Harm’s Reach

‘Seriously, everyone,’ he said. ‘I am going to miss you all, I am going to be back in here bugging the crap out of you, you all know that. No one should have favorites, but I’m retiring, I can say what the hell I like, and Janny Hooks, I will miss you most. If you asked me the main quality I think a cold case detective needs, I would say “tenacity”. You have it, more than anyone I know. If I had to throw in a few more, I’d say passion, loyalty, thoroughness, persuasiveness. Janine Hooks will make use of every resource she can, she will find resources hiding in the back pockets of politicians or down the sides of sofas, or up people’s fat lazy asses. She will find things. Janine Hooks will find things.’ He raised his glass to her. ‘Cold cases, warm heart.’

Like the magnanimous man he was, he had set her up to succeed. And she would never forget it. And she knew that, toward the end of his speech, he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at his successor, he was telling him ‘Don’t you cut this unit, don’t you let Janine Hooks go’. Because in the three years she’d been stuck with his successor, she had to fight for everything she got. So the tenacity, the resource-finding, the doggedness, was seared into her and to not do what she was doing was unimaginable. And fortunately, her current sergeant – the third since her first boss left – was third time lucky. He got it. Maybe he didn’t quite get her, but he got her job, and maybe that was all Janine Hooks needed him to get.

They got on well, she knew he liked her. But she suspected he worried about her. He had already made his decision about moving her to the main office when Special Agent Ren Bryce appeared one day. Janine could see what he was thinking: Janine Hooks has a friend! A hot, sociable friend who seems heterosexual! Or maybe not, these confusing days! Janine knew that with her short, side-parted dark hair and her small bones and her tucked-in shirts and tidy pants and no makeup that she sent out a message. But, didn’t everyone?

Anyway, by then it was too late for the sergeant to change his mind about her move. She was capable of making friends, it appeared. In the general population, out in the investigators’ bullpen, she could make even more.

Janine lingered in the office doorway. She gave one last glance around. She went to her desk, and pulled out the first of the cards that were spiked into the soil around the plant.

Be careful. This could be a plant. Love, Ren XX

There was a second card beside it.

Hope you’re not feeling too uprooted. Love, Ren XX

There was a third.

Stay strong, man. Love, Ren XX

There was a fourth. Janine laughed. Seriously?

Is this a moving experience for you? Love, Ren XX

Janine laughed again. She could always rely on Ren. They were friends just a year, but she knew she was closer to Ren than she had ever been to anyone. She went to pick up the plant. It was only then she noticed the flashing light on her desk phone. She pushed the button.

The message had come in the day before while she was out with the sergeant – he had treated her to pizza across the street at Woody’s. She didn’t know who felt more guilty – him for uprooting the homebird on a Sunday or her for ordering just a salad.

She pressed the phone to her ear. The line was crackling from a loose connection. At least she’d have a new phone now. Ren told 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 (#ulink_e51b9a5d-451c-5f3f-b896-8d6e5a09a904)

‘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.