Back Track

by Jason Dean

  He left and a third man entered. Vallejo knew instantly that this was the man in charge. Possibly the same guy Bishop spoke to on the cell last night. He was about six feet tall and wore a dark grey shirt and black pants that fit his powerful physique perfectly. His dark hair was cut short and his features were regular, except for a drooping right eyelid which only made him seem more threatening. But both eyes were the kind that looked right through you.

  He nodded his head towards the kitchenette and said, ‘Your latest food supplies, Patricia. Why don’t you go and unpack?’

  Vallejo watched as Patricia shuffled towards the kitchenette and said, ‘So what do I call you?’

  ‘You don’t,’ the man said. ‘Where’s Bishop?’

  ‘How the hell do I know? Some other motel, I expect. He didn’t see fit to tell me which one. He did tell me he doesn’t like staying in one place too long, though.’

  Those merciless eyes of his just bored right into her for a few moments. Then he smiled and said, ‘Sit down, Clarissa.’

  She took a look at the impassive guard, then sat on the couch. ‘You know me?’

  ‘Naturally.’ He took the easy chair, pulled a slim cell phone from his pocket and placed it on the armrest. ‘For a cop, you’re a long way from home, aren’t you?’

  ‘And it’s all thanks to you and your dead friend Abraham.’

  Vallejo heard a noise and turned to see Patricia watching them both, open-mouthed.

  The man chuckled and said, ‘I was hoping to keep that little fact a secret for a while longer. Never mind.’ He turned back to Vallejo. ‘I think it’s about time we contacted Bishop, don’t you?’

  He picked up the cell phone, pressed a button and put it to his ear. His eyes watched her as he waited. His face gave nothing away. Clearly, nobody was answering. He waited a full minute before ending the call. Then he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, referring to it as he keyed in a new number.

  He waited longer this time, but still there was no response. He hung up and said, ‘He’s not answering. Why is that, Clarissa?’

  ‘Well, if one of those numbers was for Abraham’s phone,’ she said, thinking fast, ‘you’re wasting your time. Bishop threw it in the desert after his chat with you last night. And the only other one he’s got he keeps in the glove compartment most of the time. He doesn’t like cell phones much.’

  The man just looked at her without expression. No doubt calculating whether she was lying or not.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘He’ll check it for messages. Once he sees the missed call, he’ll keep it close to him. Try again later.’

  The man just watched her. After a while he pocketed the phone and stood up. ‘That’s exactly what I plan to do,’ he said. ‘And if he doesn’t answer next time, you lose a limb.’

  SEVENTY-ONE

  When it became obvious the caller had hung up, Kate said, ‘I hope to God you know what you’re doing, Bishop.’

  ‘You and me both,’ he said, pocketing the phone. He took another sip of the warm coffee. ‘No point in worrying about it now.’

  ‘I guess not.’ She stood up and rolled her shoulders. ‘But if what you say is right, one thing I still don’t get is why it’s taken over three years for somebody to figure out something screwy’s going on. Surely one of the fire investigators would have noticed something somewhere along the line. These guys are trained to spot the smallest irregularity.’

  ‘People generally see what they expect to see, Kate,’ Bishop said. He was recalling the car ‘accident’ he arranged for Selina back in Louisford. And how he’d contrived the evidence to look exactly how he wanted it. It already seemed an age ago.

  ‘But still—’

  ‘Look,’ he interrupted, ‘if there’s no motive for arson and no evidence of foul play, they’re unlikely to put too much effort into the possibility of murder, aren’t they? And one thing I can pretty much guarantee is the man running the show has got the whole process down, with every little detail covered. If he wants the fires to look like accidents, they’ll look like accidents. Believe me, I recognize the mindset.’

  Raymond smirked. ‘Kinda like looking in the mirror, huh?’

  Bishop didn’t answer, but the same thought had occurred to him. Thorough planning and an attention to detail were clearly characteristics they both shared. Except the man he was after had taken a wrong turn somewhere. At some point he’d decided his fellow humans were nothing more than pieces of meat to be used and disposed of as he saw fit. Bishop wasn’t sure if that was why he hated him, or because of their similarities. Probably a combination of both. But it didn’t matter. Bishop knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until one of them was dead. Maybe both of them. Just so long as Selina and Vallejo were safe. That was all that concerned him now.

  ‘And you really think the police are involved too?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Possibly only one.’ Bishop pictured Shaw’s face again. And then there was that odd encounter with Chief Emery at the station. It could conceivably be either of them. Or even both. ‘But I’d say somebody over there’s definitely got his feet in both camps. And for a number of reasons. For instance, how did they know Vallejo would be at the Amber Motel, unless they got a peek at the sworn statement she gave to the police to spring me? That’s the only place I can think of where she referenced it.’

  He reached for his cup and finished the last of the coffee before it got cold. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘let’s get back to the problem of finding out where their base is. Time’s running short.’

  Raymond leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. ‘Well, let’s see now. It has to be some place big, right? If they’re holding all these women in reserve for possible follow-up surgery? Like a converted warehouse or something.’

  ‘Right,’ Bishop said. ‘If they can afford to keep Tatem’s wife locked away in comfortably sized living quarters, it’s a safe bet the other women have got similar accommodations.’

  ‘And it has to be somewhere remote,’ Kate said.

  Bishop nodded. ‘That’s another reason I wasn’t convinced about Olander’s place. Too many neighbours. So forget industrial parks. It’ll be on its own.’

  ‘It still doesn’t help much,’ Kate said. ‘The further out you go, the more solitary warehouses you see. And that’s just those within the town borders.’

  Bishop stood up and leaned against the wall. ‘Good point. So far, everything’s been kind of centred around Saracen, but there’s no reason they couldn’t be located over in Garrick. Some place not too far from the hospital, maybe.’ He fell silent for a few moments, taking in this new possibility. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

  ‘Who are their customers exactly?’ Raymond asked, picking up a pen from his desk and tapping it against his palm. ‘And how do they get here? Maybe if we can figure that part out, it’ll help us narrow the search.’

  ‘Well, they’ll be wealthy,’ Bishop said. ‘And they’ll come from all corners of the globe. And one thing I know is that rich people prefer to fly whenever possible, even for domestic travel. So probably by corporate jet or private plane. Status is everything, after all.’

  Kate said, ‘So they land at one of the smaller airports and drive the rest of the way?’

  ‘Or they get chauffeured in. Maybe our boy . . .’ Bishop stopped. He was thinking back to his days as a close protection officer. Specifically, the times when he’d have to accompany clients in their private jets as they exited and re-entered the country.

  After a while, Kate said, ‘What?’

  Bishop turned to her. ‘Who says it has to be an airport?’

  ‘Uh, let’s see, now,’ Raymond said. ‘U.S. Customs? Homeland Security? You heard of them?’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. Look, all private aircraft coming to the States have to land at a specified airport of entry for Customs inspections, right?’

  ‘Right,’ Kate said. ‘There are about ten here in Arizona, I think. Most of them along the Mexican border.’
>
  Bishop nodded. ‘And once they go through all the formalities and get the green light, where do they go next?’

  ‘Anywhere they want, I guess.’

  ‘Exactly. They can land the aircraft on an old airfield if they want. Or even just a flat stretch of land if it’s a small enough plane.’

  Raymond smiled and began nodding his head. ‘So if our boy found himself a warehouse right next to a clear, flat stretch of land, he’d pretty much have all his bases covered.’

  ‘Pretty much,’ Bishop said. ‘Minimal exposure for himself and his customers, and nobody around to ask awkward questions, especially if he arranges it so the clients land in the dead of night.’

  Kate said, ‘But they’d need landing lights for that. Somebody would have spotted them by now.’

  ‘Not if it’s remote enough,’ Bishop said. ‘And they wouldn’t be turned on for very long. Once or twice a week at most. Each time no longer than half an hour, tops. Rest of the time, they could cover them up.’

  ‘Okay,’ Kate said, ‘you’ve convinced me. So what now? Do we each drive around town and check out the likeliest suspects?’

  ‘No need for that, McG,’ Raymond said, turning to his monitors. ‘Can you say Google Earth?’

  ‘So three possibles,’ Raymond said, finally turning from his monitor. ‘That ain’t so bad, is it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Bishop said. ‘We’ll see.’

  But he had to admit this Google Earth application was one hell of a useful tool. After Bishop instructed them to look for large structures with no nearby neighbours, and with adjoining land at least two thousand feet in length and two hundred feet wide, they’d each taken a section of town. It took the three of them less than half an hour to explore Saracen in full.

  Raymond had found two possibilities: a cardboard box manufacturer and a wholesale supplier of building and construction materials, both on the outskirts of town. Bishop had also found a seemingly vacant building south of them, about a mile away from the Bannings place. And all were surrounded by flat land large enough to serve as a make-do landing field.

  It was a start. But Bishop still needed to narrow it down further.

  He turned to Raymond and said, ‘When you gather information for Kate, is it always through legitimate sources?’

  Raymond smiled and shared a look with Kate. ‘Not always.’

  ‘So you’re a hacker.’

  Raymond looked uncomfortable. ‘Hey, I know my way around a mainframe, but I wouldn’t go that far. I just got plenty of friends who know stuff and don’t mind sharing information.’

  ‘Okay, so say I wanted to see the monthly electric bills for these three warehouses, how hard would that be?’

  ‘Well, it’s no walk in the park. You’d need to get into the Arizona Public Service main server and access customers’ private accounts. That’s serious security right there. It can be done remotely, but we’re still talking some major firewalls.’

  ‘What about through one of those back doors you mentioned?’

  Raymond frowned, clicking his teeth together. Looked at Kate. ‘I’d have to call a certain pal of mine, but, yeah, I could probably do it. But I wouldn’t want to be in there for long.’

  ‘What are you thinking, Bishop?’ Kate asked.

  ‘We’re searching for a round-the-clock operation, aren’t we? And supplying lighting, heating and electrics to a structure that large on a permanent basis adds up.’

  Raymond was nodding. ‘So if one of these places has a monthly utility bill that can feed a small country, we’ve found our scumbags.’

  ‘Well, it would put them top of the list. How about it, Raymond? Are we go?’

  Raymond looked at a point above Bishop’s head as he tapped the pen against his palm. The tapping got faster and faster until he threw the pen on the desk and reached for his cell phone. ‘Let me make a couple of calls,’ he said.

  SEVENTY-TWO

  ‘Okay,’ Raymond said, tapping keys as computer code filled the screen, ‘I’m in the accounts directory, but let’s keep it short. No telling when the automated sentry starts making its next sweep. Right, hit me with the first address.’

  ‘114 Radcliffe Avenue,’ Bishop said. He watched Raymond key in the box manufacturer’s address and hit ‘Return’. There was a short wait, and then lines of text filled the screen.

  ‘Great,’ Raymond said. ‘You have to scroll though the whole goddamn street. Here we go. I might have known, 114’s right at the end. Okay. There. That look normal to you, Bishop?’

  Bishop leaned in and looked at the new page onscreen. He saw a month-by-month costing for gas and electric at that address. The highest bill was for January, generally Arizona’s coldest month. $847. February was significantly less, and the rest of the year they were able to keep it under $500.

  ‘That looks about average,’ Bishop said. ‘Try 93 East Roderick Street next.’

  Raymond tapped his fingers against the keyboard and used the trackpad. Finally a new page opened up and Bishop scanned the entries. The building supplies wholesaler forked out over a grand in January and February, but the bills shrank in the following months, closely matching that of the previous business. Not nearly enough to keep a large concern lit and heated around the clock.

  ‘Try 232 Valencia Avenue,’ Bishop said. That was the one Bishop had found. It had looked vacant from above, but maybe it was supposed to look that way.

  Raymond keyed it in. Got the whole street again and scrolled down to 232. Clicked on it. The page opened up.

  Damn, Bishop thought. The building was listed, but there were no bills for this year. Which meant the place really was vacant.

  ‘That’s it,’ Raymond said, ‘I’m outta there.’ He quit out of the system, then disabled and unplugged his router. He sighed and sat back in his seat. ‘Three strikes. But it had to be one of them, didn’t it?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Bishop said, staring at the wall. ‘We just played a hunch, that’s all. One that didn’t come off.’

  Silence filled the room. Kate looked at the floor as she combed a hand through her hair. Raymond gazed at the ceiling, shaking his head. But Bishop couldn’t afford to feel discouraged. Now now. Besides, something was currently scratching away at the base of his spine. He wasn’t sure what, exactly. Something about the pictures on the wall.

  It seemed Raymond was a fan of Raquel Welch back in her prime. The man had good taste. There were four posters of the actress running across the wall, including that one of her in a fur bikini. But in between these were framed photos of friends and family. Bishop focused on two in particular. They were both black and white. One was a studio headshot of a handsome, blond man wearing an air force uniform. He looked confident and ready to take on the world. Bishop glanced at Raymond and noticed a definite family resemblance around the eyes and mouth. The other photo showed the same man standing next to a P-51 Mustang, with a hangar taking up much of the background.

  ‘Who’s the pilot?’ Bishop asked. ‘Your grandfather?’

  Raymond sat up and looked where he was pointing. ‘Great-grandfather. Jack Massingham. My grandpa says he notched up a shitload of Nazis during the war.’

  ‘And the shot of him next to the Mustang. Where was that taken?’

  ‘Uh, Luke Field at Luke Airfield Base. Why?’

  ‘I’m a history buff.’ Which was true. It had always been his favourite subject in school. Military history, especially. Bishop stood up and moved closer to the photo. Part of him was thinking of that old scar on his shoulder and how long it took him to notice its hidden shape. How sometimes the answer’s right there in front of you, but you’re too close to see it. He saw it now. And the itching at the base of his spine had stopped.

  Bishop said, ‘I remember reading how the government spent months on feasibility studies before finally choosing Luke Field as a major training base. They’d find a likely spot, build a temporary hangar and fly in all kinds of specialists to check the area thoroughly before making a
decision.’

  Kate was frowning. ‘So?’

  ‘So this area could have been one of those locations they studied. Evening before last, when I was driving east along the highway I noticed an ancient-looking aircraft hangar in the distance. About five miles out of Saracen.’

  ‘That’s a new one on me,’ Raymond said, turning to his monitor, ‘and I’ve lived here most of my life.’

  ‘I know which one you mean,’ Kate said. ‘It’s on your right. Not all that obvious unless you’re looking for it.’

  ‘That’s it.’ He turned and said to Raymond, ‘You on Google Earth again?’

  ‘Yeah. You say it’s located about five miles outside of town?’

  ‘Give or take a mile.’ Bishop went over and stood behind him. Kate joined them.

  Raymond had zoomed out and was slowly scrolling east on Highway 60. When the scale at the bottom of the screen told him he’d progressed five miles, he started to zoom in again.

  Bishop noticed a speck that could have been a building and pointed. ‘There.’

  ‘I see it,’ Raymond said and increased the magnification further.

  It was still blurred, but Bishop could make out a few more details. The hangar was set back about a mile from the highway. Situated close to the southern side of the building was a much smaller annex. Other than that it was on its own. No other structures for at least a mile in each direction. And there was a long, barely defined area alongside going from east to west that must have served as a landing strip. And maybe still did.

  Raymond zoomed to the maximum setting so the roof took up half the screen. It was in the standard curved shape of the era. Most of the tiling had fallen away over the years, leaving much of the wooden sheathing underneath exposed. From the scale, Bishop quickly calculated the building covered about thirty thousand square feet.

  ‘That’s one big mother,’ Raymond said.

  Bishop nodded. ‘About half the size of a football field. Too big for a temporary hangar. So maybe this once served as a reserve training base instead.’