entire Prince family shitstorm,’ she said.

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Janine.

  She Googled the Princes, put in the timeframe of the previous week. ‘Ooh,’ she said. ‘Stalker shots.’

  There was a picture of Ingrid Prince, taken on the beach in the Hamptons the previous weekend. She was dressed in a blue floaty cover-up and a floppy hat.

  ‘That woman is so stunning,’ said Ren. She showed the others.

  Janine pointed to the caption: After some time away from the spotlight following the tragic death of her friend, Laura Flynn, ex-model Ingrid Prince, five months pregnant, debuts her baby bump on the beach at her Hamptons’ hideaway.

  ‘Debuts her Moonbump,’ said Ren. ‘But, yikes. She hasn’t announced the fake miscarriage yet.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘The longer the delay, the greater the empathetic outpourings, I guess.’

  ‘Celebrity is so weird,’ said Janine.

  Ren scrolled down to the next photo of Ingrid Prince in a beautiful mismatched bikini: red bottoms, blue-and-white stripes on top. And sandwiched in between, a very clear, very real baby bump.

  Janine, Ren and Robbie all stared at each other.

  Oh. My. God.

  ‘Looks like Conor Gorman’s obsession with Ingrid wasn’t a one-way street,’ said Ren.

  63
/>   Ingrid Prince was waiting for her driver at the rental in Golden. She had returned from New York for the last time to finally pack her things. She sat now on a high stool, elbow bent, leaning with her forearm on the kitchen island, scrolling through texts. They had been popping up on her cell phone all morning, since the Hamptons photo appeared online.

  Hey, hot mama!

  Looking good! x

  Suits you!

  Ah, the secret hideaway … B-)

  Must check has hell frozen over: it appears your belly is bigger than mine …;-)

  Ingrid held a hand to her belly. Twenty-two weeks gone; her baby conceived on an icy January night in Golden in front of the fire with a handsome boy, fresh from a bar fight. This was her golden child, her golden ticket. And quite by accident! Fate had been kind! And Robert wouldn’t know the difference. Whether the baby would have dark Irish looks from a line of rich Princes, or common Gormans; no one would be able to tell. And if there was ever a reason for her husband to look closer, she was the keeper of the secret he would never want revealed, a secret even the tabloids wouldn’t want to publish. It still turned her stomach to think of it.

  She had burned the Special Forces badge. When the package arrived from the Prince mansion, she just thought it would be some more interesting stuff; Robert had shown her some of the things from the first package. She thought it would be jewelry or tattered love letters or something old and exciting. But it wasn’t. It was a badge that meant Desmond Lamb could not possibly have been Robert’s father: he was gone for almost the entire year of 1957; the timing was all wrong. But it was worse than that. And when she had found out, it was too late. Laura Flynn was already pregnant. She had told Laura, she had confided in her in the way that one confides in a dependant; you can tell a true dependant anything. They can’t leave. They have no home, no money without you. She had begged Laura to have an abortion. She would still get paid. Ingrid would pay her. She had done the groundwork – she had researched clinics on Simone’s laptop. Yet, still, Laura had wanted to keep the baby. Who wants to keep a baby that isn’t even theirs, when the mother herself doesn’t want it? It wasn’t a baby, anyway. It was some kind of monster.