Back Track

by Jason Dean

  ‘Another paramedic?’

  ‘I guess. He was carrying a small bag and wearing the same clothes as the other two.’

  ‘Which were what?’

  ‘Black pants and light, short-sleeved shirt with those badges on the shoulders. Like you see on TV. Anyway, he came back down, got in the passenger side and then they just pulled out and slowly drove off. That’s all I saw.’

  ‘Not quite,’ Bishop said. ‘Tell me about the ambulance.’

  Hewitt thought for a moment. ‘Well, it looked like a white Ford E350. Maybe a F350. You know, the kind that looks like a box with a cab stuck on front? Type I or Type III, they call them. The same models most hospitals use.’

  ‘Any markings?’

  ‘Uh, yeah. Two horizontal stripes across the body and cab that ended in a jagged M shape, like the heartbeat on an ECG. Don’t ask what colour, everything’s grey at that time of night. And if there was the name of a hospital on the side, I sure didn’t see it.’

  ‘Licence plates?’

  ‘From that distance, in the dark? Forget it.’

  ‘You didn’t notice anything else?’

  Hewitt scrunched his brow as he chewed. ‘Well, when it pulled away, I looked at the rear doors and saw the stripes and that heartbeat squiggle again, but it was different. It didn’t look like an M any more, you know? Like maybe they’d pasted it on upside down by mistake.’

  ‘Okay,’ Bishop said. ‘So what then? You just went home and forgot all about it?’

  ‘Hey, what you take me for, man? I checked the next day, okay? I called the nearest hospitals and asked if they brought in a Selina Clements the night before, except nobody knew what the hell I was talking about. I tried, man. What else was I supposed to do?’

  Bishop shook his head. ‘You saw an otherwise totally healthy young woman being placed in an ambulance in the middle of the night, which then drove off with no sense of urgency whatsoever, and didn’t feel that warranted a call to the cops?’

  Hewitt made a harsh sound through his nose. ‘That’d go down real well, wouldn’t it? And when they ask me what I’m doing in the parking area at three in the morning, what do I tell them? That I’m just checking that the girl I seen in the diner is sleeping okay? I don’t need that kind of rep, man.’

  ‘You could have made an anonymous call.’

  ‘Nothing’s anonymous in this town. It would have come back to me.’

  Bishop doubted it, but saw little use arguing the point. Besides, what was done was done. All that mattered now was to move on with this new information.

  But at least it meant Selina was still out there somewhere. Waiting to be found. She had to be. This had been a professional job by people who’d done it before. And it wouldn’t be to snuff her out. They’d taken her for a specific reason. The ambulance and paramedic cover was a neat touch, too. Just in case they ever got stopped. It could even be real, although he thought it unlikely. Paramedics worked in twos, not threes. That was something he’d have to check next. But he still had a couple more questions.

  ‘Tell me what you remember about the men, what they looked like, anything that sticks in your mind.’

  ‘Well, it was dark like I told you. The first two I couldn’t even tell you if they were fat or thin. I was still trying to keep my eyes open.’

  ‘But you got a good look at the last guy, right?’

  ‘Well, he was big. About your height, maybe taller. And thickset. Wore a small beard like this.’ Hewitt used a finger and thumb to make a circle around his mouth and chin.

  ‘A goatee,’ Bishop said. ‘Was his hair long or short?’

  ‘Short. It didn’t look like he had much left on top, but I can’t be sure.’ Hewitt showed Bishop his palms. ‘That’s everything, man, I swear. Now I gotta get back to work before the boss notices I’m missing.’

  ‘One more thing,’ Bishop said.

  Hewitt turned back. ‘What?’

  ‘Which hospitals did you call?’

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Bishop drove back into town and slowed when he saw a Mail Boxes Etc. The dashboard clock said it was 17.07, and he figured most places would be closing up fairly soon. He found a spot and parked, then went back and entered the store. As he’d expected, it was one of the smaller branches. But big enough for what he was after. In addition to the mail boxes, packaging supplies, mailing accessories, printers and copying machines, he also saw a passport photo booth over in the far corner.

  Ten minutes later, he emerged with his purchases. Then he got into his car, started the engine and pulled out into the light traffic.

  Hewitt had given him the names of the three closest hospitals. One of them, Saracen Medical Center, was on the west side of town. Bishop didn’t need the map. He’d already seen it once before when he’d made his initial recon of the area. Instead, as he drove though the residential streets, he thought about what he’d learned so far and wondered if it was enough. He knew he was doing all he could. Following every lead and moving from one step to the next. Keeping the momentum going. But it still rankled that he’d discovered Selina’s disappearance so late. He knew every day not spent searching for her was a day wasted. And it was coming up to a full month now. That wasn’t just a cold trail. It was freezing.

  But he wouldn’t quit. He couldn’t.

  He drove on. The houses became more scarce the further out he got, and in their place he saw various business premises, a couple of used car lots, a number of storage companies and a large industrial park full of warehouses. He took a left when he saw the turnoff he’d been looking for and drove on for another mile. Saracen Medical Center was at the end.

  Three low buildings of varying sizes made up the centre, each with its own large parking area. He drove past the main building and followed the signs for Emergencies. They finally guided him to the third building. There was a large sign out front with EMERGENCY in dark red letters. He drove on round the back and saw a covered rear entrance for the emergency vehicles. There were two ambulances already parked in nearby spaces.

  Bishop parked, got out and walked over. Even from a distance he could see the vehicles didn’t fit Hewitt’s description. They were the right colour, but that was all. These ambulances looked like cargo vans with slightly raised roofs. No stripes on the sides, either. Just blue and yellow checkers running along the bottom and the name of the hospital in big letters on the rear doors.

  He turned and walked back to his car. He hadn’t really expected to hit paydirt so close to the scene of the crime, but he had to check anyway. On to the next.

  The driver of the Ford Fusion stayed in the main car park with the engine running. She knew the Impala would return. There was only the one road in and out. It was just a matter of waiting, that’s all. And she was good at that. In her line of work, you had to be.

  And here it came now. She caught a glimpse of this Bishop behind the wheel, looking straight ahead with that same focused expression she’d seen before. It was a look that told her he wasn’t the type to give up once he started out on something. That was something to think about. She might have to take some action soon.

  She let the Impala pass by and just sat there for a few more moments. There was no rush. She’d already planted the low-frequency tracker under his vehicle back at the auto repair place, so she had some breathing space. You couldn’t get away with shadowing somebody in this state without them noticing sooner rather than later. Not unless you had an edge.

  The Impala had already disappeared from view. She counted to twenty to make sure, then pulled out of the parking area and drove off in the same direction.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Bishop got back onto Saracen Road and when it joined Highway 60 turned right, back the way he’d come.

  It was almost dusk by this time and in his rear-view Bishop could see the sky start to turn orange. Out of habit, he once again took note of the buildings as they whipped by. There weren’t many. Another business park with a smattering of large warehouses. Some
ranches here and there, both private and for tourists. A dilapidated old aircraft hangar in the distance. The abandoned remains of a roadside motel with a decrepit arrow-shaped sign out front. The ever-present RV resorts and trailer parks with those great names, like Sunrise Paradise and Eden Park. Then it was just desert. And the road.

  After twenty-eight miles, he passed through Aguila and then took the turn onto State Route 71. After another fourteen miles of that he joined the US 93 and headed north-west. Soon after, he left the highway and followed the signs that pointed him to the town of Garrick.

  He stopped at the first gas station he saw and went inside. There was a selection of road maps near the till and he took one for Garrick, handed the proprietor a ten and said, ‘Do you know where the medical centre is?’

  ‘Sure do,’ she said as she gave him his change. ‘Want me to mark it for you?’

  ‘That’d be great.’

  She smiled, unfolded the map and used a pen to draw a cross on the east side. ‘Right there on East Clifford Avenue. It takes up the whole road, so you can’t miss it.’

  ‘I won’t,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’

  It took him less than five minutes to find it. The town of Garrick was about half the size of Saracen, but the hospital more than made up for it. It took up several acres and was made up of five connected buildings, each with its own parking area. The main building was four storeys high. The rest were the usual two. Bishop checked all the front entrances and didn’t see a single ambulance. Finally, he followed the sign that pointed him to Emergencies.

  It was almost dark now and Bishop switched his headlights on. He followed the service road round and parked in the most remote lot. After deactivating the ceiling light, he opened the door and got out. He walked the rest of the way down the road, then through an open entranceway towards the rear of the main building.

  He was in a service area illuminated by spotlights, semi-sheltered by an eight-foot high brick wall running round it. Bishop saw a covered entrance to his left with sliding access doors similar to the ones at Saracen. No doubt electronically operated via infrared sensors at the top of the doors. They usually were. There was a call button in the wall to the side.

  Adjacent to the doors, jutting out like an afterthought, was a solitary, one-storey utility structure with no windows and a single metal door. There was a dark passageway separating it from the hospital. Beyond that, facing him, was a continuation of the main building with a raised area for deliveries. He saw several shuttered doors, an ice machine, a row of seats and a small table outside. There was also a large, unoccupied mobile unit parked in the corner with Give blood – the gift of life written on the side.

  But no ambulances.

  Bishop went back to his car, got in and saw it was 18.58. One would turn up soon, he was sure. The odds were with him. There was always an emergency somewhere. He moved the car so it was facing the way he’d come, sat back in his seat and got as comfortable as he could. Then he just stared out the windshield, watching everything that moved.

  A minute later, he saw a car pull into the next parking lot ahead. Some Ford or other. It looked vaguely familiar, but then there were plenty of Fords around. He soon lost sight of it behind some other parked vehicles.

  He slowed his breathing and waited.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  At 20.52, Bishop saw flashing red and white lights in the distance, coming his way. There was no siren. The ambulance followed his route down the service road, took the curve and passed in front of him. Bishop had enough time to take note of the box shape and horizontal lines on the side as it sped by, then it disappeared through the entranceway.

  Bishop got out and ran over, staying out of sight behind the wall. The ambulance was backing up to the emergency doors, where a male nurse in scrubs waited, clipboard in hand. The lights above the entrance gave Bishop a clearer view of the vehicle. It was definitely a type I or III. That box shape was unmistakable. It was white and had two horizontal stripes that ended in a jagged heartbeat graphic. It almost looked like an M.

  The vehicle stopped and the nurse pulled the rear doors open and helped the paramedic in the back lower the patient and gurney to the ground. The paramedic went back for an oxygen canister and held a mask to the patient’s face. Bishop noticed he was wearing the same kind of clothes Hewitt had described: dark pants and white short-sleeved shirt with badges on the shoulders. Then they both rolled him or her through the doors and into the building. Bishop instinctively started counting. Ten seconds later the automatic doors began to close.

  Same kind of clothes. Same kind of ambulance. That wasn’t coincidence. But he still needed to investigate further.

  Next step was to get inside. Problem was, you couldn’t just walk into a hospital and nose around like in the old days. Everybody wore identification now. Even visitors. Besides, visiting hours at most hospitals ended at 20.00, and entering that way wouldn’t allow him the freedom of movement he needed. Which left just one option.

  Bishop turned his attention to the driver. He was still sitting in the ambulance, writing something down and checking his watch. Then he yawned, opened the door and stretched as he got out. He ambled over to the raised area, jumped up and took one of the seats. He pulled something from his shirt pocket, stuck it in his mouth and lit it. Then he took his cell phone from another pocket and started pressing buttons with one hand as he smoked.

  Bishop stayed by the wall and calculated the distance to the ambulance. About forty feet, more or less. The driver was still playing with his phone. Bishop moved to the left until the ambulance shielded him from view. Then he took a deep breath and sprinted towards it.

  Three seconds later he came to a stop next to the rear cabin, breathing deeply through his nose. He checked the back. The stripes continued along the rear doors and there was the same heartbeat graphic, only smaller. It still looked like an M. Which meant this couldn’t have been the ambulance Hewitt had seen. But right now it could still prove useful.

  Bishop sidled over to the passenger side door and glanced through the window. The driver hadn’t moved. But Bishop was more interested in the vehicle’s interior. There was a dark windbreaker in an untidy heap on the passenger seat. Bishop had never looked a gift horse in the mouth, and he wasn’t about to start now. He wanted that jacket.

  He crouched down and grabbed the door handle. He took one last look at the driver, then opened the door a couple of inches. Not wide enough to activate the interior light. He reached in, pulled the jacket through the gap and gently closed the door again.

  Bishop quickly went through the pockets. There was a wallet in one and he opened it up. Credit cards. Some cash. Driver’s licence. The usual. But not what he wanted. He put it back and tried another pocket. He felt something plastic and brought it out.

  It was the guy’s hospital ID.

  The laminated kind, with a mylar strip and alligator clip attached to it. At the top of the card was the name of the hospital. On the left, an illustration of the caduceus – the winged staff entwined by two serpents from Greek mythology. On the right, a head shot. In the centre it listed the owner’s name as Albert Williamson, gave the date of issue and his ID number. Then a thin barcode at the bottom. On the back was a list of the hospital’s alert codes, specified by different colours.

  Perfect.

  After another glance at the driver, Bishop opened the door and dropped the jacket on the seat. Chances were he wouldn’t notice the ID was missing for some time yet. And even then he’d figure he’d simply dropped it somewhere and go get a replacement. No big deal.

  Remembering that shadowy passageway he’d seen earlier, Bishop went to the rear of the ambulance and took another look. It was about twenty feet from the emergency doors. Good enough. Since the utility building concealed him from the driver, he walked over and entered the passage a little way until the deep shadows enveloped him entirely.

  He leaned against the wall and watched the sliding doors. For the next few minutes, other th
an breathing, Bishop barely moved at all. Then he saw movement to his left. In the reflection from the driver’s side window, he saw Williamson walking back to the vehicle. The driver then leaned with his back against the door and continued doing things on his cell. He yawned again. Bishop guessed he was at the tail end of a long shift.

  Bishop watched him for a while, then moved his eyes at the sound of the emergency doors opening. He saw the second paramedic exit with the gurney and knew he now had ten seconds before the doors closed. And he could cover the distance in less than three.

  He saw Williamson look at his partner and put his cell in his pocket. Without saying anything, he turned, opened his door and got behind the wheel.

  Two seconds had passed. At three, the second man hefted the now empty stretcher into the rear cabin and slid it forward.

  At the five-second mark, the paramedic stepped up into the ambulance and turned to reach for both doors.

  At six, he pulled them both closed.

  Bishop sprinted for the open doorway, hoping Al the driver wasn’t looking in his wing mirror.

  He reached the entrance in less than three seconds and darted through the opening and slammed against the wall opposite. Then he heard a faint hum and the glass doors began to close.

  He’d made it. Question was, had he been spotted?

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  He turned and saw the ambulance doors were still shut. Nobody was investigating. They hadn’t seen him. He watched the rear tail lights come on and then the ambulance slowly pulled away to the right.

  One obstacle over with, he thought. Now, on to the next.