Back Track

by Jason Dean

  Raymond started scrolling to the left and then down and to the right. Bishop could now see what had to be fencing going all round the property. And there was also a small structure close to the north fence, possibly a guard hut of some kind, and the faint markings of a dirt track leading from there to the highway.

  Bishop pursed his lips. ‘I’d sure love to get a look at that place from the ground.’

  ‘Maybe we can,’ Kate said. ‘Our photographer, Richard, was planning a book on Saracen’s history three or four years back and he took a whole bunch of shots of the surrounding area.’ She sat at one of the other laptops, opened a browser and typed in an address. ‘I’m sure I saw something on his website that looked like an old hangar.’

  Once the site loaded, Kate clicked on the ‘Gallery’ link on the side and was taken to a page of photo thumbnails. She moved in closer and a few seconds later said, ‘Here we go. I was right. Richard’s got two shots of the place.’

  She clicked on one of the thumbnails and a photo immediately filled the screen. Bishop could see it had been taken at dusk. It showed a tattered and weather-worn sign affixed to a barbed wire fence. The faded lettering on the sign read NO ENTRANCE and underneath, Government Property. The hangar in the background was out of focus.

  ‘Very artsy,’ Raymond said, while Kate clicked on an arrow to the right of the screen.

  The next photo was a front shot of the hangar itself, again taken at dusk. It showed a low, wooden building in desperate need of a paint job, with overgrown sagebrush all round. The large hangar doors were closed. Bishop saw smaller doorways and gaps for windows along one side of the building. All were boarded up. Bishop smiled. Assuming the place still looked the same from the outside, he liked what he was seeing.

  ‘Government property,’ he said quietly. ‘I wonder if it still is.’

  ‘Easy enough to find out,’ Raymond said and went straight to the official website for the County Assessor. He clicked on a link for ‘Real Property’. The resulting page gave them a variety of search options in order to access specific property data: by address, by owner name, by parcel number, by agent name, or by subdivision name.

  ‘McG,’ he said, ‘see if you can find out an address for the place. It’s gotta have one.’

  Kate went to one of the map sites on her computer and quickly navigated her way down Highway 60. A minute later, she said, ‘It’s listed as 67206A, East Highway 60.’

  ‘Right.’ Raymond typed the address into the appropriate box and pressed ‘Return’.

  Immediately a page came up showing the basic property data for No. 67206A. Parcel number, property class, and so on. Next to the owner’s name, it said Outrun Corporation.

  ‘Looks like it is privately owned,’ Raymond said.

  ‘The government must have auctioned off the land at some point,’ Bishop said. ‘This is looking better and better.’

  Kate leaned in closer. ‘Click on the name, Raymond.’ Her voice sounded tense.

  Raymond did as he was asked and they were taken to another page. It gave Outrun’s address as a box number in Phoenix.

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ Kate whispered.

  Bishop turned to her. ‘You recognize the name?’

  ‘And the box number. That’s one of Stan Neeson’s companies.’

  SEVENTY-THREE

  Bishop watched from the back seat as Kate steered the Subaru into Carter Drive. It was a long cul-de-sac with high concrete walls enclosing the vast, expensive properties lining each side. Kate pulled into the third recessed entrance on the right. There was a keypad and an intercom on the left-hand wall. Bishop looked through the windshield and couldn’t spot any cameras. But that didn’t mean there weren’t any.

  Kate had told him Neeson lived alone since his divorce, except for a long-term housekeeper who never worked weekends, while his two grown-up daughters had moved out long ago and now lived locally with their own families. She’d also mentioned that Neeson had held a prominent position on Garrick hospital’s board of directors for a number of years, which explained the ease with which those three hospital rooms were set aside for private use. Finally, all the pieces were coming together.

  Kate rolled her window down, reached out and pressed the buzzer. Twenty seconds later, a thin voice came from the speaker: ‘Is that you, Katie?’

  Which immediately told Bishop they were being watched right now.

  ‘Hey, Stan,’ she said in a light voice, ‘got something I want to run by you. It’s about Olander and how to prime the readers for when the story breaks. But I need your okay first.’

  ‘Not that I don’t enjoy seeing you, Kate, but couldn’t you have just phoned?’

  ‘It’s kind of sensitive. Best we discuss it in person.’

  ‘I see. Just you out there, is it?’

  ‘Just me.’

  ‘Then come on up.’

  Bishop heard a brief hum, then the gates began to open and Kate drove slowly through. He saw perfect lawns on either side, with palm trees all around providing plenty of shade. Up ahead, the gravel drive ended in a circle in front of a single-storey, white stucco house. It was in a similar Spanish style to Tatem’s place, but covered a much larger area, with a lot more wings protruding out from the main body. To Bishop it looked more like a modern scientific research centre than a home.

  Through the car’s tinted windows, he spotted Neeson standing outside his front door with a faint smile on his face. Kate circled round and stopped the vehicle a few feet away. She got out and Neeson looked behind her and his eyes grew large.

  Knowing he’d been spotted, Bishop reached for the .38 Special under his shirt as he shoved the car door open. But Neeson moved faster than his years. Before Bishop was all the way out, the older man had ducked back through the front door and slammed it shut behind him.

  ‘Shit,’ Bishop said and turned to Kate. ‘He’ll want to get to a phone and call his people. Where will he go?’

  Kate looked at him, open-mouthed.

  He grabbed one of her wrists. ‘Where are the phones, Kate? I need to know. Now.’

  ‘Uh, there’s one in the hallway just behind that door. There’s another one in his study.’ She pointed and said, ‘That room over there on the far right, just past that big palm. That’s all, I think.’

  Bishop thought fast. Neeson wouldn’t use the hallway phone. He’d expect Bishop to shoot out the front door lock and enter that way. No, he’d make for the study. Bishop turned right and ran along the front of the house, hoping there wasn’t a third phone Kate didn’t know about. Bishop reached the large palm and stopped just short of the room at the end. He peered through one of the windows and saw Neeson already in there, locking the door. Then he came round to the desk with his back to Bishop. He grabbed a cordless from a base unit with one hand while reaching down for one of the drawers with the other.

  There was a sliding glass door a few feet to Bishop’s right. He stepped over and tried the handle. It was unlocked. He slid it all the way open and pointed the .38 at the man’s head.

  ‘Freeze,’ he said.

  Neeson froze, his hand halfway in the desk drawer.

  Bishop stepped into the room. ‘Now bring your hand out of there. Slowly.’

  Neeson did as he was told, his right hand coming out empty. Bishop stepped round to his side and saw he was still holding the cordless. ‘Now put the phone down.’

  Neeson stared at Bishop’s gun and carefully placed the cordless back in the base unit. Then he slowly raised both hands in the air. Bishop saw a movement in his peripheral vision and then heard Kate come through the doorway.

  ‘Oh, Stan,’ she said. ‘No. It can’t be you.’

  ‘It’s him, all right,’ Bishop said, and pointed to a leather couch positioned against one of the walls. ‘Plant your ass over there, Neeson. And keep it there.’

  Neeson looked at Kate with an unreadable expression and then walked over to the couch. When he sat, Bishop checked the drawer he’d been reaching for and pulled out
another .38. With a four-inch barrel, this time. He was getting quite a collection. He tucked it in his waistband and saw Kate walking towards Neeson.

  ‘That’s as far as you go, Kate,’ Bishop said.

  She stopped, and Neeson said, ‘Look, if you’re thinking of exchanging me for—’

  ‘Exchange? I can’t see your partner caring too much what happens to you, can you? After all, he’s the one running things these days, am I right?’

  Neeson closed his mouth and glared at Bishop. Which proved he’d hit the mark.

  ‘Now. Why don’t we start things off with his name?’

  ‘What good will—?’ Neeson was beginning, when the phone started ringing.

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  Kate and Neeson stared at the handset as though it might jump off the desk. Bishop motioned with the gun and said, ‘Get over here, Neeson.’

  The older man got up and walked over, keeping his distance from Kate. Bishop plucked the handset from the base unit and said, ‘When you answer, put it on speaker. I’m not in the best of moods right now, so I hear one wrong word out of you and I’ll snap your neck like a chicken’s. Understand?’

  Neeson took a deep breath and nodded.

  ‘Answer it, then.’

  Neeson took the phone and pressed a single button on the base unit. He said, ‘Yes?’

  An amplified voice said, ‘Neeson?’ Bishop immediately recognized it as the man from last night.

  ‘It’s me, Alex.’

  ‘So have you gotten off your ass and spoken with that McGowan woman yet? Has Bishop been in contact with her?’

  Neeson looked over at Kate as she sat down on the couch. ‘I’ve just gotten off the line with her and she hasn’t heard from him. She said she tried calling a couple of times, but got no answer.’

  The caller sighed. ‘That matches with what the dyke said. Okay, check back with her again soon, but keep me updated. I’m rapidly running out of patience with this bullshit.’ The man called Alex clicked off and Bishop took the phone from Neeson’s hand.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘So what’s Alex’s surname?’

  ‘Hallaran.’

  ‘Alex Hallaran,’ Bishop said, nodding. ‘He sounds like a man with a short fuse.’

  ‘Yes, he gets aggravated easily, like most control freaks. He could take the pressure off by delegating some of the workload, but it’s just not in his nature. And you’re the one testing his patience right now. He needs you out of the way before the client arrives tonight. That’s why he took the Vallejo woman. For leverage.’

  ‘Yeah, I figured that much out myself. And how does he plan to neutralize me? He can’t possibly believe I’d be dumb enough to turn myself over to him.’

  ‘How should I know? He doesn’t tell me his plans. But he’ll try and contact you again and I’d advise you to answer next time. Hallaran’s got a hair-trigger temper and if he can’t get hold of you, he’ll take it out on your friend. That much I know for sure.’

  Bishop thought about that as he watched Neeson, who didn’t look quite as urbane as before. In fact, he looked as though he’d aged ten years in the last ten minutes.

  Neeson swallowed and said, ‘So what are you going to do with me?’

  Kate came over, her eyes reduced to slits. ‘I want to throw you down a deep well, you bastard. All these years I trusted you and never even suspected what you’re really capable of. How could you do it? All those deaths. All those innocent people and children wiped off the face of the earth, just so some rich women can get transplants and have kids of their own. Jesus, what kind of monster are you?’

  Neeson just stood there with his mouth open, staring at Kate. ‘Transplants? Kids? What on earth are you talking about?’

  SEVENTY-FIVE

  Bishop studied the genuine look of shock on Neeson’s face and immediately knew his initial instincts had been correct. That the missing women were in fact serving a far simpler need. A far more ancient need. From the start, he hadn’t been entirely convinced about the ovary transplant angle, especially after Tatem nixed the idea as unworkable. Nevertheless, when the few facts available to them had started to go in that direction, he’d preferred to stay open-minded about the whole thing and see where it led. But Neeson’s reaction confirmed Bishop’s belief that the simplest explanation was usually the correct one.

  ‘Stop there, Kate,’ Bishop said. ‘He really doesn’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Kate turned to him, disbelief in her eyes. ‘What? You’re saying he’s innocent?’

  ‘Not hardly. I’m just saying this was never about organ transplants. They’re not dealing in body parts, they’re dealing in bodies. That’s right, isn’t it, Neeson?’

  The older man looked at him and said nothing. Which was all the answer he needed.

  ‘You mean human trafficking?’ Kate said. ‘But what about Kendrick Juneau’s suspicious disappearance? And those scars on the women patients?’

  Bishop shrugged. ‘Juneau and his companions probably did die on the Congo River, which means his research died along with him. End of story. It was an odd death, but not necessarily suspicious. And the scars were probably routine internal tests to make sure the women were in perfect health. Tatem’s merely there to wipe away all the so-called imperfections whenever necessary, like the acid burns on Selina’s arms and the tattoo on Samantha Mathison’s back. Making sure the buyer doesn’t get damaged goods.’

  Kate was still glaring at Neeson. ‘But in that case, why kill Samantha? In fact, why not grab women with no physical imperfections at all? They must exist.’

  ‘Yeah, but Abraham told me they’re a highly specialized service, so maybe it’s not so simple as that.’ Bishop thought for a moment, watching Neeson. ‘What if it’s a case of providing women to order? Then grooming them for the customer, both physically and mentally? You can’t get more specialized than that. In which case, they could have found out about Samantha’s sexual orientation too late, then decided to get rid of her and start looking around for a suitable replacement while they still could. That would fit.’

  Kate was nodding slowly. ‘Then somebody spots Selina at the diner and decides her resemblance to Samantha is good enough for their purposes.’

  ‘Possibly. But we don’t need to guess any more, do we? Not when we can get it from the horse’s mouth. How about it, Neeson? Are we getting warm?’

  Neeson just stood there without answering.

  ‘Take a seat,’ Bishop said, pointing his gun at the chair behind the desk. He waited as Neeson sat down, then said, ‘Okay, Kate, go and see if you can find me a kitchen knife, will you? And make sure it’s a sharp one.’

  Kate looked at him for a few moments, then began walking for the door.

  ‘Wait,’ Neeson said. ‘What do you need a knife for?’

  ‘For every time you don’t answer a question. You already owe me a finger.’

  Neeson’s face immediately lost what little colour was left. ‘No, please. There’s no need for that. I’ll tell you what you want to know.’

  ‘Hold it, Kate,’ Bishop said, and she stopped and came back. ‘Okay, Neeson, but I hear one false note and Kate goes back for the knife. I don’t have time for any more screwing around.’

  Neeson took a breath. ‘I won’t lie to you, Bishop. I’m no hero. And you’re actually fairly close to the truth already. But it’s not really human trafficking, as such. Hallaran once called it an exclusive matchmaking service for the discrim—’

  ‘Matchmaking service?’ Kate blurted out. ‘Are you insane?’

  Bishop held up a hand. ‘Just let him talk, Kate. Go on, Neeson.’

  ‘Look, I know how it sounds, but Alex Hallaran’s the real brains behind it all, not me. I came up with the seed of an idea and provided the initial start-up money, sure, but it’s Hallaran who handles the day-to-day running of the operation. It’s not like Eastern Europe where they grab girls off the street and sell them on to the highest bidder. Hallaran’s refined things to a much more c
oncentrated level, targeted to a specific client’s wishes. Usually from rich businessmen looking for their perfect partners.’

  ‘I bet the girls appreciate that distinction,’ Bishop said, leaning against the sliding door. ‘So take me through the process from start to finish.’

  Neeson glanced briefly at Kate, swallowed and said, ‘Well, as you can imagine, a business like this relies heavily on word of mouth. A client might hear about us from a friend who’s used us and he’ll contact Hallaran and put in a very specific request for a certain type of women. And not just the physical aspects. The woman’s personality is just as important. Our clients are looking for lifelong partners, not sex slaves. Then, once he’s wired over a deposit, Hallaran can start . . .’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘One million dollars, with the second million to be paid on delivery.’

  Bishop whistled. ‘And how many women, on average?’

  ‘Hallaran limits it to one new client a fortnight, maximum. He says this enables him to stagger the extractions to a manageable level and keep the rolling stock to no more than eight women at any one time. There are seven onsite now. Not including your friend and the surgeon’s wife.’

  Kate shook her head and turned to Bishop. ‘Lifelong partners? Extractions? Rolling stock? Can you believe the shit that’s coming out of this man’s mouth?’

  ‘It’s pretty amazing, I have to admit.’

  But it also confirmed Bishop’s impression of this Hallaran character. He was a details man. And he wasn’t overly greedy. He knew his limitations and stayed within them, regardless of the temptations. Which meant he was smart. Besides, a yearly turnover of fifty million wasn’t exactly chicken feed.

  Bishop said, ‘And these customers of yours. Where do they come from?’

  ‘Anywhere but here. Right from the start, Hallaran was very specific about servicing overseas clients only.’

  ‘Figures,’ Bishop said. ‘Otherwise, too much chance of somebody from the victim’s past running into her and recognizing her. Or of the woman running to the Feds. So how does he go about finding a particular woman for a particular customer?’