Alex Barclay - Harm's Reach

She opened it. Ren leaned in to look. There was a photo clipped to the corner of the blank contents page. It was of Conor Gorman. There were more photos... Conor Gorman, sitting on one of the sofas at the ranch, smiling.

Handsome young man.

There were a few more underneath: Conor in the tack room, his back to the camera. Conor on the basketball court. Conor walking into the shower block. Conor...

Whoa.

WTF?

‘That headless body shot,’ said Ren. ‘That’s Conor. I know by the red bracelet.’ She looked at the next one.

‘Well, that’s a fresh tattoo,’ said Ren. ‘Look at the scabs.’

Across the bottom of his back was a tattoo of a reclining black cat with its paw stretched up toward his right shoulder blade.

‘He had to have gotten it while he was at the ranch,’ said Ren. ‘Ranch security is as high as ever. Is there a tattoo parlor in Conifer?’

‘No,’ said Janine. ‘But there’s Ink Corp in Golden.’

She flipped through the rest of the pages of the journal. Each was titled Sermon , followed by a colon, and the subject. Sermon: Pain, Sermon: Ability, Sermon: Shame, Sermon: Penance . The final one: Sermon: Betrayal . Betrayal. Betrayal.

‘This belongs to Jesse Coombes,’ said Janine.

She went through more of it. There was one last photo of Conor, a simple headshot, and all over it was scrawled in red ink:

Rubyman Rubyman Rubyman Rubyman Rubyman Rubyman.

Ren, Janine and Kohler all stared at each other.

Kohler raised his eyebrows.

‘And how did Morgan Greene say he had this?’ said Ren.

‘He’s saying nothing,’ said Kohler. ‘He wants promises.’

They laughed.

‘I’ve left him to think further about it,’ said Kohler.

‘This is fucked up,’ said Ren, taking the journal from Janine. ‘Is Jesse Coombes completely insane? I mean, did anyone check behind his ear for a 666?’

‘That’s standard JeffCo procedure...’ said Kohler.

‘He tried to burn the journal, though,’ said Janine. ‘Would that not show he’s over this infatuation? And, it’s not like he did anything extreme with the first “Rubyman”.’

‘If he was trying to burn it, it’s because it’s evidence of the crazy,’ said Ren. ‘Evidence of how obsessed he was. This could be an escalation.’ She handed Janine one of the shirtless photos of Conor.

Janine turned to Kohler. ‘I’ll talk to the judge about this little journal development — that should hurry things along with the warrant.’

Kohler nodded. ‘Oh, I think so.’

‘I am going to kick Kristen Faule’s Disney ass,’ said Ren. ‘The lying—’

‘You’ll have to play nicey nicey until we get to speak with Jesse Coombes,’ said Kohler. ‘Not that I’m trying to tell you how to do your business...’

Ren smiled. ‘Is this litter-warden vengeance?’

‘Oh, you weren’t there when he bawled them out of it,’ said Janine. ‘You did him a great service.’

‘Do they all hate me now?’ said Ren.

‘I kept your name out of it,’ said Kohler. He smiled.

‘Janine made a major breakthrough on Viggi Leinster,’ said Ren.

Janine flashed a look at her.

‘Really?’ said Kohler.

‘Yes,’ said Janine. ‘Turns out that’s the case Laura Flynn was calling me about the day she died. There’s a call I can make while we’re waiting to hear back about Jesse Coombes.’

Janine and Ren sat in front of Viggi Leinster’s file. They had propped the photo up in front of them. It was an affecting image; Viggi Leinster was a beautiful, elegant innocent. Tousled blonde hair, huge blue eyes that weren’t lost or vacant, but maybe a little sad.

‘Ready to rock?’ said Ren.

‘I sure am,’ said Janine. She dialed Carolina Vescovi’s number. Ren listened in on the other line as Janine explained who she was and asked about the phone call from the Prince home.

‘Oh,’ said Carolina. ‘Yes. A friend’s daughter is working on a documentary for film school on my parents’ restaurant. She wanted to use a montage of photos my mother had and the school told her she would need to get permission from anyone featured in them.’

‘And one of the Princes was featured?’ said Janine.

‘Yes — Walter Prince. My mother recognized him. His only surviving relative is his grandson, Robert Prince.’

‘And did he give you permission to use the photo?’ said Janine.

‘No,’ said Carolina. ‘I was under no circumstances to use the photo.’

‘Really?’ said Janine.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Carolina.

‘Did he say why?’ said Janine.

‘No,’ said Carolina, ‘that was the strange part. You could barely even see the man’s face. It was his big bulky shoulder, a sliver of a profile, nothing very identifiable. However, it still had to be done properly, according to the film school. There was a woman in the corner of the photo — again, you could barely make her out, kind of looking up at him a little starry-eyed.’

‘Do you think they were together?’ said Janine.

‘Hard to say,’ said Carolina.

‘But your mom didn’t say that it was his wife...’

‘No,’ said Carolina. ‘It wasn’t his wife. Not that it mattered who she was — when Robert Prince called me back, he said we couldn’t use the photo, and he threatened legal action. Then his wife called back, again, very nice and said was I sure that this was Walter Prince, that her husband had been quite upset and she couldn’t understand why. I said “Yes — I know my mother’s elderly, but her memory is sharp.”’

‘Ms Vescovi, if I sent through a photo of a woman, could you take a look at it and see if you recognize her from any other photos in your mother’s collection?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Carolina. She gave Janine her email address.

Janine emailed the photo of Viggi Leinster. She could hear the ping of Carolina’s inbox, the click of her mouse. And, eventually, a gasp.

‘Oh my gosh,’ said Carolina.

Ren and Janine exchanged glances.

‘That woman,’ said Carolina. ‘Her eyes. She’s the same woman at the edge of the photo with Walter Prince. She was beautiful. She... she... who is she?’

‘Her name was Viggi Leinster,’ said Janine. ‘She’s been on the Missing Persons list since 1957. The last confirmed sighting of her was at your parents’ restaurant.’

‘Wow — I’ve never heard anything about that,’ said Carolina. ‘But, then, I was only a child...’

‘There are no witness statements from your parents in the police report,’ said Janine. ‘We believe they had to have been in the restaurant that night. There was a party for the premiere of Nights of Cabiria . It was a big event.’

It sounded like Carolina Vescovi was crying.

Janine and Ren stared at each other.

‘Ms Vescovi?’ said Janine.

They could hear her struggle to control her breathing.

‘Is everything OK?’ said Janine.

‘I... I... I’m going to have to call you back...’

‘Please,’ said Janine, ‘if there’s anything...’

‘I... will call back... I promise.’

The line went dead.

Ren and Janine put down the phones.

‘What are we supposed to do with that information?’ said Ren.

‘I have no idea,’ said Janine.

‘So, Walter Prince and Viggi Leinster knew each other,’ said Ren.

‘Walter Prince was one of the last people to see a missing woman alive,’ said Janine.

‘And there’s no record of him in any of the police reports...’ said Ren.

‘What has gotten her so upset?’ said Janine. ‘What’s the rest of her story?’

‘We’ll leave her to compose herself,’ said Ren. ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t hang up for no reason.’