by Jason Dean
‘Hmm.’ Arquette tapped his fingers against the tabletop. He reached for his own coffee cup and took a sip, made a face and put it down again. Bishop wondered what he was thinking. Finally, he said, ‘So what’s your next step?’
‘I don’t know yet.’ Bishop gulped down the last of his coffee and stood up. So did Kidanu. As Arquette rose to let him out, Bishop said, ‘But I’ll be sure to let you know ahead of time.’
Arquette smiled at that. ‘Just make sure you understand one thing, Bishop. If you do find out Klyce was responsible for your sister’s assault, that in no way entitles you to take the law into your own hands. Do I make myself clear?’
Bishop raised an eyebrow. ‘The thought never entered my mind,’ he said.
FORTY-SIX
Bishop decided to walk to Amy’s this time. Kidanu gave no argument, and they made the ten-minute journey in silence. One good thing about the guy, at least he knew when to keep quiet. Most people didn’t. That was one point in his favour.
They were turning into Audubon Avenue from West 193rd Street when Kidanu finally said, ‘You lied to Agent Arquette.’
‘Did I?’ Bishop asked.
‘Yes. When he asked you what you planned to do next.’
‘What makes you think so?’
‘I am not a fool, Bishop. Our journey so far has mostly been spent in silence. I cannot believe you wasted that time by not thinking ahead.’
‘Well, you’re right. And the reason I didn’t tell Arquette is because of a deep-rooted psychological defect of mine.’
‘Really? And what is that?’
‘With a few rare exceptions, I don’t like law. Of any kind. If it wasn’t for the fact that Arquette can provide me with intel I can’t get anywhere else, I wouldn’t tell him dick. Which means I’d tell him nothing, by the way.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Kidanu stepped around a deliveryman pushing a hand trolley full of boxes. ‘And you have a reason for feeling this way?’
‘We’ve all got reasons for behaving the way we do,’ Bishop said, and left it at that. He wasn’t in the mood to explain how the three years he’d spent behind bars for another man’s crime had been mostly down to the ineptitude of the various detectives assigned to the case. Wrapping everything up as quickly as possible had been the name of the game with those morons. A more meticulous team of investigators might have questioned why all the circumstantial evidence against Bishop had been found with such ease, and begun to suspect somebody was constructing a neat frame-up. But clearly that had been too much to hope for.
Naturally, that wasn’t the only reason. His enmity towards the police had started a lot further back than that, but the wasted years spent in prison had only intensified his feelings. There were exceptions to every rule, of course, and he had met some decent cops here and there. But not many. And he saw no reason to think Arquette was any different from the rest. At least not without further evidence.
They came to the entry gate for Amy’s building. It was locked today, so Bishop keyed in the correct code on the keypad and both men stepped through and proceeded down the short path. Once they were up on the building’s fourth floor, Bishop once again knocked on the door to apartment 23. This time it was Lisa who opened it. She was wearing a baseball shirt and loose black jeans, and she’d pulled her blond hair back into a half-ponytail, making her look even more like her mother.
‘Oh, hi,’ she said. And she was smiling faintly this time, which Bishop took as a sign he was still in her good books. She turned to Kidanu with her patented frown.
‘Lisa,’ Bishop said, ‘this is Kidanu. He works at the Konamban embassy. Okay if we come in?’
‘Sure, come on in.’ She opened the door wide. Both men stepped inside and she raised an eyebrow at Bishop as he passed. ‘Konamba, huh?’
‘The very same,’ Bishop said, and led Kidanu down the hallway into the living room.
Janice Philmore, wearing a cardigan and loose slacks, was sitting in one of the easy chairs. Pat, still in PJs, was sitting on the floor with two open books in front of him. To Bishop, it looked like schoolwork. They both looked up as the new arrivals entered the room.
‘Hello again, Janice,’ Bishop said. ‘Apologies for not calling ahead.’
‘Oh, that’s fine,’ she said, getting up. ‘Would you like—’
‘Wow, you’re really black,’ Pat interrupted, staring at Kidanu with wide eyes.
‘Patrick,’ Janice said, her brows lowered. ‘You apologize right now.’
But Kidanu grinned and said, ‘It is perfectly all right. He only says what he sees. He means nothing by it, do you, Patrick?’
‘Uh uh.’
‘You see? No harm has been done.’
Kidanu was still smiling. Bishop was stunned by the sudden change in the man’s manner. He sure was a different character around kids.
‘Hope you don’t mind,’ Bishop said to Janice, ‘but we just came over to check something of Amy’s. We shouldn’t be too long.’
‘I don’t mind, James,’ Pat said.
‘That’s good,’ Bishop said to his nephew. ‘As long as it’s cool with you.’
Pat nodded and said, ‘It is. It’s cool as a fool.’
‘Or as cool as a mule,’ Kidanu said.
Grinning, Pat said, ‘Or cool as a . . . pool.’
Kidanu nodded. ‘That is correct. Or a zool.’
‘Hey, zool’s not a word!’
Kidanu frowned. ‘No? Are you sure?’
‘Course I’m sure. I know all kinds of words, don’t I, Grandma?’
‘You surely do,’ Janice said, ‘and right now you should be using some of them to finish your English homework.’
‘Oh, all right.’ Pat gave one of those long-suffering sighs that only boys of a certain age can do and went back to his book.
Janice turned back to them and asked, ‘Can I get you anything? Coffee, maybe?’
‘No, we’re fine, thanks,’ Bishop said. He and Kidanu then left the living room and followed Lisa down the hallway towards Amy’s bedroom.
Lisa halted just outside and said, ‘Do you need me for anything, James?’
‘Not this time.’
‘Good. I’ve got plenty of homework of my own to finish before going back to school.’
‘When’re you going back?’
‘Monday. I asked to go. I hate sitting round here all the time. All I do is think about Mom.’
Bishop nodded. ‘I know what you mean. Where’s your dad?’
‘Probably at the hospital. I haven’t seen him since last night.’
‘Okay,’ Bishop said. ‘Well, I’ll see you later, then.’
Lisa smiled at both men, then entered her own room and shut the door. Bishop showed Kidanu into Amy’s room opposite. After going over and switching on the PC and modem on the work desk, he pulled the Frank Sinatra CD from the drawer and extracted the CD-R.
‘This is it,’ he said, handing Kidanu the disc.
Without a word, Kidanu took a seat and opened the disc tray on the hard drive. After inserting the CD, he double clicked on the disc icon and a dialog box appeared, asking for the password.
Bishop leaned over and keyed in JINJI. The dialog box disappeared. Kidanu opened the Word document and saw the same information Bishop had already shown him.
‘Like I told you,’ Bishop said. ‘That’s all there is.’
‘Not necessarily.’ Kidanu moved the mouse around until the cursor was on the Folder Options tab, then right-clicked. The folder options menu appeared, with General, View, File Types and Offline Files tabs at the top. ‘There is a simple method for hiding files,’ he said. ‘Any PC owner can do it, but most are not even aware the option exists. It may lead to nothing, but I believe it is worth checking in this case.’
Kidanu pressed View and got a whole list of choices under the Advanced Settings folder. Halfway down was something called Hidden Files and Folders. Then two choices: Do not show hidden files and folders, and Show hidden files and folders. The f
irst one was checked.
‘You see?’ Kidanu checked the second option, then returned to the CD directory. Where it became immediately obvious things had changed.
Bishop stared at the screen and said, ‘Well, how about that.’
Where there had only been one file before, now there were twenty-seven.
FORTY-SEVEN
‘I knew there had to be more,’ Kidanu said. He was almost smiling. ‘Your sister would not have taken such care to send herself only one file. And an innocuous one at that.’
‘It puzzled me, too,’ Bishop said. ‘I’m glad I insisted you come along now.’
He took the other chair and leaned in closer to the screen. The first thing he noticed was that none of the documents had names. Just numbers. Ranging from 001 to 058. There were twenty-six in total, so naturally there were gaps. There was no 003, for instance. Or 012. Or 014. Along with numerous others. No way of knowing why, unless Amy herself had initially numbered the files she was interested in, then decided to discard the ones she felt were irrelevant before saving them to disc.
‘Let’s try the first one first,’ he said.
Kidanu clicked on 001.
A jpeg of an official looking email opened up. It was at a slight tilt, which indicated Amy had scanned it from a paper copy. It was from the ‘FPT Bank & Trust Company Limited’ in the Cayman Islands, and addressed to ‘The Director of Xerxes Holdings, Inc.’ Underneath that was an account number. It was dated January 12 of last year.
The letter was brief, and read, Dear Sir, Herewith we, the FPT Bank & Trust Company Limited, as represented by the bank officers listed below, do confirm that the amount of USD 3,000,000 (Three Million USD) has now been deposited into the above account from account number . . . And then it gave the depositor’s number.
Bishop said, ‘You ever hear of this Xerxes Holdings before?’
‘Never.’
‘Hmm. I wonder if Klyce is the unnamed director. Okay, let’s try door number two.’
Kidanu clicked on the next one. Another jpeg opened up. This one was an invoice addressed to Xerxes Holdings from Continental Surveying, Inc. in Ottawa, Canada, for unspecified services amounting to $87,000. The date was July 17, 2010.
‘What about Continental Surveying, Inc.?’ Bishop asked. ‘Ever hear of them?’
‘No.’
‘I guess all your unofficial dealings with Klyce were strictly under the table, huh?’
He turned to look at Bishop. ‘We are back to this again?’
‘I’m the curious type. So was it black market arms you were buying?’
‘You had already guessed as much before our initial meeting at the embassy.’
‘Yeah, but it’s always nice to have guesses confirmed.’
‘I confirm nothing,’ Kidanu said, turning back to the screen. ‘However, you must be aware of the major civil uprisings currently going on in our country.’
‘I’ve seen the headlines. Looks like the usual craziness. A bunch of fanatic militants want to overthrow the current government for some reason.’
‘The current elected government, I should add. That is a very important detail. But yes, they are fanatics, and they do not care who they kill in the process. Women. Children. Anybody. And why? The leaders have actually stated on record that they want to revert to the kind of dictatorship we had before. Can you believe there are people who want another Badat in power? Or another Idi Amin? Or worse?’
Bishop shrugged. ‘I can believe almost anything where humans are involved.’
‘And these animals never seem to have any problems arming themselves either. Have you noticed that? Yet the Konamban government are forbidden from doing the same. We are a blacklisted country, as you know. So what would you do in such a situation, Bishop? Bearing in mind that all your ports and entry points are under constant watch by UN security forces.’
‘Theoretically, I guess I might search around for a black market supplier who wasn’t afraid to take a few risks to find a way through.’
Kidanu nodded. ‘So there is your answer. Theoretically. Shall we continue?’
He highlighted the next dozen documents and opened them up in one go. As he slowly scrolled through, Bishop saw they were essentially more of the same. A few more notifications from the Caymans bank, regarding large money deposits in the seven-figure range. Some going back six years or more. And more invoices from the Continental Surveying company, some running into the low six-figure territory. But again, never actually specifying what this Xerxes was getting in return for its money.
Bishop shook his head in frustration. Amy probably had a good idea what all these payments signified, but he was still scrabbling around in the dark. So far, he was unable to see why this information was worth a person’s life. ‘Keep going,’ he said.
Bishop watched as Kidanu continued to move his way down the list, opening each one as he went. There were more bank notification letters. More invoices. More . . .
‘Wait,’ Bishop said. ‘Go back one.’
Kidanu moved back to the previous jpeg. Bishop had almost missed it. It was another invoice. This one was for $103,000, dated from December the previous year. But in contrast to the others, it listed Medical Services as the reason for the bill. And it wasn’t from Continental Surveying, but a company called EMC-Med Associates. No address, either.
‘Medical services,’ Kidanu said. ‘I wonder what kind? And for whom?’
‘Could be anything. Let’s carry on.’
Kidanu moved on to the next jpeg. This one was also different. It was a scan from another printout. But this one had obviously been taken directly from the FPT Bank & Trust Company website. It was a simple summary statement for the Xerxes account number. There were no dates and no names. The balance of the account was $82,132,550.
‘Whoa,’ Bishop said softly.
‘That is a large amount of money,’ Kidanu said.
Bishop nodded. ‘The kind of money people will do almost anything to protect. This pretty much tells me I’m on the right track. If in doubt, follow the money. Let’s see what else there is.’
Kidanu moved on to the next file. Another invoice from Continental for unspecified services. And another one. Then more bank notifications. They’d almost reached the end of the CD when Bishop said, ‘Hello.’
Document 056 was a scanned, handwritten list of two dozen names and numbers. Bishop recognized the handwriting as Amy’s. He read the first few entries:
ALLEN, JOHN – 11–04–11 C (213)–457–8355.
BLACK, ANDREW – 02–09–07 C (323)–564–9002.
FOSTER, JAMES – 07–28–08 N (414)–447–1522.
GARCIA, MARTIN – 11–22–09 L (727)–835–8889.
GRANT, ROBERT – 03–21–11 C (213)–954–2265.
JONES, ROBERT – 07–18–11 N (212)–006–3663.
He skimmed over the rest and said, ‘First names like John, James and Robert, combined with surnames like Jones, Smith, Miller, Taylor. It’s like a list of the most common names in the English-speaking world. All except the last one.’
The last name was separate from the rest. It read, S. BAINBRIDGE? Unlike the others, there were no numbers alongside. Almost as if Amy had added it as an afterthought.
‘The numbers next to the other names,’ Kidanu said. ‘The first part appears to be a date.’
‘Yeah, and the last part’s probably a phone number. 212 is a New York area code. 323 is for Los Angeles. 414’s for Wisconsin, I think. Or Minnesota. No idea about the letters N, C and L, though.’ He rubbed his palm back and forth across his scalp as he tried to come up with something that fit, but nothing came to mind. After a while, he said, ‘Can you print that page out for me?’
Kidanu reached over and switched on the printer. As he gave the print command, Bishop pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Time for the direct approach.
FORTY-EIGHT
As the printer went into action, Bishop keyed in the John Allen number. Almost immediately, an automated
voice said, ‘The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again. Thank you.’
Bishop frowned and hung up. He didn’t need to try again. He already knew he’d keyed the number in correctly. The printer went silent and Kidanu handed him the sheet.
‘Nothing?’ he asked.
‘Out of service.’ He tried the Andrew Black number next. This time there was no automated voice. No ringing tone, either. Just a repetitive beeping sound that meant only one thing. ‘And that one doesn’t exist at all. Let’s see if the third one’s the charm.’
He tried James Foster’s number next. This time he actually got a ringing tone. After the twelfth ring, the phone was picked up and a female voice said, ‘Hello?’
‘Hello,’ Bishop said. ‘Can I speak to James Foster?’
‘Who?’
‘James Foster.’
‘Nobody by that name here, mister. I think you got the wrong number.’
‘Oh. That is Wisconsin, right?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Can I ask how long you’ve been at this number, then? Maybe Foster was the owner or tenant before you.’
There was a single bark of laughter at the other end. ‘I kinda doubt it, mister. My husband and I built this place over twenty years ago, and before that it was nothing but an empty plot. Wasn’t nobody here before us except a stray dog or two, and that’s a fact.’
‘Well, I guess I got the wrong number then.’
‘Yeah, I guess you did at that,’ the woman said, and hung up.
Bishop put the phone down on the desk. ‘Strike three,’ he said. ‘I’ll try the rest later, but I think I’ll get similar results.’
‘So they are not phone numbers?’
‘Doesn’t look like it. But they’re made up of ten digits and they’ve got area codes. I don’t know what else they could be. And Googling a name that common won’t help either.’ He paused. ‘Maybe if we tried a name and date together?’
Kidanu turned back to the screen, navigated to Google and keyed in James Foster and the 2008 date. He pressed enter and the screen filled with results.
