by Jason Dean
She frowned at him for few moments, then said, ‘We-e-ell, there’s a town called Salome about ten miles west of here. I only passed through the once, but I’m pretty sure I saw a motel sign along the main drag. I think I could probably stay awake until we got there.’
‘Fine,’ Bishop said. ‘Grab your gear and I’ll follow you.’
SIXTY-EIGHT
The owner of the motel in Salome clearly wasn’t too happy about having his beauty sleep interrupted. But in the current economic climate, he wasn’t about to turn down an easy eighty bucks, either. They got two rooms right next to each other and parked their vehicles directly outside. Bishop grabbed his toothbrush from the glove compartment, locked the Buick and walked over to his room. Vallejo already had her own door half open when she turned to him and said, ‘Shit. The hard drive. I hid it in the new room’s air-conditioning vent like you suggested, and then promptly forgot all about it. It’s still there.’
‘And it’ll still be there tomorrow,’ Bishop said. ‘Get some sleep first.’
Vallejo gave him a weary smile. ‘Yeah, you’re right. I’ll go get it in the morning.’
Without another word, Bishop entered his room, undressed and fell into bed. Next thing he knew, it was five hours later and he felt a little more like his old self. After a quick shower, he dressed and left the room. He was about to knock on Vallejo’s door when he noticed her Fusion was gone from the bay. She’d obviously gone to get the hard drive from the other motel. So the question was, wait here or follow?
Bishop didn’t think about it for long. Given the choice, he usually opted for movement over inertia. He got into the Buick, pulled out onto the highway and headed east. It was a typical Sunday morning, which meant he practically had the road to himself. When he finally pulled into the Amber Motel forecourt a short while later, it was 08.55.
And her Fusion wasn’t there. And it hadn’t passed him on the way in, either.
It didn’t have to mean anything. Vallejo could have simply decided to get some coffee or an early breakfast in town. But even as he thought it, it didn’t ring true. Today was the last chance they had of finding Selina, and she would have waited for him so they could discuss their next move. As sure as taxes.
He scanned the courtyard and the only other vehicle was the Lincoln he’d seen twice before, parked next to the front office. He glanced in there as he passed, but couldn’t see the manager. Probably still asleep in the back.
Bishop slowly circled around the pool and parked in front of No. 17. He took the .38 Special from under the seat and checked the chamber. Then he got out and approached the room. He tried the handle. It was unlocked. Left hand gripping the gun, he pushed the door open until it banged lightly against the wall.
The room was empty. The bed was still made. Bishop stepped inside and listened. No sounds other than the occasional vehicle passing by outside. He quickly checked the bathroom. Empty. But he detected a familiar medicinal odour in the air. Barely noticeable, but there. He didn’t like that smell at all.
He came out and stepped over to the desk and saw the chair underneath was at angle. He pulled it out and saw Vallejo’s shoeprints on the cushion. He picked it up and set it down under the air conditioning grille in the wall. Bishop stood on the chair and saw the four corner screws were still jutting out slightly. He reached up and used just his thumb and index finger to unscrew them. When the third one was out he let the aluminium grille swing free, then reached in and moved his hand around the vent. As he’d suspected, the hard drive was no longer there.
He replaced the grille and stepped off the chair, frowning as he wiped the dust from his hands. Again, no real evidence of anything untoward. Vallejo had come here for the drive, after all. So why was his gut telling him this was all wrong? That she’d been interrupted in her efforts by the people they were after? Well, there was that smell. He knew from personal experience that chloroform gave off that kind of odour. It was pretty dirty inside the vent, too. So it was a good bet that after extracting the hard drive she’d gone into the bathroom to wash her hands. With the tap running, they could have taken her by surprise. Simply come up from behind, chloroformed her and then taken her to wherever.
He began to search the room, looking for a sign. Looking for something. Anything. If she’d been snatched, then the enemy would have guessed Bishop might come back here to check on her. Which meant they would have left a message of some kind. He tried the side drawers. They held nothing but a bible and a free magazine advertising local attractions. In the refrigerator he saw two cans of coke and an unopened bottle of wine. He took a good look under the bed. Checked under the pillows and mattress. Went over the bathroom again, inch by inch.
Nothing.
He cast his eyes around the main room once more, stopping when they landed on the front door. It was still wide open. He went over and gently closed it. And there, taped to the back, was a small sheet of notepaper, folded in half. Bishop took it off and unfolded it.
There was a single word on it. Written in large capitals.
WAIT.
SIXTY-NINE
When Bishop pulled up outside Raymond Massingham’s place twenty minutes later, he saw Kate’s Subaru was already there. He’d kept it short over the phone, just asked her to meet him at Raymond’s and not to tell anybody else.
He took a moment to rein in his anger. It wasn’t easy. Not now the enemy had two people he cared about in their grasp. But above all, he needed a clear head if he was going to get them back. Giving in to his emotions would just slow him down. And he had just over half a day left on the clock. Willing himself to remain calm and objective, he got out and walked back to the rear entrance where he pounded twice on the door. Kate opened it, looking good in a generic long-sleeved shirt and combat pants. He barely noticed.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘Everything,’ Bishop said, and slipped past her and on into Raymond’s workroom.
Raymond looked up and waved a hand at Bishop as he entered. He was wearing Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt and sitting in the same seat as last night, sipping from a cup. Bishop smelled coffee. Kate went over and perched against Raymond’s desk, watching Bishop.
‘So what’s this all about?’ she asked. ‘And how come Clarissa’s not with you?’
Bishop took the only other seat and said, ‘We had a busy time of it last night and finally crashed about six hours ago. In a different motel from where we’d been staying. But Vallejo said she’d left something in her old room and went back for it this morning, before I got up.’ He took the note from his pocket and handed it over. ‘I’ve just come back from there, and found her car gone and this left for me. I also noticed a faint chloroform odour in the bathroom.’
Kate looked at the piece of paper, then showed it to Raymond. ‘You mean these people just kidnapped her? How can they do that?’
‘Easily. It’s what they do. Believe me, they’re specialists at this kind of thing.’
Raymond started at the note and said, ‘Wait for what, exactly?’
Bishop sighed. ‘Wait at the motel. Wait for a phone call. Wait for further instructions. It could mean anything. Or nothing.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Kate asked.
‘Well, I don’t plan on answering my phone for a while. If they can’t get hold of me, they can’t give me instructions. I’ve got a feeling whatever they want me to do, I won’t like.’
‘But you won’t be able to hold them off forever. There’s no telling what they might do to Clarissa if they can’t get reach you.’
‘Yeah, I’m walking a tightrope, but I need some time to think and plan. The most important thing is to figure out where their headquarters are. Unfortunately, I’m still no closer to that than when I arrived two days ago.’
Kate bit her bottom lip. ‘Well, I could drive you over to Olander’s house. Maybe if we confront him direct . . .’
‘It’s not Olander,’ he said.
‘What are you talking about?
’
‘We were at his warehouse last night. I managed to find a way in and look around. I know exactly what he’s doing in there and it isn’t holding women against their will.’
Raymond leaned forward in his seat. ‘So what is going on in there?’
Bishop quickly described everything he’d seen last night. When he’d finished, Kate looked as though she’d just stepped in something.
‘So Olander’s nothing but a porn merchant?’ she said. ‘I expected something more . . . more . . . Actually, I don’t know what I expected. Just not that.’
‘Well, I saw some large crates in one of the rooms. No idea what was inside, but it could be he’s got all kinds of stuff going on on the sidelines. Counterfeit goods, maybe. Whatever it is, I don’t care.’ He leaned back in the chair and sighed as he stared at the ceiling. ‘All the signs were telling me I was on the wrong track, but I had to check and make sure. And now I’ve got to start all over again.’
‘You lost me,’ Kate said. ‘What signs?’
He turned to her. ‘Yesterday, you and Neeson told us Olander hasn’t really acted any differently in the last few years. Yet he drives around in an imported Jaguar, probably the only one in the whole state. And he’s got a vanity licence plate to remind everyone what an important figure he used to be. This is clearly a guy with an ego.’
Raymond looked at Kate and said, ‘That sounds like Olander, all right.’
‘Okay,’ Bishop said, ‘so if he’s at the head of a racket that’s bringing in untold millions every year, why isn’t he flashing his money around more? Like buying a bigger house, for instance? He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who quietly spirits his money away in an offshore account; he needs people to see what a big man he is. Also, there wasn’t nearly enough security at the warehouse. Just a couple of guards. That’s enough to deter casual trespassers, but not much more than that.’
Kate stared at one of the pictures on the wall and tapped her fingernails on the desk. ‘But what about his clandestine meetings with Abraham? And Distar? That can’t just be coincidence.’
‘Yeah, well, I’ve been thinking about that.’ Bishop told them about his brief phone conversation last night with Abraham’s boss and said, ‘The main impression I got from this guy was that he’s somebody who doesn’t leave much to chance. It could be he set up Distar purely as a decoy to wrong-foot anybody who follows the paper trail route, like we did. Kind of like a tripwire to give him advance warning that somebody’s looking in places they shouldn’t. Then he can act accordingly. I mean, he’s known about me practically since I arrived in town, but so far he’s felt secure enough to label me a minor nuisance. But he must have got word somehow that I broke into Olander’s warehouse last night, and that tells him I’ve made the Distar connection. I’m getting close to him and he doesn’t like that. So since he couldn’t find me, he took Vallejo as extra insurance.’
Kate was shaking her head. ‘But we only made the Distar connection because I knew about those vans he screwed out of Kinney.’
‘We got lucky and just fast-tracked it, that’s all. But it’s dollars to doughnuts that if you were to dig into Distar further, you’d find plenty of signs pointing to Olander.’
‘Okay, so how do you explain the relationship with Abraham?’
Bishop shrugged. ‘I think, there, we just added two and two together and came up with five. They worked together a long time, don’t forget. They could simply have remained in friendly contact ever since. Nothing more.’
Kate was silent for a few moments, looking at the floor with a single line visible across her brow. Bishop could almost see the wheels turning. Then she said, ‘Look, Bishop, the more I’m hearing, the more I’m convinced we should bring the police in on this. If they’ve kidnapped Clarissa, who’s also a cop I might add, then this is a damn sight more serious than I imagined.’
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ he said. ‘But no police. I don’t exactly trust them right now.’
Kate and Raymond exchanged a look, then she said, ‘You’re right, we don’t know the half of it. So why don’t you fill us in on what’s really going on here? You never know, we might be able to help.’
Bishop looked at her. Journalist or not, it wasn’t an unreasonable request. Truth was, he needed all the help he could get right now. But he couldn’t expect them to give it without knowing the facts.
So he told them what he knew. Or most of it. About what Hewitt had seen at Selina’s place a month before, and the connection with the hospital in Garrick. He mentioned the similarities between Selina and Sam, then described the murders of Hewitt and Rutherford, and how he’d almost joined them thanks to that fire. He also gave them Tatem’s version of events, and told how his employees kept him in line by imprisoning his wife. He spoke about their MO of ‘accidental’ house fires to cover their tracks. He told them what little he’d learned from Abraham and the unnamed man on the other end of Abraham’s phone. He also told them of his own suspicions that somebody on the Saracen PD was somehow involved.
When he was finally done, Kate said, ‘Wow. But look, why do you assume . . .?’
‘Hey, time out,’ Bishop said and held up a hand. He turned to Raymond. ‘Before we go any further, how about making us some more of that fine-smelling coffee?’
‘Don’t see why not,’ Raymond said and got to his feet.
SEVENTY
Vallejo awoke to the muted sounds of running water coming from a nearby room. She had a headache and her mouth felt dry. She slowly opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. She was lying on a bed, but clearly not in her motel room. Then she remembered. She’d been leaning over the bathroom sink of No.17, soaping her hands, when it happened. She hadn’t even heard them enter the room. All she knew was when a thick arm grabbed her round the neck and pulled her up. Then somebody smothered her face with a damp cloth and pressed a hand against it. The medicinal smell was overpowering. She had time enough to think chloroform, and then there was only oblivion.
And now she was here. Wherever here was.
She slowly turned her head and saw she was in a sparsely furnished bedroom. The first thing she noticed was the lack of windows. Just blank walls all around, except for two doors on opposite sides of the bed. She raised herself to a sitting position, the pounding in her head increasing with the movement.
The sound of water stopped and the door to her left opened. A woman in a long-sleeved sweater and black jeans came out and said, ‘Oh, you’re awake.’
I guess I am, Vallejo thought, but said nothing. The woman was about Vallejo’s age and very pretty, with the high cheekbones of a model, and large, sad eyes. Her skin was as white as alabaster and she wore her shoulder-length brown hair in a ponytail. From the decor and from what Bishop had told her, Vallejo figured this must be the surgeon’s wife. Which meant Vallejo was in a whole heap of trouble. She wondered if Bishop was even aware she was missing yet.
‘Are you okay?’ the woman asked. ‘Do you want anything? Some water?’
‘Water sounds good,’ Vallejo said.
The woman smiled and said, ‘Wait here.’ Then she disappeared through the other doorway, returning a few seconds later with a large tumbler of water.
Vallejo took it and drank it in one go. Plain water had never tasted so good. Even the headache didn’t seem so bad any more.
She handed the glass back and said, ‘Thanks. Is your name Patricia Tatem?’
The woman frowned. ‘That’s right. How do you know me? Who are you?’
‘I’m Clarissa Vallejo.’ She swung her legs off the bed. ‘And your husband mentioned you to a man I know. I don’t suppose you’ve got the time?’
Patricia showed her bare wrists. ‘No watch. And no clocks. Besides, what difference would it make in here?’
‘You’ve got a point.’ Vallejo looked around the room and sighed. ‘It looks like we might be roommates for a while, so how about giving me the five-cent tour?’
‘Okay, but there’s no
t much to see.’
Vallejo got up off the bed and let Patricia lead the way. She opened the door through which she’d gone to fetch the water, and Vallejo stepped through and found herself in the main living area. It was about twice the size of the bedroom. There was a kitchenette off to one side and a steel door in the far wall. To her left was a large TV with piles of DVDs stacked against the wall. Another wall was taken up by two large bookcases filled with paperbacks and magazines. Everything looked neat and tidy. Orderly. In the centre of the room was a large couch, an easy chair, and a coffee table with a single, open paperback on the surface.
Vallejo turned to Patricia. ‘Guess you don’t get too many visitors, huh?’
Patricia wrapped her arms across her chest. ‘None that I want to talk about.’
‘You been here a long time?’
Patricia made a harsh sound through her nostrils. ‘You can’t imagine.’
She was right. Vallejo couldn’t. At least in prison you were allowed out for exercise. But to be stuck within these walls for what might be forever? Jesus. The poor woman.
‘So my husband, Adrian. Is he all right?’
‘Far as I know,’ Vallejo said. ‘He was . . .’
She stopped at the sound of a heavy bolt being drawn. Both women turned their heads towards the steel door. It swung open and a blank-faced man stepped into the room. He was holding an automatic pistol and took his position by the side of the doorway. All Vallejo could see through the opening was a grey wall. Then another man came in, carrying a large cardboard box, which he took over to the kitchenette and placed on a counter.
