Back Track (35 page)

When he was finally done, Kate said, ‘Wow. But look, why do you assume . . .?’

‘Hey, time out,’ Bishop said and held up a hand. He turned to Raymond. ‘Before we go any further, how about making us some more of that fine-smelling coffee?’

‘Don’t see why not,’ Raymond said and got to his feet.

Vallejo awoke to the muted sounds of running water coming from a nearby room. She had a headache and her mouth felt dry. She slowly opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. She was lying on a bed, but clearly not in her motel room. Then she remembered. She’d been leaning over the bathroom sink of No.17, soaping her hands, when it happened. She hadn’t even heard them enter the room. All she knew was when a thick arm grabbed her round the neck and pulled her up. Then somebody smothered her face with a damp cloth and pressed a hand against it. The medicinal smell was overpowering. She had time enough to think
chloroform
, and then there was only oblivion.

And now she was here. Wherever
here
was.

She slowly turned her head and saw she was in a sparsely furnished bedroom. The first thing she noticed was the lack of windows. Just blank walls all around, except for two doors on opposite sides of the bed. She raised herself to a sitting position, the pounding in her head increasing with the movement.

The sound of water stopped and the door to her left opened. A woman in a long-sleeved sweater and black jeans came out and said, ‘Oh, you’re awake.’

I guess I am
, Vallejo thought, but said nothing. The woman was about Vallejo’s age and very pretty, with the high cheekbones of a model, and large, sad eyes. Her skin was as white as alabaster and she wore her shoulder-length brown hair in a ponytail. From the decor and from what Bishop had told her, Vallejo figured this must be the surgeon’s wife. Which meant Vallejo was in a whole heap of trouble. She wondered if Bishop was even aware she was missing yet.

‘Are you okay?’ the woman asked. ‘Do you want anything? Some water?’

‘Water sounds good,’ Vallejo said.

The woman smiled and said, ‘Wait here.’ Then she disappeared through the other doorway, returning a few seconds later with a large tumbler of water.

Vallejo took it and drank it in one go. Plain water had never tasted so good. Even the headache didn’t seem so bad any more.

She handed the glass back and said, ‘Thanks. Is your name Patricia Tatem?’

The woman frowned. ‘That’s right. How do you know me? Who are you?’

‘I’m Clarissa Vallejo.’ She swung her legs off the bed. ‘And your husband mentioned you to a man I know. I don’t suppose you’ve got the time?’

Patricia showed her bare wrists. ‘No watch. And no clocks. Besides, what difference would it make in here?’

‘You’ve got a point.’ Vallejo looked around the room and sighed. ‘It looks like we might be roommates for a while, so how about giving me the five-cent tour?’

‘Okay, but there’s not much to see.’

Vallejo got up off the bed and let Patricia lead the way. She opened the door through which she’d gone to fetch the water, and Vallejo stepped through and found herself in the main living area. It was about twice the size of the bedroom. There was a kitchenette off to one side and a steel door in the far wall. To her left was a large TV with piles of DVDs stacked against the wall. Another wall was taken up by two large bookcases filled with paperbacks and magazines. Everything looked neat and tidy. Orderly. In the centre of the room was a large couch, an easy chair, and a coffee table with a single, open paperback on the surface.

Vallejo turned to Patricia. ‘Guess you don’t get too many visitors, huh?’

Patricia wrapped her arms across her chest. ‘None that I want to talk about.’

‘You been here a long time?’

Patricia made a harsh sound through her nostrils. ‘You can’t imagine.’

She was right. Vallejo couldn’t. At least in prison you were allowed out for exercise. But to be stuck within these walls for what might be forever?
Jesus. The poor woman
.

‘So my husband, Adrian. Is he all right?’

‘Far as I know,’ Vallejo said. ‘He was . . .’

She stopped at the sound of a heavy bolt being drawn. Both women turned their heads towards the steel door. It swung open and a blank-faced man stepped into the room. He was holding an automatic pistol and took his position by the side of the doorway. All Vallejo could see through the opening was a grey wall. Then another man came in, carrying a large cardboard box, which he took over to the kitchenette and placed on a counter.

He left and a third man entered. Vallejo knew instantly that this was the man in charge. Possibly the same guy Bishop spoke to on the cell last night. He was about six feet tall and wore a dark grey shirt and black pants that fit his powerful physique perfectly. His dark hair was cut short and his features were regular, except for a drooping right eyelid which only made him seem more threatening. But both eyes were the kind that looked right through you.

He nodded his head towards the kitchenette and said, ‘Your latest food supplies, Patricia. Why don’t you go and unpack?’

Vallejo watched as Patricia shuffled towards the kitchenette and said, ‘So what do I call you?’

‘You don’t,’ the man said. ‘Where’s Bishop?’

‘How the hell do I know? Some other motel, I expect. He didn’t see fit to tell me which one. He did tell me he doesn’t like staying in one place too long, though.’

Those merciless eyes of his just bored right into her for a few moments. Then he smiled and said, ‘Sit down, Clarissa.’

She took a look at the impassive guard, then sat on the couch. ‘You know me?’

‘Naturally.’ He took the easy chair, pulled a slim cell phone from his pocket and placed it on the armrest. ‘For a cop, you’re a long way from home, aren’t you?’

‘And it’s all thanks to you and your dead friend Abraham.’

Vallejo heard a noise and turned to see Patricia watching them both, open-mouthed.

The man chuckled and said, ‘I was hoping to keep that little fact a secret for a while longer. Never mind.’ He turned back to Vallejo. ‘I think it’s about time we contacted Bishop, don’t you?’

He picked up the cell phone, pressed a button and put it to his ear. His eyes watched her as he waited. His face gave nothing away. Clearly, nobody was answering. He waited a full minute before ending the call. Then he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, referring to it as he keyed in a new number.

He waited longer this time, but still there was no response. He hung up and said, ‘He’s not answering. Why is that, Clarissa?’

‘Well, if one of those numbers was for Abraham’s phone,’ she said, thinking fast, ‘you’re wasting your time. Bishop threw it in the desert after his chat with you last night. And the only other one he’s got he keeps in the glove compartment most of the time. He doesn’t like cell phones much.’

The man just looked at her without expression. No doubt calculating whether she was lying or not.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘He’ll check it for messages. Once he sees the missed call, he’ll keep it close to him. Try again later.’

The man just watched her. After a while he pocketed the phone and stood up. ‘That’s exactly what I plan to do,’ he said. ‘And if he doesn’t answer next time, you lose a limb.’

When it became obvious the caller had hung up, Kate said, ‘I hope to God you know what you’re doing, Bishop.’

‘You and me both,’ he said, pocketing the phone. He took another sip of the warm coffee. ‘No point in worrying about it now.’

‘I guess not.’ She stood up and rolled her shoulders. ‘But if what you say is right, one thing I still don’t get is why it’s taken over three years for somebody to figure out something screwy’s going on. Surely one of the fire investigators would have noticed something somewhere along the line. These guys are trained to spot the smallest irregularity.’

‘People generally see what they expect to see, Kate,’ Bishop said. He was recalling the car ‘accident’ he arranged for Selina back in Louisford. And how he’d contrived the evidence to look exactly how he wanted it. It already seemed an age ago.

‘But still—’

‘Look,’ he interrupted, ‘if there’s no motive for arson and no evidence of foul play, they’re unlikely to put too much effort into the possibility of murder, aren’t they? And one thing I can pretty much guarantee is the man running the show has got the whole process down, with every little detail covered. If he wants the fires to look like accidents, they’ll look like accidents. Believe me, I recognize the mindset.’

Raymond smirked. ‘Kinda like looking in the mirror, huh?’

Bishop didn’t answer, but the same thought had occurred to him. Thorough planning and an attention to detail were clearly characteristics they both shared. Except the man he was after had taken a wrong turn somewhere. At some point he’d decided his fellow humans were nothing more than pieces of meat to be used and disposed of as he saw fit. Bishop wasn’t sure if that was why he hated him, or because of their similarities. Probably a combination of both. But it didn’t matter. Bishop knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until one of them was dead. Maybe both of them. Just so long as Selina and Vallejo were safe. That was all that concerned him now.

‘And you really think the police are involved too?’ Kate asked.

‘Possibly only one.’ Bishop pictured Shaw’s face again. And then there was that odd encounter with Chief Emery at the station. It could conceivably be either of them. Or even both. ‘But I’d say somebody over there’s definitely got his feet in both camps. And for a number of reasons. For instance, how did they know Vallejo would be at the Amber Motel, unless they got a peek at the sworn statement she gave to the police to spring me? That’s the only place I can think of where she referenced it.’

He reached for his cup and finished the last of the coffee before it got cold. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘let’s get back to the problem of finding out where their base is. Time’s running short.’

Raymond leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. ‘Well, let’s see now. It has to be some place big, right? If they’re holding all these women in reserve for possible follow-up surgery? Like a converted warehouse or something.’

‘Right,’ Bishop said. ‘If they can afford to keep Tatem’s wife locked away in comfortably sized living quarters, it’s a safe bet the other women have got similar accommodations.’

‘And it has to be somewhere remote,’ Kate said.

Bishop nodded. ‘That’s another reason I wasn’t convinced about Olander’s place. Too many neighbours. So forget industrial parks. It’ll be on its own.’

‘It still doesn’t help much,’ Kate said. ‘The further out you go, the more solitary warehouses you see. And that’s just those within the town borders.’

Bishop stood up and leaned against the wall. ‘Good point. So far, everything’s been kind of centred around Saracen, but there’s no reason they couldn’t be located over in Garrick. Some place not too far from the hospital, maybe.’ He fell silent for a few moments, taking in this new possibility. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

‘Who are their customers exactly?’ Raymond asked, picking up a pen from his desk and tapping it against his palm. ‘And how do they get here? Maybe if we can figure that part out, it’ll help us narrow the search.’

‘Well, they’ll be wealthy,’ Bishop said. ‘And they’ll come from all corners of the globe. And one thing I know is that rich people prefer to fly whenever possible, even for domestic travel. So probably by corporate jet or private plane. Status is everything, after all.’

Kate said, ‘So they land at one of the smaller airports and drive the rest of the way?’

‘Or they get chauffeured in. Maybe our boy . . .’ Bishop stopped. He was thinking back to his days as a close protection officer. Specifically, the times when he’d have to accompany clients in their private jets as they exited and re-entered the country.

After a while, Kate said, ‘What?’

Bishop turned to her. ‘Who says it has to be an airport?’

‘Uh, let’s see, now,’ Raymond said. ‘U.S. Customs? Homeland Security? You heard of them?’

‘That’s not what I mean. Look, all private aircraft coming to the States have to land at a specified airport of entry for Customs inspections, right?’

‘Right,’ Kate said. ‘There are about ten here in Arizona, I think. Most of them along the Mexican border.’

Bishop nodded. ‘And once they go through all the formalities and get the green light, where do they go next?’

‘Anywhere they want, I guess.’

‘Exactly. They can land the aircraft on an old airfield if they want. Or even just a flat stretch of land if it’s a small enough plane.’

Raymond smiled and began nodding his head. ‘So if our boy found himself a warehouse right next to a clear, flat stretch of land, he’d pretty much have
all
his bases covered.’

‘Pretty much,’ Bishop said. ‘Minimal exposure for himself and his customers, and nobody around to ask awkward questions, especially if he arranges it so the clients land in the dead of night.’

Kate said, ‘But they’d need landing lights for that. Somebody would have spotted them by now.’

‘Not if it’s remote enough,’ Bishop said. ‘And they wouldn’t be turned on for very long. Once or twice a week at most. Each time no longer than half an hour, tops. Rest of the time, they could cover them up.’

‘Okay,’ Kate said, ‘you’ve convinced me. So what now? Do we each drive around town and check out the likeliest suspects?’

‘No need for that, McG,’ Raymond said, turning to his monitors. ‘Can you say
Google Earth
?’

‘So three possibles,’ Raymond said, finally turning from his monitor. ‘That ain’t so bad, is it?’

‘I don’t know,’ Bishop said. ‘We’ll see.’

But he had to admit this Google Earth application was one hell of a useful tool. After Bishop instructed them to look for large structures with no nearby neighbours, and with adjoining land at least two thousand feet in length and two hundred feet wide, they’d each taken a section of town. It took the three of them less than half an hour to explore Saracen in full.