[The Mechanic 01.0] Those That Remain

by Rob Ashman

  ‘But I can’t look after you. Not this time. This time is different. Lucas is different. He will catch you if we don’t move fast, and you have to play your part and co-operate.’

  ‘Look, I’ll work at keeping myself in check, if you promise to visit me again soon. I love seeing you, I miss you. You think through what we need to do next and get in touch when you’re ready.’

  ‘I have to get back,’ said Jo. ‘You’ve heard what I said, right? You have to stop this, I can’t save you this time.’

  ‘Okay, okay, I get it.’ Mechanic had the demeanour of a naughty child getting a slapped wrist. ‘You’ll come and visit, though, right?’

  ‘I will, we need to get you out of here. I gotta go.’

  ‘Love you,’ Mechanic called out as Jo let herself out.

  Jo drove back to the station frantically rehearsing her trip-to-the-dentist speech. She was acutely aware that Lucas and Bassano were probably, at that very moment, staring at three dead bodies safely seat-belted into their family car.

  39

  Sophie Barrock was down but she was certainly not out. As the elevator doors opened onto floor 7A, Bassano could hear her. He had been en route to the latest kill site when the call came in that Sophie Barrock was conscious and wanted to talk. That was an understatement.

  He stepped out onto the polished hospital floor which reflected the overhead strip lighting back into his eyes. The smell of hand sanitizer and disinfectant was overpowering. He looked at the scribbled piece of paper in his hand: 7A ward 6. He didn’t know where that was but all he had to do was follow the noise. Sophie Barrock was in a side ward and shouting at the top of her voice.

  ‘Get away from me with that fucking stuff. I don’t want sedation until I’ve talked to them. Where the fuck are the police?’ she yelled. ‘Are you sure you’ve told them I’m ready to talk? I need to talk with them now.’

  Bassano sidestepped the male nurse as he scurried out of the room and peered inside. Sophie was flat on her back in a four-way traction device, with crepe bandages wrapped across her busted face. Her legs were so badly broken she probably wouldn’t walk unaided for the rest of her life. And she would be lucky to take the top off a jar of cooking sauce, let alone strike a tennis ball again. A knitted braid of tubes were stuck into her wrists and saline and morphine bags hung from chrome poles by the side of her bed. Both her eye sockets were yellow and black and she stared fiercely out of a swollen face. Mechanic had broken her body for sure, but one thing was clear, her spirit was ferociously intact.

  Bassano introduced himself and before he could retrieve the chair from the corner of the room she started.

  ‘I hit the bastard hard and decked the fucker,’ she said as Bassano manoeuvred the chair trying to avoid the drips and traction cables. He had the look of a man under siege.

  ‘I nailed him with my head but he was too strong. I nearly had the bastard. I could have taken him.’

  ‘Any distinguishing features?’

  ‘Well officer, apart from the black outfit, the ski mask, the gun and the baseball bat, er ... let me think. No, nothing really to go on. What sort of question is that?’

  Bassano wished he could start again.

  She continued, ‘He was strong but he was relatively short.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When I floored him he was standing and I was crouched. My head was under his chin, which would make him around five feet nine. That’s short for most of the men I know. And he was kind of narrow about the shoulders.’

  ‘Narrow?’ Bassano was unused to someone being described as narrow.

  ‘Yes, narrow. You know, most men have broad shoulders. They tend to taper in at the waist. You know the classic V shape. This one didn’t.’

  ‘Not V-shaped,’ Bassano repeated the words, wondering if the drip going into her arm was contributing to the strange description of Mechanic – short and narrow, not V-shaped.

  ‘Was there anything else which might be of help to us?’ Bassano asked.

  ‘I can’t think of anything more. He was fast and strong. It was dark and I did my best. I fought for my family.’ Sophie started sobbing uncontrollably. Tears pooled at the fringes of her bandaged face and were absorbed into the soft material.

  She turned her face away from Bassano and cried, ‘My babies. My fucking babies.’ The tears flowed freely.

  Hearing the commotion, a stern looking female doctor came into the room followed by the nurse. ‘This has to stop, officer. Mrs Barrock cannot exert herself, she’s experienced severe trauma.’ She went straight up to her patient. ‘You have to rest. I’m going to give you something to help you sleep. You won’t be any use to anyone if you relapse.’ Sophie Barrock was still sobbing and nodded her head in agreement as the nurse adjusted a line going into her arm and she started to relax.

  ‘Just one more minute. No more,’ the doctor instructed and left the room.

  After a while Bassano said softly ‘Do you want to stop? I can come back later.’ He got up to leave.

  ‘There was one thing.’ Sophie’s voice was a bit slurred. ‘When the bastard crushed my face to his chest and I blacked out, I remember two things. My nose gave way with a crack like a thunderbolt in my head and … breasts.’

  ‘Breasts?’ Bassano repeated, as if he had not heard the word before in his life.

  ‘Yes breasts. I was crushed into the chest of a man with breasts.’

  Bassano was a little lost for words, ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  ‘The bastard crushed my face into his chest with a force you would not believe. It bust my fucking nose it was that strong. But before I blacked out I remember thinking breasts.’

  Bassano scribbled in his book. He was losing Sophie to the effects of the drugs.

  ‘I have one more question, Mrs. Barrock.’ He said, ‘were you receiving telephone counselling?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked at him through the tears

  ‘And was it delivered by a woman?’

  ‘Yes it was.’

  Bassano thanked her for her help, put the chair back against the wall and left. The sound of gentle sobbing followed him all the way to the lift. He looked at his notebook – short, narrow, not V-shaped, with breasts. It was a hell of a message to deliver to his boss.

  40

  Lucas stayed forty minutes at the Barrock house soaking up what he wished he didn’t have to. Then a rerouted call broke into his darkness, it was Harper. He needed to meet and it needed to be now.

  Lucas was way over his tolerance for blood, gore and tragedy and found an excuse to leave. Driving to the agreed rendezvous he was cursing his poor powers of persuasion. Try as he might he could not convince Harper to meet him anywhere else but the damn stinking coffee bar.

  When he’d taken the call over the radio he’d suggested alternatives. ‘What about Denny’s? It’s light and airy and has air-conditioning.’

  ‘No,’ was all he got in return, so he thought he’d try something little more earthy.

  ‘What about the truck stop on the corner of the next block? That one serves great coffee in mugs that are big enough for you to drown in. And what’s more the woman who runs the place has a cleavage that’s also big enough for you to drown in.’ A winner all round, Lucas thought.

  ‘No,’ Harper insisted. It had to be the coffee shop that had nothing going for it, and from what Lucas remembered, didn’t even contain breathable air.

  Lucas got out of the car, walked down a flight of steps and leaned against the door. He took a deep breath and entered, allowing his eyes and lungs to become accustomed to the toxic interior. The place stank of stale smoke and the fog of a hundred cigarettes hugged him like a stinking blanket. Lucas was wearing his oldest suit. His favourite one was at the dry cleaners, following his previous visit. He picked his way around the randomly placed tables which contained equally random occupants, and made his way to the back where Harper was already seated. Lucas drew a chair up and joined him.

  He notic
ed Harper was sitting with nothing to drink. The customary sludge was missing.

  ‘You want coffee?’ Lucas asked.

  ‘Damn thing is being cleaned or serviced or something.’ Lucas looked at the bar and saw chrome-plated pieces of coffee machine strewn across the top. The owner was scrubbing, cursing and replacing bits of pipework and filters back into the reluctant machine. Lucas noticed that none of the people at the tables had coffee, except one. Harper followed his gaze to the only guy holding a cup.

  ‘His tasted like iron filings. That’s how Jake knows when it needs taking apart, when he gets iron filings.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Lucas. ‘No coffee then.’ He was relieved.

  Harper looked okay. His hair still looked like he’d spent forty minutes in a wind tunnel but he was clean shaven, and smelled like he’d had a bath. His hands weren’t shaking but he kept them on the table with one on top of the other just in case. He had lost his ashen grey colour and his eyes were a little brighter.

  ‘How have you been?’ asked Lucas.

  Harper surmised that the question was directed at the state of his health. ‘Bit unsteady at times but coping alright considering.’

  ‘You said you had more information.’

  ‘I do, but first I have a question,’ Harper said.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘When you found out the sex of the person providing the counselling, how did you reach the conclusion that Mechanic was being helped by a woman?’

  Lucas thought for a moment. ‘We didn’t really reach a conclusion, I suppose. Jo called it and we just accepted what she said.’

  It was Harper’s turn to be thoughtful. He said nothing.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Let me answer by telling you what I’ve found.’

  ‘You had luck with the boyfriends then?’

  ‘Not exactly. What I have concerns Jo’s sister and it’s pretty crazy stuff.’

  ‘Her sister?’ Lucas sounded surprised. ‘Jessica wasn’t it?’

  Harper nodded. ‘The last time we met, I told you Jessica Sells was a high flyer in the army and she’d been discharged for some really heavy shit.’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  ‘Well my guy has turned over a shedload more.’ Harper paused to collect himself. ‘She worked in a programme which was top secret. You know the type, eyes only and very hush hush. Not sure if it was black ops, but it was way off the mainstream, and definitely covert. That’s why my guy struggled to make any headway.’

  Lucas put his hand on Harper’s arm to stop him. ‘If that’s true, how did you get hold of it? Is it reliable?’

  ‘To take the last question first, yes this is genuine. And as for the first question, I think you would call it the act of a concerned citizen. However, back in my day,’ Harper paused to enhance the theatrical timing, ‘we called it blackmail.’ Lucas backed off and let him continue.

  ‘She specialized in undercover work, and saw active service in a number of missions all over the world. She was a signals and telecoms genius and was deployed into some high profile hot spots. Jess was heavily trained in special ops and got top marks. She was a weapons and explosives expert, a counterintelligence specialist, and was as tough as any marine. There are documented accounts of her having to fight her way out of tight situations. On more than one occasion she was forced to hit the eject button and be airlifted out, but not before inflicting a shitload of collateral damage. She was a serious piece of work. My guy tells me she was highly regarded and never failed to deliver. She got the hottest and most difficult assignments because she was that good. She was decorated three times: a Purple Heart, an Army Commendation Medal and a Distinguished Service Cross, they don’t give those away for fun.’

  ‘So why the dramatic fall from grace?’

  ‘She was sent to a research facility attached to a military base. There was a suspicion one of the guys was passing secrets to the Russians. The target had an extravagant lifestyle which was not in keeping with his salary so they sent in Jessica Sells to investigate. She had recently returned from a particularly hot operation in Belize, which not even my guy could get near, so my reckoning is it got ugly. This research job was meant to be a little R and R for her. It was a playground gig compared to what she usually did, and should have been a soft job.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘It went bad,’ Harper said flatly. ‘She integrated herself into the team and came to the conclusion that the guy was clean. He was just a lucky gambler and the cars and expensive purchases was him enjoying his winnings. So that was fine. What was not fine was that she was with the target and a few other work colleagues in a bar when a group of soldiers fresh from a tour in Somalia came in for beers. They’d been sent to the base to decompress after a hectic tour of duty. They were still high from their time in theatre and were throwing their weight around. What started out as lively conversation soon turned nasty. They took a dislike to Jessica Sells and her friends and started shooting their mouths off. Jessica tried to defuse the situation but they were just too far gone. She was worried she might be compromised – any trouble involving the police might blow her cover so she was keen to get out of there. But these guys wouldn’t let it drop and they wouldn’t let them leave the bar.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘Well eventually it got physical and one of the men who Jessica worked with took a real beating. She kept well out of the way and waited for it to stop, while the bar owner called the cops. The guy was in a bad way so Jessica went to help the injured man and patch him up. One of the soldiers took exception to this and went for her.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She broke his arm in three places, knocked out two of his teeth and fractured his eye socket. Like I said, she was a real piece of work.’

  ‘Shit. Why did she do that? She should have just backed off to protect her cover.’

  ‘Yeah, I agree. I can only put it down to instinct and training. The soldier lunged at her and that was it, she tore him apart.’

  ‘But how does that constitute being discharged? The army doesn’t discharge everyone who has a brawl in a bar, there would be no one left.’

  Harper nodded. ‘You’re right, but it didn’t end there. When the cops arrived to break it all up she was still beating the crap out of this guy. Two of the soldiers weren’t happy their friend had got a kicking, especially from a woman, so they followed Jessica when she left the bar. It all goes a bit fuzzy after that, but what is clear is at some point they jumped her, knocked her out, and dragged her into an alleyway,’ Harper looked up at Lucas, ‘and they raped her at knife-point.’

  ‘Hell, this just gets worse.’

  Harper took a deep breath. ‘They had her on the ground with her hands above her head. The first guy, Private Benjamin Stanek knelt on her arms and held a knife to her throat. The second man, Corporal Winston Westgate stripped her from the waist down and raped her. Stanek held the knife so tight to her throat that she was cut pretty deep. The movement of the other guy banging away caused the knife to slice her up. She regained consciousness during the rape but just let them get on with it. She didn’t fight back, didn’t struggle. She just lay there and let it happen.’

  ‘She didn’t fight at all? That’s weird given what you’ve told me.’

  ‘Yeah it is. She seemed to zone out. She just disengaged. They raped her and she did nothing. That was until the men went to swap places and that’s when she struck.’

  ‘Struck?’

  ‘Yeah, while they were concentrating on pulling pants up, pulling pants down and handing over the knife, she killed them both.’

  ‘Shit.’ Even in the gloom it was plain to see Lucas had his mouth open.

  ‘Not sure of the exact turn of events, but the result was she snapped Benjamin Stanek’s neck and he died at the scene. Westgate later died from massive blood loss and organ failure.’

  ‘She stabbed him?’

  ‘Not exactly, she beat him to a pulp and then sliced
off his cock and balls.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘She cut off his bits and pieces, went to a pay phone, called an ambulance and left,’ said Harper.

  ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘The only reason I can think of is that she didn’t want him dead. She phoned for the medics so he would have a chance of living, but minus his genitals.’

  ‘Hell, that’s calculating,’ said Lucas.

  ‘The ambulance got there quickly and he lived for a couple of days. What Jess didn’t bargain for was the military police getting hold of what had happened so quickly. They transferred Stanek’s body and Westgate to the military base. They froze the police out. You know what the military are like for taking care of their own dirty laundry. Of course, in that environment, Westgate spilled the beans, and after a couple of days the MPs turned up at Jessica Sells’ place. By this time Westgate had died too so it was a double homicide and the army weren’t keen on one of their brightest and best being the number one suspect. They were eager to make a fast arrest and tidy the mess up quietly.’

  ‘But I don’t get it. After a couple of days she would have washed her clothes and scrubbed herself down. They would have struggled to make the DNA fit. All she had to do was deny it. This doesn’t figure. There were only the three of them so it was his word against hers and he was dead. She could have covered her tracks and got away with it.’ Lucas looked puzzled.

  ‘Wow, slow down there, Lieutenant,’ said Harper. ‘Don’t forget the knife made a mess of her neck and her blood was at the scene. But that didn’t matter because when the MPs entered Jessica’s apartment they found all the DNA they needed.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘They found Westgate’s cock and balls in a glass jar on her dressing table. It was a bit of a giveaway.’

  ‘Holly shit,’ Lucas said.

  ‘They took her into custody and during her interrogation she played it cool. After all, the army had spent a million dollars training this woman to cope in these types of situation, she was better equipped than they were. She said that if they pressed charges she would be forced to disclose why she was there, which would blow the lid off the covert op. Also, there were the families of the two dead guys to take into consideration. Did the army really want to make public the true reason for their deaths? It would be a publicity nightmare. She stood up to them and drove through a plea bargain. There was no court-martial and she accepted a discharge in return for sweeping it under the rug. No further action was ever taken.’