by Jason Dean
Bishop leaned against the breakfast bar and removed his sweatshirt while Jenna rummaged through drawers in the kitchen. He also removed the Beretta from his waistband and rolled it up in the sweatshirt before placing the bundle on one of the chairs under the table. He figured it would be easier than answering a bunch of questions.
Jenna turned round and held a packet of tablets in the air like a trophy. ‘I knew I had some. You didn’t tell me what you wanted to drink with this,’ she said, and then made a clicking sound with her tongue. ‘You can tell I’m out of practice at this sort of thing. I haven’t even asked if you’ve eaten yet. You feel up to a pizza? There’s a really good delivery place nearby that I use occasionally and they’re quick.’
‘Pizza sounds fine. And I’ll take a shot of that vodka too.’
‘Sure thing. I think I’ll join you.’ She pulled out a slim, half-full bottle with Chopin Potato Vodka printed vertically on the front from the refrigerator, and grabbed two glass tumblers. She poured two fingers of the clear liquid into each glass, then picked up a cordless phone lying on the counter. Bishop chewed on three of the pills while she pressed a single button on the phone and asked for a large pepperoni and mushroom thin crust. It sounded like Jenna ate a lot of pizza and Bishop smiled to himself when the person on the other end didn’t ask for her address. She hung up, picked up her drink and smiled. ‘Ten minutes,’ she said.
Bishop picked up his glass and they each knocked back a shot. The effect was immediate for him. His system hadn’t been near alcohol for three years and his skin tingled as a feeling of numbness rapidly spread throughout his body. ‘Whoa,’ he said.
‘Kicks, doesn’t it?’
He looked at the tumbler in his hand. ‘I’ve heard things about this stuff.’
‘That old rumour about it doubling for anti-freeze is just an urban myth. It’s too expensive for a start.’
Bishop nodded and glanced at the table behind him.
Jenna smiled. ‘I’m guessing you’ve noticed not many people get into my fortress of solitude. I invite some of the girls from work every now and then, but apart from Ali you’re the first man to cross the threshold in two years.’ She sipped at the vodka and said, ‘You should consider yourself honoured.’
‘You haven’t invited Luke over?’
She sighed. ‘Luke would very much like an invitation to visit. More than visit, actually. His problem is he can’t accept the past should stay in the past and that mistakes should be learned from, not repeated. Let’s not go there, please.’
‘All right,’ he said. ‘So you want to tell me why you’re letting me stay here? I mean, you barely know me.’
She paused, then said, ‘You helped Owen. It might have been for your own reasons, but my baby brother’s still alive, thanks to you.’ She shrugged. ‘Or maybe I just want to help. People’s motives can be that simple sometimes.’
Only rarely in Bishop’s experience, but he saw no advantage in arguing the point and just said, ‘Okay.’
She took another sip and looked at him. ‘So, has the real killer got a name?’
Bishop raised his eyebrows. He knew she’d start asking questions soon enough, but it really wouldn’t help her knowing any more than she already did. ‘I think it’s probably best you don’t get any more involved. Believe me, the less you know, the better for you.’
Jenna slowly placed her glass on the counter and crossed her arms. He couldn’t read her eyes but he saw tension in her muscles as she spoke. ‘Oh, really? And you think harbouring a dangerous fugitive from the law isn’t placing me in enough danger already?’
‘You can explain that away easily enough by saying I held you hostage.’
‘Uh, uh. That’s not how it works. This is my home and if you want to hide out here a couple of days you’d best start talking to me like we’re both normal human beings. Otherwise, how do I know you didn’t kill those people three years ago?’
‘Is that what you really believe?’
‘What am I supposed to think if you’re not gonna talk to me?’
He watched her, both fascinated and a little angry. Mostly with himself. He’d underestimated her determination and it didn’t help that she was right. After all, it wasn’t her fault she possessed an inquisitive mind. He reached over and poured them each another shot. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘The first guy I need to find is called Adam Cortiss. But that isn’t an invitation for you to get involved. I can handle this myself.’
Her face softened. ‘See? That revelation didn’t hurt, did it? So how—’ She stopped at the sound of the doorbell and dashed out of the room without finishing the question.
Bishop heard her exchange pleasantries with the delivery boy, and then she returned holding a flat pizza box. She’d lost her ponytail while out of the room. Her dark hair was now sitting on her shoulders, the curls framing her eyes and high cheekbones. Without speaking, they sat at the breakfast bar and started eating, but after a few mouthfuls Jenna said, ‘So how did you find out about this Cortiss?’
Bishop took the papers he’d printed out from his pocket and dropped them on the bar, and she began browsing through them as she ate. He realized he’d already gotten Jenna involved the moment he came to her for help. He found himself feeling like he owed her something, which was a new experience for him. In Aleron’s basement, it had occurred to him that he already had enough enemies. And to continue his habit of internalizing everything when help was being offered was tactically foolish. With both Falstaff brothers having already given him major assists, why not allow the sister a chance to make it three for three? At the very least, he’d get a fresh perspective. He considered how much Jenna already knew, and made a choice that he would never have made in his old life.
He said, ‘I saw the bottom of this guy’s face at the Brennans’ house as he ran from the scene. Turns out he used to work for Randall Brennan, so I asked an old contact to dig up whatever he could find. That’s it.’
Jenna nodded, continuing to look through the pages. Bishop took another slice. The pizza was really good, and he realized he hadn’t eaten properly in over thirty-six hours.
When she got to the end, she looked up. ‘A bad, bad boy. So, obviously, if you saw him, what, a year later, it was somebody else in that car when it crashed.’
‘Right.’
‘But wouldn’t the police check fingerprints?’
‘Cops don’t make extra work for themselves without good reason and there was no suspicion of foul play. Plus they had a relative on hand who could ID the body.’
She turned pages until she found it. ‘Sean Stephenson?’
‘I’m guessing Cortiss under another alias. He’d be experienced at that kind of thing.’
‘Hmm.’ Jenna refilled their glasses. ‘It’s got his last known address here,’ she said almost to herself. ‘An apartment in downtown Manhattan.’
‘Forget about it,’ he said, taking another shot of vodka. ‘He’s long gone.’
‘I know. I’m just thinking out loud.’
Bishop studied her profile. ‘I haven’t asked what it is you do, Jenna.’
She faced him and smiled. ‘That’s okay, you got other things on your mind. I’m a computer programmer in the city. Not very interesting, but I’m good at it and it keeps me on the straight and narrow. My employers are pretty strict about that kind of thing.’
‘Why? Were you a bad girl in your youth?’
She grinned. ‘The baddest. I still have my moments.’ Turning on her stool, she looked at him. ‘Another drink and I might show you what I mean. Your turn to pour.’
Bishop was tempted. He really was. But it would be a mistake. Even if he weren’t being hunted by half the civilized world, this was the wrong time. And he was the wrong man. This was just a temporary way station and he couldn’t afford to let himself get sidetracked. Not any more. ‘Probably not a good idea,’ he said. ‘Tell you the truth, I’m just about ready to drop and your couch looks good.’
Jenna sat b
ack and looked at him with a half-smile. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I can probably find some spare sheets for you.’ They both rose from their seats and she left the room, reappearing a minute later to hand him a pile of blankets. ‘There’s a towel in there for the shower and you’ll find a pack of new toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet.’
He added the sweatshirt containing his gun to the pile and said, ‘Thanks,’ before turning and making his way towards the living room across the hallway.
‘Don’t mention it,’ he heard her say behind him.
THIRTY-FOUR
Bishop woke up on Jenna Falstaff’s couch with the previous evening’s conversation running through his mind. The vodka seemed to have made him a lot more talkative than usual. Or maybe, after spending so much time in his own head, he’d just needed to offload on someone. Either way the damage was done and there was no point going over it. Instead he thought through what he’d learned on his first day as a fugitive.
Adam Cortiss. Brennan’s connection to him. The papers stuck behind the bookshelves. The hidden cameras. The shoe imprint on the chair. He got the Cortiss and Brennan connection, and how the vault fitted in; he guessed the motivation had been the money. What he was still left with was who’d gotten him involved. Who out of his team had enough issues to bother setting him up?
Thorpe had come through with the info on Cortiss, but that wasn’t sufficient reason to rule him out just yet. He was still a suspect. And there were still Tennison and Chaney to check on. Confronting them would be a lot riskier, especially if Thorpe had decided to cover his ass by reporting yesterday’s encounter to the cops. In that case, they wouldn’t have to work too hard to guess Bishop’s next move and prepare for it. Nevertheless, a little surveillance couldn’t hurt. He could check out the situation for himself before making a decision. And there was still the matter of Cortiss, of course. He needed to make inroads on finding him before he did anything else.
Pulling the blanket off, Bishop swung his legs round and sat up. He ran his palm over his scalp and listened to sounds of cutlery and crockery from the kitchen. The thin drapes were still drawn but sunlight made its way into the room. His watch on the coffee table read 10.37. He’d been out for over eleven hours, and despite the pain in his abdomen felt refreshed for the first time in months. Years, maybe.
He pulled on his pants and T-shirt and followed the sounds.
Jenna stood at the breakfast bar, pouring coffee into two mugs on the counter. She was wearing a short white bathrobe tied at the waist, and her damp hair was brushed back from her face. Bishop could practically taste the caffeine from the doorway. She looked up and said, ‘Perfect timing.’
‘Day off?’ he asked.
‘What’s the point of sick leave if you don’t use it up?’ she said with a shrug. ‘I assume you take your coffee black, as well?’
He nodded, sat on the same stool as last night and took a few sips. It was strong, almost too strong, but the buzz it gave him was worth it. Jenna sat opposite him and added sugar to hers.
‘That couch must be comfortable. You slept like the dead.’
‘Guess I must have needed it.’ He turned to look at the Power Mac. ‘You mind if I borrow your computer this morning?’
Jenna smiled as she raised her cup and drank. ‘If you’re planning on searching for Cortiss, I think that’s one problem you don’t need to worry about any more.’
‘Is that right?’ He had a bad feeling about where this was going.
‘I found him, already,’ she said. ‘Or at least, the next best—’
‘Jenna,’ Bishop interrupted. ‘Stop.’ He put his coffee on the counter-top and moved off his seat. She looked up in surprise. ‘I said I didn’t want you getting involved.’
Without waiting for a response, he walked back to the living room and grabbed his sweatshirt and his gun. He’d underestimated her, and he’d made the wrong choice last night. It had been a mistake to give her a glimpse of Cortiss. He shouldn’t have even come here. But sitting in the taxi at Jamaica he’d been fresh out of options. And when you’re out of options, you make mistakes. Idiot.
He went over to the window, pulled the drapes apart and was looking out when he heard her enter the room behind him. Without turning round, he said, ‘Who else have you told?’
‘About you? Nobody, of course.’
‘About Cortiss,’ he said, facing her. For a second she looked like she might break but her eyes remained defiant. ‘You must have had help to locate him so fast.’
‘You mean it’s impossible that I managed to do it all on my lonesome? You know they disproved that theory about us having smaller brains than men quite a few years ago.’
‘That’s not what I meant and you know it. I need to be abs—’ He stopped and frowned. A comment about Jenna’s employers from the night before came back to him. ‘Just where is it you work, exactly?’
‘You ever hear of the New York State Office for Technology?’
‘Not that I can recall.’
‘Not many people have. It’s a government agency over at Empire State Plaza that provides IT services to other agencies. I’m in their information security department.’
Bishop rubbed his face. ‘Did I just hear you right? You’re saying you work for the government?’
‘Kind of.’
‘You do or you don’t?’
‘Don’t tell me prison turned you into an objectivist; nothing’s black and white, you know. I’m just an independent contractor with the health plan and holiday pay, but without the job security or the pension. Okay?’ She shrugged and perched on a corner of the coffee table, sensing his shift in mood. ‘Besides, I’m not sure I’d be right for full-on legitimate government work.’
‘Why not?’
‘And submit myself to a complete background check?’ She snorted. ‘No, thank you.’ She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. ‘Look, James, I’m sorry I went behind your back, but I’m definitely not working with anybody else on this. I just like solving puzzles, that’s all. I can’t help it; it’s what I do. And let’s face it, yours is a real doozy.’
Bishop leaned against the window frame and moved his palm back and forth over his scalp. ‘You realize you could have told me all this last night, Jenna, instead of springing it on me now. It all comes down to trust in the end and I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t be here. That I made a mistake.’
Jenna pursed her lips and looked at the framed sketch on the wall to his right. The one that was supposed to be of a woman sleeping. ‘About four years ago,’ she said, finally, ‘there was a major news story about how a five-member team of hackers called the Phonebeasts got into the telephone networks and grabbed credit reports, criminal records, and other data from the databases to sell on to third parties.’ She turned her gaze to Bishop. ‘You remember reading about it?’
Vaguely, he recalled. ‘They gave themselves code names, didn’t they? I heard the feds caught them all in the end.’
‘They caught four of the five and they each earned long stretches in a federal prison. But there was a sixth member they don’t even know about who called herself Electra, and I know for a fact the feds would be very interested to learn of her existence before the Statute of Limitations comes into effect in a year’s time. Especially her real name and what she’s doing now.’ She raised both eyebrows at him. ‘All it would take to get an investigation launched is one phone call.’
Bishop understood what she was giving him. A way of making amends by throwing the ball back into his court. It was a start, at least, and he appreciated the gesture. After all, trust always works best when it’s shared.
He moved forward and sat down on the couch a few inches away from her. Her thighs peeked out from the robe and her deep brown skin glistened in the morning sun. Everything was close enough to touch and it took all of Bishop’s restraint not to.
Knowing it was too late to go back, he said, ‘All right, so tell me what you found.’
THIRTY-FIVE
She smiled, held up a finger and walked back to the dining room. A few seconds later, she came back holding some notepaper which she passed to him. He read, Box No. 46533, NY.
Bishop looked at her and said, ‘Are you serious?’
‘Now and then. That number’s located at the Little Neck post office just north of here and it’s a yearly rental, which means he’s still active.’
Bishop nodded at the paper in his hand. ‘I’d be interested to know how.’
‘I told you I had a murky past,’ she said. ‘After I saw his old address, I started thinking about inherited properties and found my way into the New York Land Registry server. I searched for Adam Cortiss and got three hits. The first two were strike-outs but the third is a four-bedroom house in a nice area of Nassau County. It was owned outright by a Kenneth Cortiss until his death in 1996, whereupon it was passed down to his son, Adam. He immediately sold the property to a company called Siren Associates, whose director goes by the name of Joseph Armitage.’
Bishop frowned and scratched at the stubble on his cheeks. ‘Okay.’
‘So I phoned the current tenant and told her I was from the Realty Regulation Commission and that I was asking tenants in the area how satisfied they were with their letting agencies. Once she gave me the name, Ashford Properties, I called them up.’
‘So I’m guessing Cortiss is still the owner and rents it out,’ Bishop said. ‘Siren’s a ghost company he set up to act as a buffer between him and Ashford.’
Jenna smiled. ‘A few thousand every month for doing nothing must be hard to pass up, no matter how wealthy you might be. So anyway, at Ashford I get this self-important little dickweed, and after a lot of wasted energy he finally gives me the name of the property lawyer who handles all matters relating to the house: an Alexander Stillson of Kennington, Hartford & Taylor.’
