Back Track

by Jason Dean

  ‘What was he, an office worker?’

  ‘Not unless they suddenly dropped the dress code around here. Auto mechanic would be my guess. He wore dark overalls with the sleeves rolled up, probably so he could show off his muscles. His pals were wearing them too. They were all pretty loud, I remember.’

  ‘And did he come in on the day Selina didn’t show?’

  Gloria furrowed her brow again. ‘Hey, now you mention it, no, he didn’t. And I can’t remember seeing him since then, either.’

  ‘Can you remember what he looks like?’

  ‘Um. Well, he’s shorter than you. Maybe five-nine. Stocky with round shoulders. Fairly muscly. Light brown hair, shaved at the sides. He looked pretty intense, I can tell you that.’

  ‘Do you recall seeing any kind of logo on the overalls? Like the name of a tyre, or a garage? Something?’

  Gloria sighed and said, ‘Hey look, I’m not out there taking notes, you know. I’m too busy trying to solve earth-shattering problems like why there’s an onion ring in someone’s fries, and what am I gonna do about it. Or why somebody got rye instead of white bread, when I know for a fact he specifically ordered rye in the first place. I don’t have time to notice everything.’

  ‘I understand. Well, thanks, anyway.’ Bishop turned to go.

  ‘Hey, Bishop,’ she said, and he stopped and looked at her. ‘I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just been a busy day, okay? Busier than usual, I mean. Hold on for a minute while I think.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Bishop leaned against the dumpster and watched the cigarette. There was about an inch to go before she reached the filter, but people rarely let it get that far. She took another lungful and looked skyward as she breathed out. It would sure save time if she could give him something more to go on. But if she couldn’t, it was no big deal. It just meant he’d have to keep working the streets like any good investigator until he found the guy. And he would find him. He was just deciding in which direction to start when he felt Gloria staring at him. He looked up at her.

  ‘Jennings,’ she said. She was smiling.

  ‘Jennings?’

  ‘Or Pennings. Something like that. On his chest pocket. In green. Not obvious from a distance. I remember passing by his table and wondering whether it was his name or not. But it looked more professional, like for a company.’

  Jennings or Pennings. Bishop smiled and took a twenty from his pocket. He folded it lengthways and offered it to her. ‘Thanks, Gloria. I really appreciate your time.’

  ‘Hey, I didn’t talk to you for profit.’ She dropped the remains of her smoke and stamped on it. Pulling the door open, she nudged the brick aside with her foot and smiled at him. ‘Promise you’ll let me know when you find her and we’ll call it quits, okay?’

  ‘I promise,’ he said, and watched the door close behind her.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Bishop crossed Saracen Road, then walked two blocks before going east down West Central Avenue. He’d driven down here before, back when he was scoping the place out for Selina, and remembered this was where the majority of the local government buildings were located.

  It took him less than ten minutes to find the public library. It was a modern, hundred-foot square, single-storey adobe building with four matching pillars out front, two on either side of the tinted glass entrance.

  Bishop liked how almost everything around here was single-storey, with the occasional two-storey building here and there to break things up. But then, Arizona had the luxury of plenty of space to play with. It made a refreshing change from New York, though, where construction only ever went in one direction: upwards.

  He passed between the pillars and entered the building. Once inside, his first thought was that they’d accidentally set the air-conditioning to freezing, but after a few seconds his body decided it wasn’t that bad. He slowly scanned the room until his eyes landed on the reference section in the north-west corner. He walked over, passing some female students and an old guy carrying a stack of military tomes, found himself a local Yellow Pages and took it to an empty table.

  He opened it up and went straight to the Automobile section near the front. There were lots of sub-sections and he started with the first: Body Repairs & Painting. It was always best to be thorough, and he knew many of these places employed their own team of mechanics. There were seven businesses listed in the Saracen area, but none of the names came close to sounding like Jennings. He kept turning the pages. Automobile – Dealers. Automobile – Parts & Accessories. Automobile – Rentals. Nothing.

  But Automobile – Repairs & Servicing presented him with a real possibility. Twenty-four businesses were listed, but it was the second one that caught his eye. Bannings Automotive.

  Bishop thought it wasn’t too big a leap to get to Jennings. Or Pennings. Gloria had said she only got a quick look, after all. He carefully scanned the whole page. There was no display ad for Bannings, only a listing with the address – 17 E. Richards Ave., Saracen – and a phone number. He memorized them both and kept turning the pages, reading through the Automobile – Tires and Automobile – Wash & Detailing sections to make sure. Nothing else even came close.

  He rose and put the directory back where he’d found it. Then he went to the maps section on the next shelf along. He pulled out one of the street maps of the town and unfolded it. East Richards Avenue was out on its own near the southern tip of the town. Three miles from here, according to the scale. He memorized the directions and replaced the map.

  Then he left the library and went back for his vehicle.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Bannings Automotive was a flat-roofed, prefabricated steel building and the last structure before East Richards Avenue came to a natural end. There was a narrow dirt track that continued left, but past that it was just sagebrush, cacti and fenced-off desert until you got to the mountains far off in the distance. On the other side of the road was a fenced playground with a hoop at each end. A couple of kids were dribbling a ball around without much enthusiasm as they watched Bishop’s car make a U-turn and come back.

  Bishop parked the Chevy on the side of the road and got out. He walked towards Bannings and saw a single door entrance for customers on the far left, next to a small window. Further down were three large, shuttered entrances from which the sounds of engines, drills and hydraulic machinery could be heard.

  Since the closest neighbour was a flat, windowless building Bishop had passed fifty yards back, he figured they probably didn’t get too many complaints about the noise.

  He peered into the first shuttered entrance. There was a pick-up on a lift. A guy in dark blue overalls stood underneath, using a drill on something on the underside. He wore a moustache and looked Hispanic. Bishop felt sure Gloria would have mentioned that so he tried the next one. This had another car on a lift – an old BMW this time – but at ground level. One mechanic was in the driving seat, fiddling with something under the steering wheel. Bishop could see he was too skinny to be the one. Another guy was leaning over the engine, shining a pencil light at something. Bishop stepped inside for a better look.

  The man saw Bishop’s shadow and raised himself up. He was in his early twenties and had the right height and build, but Bishop immediately discounted him. Gloria had said the man he was after was good-looking, and this guy most definitely did not qualify. He had a large, bulbous nose and there was a lopsided quality to his features that was hard to ignore.

  ‘Help you with something?’ he asked.

  ‘No thanks,’ Bishop said and moved on. The third area had a lift, but was otherwise empty. Bishop could see through to the rest of the garage inside. It was a vast open space, half of which was taken up by stacks of old tyres. Hundreds of them all over the place. Numerous vehicles lay in various states of repair and Bishop could hear a loud radio playing some kind of death metal over the machinery noises. He began to walk in that direction.

  ‘Where you going, mister?’

  Bishop stopped and turned. The
same man was glaring at him from the entrance, fists against his hips.

  ‘Inside,’ Bishop said. ‘I’m looking for somebody who works here.’

  ‘I work here.’

  ‘You’re not the one I want to talk to.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? What’s the matter, don’t you like my face or something?’

  Bishop raised an eyebrow. ‘No comment.’

  The man’s eyes grew smaller and he pointed at a sign attached to the wall that read Employees only past this point. ‘See that? It means you better come back here. Right now.’

  ‘What, before you turn ugly?’

  The man took a step forward and said, ‘Shit, you looking to get your ass kicked, is that it? ’Cause I’m the man for that.’

  Bishop sighed and turned away, carrying on past the lift and into the garage’s main work area.

  The lighting in here wasn’t great, but Bishop could see well enough. He was watching the ground. Specifically the shadows. When he saw a long shape extend from the shadow following him, Bishop swivelled and grabbed the hand just about to land on his shoulder. With his other hand, Bishop gripped the man’s index finger and pushed it back as far as it would go, stopping just before the bone was due to snap. The man grunted and quickly fell to one knee to stop it going any further.

  ‘We don’t have to do this,’ Bishop said, keeping the pressure on while the man clamped his lips shut. ‘A broken finger’s no good to a man who works with his hands, and I doubt you get medical coverage in this place. So why don’t you just go back to what you were doing and forget we ever met? How’s that sound?’

  ‘Good,’ the man said with gritted teeth.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Bishop and let go. He watched as the man gripped his finger and got to his feet. Then he turned and walked back to the BMW. His skinny partner who’d been watching the proceedings quickly darted back inside the car before he was noticed.

  Bishop turned back. Everybody else was still working. Nobody had been watching. The loud radio probably helped, although part of him wondered how anybody could work with that racket going on. Doesn’t anybody write actual songs any more? Bishop saw a pair of legs sticking out from underneath a Chrysler. He nudged the guy’s foot with his toe and waited as the mechanic rolled himself out and squinted at Bishop. He was about Bishop’s height and had long curly hair down past his shoulders.

  ‘Forget it,’ Bishop said. ‘My mistake.’

  The guy frowned, then shrugged and rolled back under the vehicle.

  Bishop walked between more vehicles until he reached a Chevy pick-up with its hood removed. A man in overalls was leaning in with his arms wide apart and his back to Bishop. His head moved in time to the noise blasting from the radio on a table a few feet away. He was about five-nine. Stocky and well built. His hair was clearly shaved at the back and sides.

  Bishop walked over and faced him from across the engine. The man looked up and frowned. Bishop studied him quickly. Mid-twenties. Straight nose, piercing eyes, symmetrical features. Everything in its place. He guessed it was a good-looking face. Anyway, this had to be the guy. He was the only one left.

  Bishop walked over and pulled the plug on the radio. The garage went blissfully quiet for a moment. Then the sounds of tools and revving engines filled the air again.

  ‘What the hell you think you’re doing?’ the man said.

  ‘Couldn’t hear myself think,’ Bishop said. ‘You and I need to have a talk.’

  The man snorted and said, ‘Yeah, right.’ He began moving towards the radio. ‘Whoever you are, you better get on out of here before I throw you out.’

  ‘I have already had this conversation with Waxworks back there,’ Bishop said. ‘And I really wouldn’t touch that plug.’

  The man halted. Looked over at his less attractive buddy, who was back working on the BMW. Then at Bishop. ‘What is this? Who are you, anyway?’

  ‘Just somebody who wants some answers.’

  The mechanic scratched his forearm. ‘Look, what’s this about? You a cop?’

  ‘Why? Were you expecting one to show up?’

  The man’s eyes seemed to look in every direction but Bishop’s. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘And I think you do.’ Bishop had already noticed another shuttered door at the side of the building, raised halfway. He pointed to it and said, ‘Through there. You first. Let’s go.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  Once outside, Bishop saw they were in a large, enclosed yard with wire fencing all around, concealed from the road thanks to two rows of old oxyacetylene cylinders lined up against one side. Bishop also saw two manual gas pumps next to the building that looked like they’d been around since the fifties, but the strong smell of fuel out here indicated they were still in working order. Also scattered around were wheel dollies, towing equipment, car ramps, manual forklifts and various other pieces of garage equipment.

  As the guy fiddled with a pack of Juicy Fruit, Bishop looked up and noticed a small security camera attached to the roof antennae, aimed towards the front of the building. He turned back to the mechanic and said, ‘You can start with your name.’

  The guy stuck a stick of gum in his mouth and said, ‘Gary Hewitt. You gonna tell me yours?’

  ‘Mine doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Well, if you’re a cop, you gotta show me some ID.’

  ‘I’m just a private citizen, which means I don’t have to show you anything.’

  Hewitt’s brows came together. ‘So what’s this all about?’

  ‘It’s about a waitress at Tod’s who’s gone missing. You know who I’m talking about.’

  Hewitt looked at the ground and began carefully folding the gum wrapper into a small square. After a while he said, quietly, ‘Selina.’

  ‘Correct answer. Now tell me what you did with her.’

  Hewitt looked up. ‘Did with her? I don’t get you.’

  ‘No?’ Bishop moved a step closer. ‘Well, maybe you can get this. I talked to people who can place you at Tod’s diner for every day she worked there, always sitting in her section and talking to her every chance you got.’ Bishop was only guessing at that part, but it was educated guesswork. ‘And then a month ago, on May 16, she doesn’t show up at the diner and neither do you. And nobody’s seen her since. Now from where I’m standing, that kind of puts you in a bad spot.’

  Hewitt looked at the ground again and began unwrapping another stick of gum. Bishop noticed his hands weren’t entirely steady.

  The death metal started up again inside. Bishop said, ‘I also notice you don’t act too surprised when I say she’s been missing all this time. Which means you know why.’

  ‘Look, I didn’t do anything to her, man. That’s the truth.’

  ‘Convince me. Take me through it. You showed up at the diner with some of these guys one lunchtime, right? And once you laid eyes on her, what was it, lust at first sight?’

  ‘At first, sure. But once I got talking to her I realized she was real nice with it, and I ain’t met too many women like that recently. Not with looks and personality.’

  ‘Sure. So what then? You kept asking her for a date and she kept turning you down, right?’

  Hewitt stopped chewing. ‘Huh? What makes you say that?’

  ‘You kept going back. If she’d said yes at any point, you wouldn’t have bothered. So what’d you do next? Start following her home when she quit work?’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘Because you sound like the type who can’t take no for an answer. You probably don’t get turned down by women too much, so you’d want to know why this one was different. I recognize the obsessive type.’

  Hewitt snorted. ‘Hey, I’m no stalker. That ain’t my scene at all.’

  ‘No? So what did you do?’

  ‘Nothing. Just parked outside her place a few nights to see what the wind blew in.’

  Bishop watched him shrug, as though that kind of passive surveillance might not really count as stalki
ng. But Bishop didn’t care about that. He’d had a feeling all along Hewitt knew more than he was telling and this sounded like the inroad he’d been waiting for.

  ‘And you saw something,’ he said.

  ‘Hey, Selina wasn’t seeing anybody, okay? I was just—’

  ‘I know she wasn’t,’ Bishop said. ‘That’s not what I meant. You were there on the night of the 15th, or the morning of the 16th. I want to know what you saw.’

  Hewitt rubbed at the stubble on his cheeks and glanced inside quickly before turning back. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘but the whole thing was kinda weird.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Bishop leaned against one of the fuel pumps and folded his arms. ‘I’m listening,’ he said.

  Hewitt sighed. ‘Well, I was at the rear parking bay where I could just about make out the door to No. 40 on the second floor. I’d parked there the two previous nights, and usually gave up around eleven and went home. But this time I must have been real tired, ’cause the next thing I know I’m hearing footsteps outside and my head’s resting up against the window. I look at the dashboard clock and see it’s two fifty in the morning.

  ‘I was still half asleep, but I raised my head and noticed this ambulance parked on the other side of the lot. But the lights weren’t on or anything. The back door was open and two paramedics were carrying this stretcher inside. And it sure looked to me like there was somebody on it.’

  ‘You couldn’t make out any details?’

  ‘I got tinted windows and it was pretty cloudy that night. And I was still groggy. I didn’t really think anything of it, you know? There’s plenty of old timers at that Heritage place, so I just figured one of them croaked that night. That would explain why there weren’t no flashing lights. No big deal. So I just sat there and waited for them to go.’

  Bishop watched Hewitt unwrap a third stick of gum and place it in his mouth. ‘Then what?’

  ‘Well, one guy stayed in back. The other one got in the driver’s seat and shut the door real quiet. Then it was just more waiting while I tried to stay awake. Mostly I just wanted to get home, but I didn’t want anyone seeing me there. I thought they’d drive off or something, but the ambulance just stayed put. After about a minute, it occurred to me to check Selina’s door and that’s when I saw a third guy come out and lock the door behind him.’