Alex Barclay - Harm's Reach

Ingrid almost smirked.

Goosebumps.

Ren could sense Janine stiffen.

‘This just in,’ said Ren, ‘an account from one of your neighbors of an altercation outside your apartment in SoHo between you and a former model by the name of Sunny Soto. We spoke with Sunny Soto. You were weeks away from signing a joint cosmetics campaign back in the Nineties. It was the first time a company had chosen two models to feature in each shot. That contract was worth many, many millions. But, Sunny Soto got pregnant. Yes, she was only nineteen, but she was very happy about the pregnancy, the father was her high-school boyfriend, she loved him, he’s now her husband. But you, apparently, were not happy. You wouldn’t have been hired...’

Nothing.

‘You spiked her food with an abortion drug,’ said Ren. ‘She lost her baby. She found out years later when Sandro Cera, the photographer — in a drugged-up stupor — told her. And you retaliated, selling stories about him and his drug use to destroy him. You promised you’d do the same to her, so she kept quiet. I was wondering why Laura Flynn was so desperate to run when she did. Sunny Soto showed up on your doorstep that week. She had read the gossip piece that you were pregnant and it pushed her over the edge; you who hated children, thought she was pathetic for ever wanting a child, that she was ruining her life, but when it suited you with your multi-millionaire husband, you want one. She showed up roaring and screaming and you fought. What you didn’t know was that Laura Flynn ran down the steps after Sunny Soto when you went back inside. She heard the story. She told Sunny Soto to find the courage to report it, but she didn’t... until now. Laura Flynn knew what you were capable of, didn’t she? She knew you would stop at nothing. Laura had said no to the abortion already, but she realized you would never give up until you got your own way.’

‘What do you think of Robert Prince?’ said Ingrid.

What the fuck?

‘My husband,’ said Ingrid, drawing the word out long enough to turn it into something grotesque. Her lawyer laid her hand on Ingrid’s forearm. Ingrid brushed her away.

‘Do you think he’s a catch?’ said Ingrid. ‘Do you?’

Ren and Janine stayed silent.

‘I bet you do!’ said Ingrid. ‘I bet you do!’

Still, Ren and Janine remained silent.

‘Robert Prince, handsome millionaire, great catch, lucky me, lucky all the beautiful women,’ said Ingrid. She leaned forward in her seat. ‘He’s a monster!’

‘You tried to convince us of that before,’ said Ren. ‘We know that your husband is not a monster. He is a kind and a charitable man.’ I was wrong, wrong, wrong .

‘He’s a monster!’ said Ingrid, her voice rising into a shriek. ‘He is! Do you want to know who his father is? A horrible man, a creep, a liar, a coward, a—’

‘Desmond Lamb was a war hero,’ said Ren.

Ingrid laughed, mocking and cruel. ‘I got the badge, you idiots! I got the army badge. Don’t you get it? Desmond Lamb was gone in 1957, the entire year Robert was conceived. It’s impossible Desmond Lamb was his father.’

Ren’s stomach tightened.

‘You get it now!’ said Ingrid. ‘You get it now.’ Her face was contorted, making her more ugly than anyone would ever have believed possible. ‘Walter Prince is his father! I got a DNA test, plucked a hair from Robert’s head in the throes of passion! Know what I heard from the lab? “Evidence of consanguinity.”’ She leaned in again, her eyes wild. ‘His grandfather fucked his own daughter and out came Robert Prince! What kind of catch is he ? The kind you throw back in the ocean. The kind that is weak and damaged and obscene. Why else would I want the baby dead? I was expecting genetic gold.’

Ingrid Prince closed her eyes.

Click flash click flash click flash.

I am a victim. I am a victim. I am a victim .

Ren and Janine sat in the Sheriff’s Office canteen.

‘I need a shower after that,’ said Ren, ‘a scalding hot one. That was like being in a crypt. How could I not have seen that? Or felt it? It’s freaking me out.’

‘I didn’t see it either,’ said Janine. ‘But it’s not freaking me out. She’s a talented woman. It’s her job to transform, she’s been doing it all her life. Her job is to conjure emotions and have whoever’s watching her believe them. I’m guessing that tears, grief and trauma are the most dramatic, therefore the easiest to mimic. Feigning love may be a lot harder. However freaked out you might be, can you imagine how Robert Prince feels?’

‘Poor man,’ said Ren. ‘I’m presuming that he knows his own dark secret, that that’s why he had the vasectomy in the first place.’

‘Incest is one step beyond even tabloid acceptance,’ said Janine.

‘He barely wanted to go public with the pregnancy,’ said Ren. ‘Now, there’s all this...’ She paused. ‘You know, I’m not sure if “child of two killer parents” has a better genetic ring to it...’

‘Yikes,’ said Janine. She studied Ren. ‘You look miserable.’

‘I am,’ said Ren. ‘I am.’

‘We got her in the end,’ said Janine.

‘I’m not a fan of ends,’ said Ren. ‘I like starts and middles.’

‘Don’t you like happy endings?’ said Janine. ‘And wishing them on strange men at breakfast.’

They laughed loud.

‘When will his victims show up, I wonder...’ said Ren.

‘Can you imagine?’ said Janine.

‘I’ve been trying not to,’ said Ren. ‘So... Viggi Leinster and Angelo Marianelli — solved.’

‘And not girl scout Peggy Beck,’ said Janine.

‘Ah — not yet,’ said Ren. ‘Maybe all the attention drawn to the area might help. Everything happens for a reason. I presume you still get to follow through if anything shows up...’

‘Yes,’ said Janine.

‘We haven’t caught our Shark Bait Bandits,’ said Ren. ‘Though I do not give a shit about them.’

‘Not all crimes are created equal,’ said Janine.

‘How are you holding up about the unit?’ said Ren. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m OK,’ said Janine. ‘Tomorrow is another day.’

‘Tomorrow Never Dies,’ said Ren.

‘If Tomorrow Comes,’ said Janine.

‘Oh my God,’ said Ren. ‘I remember that! The mini-series. It was Sidney Sheldon.’

‘Starring — wait for it — Liam Neeson...’

‘No way!’ said Ren. ‘I do not remember that. I will have to re-evaluate that.’

‘It’s on YouTube,’ said Janine. ‘It’s sad that I know that.’

‘Well, we can reminisce further... if tomorrow comes...’ said Ren.

‘That’s appalling,’ said Janine. She went to YouTube, called up the video.

Ren laughed as they watched. ‘The music! I remember the music. DNN dnn dnn dnn DNN dnn dnn dnn DNN . I will get sucked in,’ she said. ‘I have to stop this.’

‘We’re delaying the inevitable.’

‘To the duped husband...’

Robert Prince looked ghostly, with lines that looked deeper, eyes that looked darker. The top two buttons on his crumpled shirt were open and, for a man of his poise, it was all wrong.

Ren and Janine walked into the room.

‘Can I get you a coffee, Mr Prince?’ said Janine.

‘No,’ said Robert. ‘No, thanks. I’ve already had too much... when, really, all I want to do is sleep.’

You’re reaching out. You have no one.

‘Your wife is refusing to speak with us,’ said Ren.

‘It’s not in her interest to,’ said Robert. ‘And we all know now that Ingrid Frank does nothing that is not in her interest.’

‘We’re very sorry,’ said Ren. For focusing on you. ‘For your loss.’ Losses. Multiple losses.