Alex Barclay - Harm's Reach

‘Finally,’ she said, as they hit Highway 285. ‘Let me see what I can get on the Princes.’ She did a Google search. ‘OK — Robert Prince is fifty-five years old and has made rich lists at various times under the “Inherited Wealth” category. He has also publicly dismissed this categorization, because he has also had many business ventures of his own in all kinds of areas... some more successful than others.’

‘What kinds of business?’ said Janine.

‘You name it, really,’ said Ren. ‘On the personal and political front, Robert Prince is a devout Catholic, attended Harmon’s, a small private Catholic school, is a serious pro-lifer, has made several cash donations to pro-life politicians. In 2005 and 2010, he was up for election as head of the highly influential Order of Catholic Business Leaders of America, but failed in his bid both times. In 2006, Robert Prince, then forty-eight, married former model, Ingrid Frank, Swedish, then twenty-seven, and they moved to a sixteen-million-dollar apartment in SoHo.’

‘His first marriage?’ said Janine.

‘Yes.’

‘Any shenanigans?’

‘Nothing that’s gone public.’

‘Yet...’ said Janine. ‘Any other heirs to the Prince fortune?’

‘No,’ said Ren. She paused. ‘Unless he’s got some children of love tucked away somewhere... which, let’s face it, they always do.’ She paused. ‘Could Laura Flynn have been pregnant with her master’s baby?’

‘And he reported her missing to deflect...’ said Janine.

‘Wouldn’t anyone assume that an autopsy would include DNA testing of the fetus?’ said Ren.

‘You’re assuming that anyone thought that the body would ever be found,’ said Janine.

‘You are correct, I was,’ said Ren, ‘which is a rookie assumption. So whoever killed her was interrupted before they could remove the body and dump it? What are we leaning toward...?’

‘I don’t like leaning,’ said Janine. ‘Obvious one first: failed carjacking, which we can’t rule out, but is definitely at the bottom of the list, because of the call to me. Alternatives: random shooting. She’s driving along for a pre-arranged meeting with Person A. She pulls into the side of the road. Person B, the shooter, comes up, fires, drives away. Or the victim’s driving along for a pre-arranged meeting with the shooter...’

‘Or,’ said Ren, ‘she’s got no plans to meet anyone, the killer flags her down pretending he needs help, she stops, he pulls open the passenger door, she reaches for a gun in the glove box or he reaches for the glove box where maybe she has money...’

They went quiet.

‘What if,’ said Ren, ‘our bandits are driving by and they just shoot, they just want to cause a distraction... they just kill the first person they see...’

‘Or they killed her before the robbery,’ said Janine. ‘They had chosen their getaway route; having a body there would stop whoever may have been pursuing them.’

‘What if someone else knew about a pre-arranged meeting and killed her?’ said Ren. ‘Someone she knew or someone the other person knew. Was the other person there? Were they shot? Did they witness something?’

‘Our guys will be checking local hospitals...’

‘There’s also the possibility that our bandits are witnesses...’ said Ren. ‘And they’re not exactly going to be lining up to help.’

‘Maybe she was one of them,’ said Janine. ‘Maybe she was to take the cash and go one way, they were to go the other, so if they were pulled over they’d have nothing... she’s home and dry with the money.’

‘Maybe,’ said Ren, ‘the word maybe is making my head spin.’

‘What if,’ said Janine, ‘she was with someone who turned on her and killed her... someone she knew?’

‘“What if” is just another maybe,’ said Ren.

‘You should write country songs,’ said Janine.

‘I write them in my head all the time,’ said Ren.

‘Sorry... back to Robert Prince... inherited wealth... inherited from where?’ said Janine.

‘Robert Prince is heir to the Prince family millions... hundreds of millions. He is the son of Acora Prince and Desmond Lamb. His great-grandfather was Patrick “Prince” O’Sullivan, son of Irish emigrants who settled in Butte, Montana, when they fled the potato famine. They had three sons, the most successful of which was Patrick. Patrick got involved in copper mining, met and married his wife in Butte, made lots of money, made even more when he sold the mine. The last name Prince is because... do we need to know this?’

‘Yes,’ said Janine. ‘For curiosity’s sake.’

‘We both know that curiosity has a record...’ said Ren.

‘That’s appalling,’ said Janine.

‘OK,’ said Ren, ‘the Prince last name is because the O’Sullivan family looked after the grounds of a castle back in Ireland and the locals used to joke that the O’Sullivan father had ideas above his station and that he thought he was the prince himself. So Patrick, who by all accounts was a great joker, changed his name to Prince when he became a big shot. Patrick’s son, Walter Prince, is Robert’s grandfather.’

‘Well, Acora Prince certainly liked the name, seeing as she didn’t change it to her husband’s and didn’t allow her son to either,’ said Janine. ‘Unusual for those times.’

‘Rich families are weird,’ said Ren.

‘So, there’s an Irish connection,’ said Janine. ‘The Princes. The Flynns. Where in Ireland are they from?’

‘The Princes? West Cork.’

‘And Laura Flynn’s from?’

‘Waterford,’ said Ren. She Googled a map of Ireland. ‘Well, they weren’t neighbors,’ she said, ‘they’re over one hundred and fifty miles apart.’

Robert and Ingrid Prince’s holiday rental was eight miles south of Golden and designed to make the most of the spectacular view out over the front range.

‘It’s like a hotel,’ said Janine. She drove up to the gates.

‘It’s like a glass box,’ said Ren.

Janine pressed the intercom button. A woman answered.

‘Hello,’ said Janine, ‘I’m looking for Mrs Ingrid Prince?’

‘Yes, speaking.’

‘My name is Detective Janine Hooks, I’m from the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office, I’m here with SA Ren Bryce from the Rocky Mountain Safe Streets Task Force in Denver. We’d like to speak with you about Laura Flynn.’

‘Laura?’ said Ingrid. ‘Why? What is it? What’s happened?’

‘Could we please come through?’ said Janine.

‘Yes, I’m sorry, of course,’ said Ingrid.

The gates swung open. Janine drove in and parked beside a gold Range Rover.

‘Do they own this place?’ said Janine.

‘No, but they could — that’s the main thing,’ said Ren.

‘Yes,’ said Janine. ‘OK, now let’s go hang with a Swedish former model, just in case we were feeling too good about ourselves.’

Everything about Ingrid Prince’s face said model — everything about her posture, her aura, the movement of her long limbs. She even managed to open the door with grace. She was wearing a floor-length gray strapless jersey dress with an oversized beige cotton cardigan. Her blonde hair was tied up and she had on a gray cotton headband. Her skin was flawless, unlined, glowing.

‘Come in, please,’ she said. ‘Take a seat.’

She gestured to an open-plan living area. There was a magnificent curved stone fireplace with a thick oak beam running the length of the chimney breast and an alcove beside it stacked with logs. On the floor in front lay a pristine rich cream rug. Three brown leather sofas were arranged in the center of the room around a solid, blocky coffee table in the style of a vintage suitcase.