The Mechanic Trilogy: the complete boxset

by Rob Ashman

  ‘Get it down to the lab and let them take a closer look. Remind me, we never found her after the patrolman was found dead in her apartment, did we?’

  ‘No sir, she disappeared.’ Moran was trying to sound matter of fact and professional on the outside, when inside she was crumbling to dust.

  ‘Chase this through and let’s see if we can make a connection. Anyone else got a fix on who she might be?’ Mills asked. Everyone looked around and shook their heads, everyone that is except Moran, who was too busy avoiding eye contact.

  ‘Good work, Moran,’ Mills said walking from the room. She grunted.

  Moran took the photocopied image to the lab and spent the rest of the day processing the list of names Harper had given her.

  She wasn’t sure what the female equivalent was, but running every name through the system was a balls-aching job. Sixty-six data entry files to complete, followed by the system spewing out sixty-six personal profiles, there was a mountain of information to sift through. She had reached number forty-three when she got a call.

  ‘Come down downstairs, we got something interesting.’ It was the technician.

  She entered the lab, which was a very different working environment to the one upstairs. To start with, it was clean and air conditioned and had a medical feel to it. The benches were stacked with complex-looking equipment being used by white-coated people who were busying themselves with test tubes and chemicals. Mills was already there, looking through a large lens.

  He tapped the table. ‘See what you think.’

  Moran looked through the optic at the grainy print of Nassra Shamon’s face. The lab tech removed the picture and replaced it with a still from the CCTV footage. There was no doubt in her mind, they were identical.

  ‘Not sure,’ she said trying to cast an element of doubt.

  ‘Really?’ Mills elbowed her out of the way to take a second look. ‘They look remarkably similar to me.’

  She looked again. ‘I suppose it could be the same person.’

  Mills picked up the picture. ‘So this woman slits Ramirez’s throat, returns to her apartment, and three hours later a police officer is found dead, shot through the back of the neck. If we can make the connection and prove it, I reckon we’ll blow this case wide open.’

  Moran’s day was not yet over but it was certainly on its way to hell, being transported unceremoniously in a handcart.

  12

  Lucas and Harper sat patiently by the fax machine, or to be more accurate, one half of them did. The other half fizzed with irritation.

  ‘She said 10.30am.’ Harper looked at his watch.

  ‘It’s only 10.40.’

  The public records office was almost empty as they waited for the paper-spewing machine to bring good news.

  ‘She said 10.30.’ Harper was not going to let it go.

  ‘What else did she say?’

  ‘She didn’t say much. She said she’d collated the results and would fax them through.’

  ‘Had she found anything?’

  ‘She didn’t say.’ Harper mentally recalled that Moran actually had a lot to say, most of it blunt and to the point, bordering on abusive.

  The machine whirred into action and the sheets rolled off. Lucas looked at the number in the LCD display window.

  ‘It’s her,’ he said, recognising the Vegas dial code. Page after page churned out, thirty-two pages of densely printed names, addresses, previous convictions, known associates and bank details. Lucas gathered them together and put them in a file, paid the beady-eyed woman behind reception one dollar sixty cents and then headed to the fourth floor.

  ‘She’s done a thorough job,’ said Lucas scanning through the names and addresses.

  As they stepped out of the lift the young guy in glasses breezed past.

  ‘If there’s anything you can’t reach give me a shout and I’ll get it for you.’

  Harper gave him his best scowl.

  ‘He’s only doing his job,’ Lucas said.

  ‘I’ll do a job on him, cheeky little—’

  ‘It’s strange how Moran has done all this work and yet didn’t offer an opinion on what she’d found,’ Lucas interrupted. He fanned the pages through his thumb and forefinger.

  ‘Not very chatty, I suppose.’

  ‘When I talked to her she was adamant she was having nothing to do with it. And then she produces all this.’

  ‘Yes, very odd,’

  ‘How did you persuade her to help?’

  ‘I said it would be good if she could lend a hand.’

  ‘Lend a hand? This is a little more than lending a hand. What exactly did you say to change her mind?’

  ‘Nothing, I guess she just decided to help out.’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Lucas had first-hand experience of Harper being evasive. ‘What have you done? How does she go from telling me to fuck off to this?’ He waved the papers in front of Harper.

  Harper turned and faced Lucas with his hands held up in a sign of surrender.

  ‘I blackmailed her, okay?’ he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, which to him it probably was.

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘Blackmailed her.’

  ‘But how? With what?’

  ‘I acquired the CCTV tapes from the multi-storey the morning we planned to take out Mechanic. I sent her pictures of you, me and her together, and suggested it would be better if she cooperated.’

  ‘Or what?’

  ‘Or I would send them to her boss. She could either deal with us or deal with him. She chose us.’

  ‘I don’t believe it. Why didn’t you say something?’

  Harper slapped his hands to his sides.

  ‘Because you’d get all self-righteous and stop me. That’s why.’

  ‘Damn right I would. You can’t go around blackmailing serving police officers.’

  ‘That proves my point, doesn’t it? We got a head start here. We got these names and addresses because she’s decided to play ball. The ends justify the means and I can sleep at night.’

  ‘You sleep at night because you’re drunk.’

  Lucas was not sure what to make of Harper’s actions. On the one hand he was horrified, on the other he was impressed.

  ‘How did you get the tapes?’ he asked.

  ‘That was easy, I just—’

  ‘I don’t want to know. It’s difficult to work out who’s more ruthless, you or the crooks we used to catch.’

  ‘There was a time when that was definitely me but now I figure it’s honours even.’

  Lucas handed Harper half the papers.

  ‘Look through these and see if anything unusual jumps out.’

  They separated and each found a quiet spot. Harper could hear Lucas tutting from across the room.

  The next hour passed quickly, both of them trawling through the papers. Lucas was so engrossed he didn’t notice Harper standing in front of him with two Styrofoam cups.

  ‘Coffee?’ he said handing one of them over. ‘Have you found anything?’

  ‘Not much, there’s nothing that jumps out, what about you?’

  ‘Not sure what I was expecting but it’s all mundane stuff. A handful of speeding fines and parking violations but nothing says ‘arrested for running arms out of Nicaragua’. However, I do have one that’s different.’

  ‘Different how?’

  ‘Every company has multiple people holding different roles, agreed?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I have too.’

  ‘Some are family members and others are business associates, but there’s always multiple people.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve got.’

  ‘Well, I have one company where all the roles are held by one person, a man named Gerry Vickers. I don’t know if that’s significant but it does stand out from the pack.’

  ‘What is the business name?’

  ‘Sheldon Chemicals.’ Harper handed Lucas his list with the name circled in red.

  The yo
ung chap with glasses walked by.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Harper said putting out his hand to stop him. ‘Could you help us locate this company’s records?’ He snatched the page from Lucas and handed it to him.

  ‘Do you know it’s registered here?’

  Lucas and Harper looked at each other blankly.

  The young man realised he had reached the end of useful conversation. ‘I’ll take a look, sir, won’t be a moment.’

  ‘Nice kid,’ Harper said.

  Lucas shook his head.

  A couple of minutes later he returned with a dog-eared manila file stuffed with papers.

  ‘Here you go, sir, Sheldon Chemicals.’

  Harper nodded a thank you and spread the papers on the desk. After a while Lucas leaned back in the chair and sipped at his coffee.

  ‘That’s odd.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why would you register a company in Florida and operate it out of San Diego? And Gerry Vickers should be businessman of the year.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Take a look at the annual report.’ Lucas handed Harper a glossy pamphlet.

  ‘Okay, wise guy, it might surprise you to hear I’ve forgotten everything I learned at Harvard. What does it say?’

  ‘The company runs a chemical procurement and distribution business. It has a steady turnover of about a million dollars a year and buys all its chemicals from one company. It has six customers and does its distribution through a third party called Decklan Logistics.’

  ‘What’s unusual about that?’

  ‘Look at the other documents. Gerry Vickers must be superhuman because according to this he runs the whole thing single-handed.’

  ‘Maybe the guy’s a genius.’

  ‘Let’s find out.’ Lucas picked up the annual report and walked off in the direction of the payphone.

  Harper waited, pretending to read the other documents relating to Sheldon Chemicals.

  After fifteen minutes Lucas returned.

  ‘Well?’ asked Harper.

  ‘I rang the supplier and the haulage company. They both stopped trading with Sheldon Chemicals three years ago when it went into liquidation.’

  ‘So it’s not a real business?’

  ‘No, I figure Gerry Vickers is using it to launder money.’

  ‘How’s he doing that?’

  ‘I know a little about this from my time in Chicago. If I’m right, it’s a classic case of placing, layering and integration. You place dirty cash into the company and move it around to create confusion. Then you bring it back in as clean money.’

  ‘Let me get this straight. They buy non-existent chemicals, sell them to non-existent customers and pretend to collect the money from them.’

  ‘Yup, they pay taxes to the IRS on the income and the money is clean.’

  ‘Wow, and they bag about a mill a year?’

  ‘That’s what it says.’

  ‘If we can connect the money transactions from Nassra Shamon to Sheldon Chemicals we have game on.’

  Lucas nodded and cracked a smile.

  Harper continued, ‘We need to dig deeper into our new friend Gerry Vickers, because a thought occurred to me while you were off playing IRS investigator.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘We’re looking for someone who can lay their hands on the latest military hardware, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So, San Diego is homeport to the Pacific Fleet, the biggest US naval base in the States.’

  13

  The Nassra Shamon bandwagon was gathering pace. Mills had failed to make headway with the hotel murders or the drug-related killings and his reputation was crumbling around his ankles. The discovery of Nassra Shamon had given him a face he could chase, even if he had no idea where the woman was.

  Mills was determined to crack this one and was throwing his weight around. Moran, on the other hand, was busy trying to work out how to stop her career from being tossed onto the bonfire. How could she distance herself from the investigation into the killing of Ramirez? If she was right, and Nassra Shamon and Mechanic were the same person, then arresting Shamon could bring Moran’s employment and liberty to an abrupt end. However, if she was right, then she also held the trump card. The chance of Mills getting anywhere near Shamon was virtually zero.

  ‘New work orders,’ Mills barked as he entered the office. ‘I need to shuffle people around to cover the bases.’ He allocated new roles and tasks to the team. ‘Moran, I want you on the money. Find out about Shamon’s financial affairs.’

  Shit, she knew exactly what she was going to find. She was backed into a corner and could see no way out.

  The phone rang, it was Harper.

  ‘Give me your details caller and I will ring you back,’ Moran said fighting the urge to tell him to go to hell. She made her way to a side office and closed the door.

  ‘What do you want now?’ she spat into the receiver.

  ‘Good morning to you too.’

  ‘Look, Harper, I did what you asked. Give me a break.’

  ‘You did, and that proved very useful. And now you need to help us again.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘We want you to run a name through the system: Gerry Vickers. He owns a business called Sheldon Chemicals operating out of San Diego. Turns out it’s a subsidiary of Helix Holdings. He came up on the list you sent.’

  ‘What’s so special about him?’

  ‘He’s different, that’s all.’ Harper was keen not to give anything away.

  ‘What am I looking for?’

  ‘The usual – last known address, any previous, known associates, that kind of thing.’

  ‘I gave you that before.’

  ‘Run it again. There has to be more to this guy than what you sent us.’

  ‘This has to be the last time. Things are hotting up around here and I’m struggling to keep a lid on this.’

  ‘Hotting up how?’

  ‘They’ve identified Nassra Shamon as a possible murder suspect and have launched an all-hands investigation.’

  ‘Murder? Who did she kill?’

  ‘A man called Ramirez. With the spotlight on her it’s only a matter of time before the forensic accountants are all over Helix Holdings, then your guy Gerry Vickers will be next, and the direct line to Mechanic will be dead.’

  ‘Shit, you need to bury it.’

  ‘Don’t talk stupid. All that whisky must have rotted your brain. I can’t bury information like that.’

  ‘We want Gerry Vickers to ourselves, you need to find a way to delete those records.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind? The woman is a murder suspect, do you honestly believe that’s possible?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what I believe, what’s important is what are you going to do about it?’

  Moran fell silent, beads of sweat forming on her upper lip.

  Harper continued to turn the screw. ‘You told me that you believed Nassra Shamon and Mechanic were the same person. If that’s true, and it increasingly looks like you’re right, you don’t want your uniformed friends getting to Vickers first. If they do, I will be the least of your troubles.’

  ‘I can give you seventy-two hours max, then that’s it. After that, I will have to give up the account details. That’s the best I can do.’

  ‘I need the info about Vickers fast.’

  ‘I’ll get you what you want. Give me an hour and I’ll fax anything I find to the usual number, but this has to be the last time.’ She banged the phone down.

  Sitting alone in a side office she could hear the noise of intense activity taking place outside. Mills was whipping the troops, and himself, into a frenzy. She had to get creative if she was to buy herself seventy-two hours.

  An hour later the fax machine in the public records office churned out a single page. The lady behind the desk said, ‘Twenty cents, please’. Lucas fished around and put the coin in her hand.

  He and Harper sat in the quiet zone reading the docume
nt.

  ‘Is that it?’ said Harper.

  ‘Suppose so.’

  ‘You sure you’ve not left more on the printer?’

  ‘No, that’s all of it.’

  ‘We got a name, an address and a driver’s licence. That’s not much to go on.’

  Lucas was thinking, then the obvious went off in his head like a grenade. ‘We have everything we want right here.’

  ‘But there’s jack shit to go on.’

  ‘Precisely. It’s like this guy exists in name only.’

  Harper had the same grenade moment.

  ‘A fictitious company run by a fictitious man.’ Harper paused. ‘There’s something else.’

  ‘What.’

  ‘Moran said we gotta move fast because the cops are looking for Nassra Shamon in connection with a murder. She will delay giving them the financial records but she figures we have seventy-two hours tops. I told her to delete them but she won’t play ball.’

  ‘Better get a move on and book a flight.’

  Moran perched on the corner of a table and glanced at her watch: 7.15pm. Her desk looked like a fire hazard with paper sprawled into every corner. The office was deserted. In front of her lay a computer printout with the three payments to Helix Holdings highlighted in yellow, the last one made the day before Shamon killed Ramirez and the cop. The line below was the entry for the following day, it said Account Closed.

  She stared into the middle distance playing with scenarios in her head. How could she put the brakes on? How could she delay without making it obvious?

  The conference door across the hallway banged against the doorstop snatching her from her thoughts, Mills blundered in.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Didn’t know anyone was still here.’

  ‘Yes, I’m still here.’

  ‘How you getting on with the Shamon accounts?’

  Moran slid the printout under the mound of paper.

  ‘There’s something screwy with the transactions. I remember looking at this before, when we first investigated the cop found dead at her apartment. It was all in order, but now the account has been corrupted with a bunch of weird shit. I need to get hold of the bank first thing tomorrow to straighten it out.’