Alex Barclay - Harm's Reach

‘So Kristen Faule thinks she’s got some kind of magic wand that will transform these kids,’ said Ren. ‘When it’s highly likely that most of them have been blackmailed into going there in the first place and are just biding their time. “You won’t get a car for your sixteenth birthday if you don’t get a handle on your behavior/you are forbidden to see your boyfriend or girlfriend/we’ll take away your iPad, trauma of traumas”...’

‘We were simple children, really...’ said Janine.

‘We were,’ said Ren. ‘It’s shitty that some of these parents are sending their kids off just to get them out from under their feet, to get a break from all their drama, or worse, that they want to protect their own reputation. I think the minority are the ones who want their child to be happy and healthy and... fixed. It’s a great thing what the Faules do. I’m sure they’ve helped a lot of kids... I just suspect some of these kids are beyond help.’

The sign for The Darned Heart Ranch arced over the iron entry gates, the words rendered in oxblood metal. Ren had parked outside the metal art shop in Conifer the day before; all metal signs had been jumping out at her ever since. She drove up the dusty driveway. Robbie had opened a map of the ranch on his iPad.

‘The ranch is laid out like an actual diagram of the heart,’ said Robbie. ‘We are currently driving up the inferior vena cava.’

‘And what does that do?’ said Ren.

‘It carries de-oxygenated blood from the lower half of the body to the right atrium.’

Ren looked at him. ‘Wow. I wasn’t actually expecting an answer.’

They pulled into the parking lot. Ren looked at the map. The main office of the ranch was a three-thousand-square-foot log cabin tucked into the right ventricle; there were recreational areas in the left atrium, troubled teen residences in the superior vena cava. There were stables, a tack room, a hayloft and maintenance units tucked into the cardiac muscle. Beside that was a school with several classrooms, beside that an indoor basketball court and a separate shower house and toilet block. There was a separate two-story building close by that housed staff. And a three-bed ranch-style home where the Faules lived.

‘It’s kind of a mix of old and new,’ said Ren. ‘OK — let’s go. See if we can make a cardiac arrest...’

Robbie was staring out the window.

You don’t laugh at my jokes any more.

‘Are you OK, Robbie?’ said Ren. ‘I mean, am I OK? Have I done something?’

He shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Because if you don’t change that attitude, young man, I’m going to leave you here, let them beat the trouble out of you...’

Robbie smiled.

That’s better... a little better...

They got out of the Jeep. Ren looked around.

‘Can you take some photos of the vehicles parked here?’ she said.

Robbie used his iPad to quickly take a few dozen shots from different angles.

‘Some very nice cars,’ said Ren. ‘Look at this fleet of four...’ Black, sleek, top-of-the-range executive vans. ‘Ferriers of children to rehab. What a strange world we live in.’

They walked through the parking lot.

‘Looks like someone jizzed up the side of that one,’ said Ren, pointing to another black car.

‘How do you just come out with things like that?’ said Robbie.

‘It’s shameful,’ said Ren. ‘I apologize. But it’s a ranch for teens... hormones are rampant.’

‘That doesn’t mean—’

‘Robbie, I’m kidding. Jesus. I don’t think a kid’s been out here jacking off. It doesn’t even look like jizz. Relax.’

They went into the reception of the main building, showed their badges and asked to speak with Kristen Faule.

‘Sure,’ said the girl at the desk, ‘please, take a seat.’

Kristen Faule arrived within ten minutes. She looked to be in her mid-forties, her snowy blonde hair tied back into a plait that reached halfway down her back. The only makeup she wore was to define her eyebrows and darken her lashes.

‘I’m Special Agent Ren Bryce,’ said Ren, ‘and this is Detective Robbie Truax. We’re from the Rocky Mountain Safe Streets Task Force in Denver. Thank you for seeing us.’

‘My pleasure,’ she said. ‘Come on through to my office. My husband is on his way, he’ll join us there.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ren.

But why are you talking like you’re auditioning for a Disney movie and/or musical? Disney ways. I get it. Janine, I love you.

Ren and Robbie followed Kristen Faule into a large room that was like a combination living space, office and bookstore. It had a beautiful stone fireplace with a yellow ceramic jug of flowers in the hearth. There was a smell of freshly cut wood and oil. Everything looked rugged, rustic, but new.

‘This is a beautiful room,’ said Ren.

‘Thank you,’ said Kristen. ‘We’ve just had it remodeled. I only moved back into it a month ago.’

‘It will age real well,’ said Ren. ‘I love the shelves.’

‘Hand-crafted,’ said Kristen. ‘They’re my favorite feature.’

‘And they must be custom file cabinets,’ said Ren.

She nodded. ‘They are. I hate the metal look. I wanted everything to have as natural a finish as it could.’

Instead of sitting at her desk, she guided them over to two facing sofas. They were all halted by the mountains of cushions on top.

‘Just move them out of your way,’ said Kristen.

How many times a day do you have to say that to people?

Ren rolled her eyes at Robbie as they both plucked up cushions and set them on an empty console table.

The room overlooked a flagstone courtyard bordered by blue spruce.

‘I know you had detectives from the Sheriff’s Office here yesterday to let you know about the homicide,’ said Ren.

‘Yes — how terribly sad,’ said Kristen.

Ren nodded. ‘She was only twenty-six years old.’

Robbie leaned forward and took a brochure for the ranch from a stack on the table. ‘Do you mind?’ he said.

‘Not at all,’ said Kristen.

‘The Darned Heart...’ said Robbie.

‘It’s a play on words,’ said Kristen.

No way!

There was no doubt she had explained this a thousand times, but there was clearly no loss of enthusiasm. ‘These kids — or their parents — often feel like they are damned,’ said Kristen, ‘which is a terrible thing when they’re still in their teens. The kids have the strangest type of independence; it’s independence without the emotional maturity to handle it. And without the respect for authority that allows them to accept guidance from people who do. They want to do everything themselves and don’t want to listen to anyone. And then something happens in their lives and they break.

‘It doesn’t matter what their financial circumstances are, they are all, in some way, broken. Their hearts are broken. And we like to think we can help mend that. Darn it.’ She smiled. ‘It’s in honor of my grandmother, who always said you could “knit a problem away”.’

Do not laugh. Do not laugh.

That voice, though.

Kenneth Faule strode into the room, fresh from the shower, broad-shouldered, gray-templed, wide-smiled. They made their introductions.

‘Yesterday’s victim,’ said Ren, ‘her name was Laura Flynn. Does that name sound familiar to either of you?’

Kristen and Kenneth looked at each other. ‘No.’

‘She was a psychology graduate,’ said Ren. ‘Could she have perhaps been in touch about a position here at the ranch?’

‘Well, obviously, we do hire psychologists,’ said Kristen, ‘but we’re not hiring right now, so she couldn’t have been responding to an ad or anything like that.’