Alex Barclay - Harm's Reach

Get back to work.

As she sat back, she realized there was a mug of coffee on Colin Grabien’s desk.

‘Who’s here?’ said Ren.

‘The panic, the panic,’ said Cliff.

Gary walked in as she was asking. ‘Roger Cornett is here for a few days,’ he said.

What? ‘Seriously?’ said Ren. ‘Is that chair doomed to be filled by an asshole?’

‘All chairs are,’ said Cliff.

‘I’d be seeing a doctor if my asshole were filling it...’ said Gary.

Gary has made a joke. The world has gone mad.

‘Sorry, Gary — you know Cornett is a total dick,’ said Ren. ‘There’s definitely a diagnosis there...’

‘Roger!’ said Cliff, looking past Ren, standing up, reaching out his hand. ‘Welcome back.’

Ren’s heart plunged. Oh. Dear. God.

She turned around to see no one behind her.

‘That was so mean,’ she said. She turned to Gary. ‘Aw, Gary, please. Please don’t consider Cornett as a permanent. He is a hater of humanity.’

‘And a lover of numbers,’ said Gary. ‘This is business, Ren.’

Do not smile at me, handsome boss.

Gary smiled more. ‘You handled Grabien.’ He paused and grabbed the mug of coffee from the desk. He took a drink. ‘Roger Cornett is not here, Ren. You can relax.’ He walked out the door, laughing.

Ren turned to Cliff. ‘That was two jokes in a row — what the hell? And this is not business, by the way. It’s home. It’s home!’

‘You young people,’ said Cliff. ‘You have no lives.’

‘I know, I know,’ said Ren. ‘One minute, I’m prom queen, the next my office is my home. That and bars.’

‘You were never prom queen,’ said Cliff.

‘You are not wrong,’ said Ren. ‘I did, however, make out with her. Even though I had not voted for her... which made me feel a little guilty.’

‘How is the Vatican on that kind of guilt?’ said Cliff.

‘They’re big fans of me feeling guilty,’ said Ren. ‘For themselves? Not so much. Robbie gets repression of sexual urges, I get guilt.’

‘Ren, can you please quit talking about all that?’ said Robbie.

‘I am sorry,’ said Ren. ‘And you are right. I think I am a little fascinated by the whole thing.’

‘Robbie has been afflicted with the curse of having happily married parents,’ said Cliff. ‘It has been proven that that can actually mess people up, that you won’t settle for less.’

Oh my God, Robbie, you have told no one.

‘I don’t know,’ said Ren. ‘Ben’s parents are happily married. And he has totally settled.’

Her phone rang. It was Barry Tolman.

‘Ren, sorry, I was out of town for a couple of days. I wanted to let you know that one of my staff here at the lab got a call directly from Robert Prince last Wednesday.’

‘Robert Prince?’ said Ren. ‘What did he want?’

‘Well, he was asking about the release of the body. He thought it would be coming directly from the morgue. They put him in touch with the funeral home.’

‘OK...’

‘He asked about the fetus,’ said Tolman. ‘About whether it could be... transported in a separate coffin.’

Oh my God. ‘Well, I think that’s the surrogacy question answered,’ said Ren. ‘Jesus. That’s heart-breaking. We’ll try to get some buccal swabs from the Princes so we can confirm everything. Thanks for letting me know.’

Ren put down the phone, struck by the realization that Laura Flynn was buried by now.

How quickly you can be gone, how quickly you can be in the ground or ashes in the wind.

Ren called Eli Baer. ‘Hey, Eli — did you get anything from Laura Flynn’s memorial service?’

‘She was cremated at Rooks Funeral Home in Southampton on Saturday,’ said Eli. ‘There was a short service, and they scattered her ashes at sea. It was a small affair, as you can imagine. The Princes were there, both very upset, some of their friends, some of Laura’s friends from New York — mostly Irish.’

‘Was there a guy called Johnny there?’ said Ren.

‘No,’ said Eli. ‘And, by the way, it seemed none of her friends knew she was pregnant.’

‘That’s just so strange,’ said Ren. ‘I’m thinking surrogacy. Or the father is a married man...’

‘You’re still thinking Robert Prince...’ said Eli.

‘Well...’

‘I don’t know if this is going to make things better or worse for you,’ said Eli. ‘But I got some more on the OCBLA. Robert Prince was not supposed to be running in 2015, but one of the candidates — there are only two — dropped out at the beginning of the year; he was diagnosed with brain cancer. Robert agreed to take his place. This is a position he really wants. My source told me that when he wasn’t elected in 2005, he went all out to curry favor with the other members for 2010. Rumor has it he donated millions to a diocesan fund to pay off victims of child sexual abuse by the Catholic Church in Denver.’

‘And that’s a good thing?’ said Ren. ‘Jesus Christ. I wonder was he looking for anything in return, like land? I don’t get how these lay people are willing to pay for these priests’ actions.’

‘Unless that’s their thing too,’ said Eli.

‘I’m not getting that vibe from him.’

‘“He seemed like such a nice scout leader/clown/elementary school teacher/swim coach”...’ said Eli.

Ren laughed. ‘My radar is usually good for that kind of thing...’

‘If I find out any more, I’ll let you know...’

She put down the phone and filled the others in.

‘So, the pregnancy was secret,’ said Cliff. ‘And he wants to be head of an organization where he needs to be a model Catholic. That’s a worrying combination.’

‘Maybe Laura Flynn wasn’t the target at all,’ said Ren. ‘Maybe the baby was...’

Ren slid her keyboard toward her.

‘There’s another option... it could also be that there’s another heir to the Prince throne out there that this new baby was going to usurp... Maybe it’s in someone else’s interest to make sure this little girl was not born.’

Ren Googled Robert Prince and his former relationships. He had clearly been careful. There was very little information; scattered over the previous three decades were no more than ten photos of the same five or six beautiful girlfriends on his arm at major events. Ren followed their trails through the internet; there were four marriages, three divorces and seven children between them. There was no suggestion of Robert Prince as a babydaddy, but, then, if he was, it was likely his offspring and their mamas would have been paid lots of money to remain invisible.

She came across an article from February about the restoration of the Prince family mansion outside Butte. It was to be opened to the public in time for Christmas. Robert Prince and his wife, Ingrid, were expected to attend a gala charity opening night...

Seven months from now. They had probably chosen that night to introduce the new baby to the world.

Ren found the phone number of the public relations officer for the project — a woman called Barbara Hynes.

‘Hello,’ said Ren, ‘I’m Special Agent Ren Bryce, I’m calling from Safe Streets in Denver. I’m investigating the death of Laura Flynn; she was the housekeeper for Robert Prince and his family.’

‘Yes,’ said Barbara. ‘How can I help you? I read about the case. It’s very sad.’

‘Had you ever spoken with Laura Flynn for any reason?’ said Ren.

‘No,’ said Barbara. ‘I deal directly with Robert Prince.’

‘How long have you been working with the Prince family?’

‘We have a connection that goes back over a century,’ said Barbara. ‘My great-grandparents worked for the family, as did my grandparents. I’ve worked for twenty years as a local historian out of the library in Butte, so when it came to handling the PR for the renovation, I put myself forward...’