Back Track

by Jason Dean

  ‘Well, the one I’m staying at isn’t too bad, and there seem to be plenty of vacancies. It’s just a couple of miles outside of town on Route 60.’

  Bishop frowned at her. ‘You’re at a motel? I had you down as a local.’

  ‘How’d you figure that?’

  ‘You seem to know your way around this place pretty well. And in the dark, too.’ When she didn’t respond, he said, ‘But a motel outside of town sounds perfect right now.’

  She snorted. ‘Yeah, I expect it does. You could definitely do with a shower. Have you seen yourself?’

  Bishop swivelled the rear-view round and a stranger stared back at him. One with a black and white face. The soot stains started halfway up his nose and continued up into his hairline, while the part of his face that had been covered by the bandana was practically unmarked. He looked down at himself and saw that his previously white shirt was also dark with soot and torn in several places. And he reeked of smoke. Yeah, a shower might be a good idea at that.

  ‘So was it you who called in the cavalry?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah. Took me a while to find you, but once I spotted the smoke I just followed that and figured you’d be at the end of it. I spent a long time trying to find a way in, but after realizing it was completely impossible I dialled 911. Man, that place was locked up tight. I was round the other side when I heard the explosions and figured that was you making your escape. How’d you get out in the end?’

  Bishop told her about the old fuel pumps at the side of the building, then said, ‘Why were you looking for me?’

  ‘I’m your guardian angel, aren’t I?’

  ‘I don’t believe in guardian angels, Vallejo.’ He watched her for a moment. ‘I like the way you get round my questions without actually answering them. Is that a special skill you learned somewhere or is it an inherent thing?’

  ‘A little of both, probably.’

  ‘So how long you been keeping tabs on me? Since the diner?’

  ‘Uh huh.’ Vallejo came to an intersection, stopped and looked both ways. Bishop remembered the map from the library. The next intersection up ahead would put them on Saracen Road. But instead, Vallejo finally switched on her lights and turned right on Christchurch. Bishop had yet to see another moving vehicle on the streets.

  ‘What’d you do? Place a tracer under my car?’

  She nodded as she drove. ‘At Bannings’ place. I waited in my car and watched you talk with that waitress, then followed you from there to the library, and then to the garage. I saw how you got into that medical centre in Garrick, by the way. Have you ever tried doing anything the easy way? You know, without breaking the law?’

  Bishop shrugged. ‘Laws are useful, but sometimes they can slow things down. Speaking of which, most concerned citizens would have suggested dropping me at the police station by now. That’d be the next logical step for somebody in my position.’

  ‘You want me to take you there now?’

  Bishop looked out the window. ‘Not really. I don’t have much faith in the police solving my problems.’

  Vallejo took a left, then drove up to the Saracen Road intersection and waited. They’d passed by the main section of town now and were still the only car on the streets. She pulled out and kept on in a northerly direction. ‘Why’s that?’ she asked in a light tone.

  ‘I had some bad experiences with them a while back. And the few I’ve met since haven’t altered my opinion of them. I find the less we have to do with each other, the happier I am.’

  ‘In that case,’ Vallejo said, ‘we might have problems.’

  THIRTY-THREE

  Bishop slowly turned to look at her. All of a sudden he was glad he’d taken the trouble to hide the hard drive. ‘Am I under arrest?’ he asked.

  She gave a smile. ‘Why, you kill anybody recently?’

  ‘Not recently, no.’

  Vallejo glanced at him briefly before turning her attention back to the road. ‘I wish I could tell whether you’re joking or not. Still, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t you who started that fire back there and that’s all I care about at the moment.’

  ‘That’s a load off my mind. So who the hell are you?’

  ‘Well, if you want my full title, it’s Officer Clarissa Vallejo, but I couldn’t arrest you even if I wanted to. You’re completely out of my jurisdiction for a start.’

  ‘Which is where?’

  ‘A place called Corvallis, in Oregon.’

  ‘I’ve heard of it. So what’s the other reason? You get pulled off active duty or something?’

  Vallejo was silent as they came up to the turnoff for Route 60. She turned left and said, ‘Suspended.’

  ‘Suspended, huh? Why, you kill somebody?’

  ‘Touché. Why don’t we wait until we get to the motel, and then we’ll talk some more. Unless you want to crash first, that is.’

  ‘I think I can stay awake a while longer,’ he said and turned his attention to the road ahead. Beyond the headlights all he could see was darkness. He found the melody from that old song ‘What a Difference a Day Makes’ running through his head. A guy he’d interviewed this afternoon gets murdered a few hours later. And Bishop would have been all set to join him, but for those fuel pumps outside. But the fact that somebody wanted him dead meant he was getting somewhere, and in less time than he could have imagined. It was a shame poor Hewitt had to pay the price, but Bishop could hardly be blamed for that.

  And now this cop. He wondered just what Vallejo’s interest in him was. And if she already knew his name, how much more did she know? He generally liked to keep as low a profile as possible, but a little research would have unearthed his recent past easily enough. Nobody was safe from the internet these days. Bishop certainly wasn’t.

  ‘That’s it up ahead,’ Vallejo said.

  Bishop had already spotted the tall sign in the distance, all lit up. As they got closer he could make out the name, Amber Motel, laid out in a hand-drawn typeface.

  Vallejo pulled in to the court and stopped the car just past the office. She turned to him and shook her head. ‘Bishop, you do look a sight. Maybe I should sign you in, huh?’

  ‘Good idea. How much are the rooms?’

  ‘Forty-five dollars a night.’

  He pulled two crumpled twenties and a five from his pocket and handed them over. She got out and he turned in his seat to see her press the buzzer. After about thirty seconds, the office lights came on and a young Asian guy came and unlocked the door. Bishop turned back and studied the layout of the place. It looked like a throwback to the 1950s. Besides the front office, he counted about twenty rooms laid out to form three sides of a square. Parking spaces in front of the rooms. In the middle of it all was an enclosed pool with two large palm trees at each end. The only other vehicle was an old Lincoln parked next to the office.

  Soon, the driver’s door opened and Vallejo got back in. She handed him a key with a large 8 on the fob and said, ‘If anybody asks, you’re Raymond Vallejo, my stepbrother.’

  ‘Whatever you say, sis.’

  ‘And don’t call me “sis”.’

  She drove to the far corner of the square and parked in front of his room. They both got out and he saw her approach the door to No. 7.

  ‘Come by when you’re ready,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave the door unlocked.’

  As Bishop dried himself off he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked presentable again, even if he felt dead on his feet. He gazed at the ancient pink scar on his shoulder. Jenna had once said it looked like the outline of a gecko lizard sitting there, waiting to pounce, although Bishop had never been able to see it. But now he could finally make out the basic shape, distorted though it was. Like one of the Magic Eye pictures where the image is right there in front of you all the time. You just need to look.

  Ditching the ruined shirt, Bishop donned the rest of his clothes and knocked twice on Vallejo’s door. When he heard a voice say ‘Come in’ he entered a room that was the same as his, but
in reverse. Tiled floors, double bed, TV, fridge. A table and two chairs by the window. Bathroom at the rear. Like seventy-five per cent of motel rooms everywhere. Vallejo was sitting on the bed with her back propped up by two pillows, watching him as she sipped from a glass tumbler. The TV was tuned into some wildlife programme, but with the sound muted.

  ‘Well, you look human again,’ Vallejo said. ‘You want something to drink? I got white wine, Diet Cokes or water in the fridge. Take your pick.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Bishop got up, opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a half-full bottle of Santa Margherita. He took a tumbler from the top of the TV, poured some of the wine into it and took it back to one of the chairs. He sat down, took a swallow and said, ‘You know, I could throw more questions at you, but I think it would save us both a lot of time and effort if you just told me what you’re doing here.’

  Vallejo leaned back until her head touched the wall. ‘I’m here for the same reason as you, Bishop. Searching for a missing woman.’

  ‘But not the same woman.’

  ‘No, not the same. But similar.’ She smiled. ‘You’d be surprised.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Samantha Mathison.’

  ‘Mathison,’ he said. ‘So she’s not a relative?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And how long has she been gone?’

  Vallejo sighed. ‘Almost three months now.’

  ‘That’s a long time.’

  ‘You think I don’t know that?’ She finished off her wine and made a face. ‘I can count, too. You think I don’t wake up every morning wondering what the hell I’m doing here when Sam could already be . . .?’

  Vallejo closed her eyes and banged her head lightly against the wall. Getting control of herself again. She got off the bed, walked over to the fridge and took out the wine bottle.

  Bishop watched her, thinking. Quietly, he said, ‘This Samantha sounds like more than just a friend.’

  ‘That obvious, huh?’ Vallejo took her refilled glass back to the bed. ‘And thanks for using the present tense. Yeah, Sam’s a lot more than a friend to me. That surprise you?’

  ‘Nothing surprises me.’ Bishop shrugged. ‘We are who we are.’

  Vallejo raised her glass to him. ‘That’s a great philosophy to have. I just wish more people shared your view.’

  ‘I thought Corvallis was a college town. Aren’t kids pretty open-minded about that kind of thing these days?’

  ‘Not if you’re a cop with an image to protect. People expect you to act in a certain way. Anything less is considered a weakness, and you know how kids love to jump on weaknesses. My fellow officers aren’t much different. They all tend to see things in black and white, especially when it comes to women. All of which means I’ve learned it’s safer to be circumspect about my private life. You’d probably be the same in my position.’

  Since Bishop had never much cared what people thought of him, he doubted it. But he let it slide and said, ‘So tell me why you’re out here on your own, when you could be running things through official channels with the full weight of the law behind you.’

  Vallejo looked at him. ‘Because everyone else believes Samantha died three months ago, in the same fire that killed the rest of her family.’

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Bishop sat back in the chair and said, ‘I think you’d better start at the beginning. How long have you known Samantha?’

  Vallejo drank some more wine and said, ‘I first met her two years ago. My partner and I were assigned to check out complaints of a suspicious character lurking around one of the wealthier neighbourhoods. My partner checked the area while I went in to get a description from the resident who called it in. That was Samantha.’ She shrugged. ‘What can I say? I liked her and I could tell she liked me, even though she was married with a kid.’

  ‘And things progressed between you two from that point on.’

  ‘Right. But on the quiet. She was only twenty-four and wasn’t ready to leave her husband just yet and I loved being a cop. And of course, she absolutely adored her boy, Mark. Neither of us wanted to screw things up, so we just enjoyed our time together for what it was. And we always made sure to stay clear of Corvallis for our liaisons.’

  ‘Okay. So fast forward to three months ago.’

  Vallejo gazed at the moving pictures on the TV and rubbed her eyes. ‘It was March 17. About three in the morning. We were on the other side of town when we heard it on the scanner. A 911 call reporting a house fire on Samantha’s street. I remember telling my partner we should get over there to help with crowd control, but by the time we arrived it was all over. There was almost nothing left. Just a black, smoking husk of a building where Sam’s house used to be. Tell the truth, I can’t remember much else of that night. I must have been on autopilot or something.’ She closed her eyes. ‘God.’

  Bishop gave her a few seconds, then said, ‘How many died in the fire?’

  ‘Three. They found the burnt remains of a man, woman and child upstairs, all in the same room. And before you ask, the medical examiner identified all three as the Mathisons.’

  ‘But you don’t believe that.’

  ‘Well, I can’t comment on the husband as I never met him, and little Mark was usually out at kindergarten. But I know for a fact the third victim wasn’t Samantha.’

  ‘Tell me how,’ he said.

  ‘Well, you know how we usually identify fire victims when they’re too badly burnt for normal identification.’

  ‘Usually from dental records.’

  ‘Right. So I saw the photos the medical examiner made of her teeth, okay? And they weren’t Sam’s. I knew them like my own, believe me, and if she had a gap between her front upper incisors before that night I would have noticed. Yet there it was, in black and white. A little gap about a millimetre wide. Not only that, but it seemed she’d grown three new wisdom teeth overnight.’

  ‘You’re saying Samantha had three of her wisdom teeth extracted?’

  ‘Either that or they never erupted. The two upper ones were missing and so was the lower one on the left side. Yet the female corpse had all four of hers still in place.’

  Bishop rubbed a palm over his scalp. ‘And you’re absolutely sure Sam was missing those three?’

  ‘Well, we both enjoyed kissing, you know what I mean?’

  ‘Fair enough. So I take it they checked against the family’s dental records and found a perfect match against all three?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Vallejo brought her eyebrows together. ‘You don’t sound surprised.’

  ‘Let’s just say I’ve had some first-hand experience at this kind of thing. So did you tell your captain about it?’

  ‘How could I? Nobody even knew Samantha and I were friends, let alone lovers. I brought up that gap in the front teeth, saying it wasn’t there when I went to her house two years before, but he just said she must have been wearing caps that melted in the fire.’

  ‘What about the fire? Did the investigators determine the cause?’

  ‘Accidental, if you can believe that. They traced it all back to some faulty wiring on the refrigerator. Said it could easily have sparked off late at night and just spread through the house in no time. Apparently it’s one of the most common causes for house fires every year.’

  ‘So at that point you decided to follow things up on your own.’

  ‘Well, I had to. Nobody else was gonna do anything about it. Besides, I knew how weird it sounded. Once you accepted the basic premise that it wasn’t Sam, you had to accept the fact that somebody had gone into her bedroom in the middle of the night, killed the husband and son, replaced Sam with a freshly prepared corpse and then set the place alight before taking off. And it had to be more than one person. Maybe two or three. That kind of thing just doesn’t happen in places like Corvallis. Or most other places, to be honest.’

  Bishop looked down at his glass, rotating it slowly between finger and thumb. He was thinking of the similarities between his missin
g person and Vallejo’s. Especially the time of the disappearance. 03.00 or thereabouts. Similar MO, except in this case the kidnappers were willing to sacrifice a father and his son to get what they wanted. Either chloroformed or smothered them while they were asleep. And both women were about the same age, early to mid-twenties. Both beautiful, too. Some coincidence. If you believed in that kind of thing.

  He said, ‘Somebody saw an ambulance outside the house that night, didn’t they?’

  Vallejo stared at him, a small upturn at the corner of her mouth. ‘How’d you guess?’

  ‘You’re here, aren’t you? And I imagine the witness was somebody not too reliable, or your fellow officers would have followed up on it. Probably a homeless guy or a neighbour coming back from a late night poker game, smashed out his skull.’

  ‘You’d have made a pretty good detective, Bishop. It was option one: the homeless guy. I was becoming a real pain in the ass around that neighbourhood, let me tell you. I was convinced somebody saw something, but nobody did. Got to a point my captain was getting so many complaints about me, he threatened me with suspension if I didn’t lay off. Like that was gonna stop me. So I started hanging around the area in the early hours of the morning to see what turned up, and one time I saw this homeless man going through the trashcans.

  ‘He wasn’t too friendly at first, but once I bought him a bottle of Mad Dog, I couldn’t shut him up. He finally admitted he’d been in the neighbourhood that night when he saw this ambulance pull up outside Sam’s house. This was about an hour before the fire, he said. He didn’t think anything of it and moved along. But when he passed by about half an hour later the ambulance was still there, backed up against the garage with the rear doors open.’

  ‘He notice any details?’ Bishop asked.

  ‘Well, he said the licence plate had a cactus on it. Which narrowed it down to a single state, at least. Couldn’t make out the registration, but he said it was one of those boxy ambulances with an electronic heartbeat on the side.’