Alex Barclay - Harm's Reach

What if I was swinging naked on a wrecking ball?

‘Ben, maybe you don’t know enough about the whole bipolar thing,’ said Ren. ‘Maybe you need to find out more...’

‘Good idea!’ said Ben. ‘And I can buy a crystal ball, a deck of tarot cards, have my palm read, so that all the details of our future will be revealed, so that I can really really walk away with the full facts of how this nightmare of a life with you would have gone if I hadn’t had such a lucky escape! Phew!’

Ren smiled. ‘But I’m not sure you’re really understanding—’

‘You go crazy sometimes, you’re miserable other times,’ said Ben. ‘Big deal. Aren’t we all like that?’

Nooo. ‘No,’ said Ren. Really. No. Not like this.

‘Ren, you be who you have to be, I’ll be me, and we’ll work out the rest when it shows up.’

The paranoia, the suspicion, the extra helpings of crazy...

‘I’m good with this,’ said Ben. ‘Don’t worry. This isn’t a terminal illness diagnosis, this is manageable.’

Uh-oh.

‘It is a nightmare of a life for the other person,’ said Ren. ‘I’ve been there.’

‘Not with me you haven’t,’ said Ben. ‘Not with me.’

Ren woke the next morning and looked at Ben, sleeping like he hadn’t a worry in the world, as always.

I would love your gentle, untroubled-waters mind.

He rolled away from her.

If you have any sense, keep rolling.

She put her arms around him and kissed his back.

‘That’s nice,’ he muttered.

‘I better get to work...’

He turned around to her and opened his eyes. ‘Come here,’ he said, holding out his arms. Ren lay back down, warm and safe, until the alarm blasted again.

‘I really better go,’ said Ren, sitting up. ‘See you next week?’

‘Don’t put a question mark at the end of that sentence,’ said Ben. He pulled her back down and kissed her.

‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘I won’t.’ She hugged him. ‘Thanks... for being so wonderful.’

‘No — you’re wonderful,’ he said. ‘Just the way you are.’

I beg to differ.

The office was quiet when Ren arrived in. It was unchanged. The roof had not fallen in. There was paperwork to be done, phone calls to be made. Life would continue whether she had said something out loud the night before or not.

She bumped into Gary in the hallway. She was about to tell him about the visit to the ranch.

‘Ren — go through everything on the robberies, OK? There might be something we missed.’ He walked on.

Shit.

‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘OK.’ She was calling out to his fast-departing back.

She went in to Cliff.

‘Did you get security footage from the Littleton robbery?’

‘We did,’ he said.

‘Can you email it to me?’ she said.

‘Sure. And, Ren — I spoke with the ME in Butte about the journalist OD. He says there was nothing there that gave him cause for concern. Heroin overdose in a shitty motel.’

‘Really?’ said Ren. ‘Don’t you think it’s totally weird he was about to run a damaging story about the Princes and he dies right beforehand? And he wasn’t a known user?’

‘It could just be a coincidence,’ said Cliff.

‘Hmm,’ said Ren.

‘Have you sunk your teeth into Robert Prince?’ said Cliff.

‘Maybe,’ said Ren, ‘but I haven’t started shaking my head...’

‘Yet,’ said Cliff.

Ren sat back and watched the footage of the robbery. She studied the similar style, the customers dropping to the ground as the first robber jumped up on the counter and fired, the second guy going to the cashier, handing the note. Their faces were still completely concealed. There was something bothering her. She couldn’t put her finger on it. She knew she was good with video. She could spot things.

She watched again.

She called up the Conifer video and watched that. There were six customers in the branch. One of them was wearing a large sun hat and sunglasses.

A disguise! Albeit a comedy disguise. A plant? Bring-Your-Mother-to-Work Day, concealed weapon in her muumuu?

Ren hit Pause. The woman was only barely in frame. But there was something about her...

Ren looked at the map; five strikes: Welton Street, Glendale, Englewood, Conifer, Littleton. Conifer was an anomaly; they were still moving east/west as Gary had said, but Conifer was further into the mountains and Littleton was back to the flatlands.

Ren watched all the videos again. Then she looked at the still images taken. Something was strange. She looked at the Glendale photos. There was something off.

They’re the wrong photos. They’re not of the most recent robbery.

She searched in her computer. The photos she was looking at were of a 2010 robbery in Glendale. Someone had named the new set of photos too similarly. Problem solved.

She went back to her file on the Conifer robbery. She watched the video again. She did her first read-through of the witness statements. And she realized why that little old lady was familiar: it was Delores Ward. Cabin Lady.

Hmm... wasn’t the abbey’s money all controlled centrally by Eleanor Jensen?

Ren called Eleanor Jensen.

‘Eleanor, you mentioned that you’re in charge of the finances at the abbey, is that correct?’ said Ren.

‘Yes,’ said Eleanor.

‘And that your policy is, effectively, common ownership?’ said Ren.

‘In the most part, yes,’ said Eleanor. ‘For a lot of the women who come here, money, for different reasons, has become a problem for them: whether they needed it for drugs, stole it and got arrested; had a husband who controlled their finances; became corrupt in the pursuit of money... whatever the reason, to come here and have the worry of money taken away from them can be freeing. They have everything they need to eat and drink, to be comfortable. And they get real joy knowing that the money we make here is helping the underprivileged. And, here, everyone is in the same boat. Obviously, I’m in charge of the finances and they trust me with that. That’s also important to me, because the women’s ability to trust has been destroyed by their previous circumstances. They have a tentative start here, learning to trust again, whether that’s me, the other women, anyone.’

‘And Delores Ward, even though she lives out in that cabin... she is part of your community?’ said Ren.

‘Oh, absolutely,’ said Eleanor.

‘So, could she have her own bank account, for example?’ said Ren.

‘A bank account?’ said Eleanor. She laughed. ‘No. This is a woman who lives alone, has no internet access, no mode of transport. She doesn’t even receive mail. She has no family. Some other members of the community may have bank accounts. It’s not like we would stop them or monitor that.’

‘Well, I’m looking down at a list of witnesses to the bank robbery in Conifer,’ said Ren. ‘On the same day as a murder. And her name is right here: Delores Ward. She told us she was in her cabin all day, apart from a trip to the chapel.’

‘Yes — that’s what I thought too,’ said Eleanor. ‘This is so strange. Honestly — Delores’ day is a minimum twenty-one hours in that cabin with a few trips over and back to the chapel for prayer, but even that isn’t a strict schedule. We deliver her meals to her, but she’s always there to accept them, unless she’s unwell. And if she’s unwell, we take care of her in the abbey. The idea of her being off the property without my knowledge is... it would be a surprise.’

‘The robbery was just before one p.m.,’ said Ren, ‘so she could have had time to get there and back.’