The Wrong Man

by Jason Dean

  And pulled out a hunting knife. An expensive one by the looks of it. Japanese or Korean and used for skinning game. The curved blade had blood on it. A lot of blood.

  Taking the knife with him, Bishop approached the entranceway to the second room and peered round the wall. Seeing it was empty, he crossed to the next opening, looked round and saw only Jenna. Still in the same position.

  But this time, he could see her chest rising and falling. She was alive.

  He jogged towards her, listening out for movement from behind and keeping an eye on the doors ahead. As he got closer, he saw that Danny had only started. A two-inch-long section of her upper right arm had been stripped away, exposing the defined bicep muscle. The length of skin was still attached and hung down, swaying with each exhalation. He gently touched her cheek. She had a large, red bruise just below her left eye. He guessed Danny must have knocked her out when he heard Bishop break in.

  There wasn’t as much blood as he’d first thought, but enough had run down her arm to create a pool on the floor. Glancing at Jenna’s bare feet he saw the burnt skin around her toes and the medicinal plasters, but the electrical wires had been removed. He also noticed that each chair leg had a metal hinge that had been bolted to the floor, and wondered how many others had suffered slow, painful deaths in its arms.

  He gently lifted the hanging piece of skin until it covered as much of the wound as possible, and held it there for a few seconds until he felt sure the blood would help it stay in position. Then he used the hunting knife to cut at the thick cords binding her right arm to the chair. Jenna began to stir and her eyes opened to slits when he was halfway through. They focused on Bishop and she whispered, ‘You came.’

  ‘I said I would.’

  Then he watched Jenna’s eyes become circles and she screamed ‘No!’ and that awful body odour filled the air again.

  The girl. It was the goddamn girl all along.

  Bishop tried to turn, but a bony knee jammed into his back and the gun fell from his grasp as he dropped to the floor. Still gripping the knife, he began to rise but another agonizing stomach muscle spasm hit him and he dropped to his knees. He gasped for breath and something knocked against his wrist and he saw the knife fall onto Jenna’s lap.

  Then he saw Danny’s clenched fists on either side of his face. There was a length of electrical wire between them, stretched taut.

  And then the wire was at his throat.

  NINETY-FOUR

  Bishop instinctively brought his right hand up and managed to get his two end fingers between the wire and his larynx before it tightened. Immediately, Danny began twisting while dragging him back along the floor. Blood spurted from both digits and ran down his forearm as the pressure increased. He tried slamming his right elbow into the weight at his back. Each time, Danny avoided the blow without loosening her grip.

  After about twenty feet, Bishop fell on his side and Danny wrapped a leg around his waist and came down with him. He could already feel the wire start to cut into his neck near the Adam’s apple. Where was her strength coming from? The scrawny bitch was half his size. Less than half.

  In the struggle, he thought he heard shouting, but couldn’t make out the words. Had to be Jenna. He knew it wasn’t coming from Danny. He figured she was a mute. The only noise she made was something that resembled hissing as she squeezed the life from him. As if she was excited, like this was a turn-on for her.

  Bishop reached down to his ankle holster with his left hand. But Danny kept punching his elbow away with her knee until he was forced to give up. He scanned the floor for something else he could use. Anything. But there was nothing except some ancient batteries and old cardboard and newspapers. But his Beretta should be nearby. He’d gotten part of his foot on it when he was being dragged, and it had come at least part of the way. He was sure of it. So where the hell was it? Unable to move his head, he used his legs and free arm to manoeuvre his body so it faced the table. And there it was. On the floor just a few feet away. He dragged himself towards it with the world on his back, but the moment it came within reach a boot came into view and kicked it away.

  The wire was cutting into his neck now and he felt blood running into his shirt under the jacket. It was getting harder to take in air and his breath came out in rasps. He reached his free arm around but she skittered over him like a spider. He couldn’t get near. Any time he veered off and went for his ankle, she knocked his arm away with her knee before he could make contact.

  Forget the direct approach then.

  Bishop dragged himself back towards the table and she wriggled around on top of him, her right knee pressing into his side. The pressure didn’t let up at all. The more exertion he put into surviving, the more she got off on it. His trapped left arm was completely wet now as it dragged underneath him and he knew he was leaving a trail of blood across the floor.

  Another foot. Then one more. He was past halfway. Momentarily, he thought of Jenna. He hadn’t heard her in a while and he couldn’t see her chair. It was just out of his vision. He moved another foot. And another. And there, in front of his face, half covered by some scrap paper, was a metallic object. An acupuncture needle. Three inches long with a thin steel handle. His fingers closed around it and he stopped crawling.

  Danny began rubbing her body against him in a grotesque parody of ecstasy. Bishop felt her knee dig deeper into his side as she tightened her grip on the wire. He’d stopped trying to take in oxygen. No point now. His vision had deteriorated to the point where he could barely see the floor an inch from his face. Everything was turning grey. His only lifeline was the small amount of air still remaining in his lungs. Gripping the needle in his fist, he brought his arm back to rest against Danny’s leg, his closed fist on her knee. She didn’t bother trying to move it out of the way. Bishop guessed she relished the extra contact with her victims during their final throes.

  Relying on feel alone, his forefinger located the lower part of the vastus lateralis muscle, just above her knee. All muscles were sensitive, but he knew that particular one was in a league of its own. Just ask any sportsman. Utilizing his last vestige of strength, Bishop raised his fist as high as it would go. Then he plunged the needle into the muscle all the way up to the handle.

  The pressure against his neck was gone and the weight on his back fell away. Bishop rolled over and coughed as he filled his empty lungs with oxygen. He used his unharmed hand to pull the garrotte out of the groove in his neck and raised his injured fingers to stem the blood. He’d lost the top of his little finger, but his ring finger was still there, but only just. He turned to Danny. She sat on the floor next to the table, her right leg stretched out before her. She was slowly pulling the needle out of her knee with both hands, her face a picture of agony.

  ‘That’s what real pain feels like,’ he said. ‘How do you like it?’

  Behind her, Bishop could see Jenna cutting at the cords binding her feet with Danny’s Japanese knife. Still coughing, he reached down and pulled his own knife free from its ankle holster. It was time to end this right now. As he rose to his knees, he watched Danny throw the needle away before glancing down at her side. She picked up something off the floor.

  His gun.

  With her left hand clamped around her knee, she pointed the Beretta at Bishop’s groin. And the smile she gave him was one of the most beautiful he’d ever seen.

  Jenna suddenly launched herself from the chair. She leapt on Danny and plunged the hunting knife deep into the girl’s back, between the shoulder blades. Danny’s smile turned into a grimace and she dropped the gun and fell forward.

  ‘Die, you sick bitch,’ Jenna screamed as she got to her feet. She reached for another knife on the table.

  Bishop moved closer and picked up his gun. ‘No, Jenna,’ he said as he pulled the knife out of the woman’s back and threw it under the table. Danny’s sweatshirt was already drenched in her blood. ‘Turn away.’

  Jenna looked at him. Her arm continued to bleed and her
body was bruised and battered, but she didn’t look scared or in pain. She looked almost wild. He couldn’t blame her.

  ‘This isn’t my first time,’ he said. ‘And I don’t want it to be yours, either. Turn away.’

  Jenna opened her mouth and then paused. Slowly she turned, dropping the knife. She leaned against the table and Bishop saw her shoulders shaking.

  Bishop rolled Danny onto her back. The floor turned red beneath her and she looked up into his eyes. Her mouth was parted and her teeth were covered in blood. Her eyes met his and she smiled at him again.

  ‘Goodbye,’ he said, and snapped her neck.

  NINETY-FIVE

  Leaning against the table, Bishop watched Jenna reach into the jacket he’d given her and tear a long strip from the inner lining. She began wrapping the material around what remained of his two end fingers before extending it around the width of his hand.

  He hadn’t been feeling too hot since Saturday, and he felt even worse now. But it was worth it. Jenna was worth it. He watched her working on him and smiled. The relief he felt at finding her in one piece far outweighed the physical pain, and would be enough to keep him going for a while yet. With Jenna safe, that was all he cared about now. Just staying on his feet a little longer. He still had things to do.

  As she secured the ends of the strip tightly with a knot, Bishop noticed she never once looked at Danny’s body lying a few feet away. Although she did occasionally glance towards the double doors. Bishop had already checked the room beyond and found the girl he’d seen in the video. Danny had cut the poor girl’s throat and propped her next to the grate covering the elevator shaft. Then she must have planted the knife on the boyfriend and taken the girl’s place.

  ‘This time you do need a doctor,’ Jenna said, inspecting the bandage. ‘But what do I know, right?’ She studied the black strip of cloth around his neck and he felt her fingers gently touch the wound underneath. They came away clean. She frowned, then leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he said and touched her face. He kissed her again. Longer this time. The feel of her lips on his worked better than any balm and he didn’t want it to stop. But he broke away finally and then crouched next to the corpse, checking the pockets. ‘Can you remember if Thorpe said anything about where he was meeting his buyers?’

  ‘No.’ She paused. ‘But I was out of it most of the time.’

  He found Danny’s cell phone and stood up. Handed it to Jenna. ‘Here, use this. Your brother and Luke had their own lead to follow, so their nerves are probably shot to hell by now. You’re in Cortlandt Alley, by the way.’

  Jenna took the phone, keyed in a number and put it to her ear. A second later, she said, ‘Ali, it’s Jenna. I’m okay. I’m safe.’ She smiled and Bishop heard a yell at the other end. ‘I know, I know, I’ll explain it all when you get here,’ she said, and gave the location. ‘I need to call the police now . . . Right . . . Don’t be long.’ She handed the phone back to Bishop and said, ‘Ali promised to name his firstborn after you. I am calling the police, aren’t I?’

  ‘The moment I leave here,’ he said, and scrolled through the phone’s menu until he got to the message inbox. ‘Tell them everything that happened and remember, I stabbed her with the knife. You never touched her.’

  ‘But it was self-defence.’

  ‘We both know that, but the wound in her back will open up questions you don’t need. Just lay it at my door, Jenna. Believe me, with what they already got on me, it won’t make any difference.’

  Bishop smiled at the phone. Danny hadn’t gotten around to deleting her messages. He saw the most recent communication had been sent less than an hour ago and opened it up. Exchange at 0500. BH. Meet me 0400.

  BH. He should have known. Brennan’s house. You set up an exchange, you want the territory to be a place you know like the back of your hand. And the house certainly qualified as that. For both of them. He checked his watch. 00.51. That gave him plenty of time. Okay, Thorpe, he thought. I’ll meet you there, but you won’t like it. He deleted the message and gave the phone back to Jenna.

  She brought her hand to his cheek. ‘Once I tell them what’s happened, they’ll have to know it wasn’t you.’

  He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s not about me any more.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He dismissed the question with a shake of his head. ‘You’ll be okay on your own until Ali gets here?’

  She waved a hand at the table. ‘I’m pretty handy with these now.’

  Bishop smiled and nodded towards the back room. ‘There’s a guy back there who’ll probably need stitches because of me.’

  ‘I think the freak can take the blame for that one, don’t you?’ She shook her head and said, ‘How the hell does anyone get like that?’

  He looked down at the body and shook his head. ‘Some people are just wired wrong from birth.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess.’

  He had begun walking towards the double doors that led back to the alley when she said, ‘James . . .’

  Bishop turned back. The expression on Jenna’s face could have been interpreted in any number of ways. He chose one and said, ‘I know.’

  Then he opened the door and left.

  NINETY-SIX

  Thorpe looked out from the third floor window and adjusted the magnification on the night vision field glasses. As the four-wheel-drive passed through the open gates, he could clearly see the figure drop off the back and disappear into the overgrown foliage surrounding the property.

  He shook his head and came away from the window. Assholes. They just couldn’t do it, could they? Tell them four, maximum, and they bring five. All right, fine, let them think they had the upper hand. He’d planned ahead for just this contingency.

  At the moment, he was more concerned with Danny’s absence. He’d sent another message without any response and was loath to use his cell any more. Or either of the others. He could guess what had happened. She’d gotten carried away with the Falstaff woman and lost track of time as she tried to make the fun and games last as long as possible. He’d seen it happen more than once. Even joined in a few times, back in the days before her constantly evolving tastes got too much for him. Problem was, that girl was just too damned addictive and he knew all too well where that sort of thing led. He still felt pangs of desire whenever she aimed that movie-star smile at him, and for that reason distanced himself from her whenever he didn’t actually need her for a job.

  But she could have handled the one outside for him. They’d obviously left him there to take care of Thorpe once he emerged from the house. Probably to ‘persuade’ him to reveal his account details once they had the files in their hands. That’s what Thorpe would have done. They didn’t realize he could stay here for days without being discovered.

  Thorpe stepped through the doorway to the vault and switched on the small battery-powered lamp on the floor. He noticed the light was dimmer than before. Probably another hour before he’d need to replace the batteries. Pity he hadn’t been able to find a replacement bulb for the one in the ceiling, but the lamp would do for the short amount of time he’d be in here. Because without some kind of illumination, this would be unbearable.

  He went back and slid the bookcase over but kept the vault door open a crack, telling himself it was because of the cell phone reception and for no other reason. He forced himself to ignore the all-consuming terror that threatened to take over, the fear of being buried alive that had been with him since childhood. He told himself he was still in control of his surroundings and could slide the bookshelves over any time he got the jitters too bad. He glanced at the tins of food and the bottles of water he’d brought along and assured himself this wasn’t so hard. He wouldn’t starve, and he had light and enough extra batteries in his pocket to last for days, if it came to that.

  Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he opened his laptop. Footage from four of the six cameras he’d hidden ar
ound the house filled the screen: the foyer, the kitchen, the living room and one of the upstairs rooms. He’d found the fuse box in the basement earlier and now the house was awash with light. Good old Alicia Brennan, still paying the electricity bills for an empty house. It was a wonder the rich stayed rich.

  He watched the foyer camera showing the front door. After a short wait, he saw it open and a muscular, clean-shaven Arabic man entered, wearing a dark suit that strained at the seams. Thorpe enlarged the image so it filled the screen and watched the man look around for a few seconds with his hand under his jacket. He said something to the ones outside. Then came a man sporting a precisely cut goatee and wire-rim glasses. This one wore a far better-tailored suit. The third was similarly dressed. He had a full beard and carried a large briefcase with him. Finally, another one entered, even bigger than the first and wearing a polo-neck and dark slacks. He stood just inside the doorway, looking in every direction.

  Then the first three marched through the double doors at their left and went out of shot while the fourth stayed by the door. Thorpe reached for his walkie-talkie, shrank the screen and enlarged the one for the living room. He watched as the three men approached the centre of the empty room, where Thorpe had left another walkie-talkie for them. The bespectacled man reached down and picked it up off the floor. That would be Sayyid, then. Thorpe checked his watch and pressed the transmit button. ‘Almost perfect timing, my friend,’ he said. ‘Two minutes early, in fact.’

  Sayyid looked in all directions before bringing the radio to his mouth. ‘This is . . . unexpected, Martin. We do not meet face to face?’

  ‘I’m shy, Sayyid. And there’s only one of me while there are four of you.’ Thorpe smiled at that part. ‘Don’t worry, I can do this remotely. Now I’ve placed parts of the file in four separate locations somewhere on these grounds. How we do this is I’ll tell you where I’ve hidden the first piece so your man mountain can bring it back for your bearded friend. As soon as he’s verified its authenticity, you can wire a quarter of my fee to the account number I gave you. Once I get confirmation from my bank, I’ll give you the next location and . . . well, you can guess the rest.’