by Dean, Jason
They walked over to the window and Bishop slowly raised the lower panel as far as it could go. Inside, he saw a small, narrow utility room containing a washer, a tumble dryer, a clothes hamper, and a few other appliances. Bishop could just about make out a partially open door at the other end of the room.
‘Wait here,’ Bishop said. ‘I’ll unlock the door for you.’
‘Right.’
Bishop climbed up and swung his right leg over the sill, then brought his other leg round and gently lowered himself until his soles touched tile. He stood there for a moment, listening to the house. Listening for anything.
Other than his own pulse ringing in his ears, he heard nothing at all.
But he could smell something like dog food. Stale dog food. He looked around the room and saw three small dark round shapes on the floor a few feet away, arranged in a row. Edging past them, he went over to the door and felt along the wall until he found a single light switch. He pressed it and the room was immediately flooded with light. The three round objects were dog bowls. One held a smattering of doggie snacks in the shape of bones, one held water, the other contained the remnants of the dog food he smelled.
Old leftover food and a partially open door to the rest of the house. It didn’t bode well for the dog. Or the wife. But there was no lingering smell of death or decay either. So maybe he was wrong. He hoped so.
‘You planning on letting me in or what?’ Strickland whispered from the window.
Bishop went and opened the door, and Strickland entered and gently closed it behind him. Bishop retraced his steps to the other door and pushed it open, the light spill from the utility room allowing him to see a large, open-spaced, sparsely furnished living room beyond, with a couple of archways leading off from it.
Strickland, just behind him, said, ‘You sure turning on the lights is a good idea? What about that dog?’
‘Look at the dishes on the floor behind us,’ Bishop said in his normal voice. ‘If the dog hasn’t heard or smelled us by now, he isn’t going to. That goes for the wife too.’ He looked to the wall at his left and saw another panel, this one with three switches. He stepped inside, flicked all the switches and the living room instantly lit up.
There was a familiar canine odour in this part of the house, which immediately reminded Bishop of his old mongrel, Casper. His childhood bedroom had smelled exactly the same, no matter how many times he was forced to clean it.
The living-room furnishings consisted of a large L-shaped couch, two easy chairs and an oak coffee table arranged around a large TV. Against the left-hand wall were three chest-high bookshelves, filled with a combination of paperbacks and magazines. Directly ahead was a large archway that led to a hallway with more doorways on either side. At the other end, Bishop could see the front door of the house. To the right, another large archway led to what looked like a dining room. Next to the archway was another door, which was shut.
‘You check through there,’ Bishop said, pointing to the archway that led to the front of the house. ‘I’ll check the rest. Turn the lights on if you need to. Whistle if you find anything.’
Strickland moved off ahead and Bishop went to the right, passing the long drapes that covered the sliding glass doors. He went to the closed door first, and opened it. It was a bathroom. Set into the right-hand wall was the frosted window he’d seen outside.
Exiting, he stepped through the adjacent archway into a large windowless dining area with a large round table and four chairs in the centre. The table surface was completely clean. There were various framed photos on the wall. Many featured Lomax with his wife at home or on holiday. There were also a number of shots of a German shepherd pup playing in the grass. Bishop noticed the room smelled faintly of burnt toast, mixed in with stale tobacco.
Directly ahead of him was another open doorway leading to a darkened kitchen area. He stepped through and looked around, but there wasn’t enough light. He found the wall switch and pressed it and two harsh, fluorescent tubes in the ceiling came on instantly.
Looking past the breakfast bar on the right, he saw only the usual kitchen appliances. Ahead was a window that looked out onto the garage. Underneath the window was the sink and various kitchen cabinets, to the left more cabinets and a wooden door. Probably the entrance to a basement.
By the door, Bishop pressed his ear against the wood but heard nothing on the other side. He grasped the handle and pressed it down.
Pulling the door open, he saw only darkness.
But only for a moment.
Bishop heard a low menacing growl and saw a brief flash of sharp fangs, then something resembling a demon from hell leaped out of the darkness and slammed right into his chest.
SIXTY-FIVE
Bishop swore and crashed to the kitchen floor with a hundred pounds of snarling dog on top of him. Completely winded, Bishop struggled for breath as the German shepherd’s huge front paws scrabbled against his chest and he felt hot, sickly breath close to his face. The dog gave a single bark that almost deafened him, and Bishop instinctively rolled his body to the left, forcing the animal off him and onto the floor.
The dog didn’t stop moving. His rear paws scrabbled against the tiles and he immediately swivelled his body so he was facing Bishop again. His eyes were wild, his fangs bared in a terrifying grin. Without pause, the muscles in his hind legs bunched and he suddenly launched himself again. Bishop barely had time to raise his left arm for protection when the dog crashed into him and forced him onto his back once more.
Bishop, expecting to feel sharp incisors ripping through his left jacket sleeve, was surprised when he felt something like sandpaper moving up and down his palm instead.
It was the dog’s tongue. He was licking Bishop’s hand. And he wasn’t growling anymore, but whimpering.
Strickland appeared at Bishop’s left. ‘Christ, that thing’s huge. You okay, man?’
The dog turned to the new sound with his ears folded back. He snarled and bared his teeth. Bishop quickly reached out with his other hand and massaged the dog’s head, spreading his fingers between the soft fur between his ears. The snarling stopped.
‘Be quiet and stand still,’ he told Strickland. To the dog, he said in a soothing tone, ‘There’s a good boy. We’re all friends here. That’s right. That’s a good boy.’
The dog, clearly calmed by the petting and the soft voice, answered by whimpering and trying to lick Bishop’s other hand again. The dog’s tongue was completely dry, though, and Bishop noticed his eyes also seemed dull. Clearly weakened from thirst and hunger, jumping out of that basement must have used up his last vestiges of strength. Still massaging the dog’s fur, Bishop noticed a circular metal tag on the dog’s collar with the word BIFF engraved in large capitals.
‘So where the hell did he come from?’ Strickland said.
‘The basement over there. You thirsty, Biff? You want some water, boy?’
The dog gave a weak wag of his tail at the sound of his name and his whimpers became more plaintive. ‘Go get that water bowl from the utility room,’ Bishop said.
Strickland trotted off, returning a few seconds later with the half-full bowl of water. He put it down next to the dog and Biff immediately sunk his muzzle into the bowl and began lapping up the contents, splashing most of it onto the floor. He finished it off in a matter of seconds and Bishop filled it up again from the cold tap in the sink. As soon as he placed the bowl on the floor, the dog dived in again.
‘That’s one thirsty animal,’ Strickland said.
‘Check the basement,’ Bishop said, as he began searching the kitchen cabinets for dog food. ‘See what else is down there.’
‘Right.’ Strickland went away and Bishop finally found a cabinet full of tinned goods, including about half a dozen cans of Lamb and Chicken Pedigree. Bishop opened two of the tins, grabbed a soup bowl from another cabinet, and emptied both tins into it. He placed the soup bowl next to the water and Biff immediately switched his attention to the food, lapping u
p the chunks with great enthusiasm.
Bishop turned to see Strickland emerging from the basement stairs.
‘Some kind of office space down there,’ he said. ‘It’s pretty pokey, but there’s a desk with a PC and stuff. Not much else except a few boxes of old clothes and books they must have been saving for Goodwill or something. Some of the clothes are torn to shit, thanks to your new friend there. He had a few accidents down there too, so it doesn’t smell too good.’
‘What about the other rooms?’
‘Well, there’s two bedrooms at the front. The big one’s got its own bathroom and a double bed that looks slept in on one side. The smaller one’s been converted into some kind of office for the wife, with computer, printer, and all the usual stuff.’
‘You sure it’s her office area, and not his?’
‘Pretty sure. The room’s got pink drapes, and there’s flowers on the desk.’
Bishop nodded and watched the dog eat, wondering how he’d got locked down in the basement in the first place, without food or water. On the surface, it suggested his suspicions had been correct, that some of Hartnell’s boys had paid Karen Lomax a visit recently. And since they would have simply shot the animal rather than risk being ravaged, it seemed likely Karen was the one who locked Biff down there. Maybe she’d planned to put some food and water in there, too, but didn’t have time before she was taken away. But taken to where?
‘It’s eleven twenty,’ Strickland said, pocketing his cell phone.
Bishop blinked at him. ‘Okay.’
‘I mean, it’s eleven twenty so let’s get moving. We got a date, remember?’
‘We’ve still got time. It’ll take us less than three hours to reach the Ohio state line.’
‘But then we still have to drive to whatever location Callaway gives us when he calls at five, and that could be anywhere.’
‘He already said it’ll be somewhere like Greenville or Sidney, which are both cities in the western part of the state, so it’s likely to be somewhere around there. And besides, I’ve already got something in mind that might improve our odds on that score.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Later. But for now, we’re staying until I can get a handle on what happened here.’
‘What’s the point? If Hartnell’s people grabbed Lomax’s wife then she could be just about anywhere now. We don’t have time for a search and rescue mission.’
‘I already told you I’m not going down for something I didn’t do,’ Bishop said, ruffling Biff’s fur. The dog ignored him and continued eating. ‘That’s why we’re here, remember. To find something that tells me for sure it was Lomax behind the leak. Finding Mrs Lomax also falls under that category. Now just be quiet for a minute and let me think.’
Without waiting for a response, Bishop thought back to Delaney’s comments regarding Lomax. About how he was convinced his wife was screwing around behind his back, despite there being no evidence to the contrary. But maybe there was evidence to the contrary. Or signs, at least. Maybe Lomax wasn’t just creating imaginary problems out of nothing. Maybe he had reason to be suspicious, and maybe he’d done something about it. Because that PC in the basement puzzled Bishop. If the computer in the converted office was Karen’s, then the one in the cellar had to be Lomax’s. But why stick it in a tiny hovel?
Unless he was using it for purposes he didn’t want his wife to know about. And not internet porn either. Maybe he had another reason to keep it from her. And Bishop had a faint idea what that reason might be.
Conscious of the seconds ticking away, Bishop pushed off from the kitchen counter and marched back to the living room, where he turned right and then entered the open doorway on the left. He turned on the light and saw it was a fairly large bedroom. As Strickland had said, only one side of the double bed had been slept in, which at least suggested that Lomax’s suspicions about his wife were of his own making. But that didn’t matter now. Bishop was just hoping Lomax had acted on his paranoia.
Sticking close to the walls, he walked slowly around the room, studying the ornamental moulding near the ceiling. Looking for any kind of anomaly at all. But after completing a full circuit he found nothing. He stood in the middle of the bed and stared up at the light fixture inches above his head. It was a recessed downlight, like the one in the living room, with four small Phillips screws in the circular metal trim to hold the housing above in place.
But everything looked as it should be. He couldn’t see anything out of place.
Exiting the bedroom, he tried the converted office opposite, which was a much smaller room and clearly feminine in nature. If nothing else, the pale mauve wallpaper was a dead giveaway. Bishop paced the room, checked the cornice plastering and the light trim as before, but once again saw nothing of any interest.
The living room was next.
After a complete circuit of the main living area, he once again looked up at the light fixture. Keeping his eyes averted from the bulb itself, Bishop stared up at the trim and tilted his head, frowning deeply. All the screws had Phillips heads as before, but one of them didn’t look quite right. It looked as though somebody had placed a tiny drop of black paint in the centre of the head.
Except Bishop knew it wasn’t paint.
Strickland was standing a few feet away, watching him. ‘What the hell are you looking at?’ he asked.
‘The man in the moon.’
‘Yeah? Well, I don’t think you’ll find him up there.’
Bishop smiled. ‘You’d be surprised.’
SIXTY-SIX
Bishop descended the stairs to the basement, where the smell of urine and faeces was so strong he had to breathe through his mouth.
Strickland was right. It was a tiny space. Maybe ten foot by twelve, with a low ceiling and brick walls, more a storage room than an actual basement. There was a naked bulb in the centre of the ceiling. Against one wall was a cheap wooden work desk containing three drawers, and a Samsung PC, tower hard drive, and keyboard on top. In front of the desk was a basic office chair on casters. Set against the opposite wall were three large boxes full of old clothes and books. There was a pile of excrement in one corner, and probably elsewhere too. The floor was also covered with torn clothes, some stained with urine.
‘Didn’t I warn you about the smell?’ Strickland said from the doorway above.
Bishop turned towards the desk. Next to the tower hard drive was a modem, out of which three cables ran down the back of the desk. Bishop grabbed the edge of the desk, slid it away from the wall, and saw one of the modem cables was plugged into a double wall socket, while a second plug led back to the tower hard drive. But more interestingly, in amongst the wealth of cables back there he noticed a thin one running from the back of the hard drive into a hole at the rear of the middle desk drawer. He also traced the route of another one that ran from the back of the hard drive and up the wall, disappearing into a hole in the ceiling.
After sliding the desk back against the wall, Bishop opened the middle desk drawer. There was a mass of official-looking paperwork inside. Most of it was loose, although some batches were held together with large paper clips. He reached in, grabbed hold of all the paperwork and placed it on the desk. And there at the bottom of the drawer he saw the same cable connected up with a small black external hard drive.
‘What did you find?’ Strickland asked from behind him.
Bishop turned to him. ‘How good are you with computers?’
Strickland shrugged. ‘I can hold my own. Why? What do you need?’
‘I think Lomax has a fibre-optic surveillance camera installed in the living-room light. Probably motion-activated.’ He pointed at the wire that disappeared into the ceiling. ‘I think that leads to the camera, and I think the footage is stored on this little hard drive here.’
‘Why would he do that?’ Strickland was frowning. ‘This isn’t exactly a high crime area, is it? Plus there’s that huge dog upstairs, too.’
‘I think he was less co
ncerned with matters of security and more concerned with keeping an eye on his wife. Delaney said he had major trust issues. Anyway, it won’t take long to check, will it?’
‘I don’t know,’ Strickland said, switching on the monitor and hard drive as he sat down. ‘Don’t PCs usually need a password? Because if this one does, we’re screwed.’
Bishop had been thinking the same thing. But they had nothing to lose by trying.
The hard drive made a few electronic clicking noises, while the monitor showed a Microsoft logo on a black screen with a message informing them that Windows was starting. Soon, the display changed to a blue background and a password prompt appeared in the centre.
‘Like I said,’ Strickland said gloomily. ‘It wants a password.’
Bishop leaned in closer. The screen showed an icon of Scooby-Doo next to a user name, FrankL, with a space underneath for the password. Which could be anything. But on the other hand, people often came up with pretty lame passwords for their computers. He recalled his sister Amy, who was an otherwise highly intelligent woman, had simply joined up her son’s and daughter’s first names for hers. And it seemed fairly obvious that Lomax was a man who loved dogs. Even cartoon ones. Bishop looked over to the stairwell and saw the family German shepherd lying at the base of the doorway with his head resting on his outstretched paws, watching them both.
‘Try Biff,’ Bishop said, and the dog began wagging his tail at the sound of his name.
Strickland turned to him. ‘Huh?’
‘The dog’s name is Biff. B-I-F-F. Try that.’
Strickland faced the screen and keyed in the four letters and hit Enter. Nothing happened. He then typed in the same four letters and added 1 at the end. He pressed Enter again.
