The Outsider (James Bishop 4)

by Dean, Jason

  There came the sound of a phone being dropped into its cradle or base unit. Bishop waited a few seconds before clearing his throat.

  A small, slim, bespectacled woman emerged from the back room, dressed in black jeans, white T-shirt and black waistcoat. Auburn shoulder-length hair framed a pleasant oval face. She looked about Bishop’s age, possibly mid- to late thirties, and gave him a sheepish smile. Her pale grey eyes seemed to look everywhere but at him.

  ‘How much of that did you hear?’ she asked. Her face had coloured a little.

  ‘Not much.’ Bishop said. ‘Are you the owner here?’

  She nodded. ‘That’s my name on the sign out front.’

  ‘Clea? Nice name. Short for anything?’

  ‘Yes, it’s short for Cleanthe. How can I help you?’

  ‘Well, I actually came here to ask a favour.’

  She looked at him for the first time and her brows immediately came together in a frown. Bishop watched her eyes and thought he saw something that looked like recognition in there. Which was bad news. Very bad news.

  ‘Um, a favour?’ she asked.

  He reached behind him and gripped the Glock in his waistband. ‘I’m afraid I need to use your phone, Clea.’

  ‘My phone?’ The frown deepened. ‘Look, I don’t really think I can—’

  She stopped as Bishop pulled the gun out and laid it gently on the counter. ‘Sorry, but I really have to insist,’ he said.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Bishop lifted the hinged end of the counter and came round and joined Clea. Her eyes were huge circles and she was actually shivering with fear, which hadn’t been his intention at all. Concerned she might lose control completely, he put the Glock back in his waistband. It had served its purpose. She knew he had it now and that was enough.

  ‘Look, I’m not here to hurt you, Clea,’ he said. ‘What’s your last name?’

  ‘What?’ She swallowed. ‘My … my last name? It’s Buchanan.’

  ‘And are you here on your own? Please don’t lie.’

  ‘Yes, I … I can’t afford help.’

  ‘Okay. Good. But you recognized my face, didn’t you? From where? The news?’

  She nodded and wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I’ve got a portable TV in the back office and … and there was a piece about you a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘Great. And what did they say?’

  ‘Well, they said you were involved in a shootout at a house in Las Vegas this morning that left seven marshals dead, and that … and that you escaped in an SUV with two other people. They showed a photo of you in the vehicle, and said anybody who sees you should call the police straight away.’

  Bishop wondered where they could have possibly gotten a photo of him. Then he remembered that damn jogger with the cell phone and silently cursed to himself. He said, ‘And were any names mentioned?’

  Clea shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘But it was definitely seven marshals who were killed, right?’

  ‘That’s what they said.’

  So that was all of them. ‘And did they say where I’m supposed to be heading?’

  Clea shook her head. ‘I only caught the first part. I had to turn the TV off when a customer came into the store.’

  Bishop studied the woman as he rubbed his hand over his scalp. She no longer looked as though she might collapse from fear at any moment, but she still looked far from calm.

  ‘Please don’t hurt me,’ she said. ‘I’ve done nothing to you.’

  ‘I know you haven’t, Clea. Let’s move into your office. I still need to use your phone.’

  Clea backed up, pushed open the door and stepped through with Bishop right behind. The light was still on. The room was very small and very narrow, with another door at the other end. There were no windows. There was a work desk with a PC, some paperwork, and a cordless phone. Halfway down an old couch took up part of the wall. Next to it was a mini-fridge. At this end was a small table holding a small portable TV. It was currently turned off.

  ‘What’s behind that door back there?’ Bishop asked.

  She wrapped her arms around herself again. ‘A small hallway and a restroom, and then the rear exit fire door.’

  ‘Which opens onto what?’

  ‘The rear loading area and staff parking lot.’

  ‘Good.’ He motioned for Clea to sit at her desk and said, ‘What’s the number for this phone?’

  She recited the number, and he picked up the cordless and dialled the number of the cell phone. Strickland picked up after four rings. ‘Yeah?’ he whispered.

  ‘It’s me. I’m calling from a store a few doors down from you. What’s the situation?’

  ‘Right now I’m just walking around the men’s clothes section, but I can see one of the cops standing outside the main entrance, watching people come and go.’

  ‘Well, I’ve just been informed that my face is now public property, and possibly yours too, so don’t leave that way. There’s bound to be an employees’ exit somewhere at the rear, though, so try and use that. See any baseball caps where you are?’

  ‘Yeah, I got a whole bunch of them right in front of me.’

  ‘Good. Rip the price off one, stamp on it a few times and put it on. Then leave by the rear entrance and turn right.’ He turned to Clea. ‘Is there a sign so he can identify this place?’

  The woman nodded.

  ‘Look for the sign that says Clea Arts and Crafts,’ Bishop said. He gave Strickland the number in case of problems, and then hung up.

  ‘What kind of car do you drive?’ he asked Clea.

  She stared at him. ‘Sorry, what?’

  ‘Your car. What make is it?’

  ‘Oh, it’s a Ford Explorer. Why?’

  ‘New?’

  ‘No, it’s about twenty years old.’

  ‘And it’s parked out back?’

  She nodded. ‘I can give you the keys. My bag’s right there in the desk drawer.’

  ‘Later. So what happens when you close for the day, Clea? You got roll-down security shutters on this place, anything like that? What about alarms?’

  ‘There’s an alarm for the front door, but I don’t use shutters or anything like that. Cramer’s only a small town. We don’t really get many thefts around here.’

  ‘Lucky you. And you live here in town?’

  ‘No, I … I live just outside Wellerby, the next town along.’

  ‘And what time do you generally close?’

  ‘Um, seven, usually. Eight o’clock on Fridays and Saturdays.’

  ‘And your neighbours along here all close around the same time?’

  ‘Mostly. Radio Shack closes about now. ALCO stays open till ten, I think.’

  ‘And what time is it now?’

  She checked her watch. ‘Um, almost five thirty.’

  ‘Okay. I think it’s best if you finished early today, Clea. Let’s see that bag of yours.’

  Bishop waited as she went over and pulled out an ornate, multi-coloured shoulder bag from one of the desk drawers and placed it on the desk. It looked handmade, like the rest of the stuff outside.

  He said, ‘If I were to go through that bag, would I find a gun?’

  The look of genuine innocence on Clea’s face was better than any verbal denial she could have come up with.

  ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘All right, let’s lock up. Bring your keys.’

  She pulled out a large key ring from the bag and Bishop led her through the shop until they reached the front door. Bishop waited as she flipped the light switches, leaving them in darkness except for the light in the back room. He held onto Clea’s arm as she locked the door and reversed the OPEN sign to CLOSED. After checking the door was actually locked, he peered out the window and saw a second cruiser had arrived at some point. It was parked outside the ALCO entrance. No flashing lights, though. They clearly didn’t want to scare the shoppers over what looked to be a simple case of car theft.

  Bishop stayed there
for a while longer, just watching. After a couple more minutes, he saw one of the cops started to stroll down this way, looking in doorways as he passed.

  ‘Let’s go back,’ Bishop said. He followed Clea into the back room and gently clicked the door shut. They waited in silence. Another minute passed before Bishop heard the sound of somebody knocking on glass out front.

  ‘You’re not here,’ he said. ‘Soon he’ll move onto the next door.’

  Clea closed her eyes and just nodded.

  Bishop waited. There came another knock on the front door. Bishop waited another minute and finally relaxed when no more sounds came.

  The sound of a ringing phone suddenly interrupted the silence and Clea gave a shriek of surprise. Bishop grabbed the cordless and handed it to her. ‘You better answer it. Once you’re calm again.’

  Clea took a deep breath, then pressed a button on the keypad and brought the phone to her ear. ‘Yes?’ A pause, then, ‘Yes, he’s here.’

  Bishop took the phone from her and said, ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Outside the rear door,’ Strickland said. ‘Let me in, huh? I’m feeling self-conscious out here.’

  ‘Wait one,’ Bishop said and hung up. To Clea, he said, ‘Bring your bag.’

  Clea slung her bag over her shoulder as Bishop opened the door. Beyond was a narrow corridor that ran back for about twenty feet and ended in a steel fire door. In the ceiling, a single fluorescent tube supplied light for the small space. Along the right-hand wall was another door that presumably led to the restroom.

  Bishop turned off the light for the office, then shut the door behind him.

  Clea went first. At the end of the hallway she pressed down on the crash bar and pushed the fire door open. Strickland was standing right outside, wearing a black baseball cap with a bat logo on the front.

  He looked at Clea for a beat, and then turned to Bishop. ‘You made a friend.’

  ‘Kind of. You recognize this man, Clea?’

  ‘No,’ she said, frowning. ‘Should I?’

  ‘Well, that’s something, I guess,’ Bishop said.

  He saw the whole rear area was just a wide open space, with various parked vehicles dotted around in haphazard fashion. A dark brown Explorer was parked just a few feet away from her door. About a hundred feet to the left, Bishop could see a Radio Shack delivery truck had backed up to the store’s rear entrance. A guy in dark overalls was loading boxes onto a handcart. Another one wearing similar overalls was puffing on a cigar as he talked into his cell phone. Neither of them was looking this way.

  But more importantly, Bishop couldn’t see any cops. Yet. And it was getting noticeably darker too, which could only be to their advantage. He turned to Clea and said, ‘All right, let’s go.’

  The woman’s eyes grew wide behind her glasses. ‘Go? But I thought you just wanted my vehicle.’

  ‘I wish it were that simple,’ Bishop said, ‘but at last count there were four cops out front, and at least one of them will be checking every car that leaves this area. Which means we’ll need you to help us get past them.’

  THIRTY-TWO

  ‘Oh, God,’ Clea groaned, ‘this is turning into a nightmare.’

  ‘There’s nothing to it,’ Bishop said. ‘You say you simply felt a bad migraine coming on, so you decided to close up earlier than usual and go home and get some rest. It’ll be a cakewalk, believe me. Come on.’

  Clea fumbled with her keys and finally deactivated the Explorer’s power lock. The poor woman looked totally dispirited. Bishop couldn’t really blame her. He hated doing it, but it seemed today was his day for threatening innocent civilians with firearms.

  He looked the SUV over. It seemed in pretty good condition for its age, and clean inside and out. He checked the rear and saw a vinyl shade cover protected the cargo area. Patting the lift gate, he said, ‘Unlock this for me, will you?’

  Clea did so and Bishop grabbed the handle and raised the lift gate. He estimated the gap between the floor of the cargo area and the shade cover to be about a foot and a half. Currently the space was filled with various different coloured blankets, arranged in two neat stacks.

  Bishop turned to Strickland. ‘You’ll go in here.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘Why not you? Transfer these blankets to the back seats first, though.’

  Strickland grumbled as he began pulling the blankets out, while Bishop said to Clea, ‘I’ll be lying on the floor just behind you with one of those blankets covering me, so I won’t be able to watch what you’re doing. And that means I have to rely on your intelligence here, Clea. I hope you can understand that an animal’s at its most dangerous when it’s cornered.’

  Clea winced. ‘I understand. The last thing I want is any shooting.’

  ‘That’s the last thing any of us wants. Now I assume you’ve got a cell phone in that bag of yours, so I think you better hand it over to me for safekeeping.’

  Clea pulled out an older Samsung model and passed it over. Bishop switched the thing off and stuck it in his pocket. ‘You’ll get it back,’ he said.

  ‘I’m ready here,’ Strickland said.

  Bishop led Clea to the back of the vehicle. He looked over at the delivery truck, saw nobody was watching, and nodded to Strickland, who ducked into the back and arranged himself into a foetal position.

  ‘Don’t take too long, okay?’ Strickland said. ‘I got a real problem with small spaces.’

  Bishop had to sympathize. He felt the same way. ‘We’ll try,’ he said.

  He lowered the lift gate, made sure the shade cover lay flat, and clicked the door shut. Then he led Clea back to the driver’s side. As she got behind the wheel, he searched the dash and said, ‘No GPS?’

  Clea shook her head. ‘I’ve never needed one. I know this area back to front already.’

  ‘Good point.’ Bishop shut the door and quickly got in the back. He reached past Clea and locked her door as well as all the others. ‘Right, let’s get moving before more cops arrive. If they stop you, just smile and give them the migraine story like we agreed. Okay?’

  ‘No, I’m not okay.’

  ‘But you’ll do it.’

  ‘Of course I’ll do it. What other choice do I have?’

  Bishop said nothing. Just watched her take a few deep breaths before starting the engine. As she slowly pulled off, Bishop grabbed one of the darker blankets, inserted himself in the space between the seats and draped the blanket over his lower half. He stayed in a sitting position and watched as Clea drove past all the other stores before turning left at the end. Bishop could see they were now on the access road that led back to the highway. A little way ahead was the left turn he’d previously taken to get to the parking lot. Just past that intersection stood a uniformed cop doing vehicle checks. He was talking to the driver of an SUV, while two more vehicles waited their turn behind him.

  Clea came to a stop behind the last car. Bishop saw the cop wave the SUV along and both cars in front inched forward a few feet. Clea followed suit.

  ‘I think I know that policeman,’ she said. ‘He’s been in my shop a few times with his wife.’

  ‘Recently?’

  ‘Uh, I think the last time was a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘You know his name?’

  ‘If I do, I can’t remember it. I’m too scared.’

  ‘That’s okay. Just relax and try and act natural, Clea. Remember, you’re the only person in this car. Just ask what the problem is like anybody else would, and if he gets chatty say you don’t feel too good and you’re going home. That’s all there is to it. Okay?’

  She took a deep breath, let it out. ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Attagirl. You’ll be fine.’

  Bishop looked out the window to his left and saw the two police cruisers were still parked in the same positions. He couldn’t see the other uniforms anywhere, though. They were probably searching the stores. Clea moved the car forward a few more feet and Bishop turned to look out the windshield. He saw the
young cop stop the vehicle in front and lean in to talk with the driver. Bishop carefully lay down on the floor and pulled the blanket over himself until he was completely covered.

  This was the worst part. It was all down to Clea now. If she freaked his only chance would be to use her as a hostage in order to get the cop’s gun. But he was in an extremely vulnerable position and couldn’t really see how that would work. All he could do was wait and see. If he heard something he didn’t like he’d just have to improvise somehow, without putting Clea in harm’s way.

  The Explorer moved forward again and then came to a stop. Bishop heard the hum of an electric window being lowered, followed by Clea’s voice saying, ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘Hey,’ a youthful sounding male voice said. ‘It’s Clea, right? From the craft shop?’

  ‘Oh, hello there. Did your wife like that basket you got for her?’

  ‘Yeah, she loved it. So, uh, you’re leaving a little early today, aren’t you?’

  ‘I, uh, started to feel a migraine coming on, so I thought I’d go home and rest my eyes for a while.’

  ‘Ah, sorry to hear that. Cousin of mine suffered from migraines a few years back so I know how painful they can get. What’s that you got in the back there?’

  Bishop held his breath and remained perfectly still. Not moving a muscle.

  ‘Oh, uh, just some old blankets I picked up. I’m planning to convert them into ponchos and sell them in the shop. What’s going on anyway?’

  ‘Nothing you need to worry about. You head on home and take some Advil if you got ’em. They helped my cousin some. About the only things that did.’

  ‘I will,’ Clea said. ‘Thanks.’

  Then the car was moving. Bishop heard the window being raised and waited a few more beats before he removed the blanket and raised his head to peer out the back. He saw the cop back there was now talking to the driver of a station wagon.

  Strickland’s muffled voice said, ‘Are we good?’

  ‘Yeah, we got through,’ Bishop said and faced front again. They were approaching the intersection. The lights were red. ‘That was real fine, Clea. You’re a natural.’