by Rob Ashman
‘I’m not unreasonable, Lieutenant, so let’s make it a game of even trade. I ask a question, then you ask a question. We’ll take it in turns, even trade, right?’ Lucas was in no position to barter. ‘You see I’m intrigued. Apart from making that lawyer’s head into my new pen holder, how did you work out the switch at the station? I hadn’t been gone long and those guys were all over the place looking for me.’
‘Sugar packets on the tray,’ Lucas said trying to clear his throat.
‘Sugar packets?’
‘Your sister has a sugar habit and she twists the sugar packets into a spiral to hide how many she’s used. Your sugar packets were flat.’
‘Ah yes. Very good, she makes those sugar twists, it’s very cute don’t you think? That’s a great piece of observation and deduction. Now your turn, you ask me a question. Even trade, Lieutenant, even trade.’
‘Why did you swap places at the apartment?’ Lucas asked trying to block out the pain in his leg.
‘Good one,’ said Jess. ‘We swapped because if you had arrested Jo you would have her for good. I love my sister, and she’s good at what she does, but in certain situations she’s hopeless. Me, on the other hand, now that’s a different story. The government spent a huge amount of money to ensure I can get out of tight spots like that. We switched so she could get away before your officers blundered in, and I could just do what I do best. You see we look out for each other. I look after her, she looks after me. In this instance it was me looking after her. Now my turn,’ Mechanic paused. ‘Whose idea was it to cook up the story about the taped message on the line and the woman coming into the station pretending to be a victim? That was very smart.’
‘Mine.’
‘Bravo, bravo.’ Mechanic clapped her hands in mock applause. ‘You see my sister is kind of smart but kind of dumb at the same time. When she told me what happened it was an obvious setup. Good one, though, good one. Even trade, Lieutenant. Your turn.’
‘We will catch you and put you away,’ Lucas said, coughing blood onto his shirt.
Mechanic came right up to Lucas and put her face in his. ‘Strike one, Lieutenant, that’s not a question.’ She snarled the words, then turned and took a step back. ‘I am prepared to let it go on this occasion,’ she said, the statement thick with menace. ‘You see I’m not sure you will catch me. I’m a great believer in a track record being a good indication of what will happen in the future. And let’s face it your track record is shit. You couldn’t catch me last time, though admittedly it was that halfwit Harper running the show, but still, even when I gave myself to you, you didn’t catch me this time. So I don’t think the odds are stacked in your favour. Anyway back to the game that is keeping you alive, it’s your turn to ask a question, Lieutenant. Even trade.’
‘Why do you load victims into the family car and do the counselling?’
Mechanic shoved her face into Lucas’s again. ‘That’s a double question. Strike two.’ She backed away. ‘The car loading is a complex ritual. The first point to understand is that our mother abandoned us when we were young and it turned my father into an abusive sadistic bastard. So long as I took the abuse, he left Jo alone. My mother created my father who in turn created me. So this whole thing is about revenge and reparation.’
‘I still don’t get it …’ Lucas croaked.
‘Be patient, Lieutenant. The car ritual signifies abandonment which is what the women are considering doing to their families. So in my head that’s a kind of a neat metaphor. The counselling is great fun and is a little like foreplay, I suppose. It makes the main event that much more satisfying. It leaves the women with a crushing sense of guilt. They were going to leave their loved ones and now with the courtesy of my services they are the ones who are left. Nice twist of the knife, don’t you think?’
Mechanic paced around in front of Lucas. ‘To understand my third reason you must first understand the judicial system in this country. Our judiciary is like having your dementia-ridden uncle come to visit – everyone knows something isn’t right but you kind of accept it. So, if by some flight of fancy you ever did catch me, I have a better chance of being classed criminally insane. If I simply murdered people, and did nothing else, I would be banged away on death row for murder one. But because I finish off the performance by doing weird shit, I relinquish any responsibility for my actions. A quirky but very useful safety net, so it’s a mix of all three I suppose. Again, good question, Lieutenant. My turn, even trade, even trade. Did you ever work out the telephone numbers?’
Lucas shook his head as much to try and clear his blurred vision as to answer the question. ‘No, we never got it.’
‘That’s excellent, you were never meant to. I laughed myself stupid at the GAI Circles name change. I set it up years ago and was afraid I’d never get a chance to use it but I needn’t have worried. You see, as well as training me to take care of myself, the government also trained me in all sorts of covert comms, which comes in handy when you don’t want to be found. Now your turn, even trade Lieutenant, even trade.’
Lucas was racking his aching head to think of a good question, one which would not only help the investigation when he was rescued, but also one which would keep him alive. He was aware he was on Strike 2, whatever that meant.
The pain from his leg was escalating and the pool of blood on the floor was getting bigger. ‘Why did you kill Galbraith?’
‘Oh poor selection, a wasted question. Isn’t it obvious? He was about to rewrite his profile, which would change the direction of the investigation and put me and my sister in danger. I couldn’t allow that, so I posed as Jo, arranged to meet with him, and eliminated the risk. Jo was very upset, but it did give me the opportunity to give Harper and his guys the dumb ass connection they needed when I committed suicide so spectacularly. They were not a smart outfit. Not like you. They needed spoonfeeding when it came to investigating crime. But then you knew that. Wasted question, Lieutenant, wasted question.’
‘Now my turn.’ Mechanic thought for a while. ‘What do you think Bassano’s last words were before I killed the sorry bastard …?’ She let the words hang in the air. ‘I did warn you, anyone you sent to find me.’
‘You fucking murdering bitch,’ Lucas yelled and struggled against his bound hands.
‘Now if you’re going to be rude, Lieutenant, then question time is over, and so are you.’ She moved in close and Lucas shut his eyes.
‘Don’t!’ Out of the darkness came Jo Sells. She stood behind her sister, carrying an oversized bag. Lucas opened his eyes, it was a surreal picture seeing them together. They were absolute carbon copies.
Mechanic could see Lucas flicking his eyes from one to the other. ‘Can you tell us apart?’
‘Yes,’ he whispered.
‘How?’
‘Your voice,’ he said, tasting the vomit in his mouth.
‘Ah, yes, the voice. I agree it is a bit of a giveaway. Mine is deeper than my sister’s but then she didn’t overdo the steroids. Hers is oestrogen fuelled, whereas mine has more than a little testosterone in it. Nice observation, Lieutenant Lucas. My sister said you were good. It’s why when you had me at the station I was crying all the time to mask it, and why when you interviewed me, I said nothing. You were easy to fool.’ Mechanic circled Lucas as he tried to balance on one leg taking the strain off his tied wrists.
‘There are other ways to tell us apart, but not from where you’re standing, or hanging I should say,’ Mechanic continued. ‘My sister drinks very little whereas I like Wild Turkey bourbon, she is almost celibate whereas I am promiscuous as hell and she is a gentle soul whereas I …’ Mechanic paused, ‘Well, let’s just say I am not.’ She circled Lucas. ‘So you see, Lieutenant, unless you buy us a drink, fight us or fuck us, you wouldn’t know the difference.’
Lucas spoke over Mechanic’s shoulder, ‘Jo, think about what you’re doing.’
‘My sister says I shouldn’t kill you, she says you should live. Don’t you, baby?’ Mechanic dra
ped her arm around Jo’s shoulder. She nodded but said nothing. ‘I’m kind of convinced otherwise. You know too much and I hate loose ends. And you are a very loose end, Lucas, We’ve both enjoyed the question and answer game, and with your latest outburst you now have three strikes. There is always a forfeit for that.’
Without warning Mechanic dropped her arm away from Jo, spun on her left leg and sent the instep of her right foot smashing into Lucas’s ribs. In the confines of the room, the crack echoed off the walls. The force lifted him off the floor and swung him to the left. Mechanic pirouetted and faced Lucas once more. The blow ripped the air from his body as Lucas screamed in pain, the broken ribs puncturing his lung. Blood erupted into his mouth and splashed onto Mechanic.
Lucas couldn’t breathe.
‘No!’ Jo screamed, pulling her sister away. ‘Don’t, you said you wouldn’t.’
‘Jo, you have to stop her. Put an end to this.’ Lucas coughed blood and words onto the concrete below. He was beginning to shut down. The room was growing soft and woozy. ‘Jo, you have to stop her.’
‘I’m being compassionate, Lieutenant. I didn’t think you would survive another shot to the head. You talk to me, not my sister.’ Mechanic hissed the words through clenched teeth. ‘It’s me you deal with not her. Do you hear me, Lieutenant Lucas?’ Lucas didn’t answer, he was fighting for breath as his left lung collapsed. ‘Do you hear me?’ Mechanic yelled, her voice reverberating in his ears.
‘Yesss,’ he croaked. ‘Yes I hear you.’ Lucas could feel the world spinning and the sound of water rushing in his head. He was close to passing out. The blood from his lung filled his mouth and dribbled down his chin.
‘Not good enough.’ Mechanic slammed the sole of her right foot into Lucas’s chest lifting him off his feet. Lucas swung on the rope and screamed in agony. He tried to right himself but his legs gave way under him and a fresh splash of crimson joined the dark pool on the floor. He jerked violently at the end of the rope. It disappeared into the flesh around his wrists and blood ran down his arms.
‘No!’ Jo screamed, stepping between her sister and Lucas. ‘You promised not to kill him.’
‘That was before he was disrespectful.’ Mechanic moved in again but Jo drove her back. The force of the kick broke Lucas’s sternum. He was asphyxiating and bleeding to death.
Tiny light bulbs popped and flashed at the edges of his vision. The lack of oxygen was forcing his brain to shut down, but he was determined not to give Mechanic the pleasure of watching him pass out. His peripheral vision was closing in and he felt very cold all of a sudden. The pain was receding and an overwhelming numbness was creeping through his body. The rushing sound in his head grew louder as Lucas fought for consciousness.
His eyes were open and he could see Mechanic fighting with Jo.
Jo was shouting, ‘Just leave him, Jess, please leave him.’
Mechanic was snarling like a wild animal and threw Jo to one side. She took a step forward and Lucas knew this was the end.
Jo stepped in and grabbed her sister. The pair of them swirled round, locked in a savage embrace.
Then a shot rang out. Then another.
One of the women dropped to the floor and Lucas could see the unmistakable unkempt figure of Dick Harper holding a gun. He fired again and everything for Lucas went black.
49
It was never clear to Lucas which of his injuries did the most damage. Whether it was the brutal beating at the hands of Mechanic or the ricochet shell from Harper’s gun which cut a deep groove in his head. Either way, as Lucas saw it, he had stared death in the face and was still here. Well, in hospital to be more precise, hooked up to more tubes and machines than any one person should be allowed to encounter in a lifetime.
They kept him sedated while he was on life support, his busted rib cage and punctured lungs were unable to cope with the usual function of taking in air and blowing it out. And his shattered knee required major surgery. They told him he would be in hospital for another six weeks before he could even think of going home, but at least the life support in ICU was now being used by someone who needed it more. For Lucas that was a small victory.
Against all the odds, Bassano survived. A patrol vehicle out looking for Mechanic heard the shots and got to the scene just in time to save his life. Unfortunately, they didn’t get there in time to save his arm. It was amputated in the same hospital as Lucas and for a brief period they were in ICU together. Neither one knew the other was there due to them both lacking consciousness. Bassano also suffered extensive head trauma which left him unable to walk. The hospital said that would mend with time.
After the operation and his spell in hospital, Bassano moved back to New Jersey to be with his parents. After all, he found it difficult to look after himself properly when he had two arms so learning to cope with one arm was going to be tough. He needed constant care and attention, and that lay at home.
Lucas was pleased his friend had survived but struggled to come to terms with the extent of his injuries. He was gutted it had ruined such a promising career in the force. Bassano was a good officer and a loyal friend. Lucas had let him down badly. Bassano visited Lucas before leaving to join his parents, but Lucas was out of it on a cocktail of morphine and sedatives. He could not remember seeing his friend leave. That made him sad.
Since then Lucas had called Bassano several times but on each occasion his father had declined to put him on the phone. Lucas said how sorry he was but the silence the other end said it all. If it was raw for Lucas it must be unbearable for Bassano’s family, so he didn’t hold it against them.
Lucas was not strong enough to deal with it anyway so it was just as well. It was difficult to choose which of the two of them had come off worse at the hands of Mechanic. They were discharged from hospital at separate times but neither one under his own steam. Both left in wheelchairs.
Lucas’s wife camped out at the hospital during his recovery. This was traumatic for her, because unbeknown to Lucas, his heart stopped several times when first admitted. She maintained a constant vigil at his bedside and stayed strong but when she heard that he had pulled through and was out of danger, she cried for an entire day.
Lucas woke from his drug-induced coma to find his words were slurred. He had difficulty constructing sentences, but as time went by his speech returned to normal. He grilled the steady stream of officers who came to visit him about the case. What’s the latest? Have they followed up on the vehicle? Did they get fingerprints?
One of his regulars was Dick Harper. Lucas loved his visits because Harper spoke to him in his usual blunt and to the point manner. It was simple, uncomplicated, straightforward conversation.
Harper was oblivious to the fact that Lucas had slurred speech, ignored the fact his lungs didn’t work, and never once appeared to notice the knitting basket of pipes and tubes keeping him alive. Harper was also impervious to the usual protocol of bringing the sick person a gift of fruit or flowers. He sat at the side of Lucas’s bed, burning with all the intensity of a rooky cop while devouring any grapes, strawberries or oranges which were within arm’s reach. Lucas never saw him eat the flowers but he ate everything else.
Between them they had a single topic of conversation, piecing together the events of that evening.
That night, Harper had known about the incident the station from the reports on his police scanner, and when he got to the station the controller told him where Lucas had gone. He found his car abandoned outside the club. Harper was a lot more agile than his bulk would suggest, and he had scaled the gates to get into the grounds. He found the security guard in the bushes near to the grand house with his neck broken, and figured, just like Lucas, that the most likely place to look was the maintenance sheds at the back of the estate. He could hear shouting coming from the basement, saw Lucas hanging by his wrists and the two women fighting. He shot twice at the women and one of them threw a wrench causing him to fall backwards. His third shot struck the ceiling and then hit Luc
as.
When Harper regained his balance, one of the women returned fire and shot him in the shoulder, knocking him backwards into the work benches. As he fell he struck the back of his head, and that was the last Harper knew of anything until the backup units arrived to take charge of the wounded. At least Harper had the presence of mind to tell the desk controller to get a patrol car over to Brightwood Country club. They were late but at least they got there.
It didn’t matter how many times they went over the details of what happened, Harper always maintained one thing. His second shot hit one of the women in the head and he saw her fall. He recounted how her head snapped back and he saw the black hole in her forehead. Harper was adamant he had killed her.
When Harper came round from being knocked unconscious, his first question was about Lucas, and his second was about the women.
Lucas was in a bad way and on his way to hospital.
The women were gone.
50
Present day
Wednesday, 23 March 1983
Tallahassee, Florida
Lucas wanted to shoot his visitors. The gun lay in his desk drawer and he was itching to pull it out and blast away. He had to stop them torturing him with kindness, but wasting two FBI agents on his first week back was such bad form. So, in the absence of being able to kill them, he chose instead to only half listen.
The two guys in FBI regulation suits were talking but all he heard was the faint mumbling of soft, understanding voices. They were being ever so gentle and considerate, which would be good, if it wasn’t for the fact they had been ever so gentle and considerate for the past three goddam days.
They were well trained to deal with people being rehabilitated back into work after they had suffered significant trauma. But how many times did he have to go over and over the same damn stuff? It was always the same story, always the same chronology, always the same people and always the same outcome.