The Outsider (James Bishop 4)

by Dean, Jason

  Strickland shook his head. ‘That’s not it. Delaney told me she made you that offer when she came to see you before and you turned her down then. Yet a few days later you shoot me with that damned paint pellet and decide you want to join up, after all. So what made you change your mind?’

  Bishop thought for a moment. He briefly considered fobbing Strickland off with another line, but instead he said, ‘Paul Mechner.’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘Take a moment. Does that name mean anything to you?’

  Strickland’s brow became furrowed as he thought it over. ‘Paul Mechner … Paul Mechner.’ Then recognition dawned and he patted the table with a palm. ‘The accountant. Hartnell’s accountant. Or one of them, at least.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘But that’s, what, almost ten years ago. Just a few months after I started with Hartnell, in fact.’ He studied Bishop. ‘And this Mechner was something to you?’

  ‘He was one of my very first protection assignments.’

  ‘Whoa.’ Strickland pulled his head back. ‘Seriously?’

  Bishop still remembered it all like it was yesterday. He wasn’t much for backward thinking, but whenever he did go into recall mode the past invariably came back to life in dazzling detail, with barely any blurring around the edges at all.

  He’d been working in RoyseCorp’s close protection division for just under eleven months when he got promoted to team leader, which was a company record, apparently. And his very first assignment in the new role had been to head a team to safeguard an overweight accountant and his wife. Except this wasn’t just any old accountant.

  For over five years Paul Mechner had been a trusted employee of Felix Hartnell, one of the most successful and wealthiest cocaine distributors in the country. Mechner hadn’t known that when he’d first taken the job, but he figured it out pretty soon after, once he saw the vast sums of money that kept pouring in week after week. That kind of money only ever came from one source, and it was Mechner’s particular speciality to find new ways to launder it. It seemed he was very good at it, too, despite hating every second. Until that point he’d always been a law-abiding man, but he knew that when you worked for Felix Hartnell you couldn’t just up and quit when you felt like it.

  So Mechner gritted his teeth and put up with it for five long years, all the while keeping the truth from his wife, Emily. At some point he decided he deserved some recompense for the years of sleepless nights, so near the end he’d simply made a few minor adjustments in the books and siphoned off a few bucks for himself as a kind of unofficial safety net in case things ever went south. Unfortunately, not long after, a colleague tipped him off that Hartnell suspected something was up and that Mechner was under suspicion.

  The accountant didn’t waste any time. He knew all the stories about Hartnell by this point, had even gone to his house a few times to make occasional reports, and the man scared him to death. After finally explaining the full situation to Emily, he’d argued the only way they could escape Hartnell’s influence and what he felt was certain death was by getting them new identities and making new lives for themselves overseas. Money wouldn’t be a problem. After some long and heated arguments, Emily finally agreed to stand with her man.

  They hid out in Oklahoma City, somewhere neither of them had ever even visited before, although Emily’s parents had originally come from Duncan, a town situated about a hundred miles south-west of the city. Once there, Mechner used his few contacts to arrange new identities for himself and Emily, along with new passports and all the rest. But since it was all under the counter and had to be done just right, it would also take time. And Hartnell was sure to start looking for him soon, if he wasn’t already. So Mechner decided to hire some professionals to keep them safe while they waited for their documents, and that’s where RoyseCorp came in. The price was high, but their rep was second to none. And Bishop, along with his handpicked four-man team, was given the assignment.

  He’d seconded them in one of the company’s safe houses in Fayetteville, Arkansas, and life was pretty quiet for two weeks. Bishop always accompanied Mechner or his wife whenever they needed to go out for whatever reason. But mostly they stayed in, patiently waiting for the preparations for their new lives to be finalized.

  Mechner was okay in Bishop’s book. Sure, he was an embezzler, but since the victim was a sleazebag Bishop didn’t hold that against him. In fact Bishop actually liked the guy, which was a rare treat as most of his principals thus far hadn’t exactly been citizens of the year. And that’s why he’d tried to convince the accountant to forget about all that new identity stuff, to take what he knew to the feds and go into the Witness Protection Program instead.

  He still remembered the conversation in the kitchen, word for word …

  ‘Hartnell would find me eventually if I stayed in this country,’ Mechner had said in response, ‘no matter what name the feds gave me, he’d find me. Believe me, that guy’s got people in every state and in every town and in every alley. No, I’ve thought it all through and this is the best way. Once he knows I’m not talking to anyone, hopefully he’ll just call off the dogs and forget about us.’

  ‘You really believe that?’ Bishop had said. ‘Knowing what you do about the man?’

  ‘Depends on the time of day.’ Mechner smiled then. He sipped at his ever-present can of Dr Pepper and said, ‘Funny thing is, I’ve already got something on him and he doesn’t even know it. I locked it away in a safe place before I called you people, but I know that if it ever got out it would cause serious problems for Hartnell. And I mean serious.’

  ‘All the more reason to take it to the feds and turn state’s evidence.’

  ‘It wouldn’t work that way. It’s not the kind of thing that would stand up in any court of law.’

  ‘So what is it then?’

  ‘It’s an audio cassette recording in which Hartnell talks about how he manipulated his business partner over a personal matter. It’s there as my last resort, only to be used if I’ve run out of all other options. I do have some paperwork I took out with me, mostly to do with the laundering side of things, but it’s not nearly enough to convict him. He’s too careful for that, and never puts his name to anything.’

  ‘You won’t know until you talk to the feds. I say it’s worth a try. New name or not, I don’t think Hartnell’s the kind of man who gives up once he starts something. He’ll keep looking until he finds you, and we can’t protect you forever. Maybe the feds can.’

  ‘No. I want to do this my way,’ Mechner said. ‘Believe me, I’ve planned it all out to the smallest detail. I’m sure we’ll be all right …’

  Bishop hadn’t been quite so sure, but you couldn’t argue with somebody whose mind was already made up. Knowing what came later, maybe he should have tried a little harder.

  He gave Strickland a brief summary of the situation, only omitting the details of that kitchen conversation.

  Strickland said, ‘But Hartnell still tracked him down, though, right?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Bishop said. ‘How much do you know about it?’

  Strickland glanced at Clea, who was silently watching them both, then he shrugged. ‘Not a whole lot, and most of it’s just rumours. But I’m sure Callaway was behind it. He never came right out and admitted it to me, but he laid enough hints. Besides, Hartnell wouldn’t have trusted anybody else for the job. So what happened? Did he hit you guys at the safe house?’

  ‘He tried.’

  ‘It wasn’t another massacre like Vegas, was it?’

  Bishop shook his head. ‘No, that wouldn’t have worked where we were. We were in a much more heavily populated suburban neighbourhood, which was part of the reason I picked it. Or maybe Hartnell simply wasn’t as desperate back then. No, they used the Trojan Horse method instead.’

  ‘What? You mean like a parcel bomb or something?’

  ‘Not quite. What it was, there was a neighbourhood kid of about Barney’s age who lived a couple of ho
uses down. His name was Andrew Truman and he came to the front door shortly after we moved in and asked if he could mow our front- and backyards for a few bucks. I’d already seen him mowing everybody else’s, but our lawn wasn’t too bad at that point and I told him we didn’t need any work done right then. So we chatted some and he said he’d try again in a week or two and went home.’

  What Bishop didn’t mention was that he’d chatted to the boy on the doorstep for a good ten minutes or so before he went home. Primarily he’d done it as a way to fit in a little more and deflect any possible suspicion as to their presence in the area, but it turned out he and Andrew actually had a shared passion – soccer. Bishop was an avid follower of the New York Red Bulls, but he still kept up with the doings of some of the more notable European teams like Barcelona, Real Madrid, Inter Milan, and a few others. And Andrew was a major Juventus fan. So much so that his father had even subscribed to an expensive overseas satellite channel in order that his son could watch some of their games.

  So they found they had plenty to talk about, discussing the pros and cons of goal-line technology, or the effectiveness of certain managers in elevating their teams to the top level, or how reliable the transfer rumours were concerning certain players. But Bishop had had to call an end to it at some point, and eventually Andrew returned home and that was that.

  ‘Three weeks later,’ Bishop said, ‘Andrew came back and rang the doorbell and asked me again if he could mow the lawns, and this time I said okay. Only he seemed kind of nervous and distant for some reason, and he wasn’t particularly interested in talking, either, which was very unlike him. But I just put it down to trouble at home and took him to the garage where there was an old mower at the back. So I let him get on with it while I patrolled the house again. It was a big two-storey ranch-type thing with six bedrooms and plenty of space, and it usually took me awhile to check everything to my satisfaction. At the time, Emily Mechner was in the kitchen while her husband was in the bedroom, working on his laptop. I still checked on Andrew’s progress, though, and once he’d done the front I went out and led him through to the backyard. One of the other members of my team, Kwinell, was sitting out there in a deckchair, so I knew he’d be able to keep an eye on the boy from that point on.’

  Bishop poured himself some more lukewarm coffee and took another sip. It left a bitter aftertaste. Although maybe that wasn’t entirely down to the coffee.

  Strickland said, ‘And did this Kwinell keep an eye on him?’

  Bishop sighed. ‘Yeah, but he also made a mistake. Two, in fact. And they were big ones. I was on the phone to my supervisor at the time, giving him my daily report, when I realized I hadn’t heard the mower in a while. I went round the back and saw the machine standing there on its own, with the lawn still only half done and Kwinell still sitting in his chair. When I asked where the boy had gone, he said he went inside a few minutes before to take a leak. And without searching him, either. Remembering Andrew’s nervousness from before, I knew something was wrong then. I ducked inside and ran to the staircase at the other end of the house and heard faint movements on the landing above. I climbed the stairs silently, and when I reached the top I saw Andrew crouching in front of Mechner’s bedroom door, placing what looked like a tube of Lifesavers on the floor.’

  ‘They weren’t Lifesavers,’ Strickland said.

  Bishop shook his head. ‘Semtex, as it turned out. In his other hand he held a miniature remote. That kid wasn’t just nervous, he was terrified out of his mind. He kept rubbing his free hand up and down his jeans, trying to wipe off the sweat, and he was also shaking like a leaf. The last thing I wanted to do was startle him, though, so I holstered my gun and very quietly called his name. But at the sound of my voice he jumped and when he saw me standing there, he screamed and panicked. He clenched both his hands into fists and he must have activated the detonator and … well, you can guess what happened next.’

  ‘Shit,’ Strickland said.

  ‘My God, that’s awful,’ Clea whispered.

  ‘Yeah.’ Bishop remembered the world turning white for a second, the noise of the explosion filling the house as the force of the blast propelled him into a wall, then down the stairs until he finally landed in a heap at the bottom.

  Clea said, ‘Was this Andrew …? I mean, did he—’

  ‘He was gone.’ Bishop snapped his fingers. ‘Like that.’

  ‘And Mechner?’ Strickland asked.

  ‘The explosion completely destroyed the bedroom door and part of the wall, so he took some of the blast, but his work desk protected him from the worst of it. He was basically uninjured. At least, physically. Once I confirmed he was safe, I ran out the front and sprinted over to the boy’s house. I broke in, but Callaway and his people must have split the moment they heard the explosion. All I found were the bodies of Andrew’s parents in the dining room. Callaway probably had them killed the moment the boy left for our house. No survivors, no witnesses.’

  ‘Animals,’ Clea said, shaking her head. Bishop had to agree.

  Strickland had also turned a little pale at that last part. ‘But Mechner couldn’t have survived,’ he said. ‘Callaway wasted him. He practically admitted it to me.’

  ‘Well, he got to Mechner eventually, but it wasn’t on our watch. After that breach, Mechner finally saw the light and decided to follow my advice. His wife had pretty strong opinions on the matter too. So I escorted them both to a meeting with the section chief of the Criminal Investigative Division at FBI headquarters in DC, and it turned out they were very interested in what Mechner had. They felt he had enough to initiate a tax evasion case that could put Hartnell behind bars for fifteen years. So they stuck them both in the Witness Protection Program, and that was that. Or so I thought.’

  ‘What happened?’ Clea asked.

  ‘Three months later, my supervisor gave me the news that he’d been taken out with poison. Although there was never any proof of Hartnell’s involvement, of course. Apparently his people found out where one of the marshals did the weekly food shopping and that was it. They must have known about Mechner’s particular craving for Dr Pepper, so they injected strychnine into some cans of their own and swapped them over somehow. Probably created a diversion at the checkout till or something. That’s what I would have done. My supervisor at the time said it was a very painful death.’

  Strickland frowned. ‘So that’s why you joined up with us? To get back at the man who killed your old client?’

  ‘No, to get back at the man who killed a young boy named Andrew Truman. I liked him. He was a good kid. And while that initial explosion may well have been set off accidentally, it was still murder whichever way you look at it. Especially as the investigators found out later that there were two explosions, not one.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Strickland asked.

  ‘I mean they found additional tiny traces of Semtex in what was left of Andrew’s belt, as well as bits of an intricate blasting cap hidden behind the steel buckle. They theorized that both bombs were tuned to the same electronic signal, so even if Andrew had gotten out of the area before pressing the detonator, he still would have blown himself up. His parents were already dead at that point, and he was the last loose end. Callaway, and by proxy Hartnell, was simply making sure all bases were covered to ensure no comebacks.’

  Strickland nodded. ‘That sounds like them, all right. They never did like taking unnecessary chances.’

  ‘They should have killed me too, then. Because I’ve got a very long memory, and the moment I realized it was Hartnell you were testifying against I suddenly developed a very great interest in your continued well-being.’

  ‘I don’t feel hungry anymore,’ Clea said, and began edging out of the seat. ‘I’m going to the restroom, if that’s all right with you?’

  ‘Don’t mind if I check first, do you?’ Bishop said.

  ‘I think I can manage, thanks.’

  ‘Better safe than sorry,’ he said, sliding out after her.

/>   FORTY

  Bishop followed Clea down the narrow hallway, past the basic kitchen area on the right, and a little further down on the left was an unmarked door. Clea rolled her eyes as Bishop opened the door and stepped inside.

  It was a small, not very clean, unisex restroom. There was a private cubicle on the left, a single urinal affixed to the right-hand wall, and a small sink on the adjacent wall. There was a long thin transom window above the urinal, too high up for Clea to reach. In the cubicle there was a small, double-hung sash window of frosted glass in the wall behind the john. Bishop tried the latch, opened the lower half and peered out and saw the garage doors to his immediate right. To the left was the driveway that led to the front parking area. He latched the window shut again. It was small, but just about big enough for Clea to get through if she wanted. All he could do was keep a watch on the front and check back after a few minutes, in case she tried to make a run for it through the fields.

  He stepped back outside and said, ‘Go right ahead. I’ll check back in a while to make sure you’re all right.’

  ‘Do you really think I’m going to try and make a run for it?’ she said. ‘Out here? In the middle of nowhere?’

  ‘People have surprised me before.’

  She stared at him, sighed, then went inside, closing the door behind her. Bishop carried on down the rest of the hallway. He passed two more doors on the right, the first of which was partly ajar, and inside he could see a small, but well-stacked kitchen. He kept going down the hallway until he reached the rear exit door at the end. It was just a normal windowless wooden door. Obviously fire regulations weren’t taken too seriously in these parts. He tried the handle. It was locked. Satisfied, he walked back to the booth where Toby was busy piling their empty plates onto a tray.

  ‘Any chance of some more coffee?’ Bishop said.

  ‘Be right back with another pot,’ Toby said, and carried his load back to the kitchen. Clea’s unfinished omelette he left on the table.