Harm’s Reach - Alex Barclay

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her to find the positives.

      ‘Hello … Detective Hooks?’ The accent was Irish, with a hint of American. ‘I found your name online and I wanted to talk to you about one of your cases. Could you please call me back? My name …’ She paused. ‘My number is 555-134-2235.’

      Janine scribbled the number on the back of one of Ren’s cards.

      In all forty-seven of her open cold cases, Janine knew of no specific Irish connection. She decided to let this young, nameless girl be the first call she made as soon as she laid her comfort plant on the desk of her new office. She wondered if the guys would laugh at her.

      ‘Nice plant,’ said Logan. Their desks faced each other. ‘My mom’s a florist,’ he said. ‘I had one of those in my college dorm. I looked after it well until lightweights started pouring drinks into it.’

      ‘You should see this one on tequila …’ said Janine.

      Logan laughed. She laughed back.

      ‘Here,’ he said, ‘take one of these.’ He reached across the desk and handed her a giant chocolate chip cookie wrapped in paper.

      A cookie and horticultural bonding. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

      She started to unwrap the cookie but instead of eating it, she picked up the phone and called the Irish girl’s number. It rang for several seconds. She was about to hang up. Then someone answered.

      ‘Hello,’ said Janine. ‘My name is Janine Hooks, I’m calling from Jefferson County Cold Case—’

      ‘Janine?’ came the voice.

      Janine paused. ‘Ren?’

       4

      ‘This can’t be good,’ said Janine.

      ‘It’s not good,’ said Ren. ‘Who were you calling?’

      ‘I got a voicemail on my office phone yesterday – I just heard it now – a young woman, didn’t leave her name, wanted to talk to me about one of my cases. She didn’t say which one.’

      ‘Did you make any appeals recently?’ said Ren.

      ‘No,’ said Janine. ‘I mean, the website is always there, anyone can read it any time, but …’ She shrugged.

      ‘Gary’s with me,’ said Ren. ‘I’m putting you on speaker.’

      ‘Hey, Janine,’ said Gary, ‘we got patchy coverage here. Can you call this in? Your guys are not far, we drove past them at the junction with Pine Valley Road … we’re on Stoney Pass Road now.’

      ‘Sure,’ said Janine. ‘What’s happened?’

      ‘Well, your poor caller was pregnant,’ said Ren, ‘and now she’s laying dead by the side of the road … GSW to the head and chest.’

      ‘Oh my God,’ said Janine. ‘Where exactly?’

      ‘About half a mile from the junction with Highline Road … I can see a sign for Evergreen Abbey to the left and The Darned Heart Ranch to the right.’ She paused. ‘Darned Heart? Seriously? Craft and brimstone …’

      ‘This is weird, guys,’ said Janine. ‘That’s a ranch for troubled teens—’

      ‘The tautologous troubled teen …’ said Ren.

      ‘The Darned Heart already has some scar tissue,’ said Janine. ‘It used to be The Flying G Ranch, a girl scout camp. A girl scout aide was sexually assaulted and strangled there back in ’63. August 18th. It’s one of mine …’

      ‘No way,’ said Ren. ‘That is weird. What happened?’

      ‘Victim’s name was Margaret “Peggy” Beck,’ said Janine. ‘Sixteen years old. She was alone in her tent overnight, because the friend she was sharing with was in the infirmary. The next morning, little Peggy was found dead, zipped up in her sleeping bag. At first, the folks at the camp thought it was natural causes, so they didn’t call the authorities right away. They just packed up her things to hand over to her parents. It was the last day of camp, the other girls were being collected by their families. Eight hours went by before the authorities were finally called. It turns out that not one of those girl scouts heard a thing during the night. Even though Peggy fought back, the poor thing – they found skin under her fingernails. Three hundred people were interviewed during the investigation and nothing. It breaks my heart, that one.’

      ‘Did you process the skin?’ said Ren.

      ‘Yup. No match,’ said Janine.

      ‘When you say “troubled teens”,’ said Ren, ‘how troubled?’

      ‘Zero to hero: addiction issues, attitude problems, problems with the law, eating disorders. I checked out their website when they opened to see what we were letting ourselves in for. And it costs an absolute fortune to stay there. They pull in a lot of spoilt little rich kids.’

      ‘Have you had any problems with them?’ said Ren.

      ‘Our guys have definitely brought a couple of runaways back,’ said Janine.

      ‘Runaways?’ said Ren. ‘Kids can run away from this place? Isn’t security tighter than that?’

      ‘I’m speculating here,’ said Janine, ‘and this is not official, but I think it’s all part of the treatment. The ranch’s policy is to trust the kids, because they know these kids’ parents have given up trusting them. So, management believes that because they have faith in these kids, they won’t disrespect them …’

      Ren laughed.

      ‘I know,’ said Janine.

      ‘Is it privately owned?’ said Ren.

      ‘Very privately,’ said Janine. ‘By Kenneth and Kristen Faule. He’s ex-NFL … Broncos. They never had kids of their own, so this was their way of … you know “giving back”.’

      ‘Hate that expression,’ they both said at the same time.

      ‘They take in teens from all over,’ said Janine. ‘If their parents are flashing enough cash …’

      ‘They’re not going to give us access too easily,’ said Ren.

      ‘No,’ said Janine. ‘And I’ve met Kristen Faule. Do not be fooled by her Disney ways … she’s one of those cornered mama-bear types.’

      ‘Disney ways,’ said Ren. ‘Hmm. So, what was the nature of your meeting?’

      ‘Well, she came to pick up one of the kids that Kohler had brought in,’ said Janine. ‘Of course, she was pissed, like it was our fault.’

      ‘I’m rolling my eyes.’

      ‘She totally rubbed me the wrong way,’ said Janine. ‘Since the ranch opened, it’s like we’ve become unwitting participants in her treatment plan. She lets the kids roam free, we pick them up.’

      ‘Seriously, how many times has this happened?’ said Ren.

      ‘Fewer than my annoyance indicates,’ said Janine.

      ‘And what about the abbey?’ said Ren.

      ‘It used to be a religious abbey,’ said Janine, ‘but now it’s a “community of women”. As far as I can tell, it’s like a hippy commune, women’s shelter and self-sufficiency thing rolled into one. Really, though, I don’t see how they’re any different than the nuns; a bunch of women living together, saying prayers, doing charity work. They have basically no possessions – any money they do get is handed over to the director and distributed to whatever charities they all decide on. Three years ago, when I first took on The Flying G case, I spoke to the director …’

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