Identity Found

by Ray Green

  ‘Shall we have another drink to celebrate then?’ said Mary-Jane.

  ‘Just the one then,’ said Dolores, laughing as she drained her glass, her words slightly slurred.

  Chapter 23

  James tensed, ready for action, as Juanita opened the door to the unexpected visitor. Her voice sounded incredulous as she addressed the man standing in the doorway. ‘Kyle … is that really you? You look so …’ Her voice petered out.

  The man gave a soft chuckle. ‘I guess the beard makes me look a bit different from when you last saw me … and, after all, it was quite a while ago. And I see that you’ve got a new look too … the hair I mean.’

  There were a few moments’ silence, before Juanita spoke again, during which, James was uncertain what to do; he opted to stay put, waiting to see what happened.

  ‘Oh my god … it really is you, isn’t it?’ said Juanita. ‘I hardly recognised you. Anyway, I guess you’d better come in.’ She stepped aside, allowing him to enter the room. As he did so, James emerged from behind the door, still holding the gun at the ready as he tried to process what was happening.

  ‘Whoa … what’s with the gun?’ said the man, holding his hands up and backing away. He was tall; slim; muscular build; mid-thirties; short, dark hair; neatly trimmed beard.

  Juanita placed a gentle, restraining hand on James’s gun arm. ‘It’s OK, James … it’s Kyle … Sylvia’s boyfriend.’

  He lowered the gun.

  ‘Come in … sit down,’ she said.

  The man came into the room and sat on the edge of the bed glancing nervously from one to the other. ‘I … er … I guess you’re a little bit surprised to see me, Carla.’

  ‘First off, I’m not Carla anymore … my name is Juanita now. But yes … more than a little bit surprised.’

  ‘Oh, OK … Juanita then. But why the name change?’

  ‘It’s …complicated.’

  ‘O … K …’ he said, drawing out the letters as though treading very carefully, ‘but you were Sylvia’s best friend … why did you leave so suddenly?’

  ‘Never mind about that,’ interjected James, ‘how did you find us?’

  ‘Can you just put that gun away? It’s making me kind of nervous.’

  ‘Not until you—’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Juanita, ‘he’s a friend.’

  James laid the gun down on the desk, still within easy reach should he need it. He was more than a little uncomfortable about the arrival of this stranger, despite Juanita’s assurances. ‘You still haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘What question?’ said the man, his haunted eyes darting back and forth between Juanita and James.

  ‘How did you find us?’ repeated James.

  ‘I, er … well, I’m a telecoms engineer by trade so—’

  ‘Is that true?’ asked James, turning to Juanita.

  ‘I think so … yes, I remember that Sylvia mentioned that.’

  ‘So, what if you are?’ persisted James.

  ‘I managed to hack the phone of Carla’s friend at the diner where she worked.’

  James was suspicious: if the two of them had managed to evade the police for over a year, then how come this guy had managed to track them down with such apparent ease? But then he remembered the strange text messages purporting to come from María. A surge of anger rose within him.

  ‘What the hell gives you the right to deceive Juanita’s friend, illegally hack her phone, and then come after us?’ he demanded, rising from his chair and stepping forward to tower over the other man, still seated on the bed.

  Kyle raised both hands, palms-outward in a defensive gesture, ‘OK, I know … I’m sorry … but I was desperate to get in contact with Carla and—’

  ‘Juanita,’ James reminded him.

  ‘Yes … OK … Juanita. Sorry, it’s kind of hard to get used to the new name. Like I said, I was desperate to get in touch, and the girl in the diner—’

  ‘María,’ interrupted Juanita.

  ‘Yeah … M-María,’ he stammered. ‘She claimed she didn’t know how to contact you, but it was obvious she was hiding something, so that was why I decided to hack into her phone. I know it wasn’t right but … well, like I said, I was desperate.’

  ‘OK, so now you’ve tracked us down’ said James. ‘Why … what do you want?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said the stranger, now looking a little more emboldened as he turned to Juanita, ‘but just who is this guy giving me the third degree?’

  Juanita seemed somewhat nonplussed by the whole situation: she took a moment or two to reply. ‘This is James: he’s my … partner. I’d trust him with my life … in fact, I already have, several times, as it happens. Why are you here, Kyle?’

  He seemed to relax a little. ‘I want to know why Sylvia died. I think you know who did it, and why.’

  ‘Juanita, no … no way,’ interjected James. ‘We can’t get into this all over again.’

  The look in her eyes, when she turned to look at him, was one of sorrow and regret. She took a few moments before replying. ‘Sorry, James, but I think he has a right to know. The poor guy’s been torturing himself for over a year now; I think he deserves some answers.’

  Kyle gave a weak smile.

  ‘In any case,’ she continued, ‘he’s found us now; he knows our new identities. What is there to lose by telling him how and why Sylvia died?’

  James really didn’t have an answer; he spread his hands, helplessly, emitting a deep sigh.

  In spite of all James’s misgivings, Juanita began relating the incredible series of events which had taken place in Miami, more than a year earlier. To his intense discomfort she left almost nothing out. No matter how good a friend Sylvia had been to Juanita – or Carla as she was then – Juanita knew very little about her boyfriend, other than what she had told her. Could this guy be trusted to keep their secret?

  ***

  It was more than an hour later by the time Juanita had finally finished relating the whole story. Kyle had barely interrupted her at all; he just listened, open-mouthed, as the details emerged, one by one. James said nothing during her account, still very unhappy at revealing all this information to this man who, to him at least, was a complete stranger.

  Finally, Kyle broke the awkward silence which had settled in the room. ‘So she really was an innocent victim, caught up in something she had nothing to do with at all?’

  Juanita nodded, ‘That’s about the size of it, I’m afraid.’ She sat down alongside him on the bed, placing a comforting arm around his broad shoulders. ‘I feel so guilty, Kyle. The only reason she died was because she offered to let the two of us stay at her place when we were in trouble. Those two thugs were after James and me; Sylvia just happened to be coming down the stairs when they arrived.’

  ‘So they shot her just because she was inconveniently in their way?’ he said, an anguished expression on his face.

  ‘I’m afraid so. Oh Kyle, we should never have asked to stay at her place.’

  He looked away, silent for some seconds, evidently trying to keep his emotions in check. When he finally turned back and made eye contact with Juanita, his eyes were moist. ‘From what you have told me, I don’t think you had much choice. But regardless of that, I believe it’s what she would have wanted; I know you two were very close, and it’s typical of her generosity to want to help a friend in need.’

  A tear welled up in the corner of Juanita’s eye and, a moment later, the dam broke: she began sobbing, her shoulders heaving with each tortured gasp.

  Kyle encircled her slim frame in a hug. ‘Shhh … don’t … it wasn’t your fault.’

  As James witnessed this outpouring of emotion and Kyle’s sensitive reaction, his coldness towards the man began to melt. It looked like the poor guy really had been torturing himself all this time and, having finally learned the truth, it seemed he bore no ill will towards Juanita.

  After a few seconds, Kyle eased himself away from Juanita, perhaps conscious of James’s
looming presence.

  Juanita was still sobbing softly; James grabbed a handful of tissues from a box on the table and handed them to her. She wiped her face and took a deep breath, trying to compose herself before speaking.

  She turned to Kyle. ‘So now you know everything.’

  Kyle nodded, slowly. ‘It all seems so … oh, I don’t know … senseless. I mean, she died for no other reason than that she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ said James.

  Kyle hung his head for a few seconds; when he looked up, his expression had changed completely: he seethed with barely suppressed anger.

  ‘And what’s even worse is that the bastards who murdered her are still out there somewhere.’

  James shook his head. ‘One of them is probably dead. As Juanita’s told you, the car in which he was chasing us was involved in a really bad crash; I don’t think there’s much chance he’d have gotten out alive.’

  ‘But you don’t know that for sure.’

  ‘No,’ admitted James, ‘but—’

  ‘What about the other one?’

  James spread his hands. ‘I don’t know. The police never found him and I have no idea where he might be now.’

  ‘But he works for this shady network of professional hit-men you told me about, right?’ Kyle’s eyes had narrowed, and his jaw had taken on a determined set.

  Suddenly, James realised where Kyle’s mind was going. ‘Don’t even think about it. These people are vicious killers; you really don’t want to tangle with them under any circumstances. And I couldn’t help you find him even if I wanted to; I don’t even know the guy’s name.’

  ‘But you’d recognise him, right?’

  ‘Forget it,’ insisted James. ‘You’ll never find him and, even if you did, he’d kill you in a heartbeat.’

  Kyle hung his head once more, exhaling noisily. Suddenly, he looked up, as though another thought had just occurred to him. ‘So, you and Carla—’

  ‘Juanita.’

  ‘Yes, sorry … so, you and Juanita have now made a new life in Canada, right?’

  ‘Uh, huh.’

  ‘So, what brings you to New York City?’

  ‘That’s another story entirely, and one you don’t need to know about.’

  ‘Oh, James,’ interjected Juanita, ‘We’ve told him so much, he might as well know the rest. Who knows? With his technical knowledge he might even be able to help us untangle what’s on that computer.’

  ‘What computer?’ said Kyle, his interest clearly piqued.

  ‘No … absolutely not,’ insisted James. ‘Kyle, I’m really sorry for your loss, but you’ve got what you came for. Now you need to go home.’

  Chapter 24

  Mark Bowman was frustrated as hell at his lack of progress in trying to track down his suspect. He had her photograph, he knew she probably had an accomplice and that one or both of them drove a silver Toyota Camry, but that was it; now he seemed to have hit a dead end. Without the licence number it was virtually impossible to trace the car, and scouring more CCTV footage of New York’s busy streets, without any clue as to where or when to look, was like searching for a needle in a haystack. If he was able to bring the full weight of the NYPD’s resources to bear, he might stand more of a chance but, as he had been forbidden to involve himself in the Julia Turner investigation, this just wasn’t possible. Furthermore, O’Reilly was constantly hassling him about the damned Patterson case; there was a limit to how long he could fob the sergeant off with excuses. It could surely not be long before it became obvious, even to a slow-witted dullard like O’Reilly, that he was spending his time on something else. Once that happened, he’d be severely disciplined at best, or worse still, fired. Then there’d be no hope of finding Julia’s killer.

  He considered his options. He could hang back for a while, let Don Lister, who had been assigned to Julia’s case, do his work. Meanwhile he could put in a bit of effort on the Patterson case; if he made some progress there, then maybe he could get O’Reilly off his back for a while. But he had little confidence that Don would get far with his assignment; whatever spark of enthusiasm he may once have had for his job had long since died out, and now all he wanted was his service pension and a quiet life.

  But maybe, if Mark could make some headway on the Patterson case, he might get O’Reilly to leave him be long enough to get back onto Julia’s case without constant interference. Given his current complete lack of live leads on Julia’s killer, it seemed his best option, even though it went against all his instincts. Reluctantly, he reached for the Patterson file, which had lain untouched on his desk for some time, and opened it. He emitted a deep sigh: OK, where the hell do I start?

  As he pondered this question, the phone on his desk rang; since he had no enthusiasm for the task in hand, he was glad of the distraction.

  ‘Detective Bowman,’ he answered.

  A woman’s voice replied. ‘Er, Mark, is that you?’

  He didn’t recognise the voice, so he was a little surprised that the caller knew his first name.

  ‘Yes … this is Mark Bowman. Who’s calling?’

  ‘It’s Mary-Jane.’

  The name meant nothing to him. ‘Mary-Jane?’

  The woman’s voice was hesitant. ‘Mary-Jane Bailey … from the path lab. You came to see me the other day.’

  The lightbulb went on. ‘Oh yes, of course … what can I do for you, Miss Bailey?’

  ‘Oh, please … call me Mary-Jane.’

  ‘Sure … I’ll do that,’ he replied. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘Well, Mark’ – her voice sounded more confident now – ‘I’m hoping I may be able to help you.’

  He waited for her to elaborate, but no further explanation was immediately forthcoming.

  ‘How’s that then?’ he said, doing his best not to let his voice betray his slight irritation with her oblique reply.

  ‘It’s about the woman who came to the lab pretending to be the sister of the murdered journalist.’

  Now she had his full attention. ‘Go on,’ he urged.

  ‘Well, my friend, Mandy, is a hairdresser. She thinks a woman whose hair she cut recently may be the same person.’

  ‘Interesting,’ mused Mark, ‘but why does she think that?’

  ‘Well, she fitted the description perfectly, and Mandy said she seemed to want to change her appearance completely. Said she seemed kind of nervous … edgy. Oh … and she was carrying a hell of a lot of cash in her purse. Didn’t seem to want to use a credit card.’

  It was hardly conclusive, but it was interesting, and he didn’t have any other leads. Maybe … just maybe. ‘That’s very interesting, Mary-Jane. If this woman was the same one who tried to copy the autopsy report, do you think your friend would recognise her from her passport photo?’

  ‘Oh yes. Mandy says she remembers her very clearly.’

  This was, indeed, an interesting development; Mark was keen to follow it up. ‘OK, then perhaps the two of you could come down to the station to …’ He checked himself: if O’Reilly saw him interviewing these two women, he’d be bound to want to know what it was all about. ‘Oh, wait a minute, all our interview rooms are busy right now. I don’t want to waste any time following up this important lead, so could I see your friend at home, or somewhere else that’s convenient for her?’

  ‘Well, as it happens,’ cooed Mary-Jane, ‘Mandy’s here with me right now … at my place.’

  ‘OK - what’s your address?’

  He scribbled it on his notepad. ‘I’ll be right over – see you in about half an hour.’

  ***

  ‘See?’ preened Mary-Jane. ‘He’s been just itching to find an excuse to come over and see me. All that stuff about interview rooms being full is a crock of shit: he wanted to get my address and to see me at home.’

  ‘Actually,’ Mandy reminded her, ‘I believe it was me he wanted to see.’

  Mary-Jane waved her hand, dismissively. ‘Well, yes …
to I.D. the photo and ask you a few questions, but it’s me he wants to get into bed—’

  ‘You wish,’ laughed Mandy.

  ‘There’s no doubt about it … it was clear as day from the first moment he saw me at work.’

  Mandy rolled her eyes. ‘If you say so. Anyway, you’ve built this guy up so much, I’m kind of nervous about meeting him. What if it turns out that the woman whose hair I cut is not the one he’s looking for?’

  ‘Well, if she’s not, she’s not. You’ll have done your public duty, and I’ll have properly broken the ice with Mark. Next time, I can invite him over for a meal: nice candlelit dinner, a few drinks, and then maybe dessert in the bedroom.’

  Mandy rolled her eyes, laughing. ‘Oh, Mary-Jane … you really are such a brazen flirt. Anyway,’ she added, eyeing her friend’s outfit up and down ‘don’t you think you’re overdoing it a bit … just to “break the ice”?’

  ‘Overdoing it?’ said Mary-Jane, rising to her feet and standing in front of the mirror. She smoothed down her short, figure-hugging, turquoise dress and adjusted the deep plunge neckline, checking that the sparkling, fake-diamond pendant nestled in just the right place to draw his eye to her generous cleavage, ‘when it comes to men, there’s no such thing as “overdoing it”. Now, just time for a touch more perfume before he arrives. Watch and learn.’

  Mandy shook her head in disbelief.

  Chapter 25

  It didn’t take Mark long to find the apartment block, which was in one of Manhattan’s less salubrious areas. Since he had taken a marked squad car, he didn’t bother to waste time trying to find a parking lot; he just stopped on a yellow line right outside the block. It was an old, tenement-style, redbrick building, taller than New York City’s zoning code would allow today. A zig-zag column of fire escapes clung to the façade, paint peeling from the rusty metal. It was clear that there hadn’t been too much money expended on maintenance recently.

  He grabbed his laptop bag and stepped out of the car, locking it with a press of the button on his key: you couldn’t be too careful in an area like this, even with a marked squad car. He approached the front door, alongside which was an intercom panel. Checking his notepad, he located the button for Mary-Jane Bailey’s apartment and buzzed her.