The Forgotten Holocaust (Ben Hope, Book 10)

by Scott Mariani

  She leapt over him, raced out of the bedroom and went pounding back down the stairs. At the bottom, she remembered to decock the pistol before thrusting it into her pocket. With trembling hands she grabbed what she needed from the hallway: jacket, car keys, purse.

  She was halfway to the front door when she thought about the syringe. Evidence. She burst into the empty kitchen. The saucepan she’d flung at her attacker was lying on the floor, next to the shards of broken mug and the puddle of spilled camomile tea. A couple of feet away lay the syringe with its bent needle. Most of the straw-coloured fluid was still inside it. She quickly wrapped it inside a sheet of kitchen roll and dropped it in her purse. She could hear the man thumping about upstairs, and his cries of agony.

  Erin burst out of the house and sprinted towards her little yellow Honda Fit parked in the dusty driveway. She glanced around her as she ran, and saw another car parked fifty yards up the street. A blue Ford Taurus she’d never seen parked there before. There was a man in dark glasses sitting at the wheel. He was reclined right back in his seat with his face turned upwards, as if he was dozing.

  Erin didn’t give him a second look. She dived into her Honda, stabbed the key into the ignition and went wheel-spinning backwards out of her driveway. The little car lurched to a halt, then she threw it into forward drive and hit the gas. She narrowly avoided colliding with an oncoming saloon that she hardly even registered as she sped off up the street.

  She didn’t care where she was headed, as long as it was far away from here. She drove like a maniac, overtaking everything in front of her, ignoring the horns that blasted at her. Several miles and several more near-misses had gone by before the dizzying, palpitating adrenaline rush took over completely, hitting her so hard that she couldn’t hold the wheel any longer in her shaking hands. She swerved to the side of the road. After several gasping heaves, the tears came flooding.

  And with them the realisation. She couldn’t ever go home again.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  On its approach to Tulsa International, Ben’s plane swooped down over a vast landscape of vivid green hills, forests and sun-scorched swathes of flat prairie. From his window he got his first glimpse of the city from above: home to near half a million inhabitants, a gleaming modern metropolis of towering skyscrapers and criss-crossed highways, parklands and housing developments and industrial zones that spread far and wide along the banks of the broad, stunningly blue waters of the Arkansas River.

  Within thirty minutes he was through arrivals and getting his bearings. He changed some euros for dollars, then picked up a Starbucks and sipped it while studying a map that told him he was just five miles northeast of downtown. From there, he made his way to Alamo Rental and selected a grey Jeep Patriot. It was a practical and sturdy vehicle, not too ostentatious or distinctive. Roomy enough to sleep in if he had to. But mainly, he chose it for its dark-tinted windows. Those would fit in with the plan he’d already worked out in his mind. He rented it for a week, which might turn out to be more than he needed, or might not.

  The day was going to come when his name would be blacklisted by every car hire company on the planet, but seemingly it hadn’t come yet. He’d just have to try extra hard not to destroy the Patriot.

  His stomach was still on European time, and he filled it at a nearby steakhouse called Libby’s that served bison burgers and homebaked chicken pies as big as a hubcap. It was hot, but the humidity was bearable and a fresh southerly breeze kept his shirt from sticking to his back as he left Libby’s and walked back to the car.

  He picked up the main highway, heading south. After Europe, everything seemed on a giant scale, wide and flat and spread out. He passed lumber yards and industrial plants and warehouses and used car lots before he spotted the general store he was looking for and pulled over.

  Inside, the place was crammed with every kind of goods imaginable. He picked up two light denim shirts, two pairs of black jeans, compact binoculars, sunglasses, a baseball cap that said ‘Tulsa Drillers’, five plastic litre bottles of water and an issue of Oklahoma Sports and Fitness. The old guy behind the counter wore dungarees and had thin white hair and a face like crinkled tan leather.

  ‘What’s the nearest hotel around here?’ Ben asked him as he paid for his stuff.

  ‘English, huh?’ the old guy asked, peering at him.

  ‘Half Irish,’ Ben said.

  ‘Good for you. My people came over from Mayo, before the war. That’s the Civil War I’m talkin’ about. Name’s Gallagher. Frank Gallagher.’

  ‘Pleasure to meet you, Frank,’ Ben said, wondering if he’d have got such a friendly welcome if he’d said he was English. ‘I’m Ben.’

  ‘First time in Tulsa, Ben?’

  ‘First time.’

  ‘Vacation?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Ben said.

  ‘Didn’t figure you for a tourist. Stayin’ long?’

  ‘Long as it takes.’

  ‘I reckon that’s about right,’ Frank replied with a wrinkled grin. ‘Anyhow, you got the old Perryman Inn just down the road. Rooms’re comfortable enough, I guess, nuthin’ fancy.’

  ‘Sounds like my kind of place,’ Ben said.

  ‘Maybe I’ll see you around. Store’s open day or night. I live right upstairs, so you just give me a yell any time. Got most everything you’ll ever need.’

  ‘You’re not kidding,’ Ben said, glancing around him at the sagging shelves.

  Nuthin’ fancy was the perfect description of the Perryman Inn, which turned out to be a motel only a couple of small notches above the rank of a fleapit. The proprietor was a guy with a beard and a paunch the size of a beach ball who was only too happy to take cash without asking for any ID. Ben was only too happy to do business that way, and he had no problem with the room either. It was cool and shady with the blinds down, and nobody in the world knew he was here. Ben locked the door, showered, changed into his new jeans and a new shirt. Then he put on the sunglasses and cap, grabbed his bag and went out to the Patriot.

  As he drove into the heart of the city, the signs of the impact the oil boom had made were hard to miss. They were visible all around, in everything from the spectacular art deco architecture the Tulsans had built up with their newfound fortunes to the huge parks with manicured expanses of green, fountains and artificial lakes and waterfalls, all dominated by the looming presence of the Bank of Oklahoma tower, the tallest building in the state, a proud monument to big fat beautiful dollars. The place was an oasis of money in the middle of the prairie.

  Ben used his map to locate City Hall on East 2nd Street in the heart of downtown. He parked the Patriot across from the modern glass-fronted building and the right distance away so that he could sit and watch the entrance and stay discreet. It was four forty and the sun was still bright and high and hot in the blue sky. He took out his phone and keyed in the same Tulsa landline number he’d called from Ireland. The same receptionist replied, in the same nice southern twang as before, ‘Mayor’s office.’

  ‘Hi, this is Ronnie Galloway from Marshall Kite Enterprises.’

  ‘You called a couple of days ago, right?’ the receptionist replied coldly. ‘From England?’

  ‘That’s right, London,’ he said, scanning the building’s scores of windows and wondering which one she was behind, not a hundred yards from where he sat. ‘Is Mr McCrory available?’

  ‘He’s in his office,’ she informed him. ‘But he’s not taking calls right now.’

  ‘I’ll try again another time,’ Ben said, and switched off the phone. He’d no intention of speaking to McCrory, had only wanted to find out if he was in the building. He’d no intention of marching in and confronting him, either, because that was an obvious blind alley. Much better to sit tight, wait for McCrory to appear and then quietly follow him to see where the trail might lead. It might be days of cat-and-mouse games before it would lead anywhere interesting. Ben didn’t care. Stake-out surveillance was nothing new to him.

  He kept
the windows rolled down, sipping water to keep cool and keeping one eye on City Hall while looking totally immersed in Oklahoma Sports and Fitness. He studied the layout of the building. There might be another entrance round the far side that he couldn’t keep tabs on, but there appeared to be only one main car park. There was a good chance that anyone leaving the place would come into his field of view.

  Five o’clock came and went. Soon afterwards, the first trickle of office workers began leaving the building. Some walked to their cars, others departed on foot. Ben wound up the Jeep’s tinted windows. They made little difference to what he could see from inside, but passers-by wouldn’t be able to see him. The inside of the car began to heat up quickly. That couldn’t be helped. He reached into his bag and took out the compact binoculars he’d bought from Frank Gallagher’s general store. They might not have suited Bernard Goudier for watching birdlife on the beach in Galway, but they fitted Ben’s purposes just fine. He turned them up to maximum zoom and watched the office staff leaving City Hall.

  Most were women, leaving in pairs and small groups, chatting and smiling and laughing now that their working day was over. He ignored them and focused on the men. Some were older, some were younger. Some wore suits and ties, some didn’t. None of them was Finn McCrory.

  Ben went on waiting, patient and watchful. Another half hour passed. The traffic of workers leaving the building peaked and then began to thin out. By quarter to six, there were just the occasional ones and twos filing out of the entrance. By six, the trickle had pretty much stopped altogether.

  Unless he’d managed to slip out unseen, the mayor must be working late. Which wasn’t unexpected, and wasn’t a problem. Ben had nowhere else to go.

  At half past the hour and still no sign of McCrory, Ben had had enough of Oklahoma Sports and Fitness, even if he was only half-focused on it. He tossed it aside and returned to his reading of Elizabeth Stamford’s journals.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  When Erin had been a little girl, her outings to the zoo with her father had been some of the happiest times of her childhood. Maybe that was partly why she’d driven straight there today, craving some kind of comforting nostalgia to soothe her after the shock of what had just happened. But it was also a deliberate strategy. The Tulsa Zoo and Living Museum was one of the most public places she could think of. At this time of year, it was milling with crowds all through the day. Nobody would dare attack her here.

  Which gave her about forty-five minutes’ space to think before closing time. The late afternoon was still sunny and warm. She stood at the rail of the elephants’ enclosure. She liked elephants, always had. They looked wise and kindly and infinitely patient, like benevolent old uncles shuffling unhurriedly about in baggy grey boiler suits. She felt sorry that they were in captivity, but it was a lot safer for them here than in their own country. Nobody would butcher them and rip out their ivory and leave their ravaged bodies to rot in the sun. They’d escaped all that. They were protected.

  Suddenly, she envied them.

  She felt a lot less protected right now than the elephants were. Where would she be safe from the predators out to get her?

  There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that the thug she’d shot in her house earlier that day had been sent by Finn McCrory. But how could she ever hope to prove that? Should she have tried to get him to talk? Leaned a knee into his injured leg and stuck her pistol in his face to torture and scare the truth out of him? Or maybe she should have stayed put and dialled 911? All she’d been able to think of was getting away. Maybe that had been a mistake.

  But then Erin thought about the man sitting outside the house in the unfamiliar blue Taurus. Maybe getting away hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

  The question now was what the hell to do next.

  Erin took her new phone from her purse, along with the card with Chief O’Rourke’s number on it. She stabbed the number out quickly.

  ‘Chief O’Rourke?’ she said when his gravelly voice came on the line. ‘It’s Erin Hayes. You said to call if I had to. Well, I had to. Something happened.’ He listened as she breathlessly explained the incident at her house. She told him about the syringe. About the gunshot. Even about the man outside in the blue Ford. ‘I don’t think he saw me. I don’t know if he was involved too. I just know they’re after me and—’

  ‘Try to stay calm, Miss Hayes,’ O’Rourke said. ‘Where are you right now?’

  ‘City zoo. But I can’t stay here long. It closes in a few minutes.’

  ‘I know. Don’t worry, you’re perfectly safe where you are. A patrol car will be right there, okay? Meet the officers at the main gate, by the parking lot. They’ll escort you here.’

  ‘Please tell them to hurry.’ She thanked him and ended the call.

  Erin had started making her way through the crowds towards the main gate when she got that uneasy sixth-sense feeling that someone was watching her. It was an animal instinct. Almost a physical sensation, making her skin crawl and go cold.

  She turned in the direction the feeling seemed to be emanating from. There were only crowds. Some kids were laughing. A little girl had ice cream on her face. A seal was honking and splashing about in the background.

  Erin walked on. The announcement came over the outdoor public address system to say the zoo would be closing in fifteen minutes. She looked at her watch and walked faster, praying that the patrol car would be at the main gate waiting for her.

  But when she got there, there was no sign of the cops. What was keeping them?

  There was that feeling again. Erin spun around, and as she did she thought she saw a figure of a man slipping quickly into the crowd. There’d been something furtive about his movement, as if he was ducking out of her line of sight. She was certain he was following her. How long had he been there, furtive, watching? Since she’d got here? Maybe even before that? Who was he? He’d been too quick for her to get a glimpse of his face, but she’d got a look at what he was wearing: a check shirt loose over a red T-shirt.

  Another uncomfortable chill came over her, despite the heat. She looked at her watch again. Peered anxiously through the main gate, up and down the road. No police car. Come on. Come on.

  She walked through the gate towards the parking lot. The visitors were beginning to leave. In a few more minutes the zoo would be empty. And if the cops didn’t show up in time, she’d be left alone with whoever was following her. She wasn’t imagining things. There really was someone trailing her. Maybe the man in the blue Ford had followed her here. Maybe he’d called in another accomplice. The moment she was alone, they’d strike. It would be as if she’d never escaped at all. It would be all for nothing. They’d take her.

  Another long minute passed while all those thoughts were spinning around like pinballs inside her head. Erin stood at the mouth of the entrance, not knowing what to do as people filtered by her, heading for their vehicles. Engines were starting, cars pulling out of parking spaces and filing out the road. Still no sign of the police.

  She glanced behind her. Thirty yards back, the man in the loose check shirt ducked out of sight around the corner of a wall. She only caught a fleeting glimpse, but there was no mistaking his intention.

  Think, Erin. She was shaking. What was she supposed to do, pull out her pistol and start shooting and cause a mass panic and hope she wasn’t getting it all wrong? Or wait for him to make his move? What if he got the better of her? She’d been lucky first time round, and couldn’t take that chance again. Couldn’t rely on the cops, either. They could still be miles away. There was only one thing for it. Staying here wasn’t an option. She’d have to drive to the police headquarters herself.

  Her mind made up, Erin joined the flow of the crowd and walked quickly towards her parked Honda. Glanced back twice, three times and couldn’t see the man but could still feel his eyes on her like a touch. She reached the car. Breathing hard, she locked herself inside, started it up and backed out of her parking space, then turned round
and filtered into the procession of traffic leaving the zoo.

  She drove past the airport, heading south along the broad highway into the city. After five minutes she checked in her mirror, saw the silver Lincoln behind her and swallowed. She was certain it had followed her from the zoo. She couldn’t take her eyes off the road long enough to get a good look in the mirror, but there seemed to be just a single occupant inside, a man. She could just about make out the red of his T-shirt through the sun’s reflection on his windscreen. Her heart began to thump harder. She turned off at the next junction and took a right towards the Cherokee Expressway, testing to see if he’d stay with her. He did. She took a sudden left turn without signalling, heading due south again down Harvard Avenue. The silver Lincoln was still there in the mirror. If there’d been a shred of doubt in her mind, it was gone now.

  She could feel the reassuring hard steel angles of the Springfield in her pocket, pressing into her hip as she drove. Don’t panic, she thought. You have a gun. You’ve made it this far. You’re not defenceless.

  So why didn’t she feel so sure?

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  With one eye on the entrance of the City Hall building across the street and the other on the volume of Elizabeth Stamford’s journal resting on the Patriot’s steering wheel, Ben lit a cigarette, slouched back in his seat and read through a series of entries from the summer of 1847.

  He was frustrated and worried about losing sight of what he was even looking for in these journals. He was annoyed that Brennan couldn’t just have told him what was so revealing about them. There’d been no more mention of the mysterious Padraig McCrory. No clues offered as to what Kristen had been hunting for.

  And yet, as he kept reading, he couldn’t help but become drawn into the story that had unfolded all those years earlier.