The Outsider (James Bishop 4)

by Dean, Jason

  ‘It’s worth it to me.’

  Another pause. ‘Well, if you think it’s necessary, I guess you better come on out.’

  Bishop breathed out. ‘I’m much obliged, Mr Rylander. I’m starting off now, so I’ll see you both soon.’ He ended the call before the guy could change his mind, and handed the phone back to Clea. ‘Geraldo, check on Google Maps for me and see where Okmulgee is in relation to us.’

  Geraldo stiffened in the chair. ‘I don’t take orders from you, pendejo.’

  ‘But you take them from me,’ Guzman said calmly. ‘Do as he asks.’

  ‘Si, jefe.’ Geraldo immediately pulled a smartphone from his jacket pocket and swiped a finger over the screen. ‘Spell this place for me.’

  Bishop spelled out the name of the town and Geraldo continued to move his fingers over the phone for another thirty seconds. Finally he said, ‘Okay. It’s about fifty miles south of here, on Route 75.’

  Meaning it was less than an hour’s drive away. Finally, a break. Bishop turned to Dario standing by the drapes and said, ‘So which one of us is driving?’

  FIFTY-TWO

  Bishop drove.

  They were using the gang’s own vehicle, the grey panel van parked in bay forty-four. The landscaping logo on the side was also great cover. Dario sat in the passenger seat with his .38 resting on his lap, chewing gum while watching Bishop’s every move. Neither man had much to say to the other. Other than a brief call to update Geraldo, the journey was spent mostly in silence, which was fine with Bishop.

  The highway was essentially a straight line from north to south, with little in the way of variation, or traffic, for that matter. But there were no roadblocks, either. In fact, no sign of any police presence at all.

  They reached Okmulgee at 9.12. The town wasn’t much to look at, at least not on the outskirts, with one-storey shacks scattered along the highway in seemingly random fashion. But things started to look a little more affluent once they entered the downtown area, and Dario, acting as navigator with the aid of his cell phone and Google Maps, gave Bishop directions until they found the street they wanted.

  South Walker Avenue was a quiet, tree-lined, suburban road with large houses lining both sides, all set well back from the road. 924 had a distinct Spanish hacienda look, with barrel-tiled roofing and a covered front porch set behind four stone pillars. The front yard was large, with well-tended grass that looked as though it had been cut recently. Bishop also spotted two cars in the driveway: a blue Toyota Corolla and a black Chevy Malibu. He could only hope one of them belonged to Emily Rylander.

  Steering the van into the driveway, he stopped a few feet behind the Toyota, killed the engine and turned to Dario. ‘You better wait here while I talk to them.’

  Dario stopped chewing his gum. ‘You think I’m stupido, asshole? You heard the main man back there. Where you go, I go. So let’s go.’ He reached for the door handle.

  ‘Put the gun away first,’ Bishop said.

  Dario paused and looked at him. ‘You telling me what to do now?’

  ‘Look around you, Dario. We’re in a nice working-class suburban neighbourhood in the heart of the Midwest, full of housewives on constant lookout for anything that doesn’t fit into their comfy little world. And I guarantee one of those housewives is watching this van right now, wondering why the Rylanders have decided to get some landscaping done all of a sudden. The moment they see you with a gun at your side they’ll be dialling 911. Then you’ll end up trying to explain to your boss why you screwed everything up while his men calmly pull your intestines out and feed them to the rats. That what you want?’

  Dario didn’t look quite so sure of himself anymore. He’d know better than anyone what Guzman was really capable of. Maybe he’d even taken part in similar interrogations himself. Finally, he holstered the gun and buttoned up his leather jacket. ‘Screw with me and you’re dead, comprendes?’

  Bishop opened the door and got out. ‘Just let me do all the talking. The last thing we want to do is scare these people.’

  ‘You do your job, man,’ Dario said, getting out his side. ‘I do mine.’

  They both mounted the steps to the porch and Bishop pressed the door buzzer. Dario scanned the neighbourhood behind them while Bishop just faced front and waited.

  He soon heard approaching footsteps and when the door opened he found himself looking up at a very tall, somewhat familiar-looking man, dressed in a sweatshirt and tan chinos. For a brief moment Bishop thought it was his old principal, Paul Mechner, staring back at him, but the feeling of recognition faded almost as soon as it arrived. There were some facial similarities between the two, but they were very faint. Also, this man was at least six-four whereas Mechner had only been five-eleven. He wore rimless glasses and his receding grey hair was cropped close to his head. Bishop guessed his age at somewhere in the mid-fifties. He was frowning at the two men on his porch, and Bishop hoped it wasn’t because he recognized one of them from the news.

  ‘Morning, Mr Rylander,’ Bishop said. ‘I’m the one who called you earlier. This is my … associate. Is your wife back yet?’

  ‘She’s back.’ The man’s voice was somewhat deeper in real life. He opened the door wider and said, ‘Well, I guess you better come in.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Bishop entered a wide hallway with doors leading off both sides. Further down on the left was a staircase, and at the end of the hallway he could see a door leading to a large kitchen area. Rylander led them both to the kitchen, which was modern and spacious and overlooked a large backyard. Emily Rylander, a slim, handsome woman wearing faded jeans and a dark pullover, was currently at the large industrial-sized refrigerator, placing a covered dish onto one of the shelves.

  ‘Em,’ Rylander called out, and his wife shut the refrigerator and turned to them.

  Her eyes widened. ‘Bishop,’ she said. ‘So it was you. I wasn’t sure.’

  ‘Good to see you again, Emily,’ he said. ‘You look well.’ In fact, she appeared to be the same age as when he’d last seen her. A few extra lines around the eyes, maybe, but still a great advertisement for healthy living.

  ‘And you do realize you’re all over the news, don’t you? You shouldn’t have come here, Bishop. You really shouldn’t.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Rylander said. ‘This is that guy? The one from the photo that everybody’s chasing after? Jesus, Em.’

  ‘Relax, Chris,’ she said. ‘I told you I didn’t believe what they were saying about him, and I still think that.’ She went over and sat at the small kitchen table. ‘But he isn’t exaggerating either, Bishop. You’re in a world of trouble right now.’

  ‘Oh, it’s even worse than you can imagine.’

  She looked from Bishop to Dario, then back again. ‘What do you mean?’

  Without mentioning names, Bishop quickly summarized recent events, including Barney’s kidnapping, and explained his mission to get Strickland to Ohio before dawn for the swap. ‘Except there’s now a new complication. The guy standing next to me represents a third party who wants the witness for his own reasons, and who’s currently holding him at an apartment not too far away. But the only way I can get the witness back, and in so doing get his son back, is to exchange him for something this third party wants even more. Hence my presence here.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Emily said. ‘What on earth could I have that anybody would want?’

  Bishop took a seat next to her and said, ‘Okay, Paul told me one time that he’d hidden away an audio cassette tape that could cause Hartnell a lot of trouble if it ever got out. And I’m pretty sure Paul never got a chance to use it or we’d have heard about it long before now, so I figure it’s still out there somewhere. Now did Paul ever mention anything about it to you?’

  Emily was already shaking her head before he’d even finished. ‘Never,’ she said, tapping her fingernails against the tabletop for emphasis. ‘Paul never once said anything about that to me. I’m absolutely sure of it. Maybe he w
as just kidding you around?’

  ‘That wasn’t really his style, was it?’

  She smiled. ‘You’re right. Strike that last comment from the record?’

  ‘Done. What about Paul’s possessions? Did you keep anything of his after his death? Anything at all?’

  ‘Well, as you know, we didn’t really take much with us.’ Emily thought for a moment. ‘I think I may have put some of Paul’s stuff in a box somewhere, but I can’t really remember. A lot of that period after his death … well, a lot of it’s just a blur, even now. But there were some things of his – or ours, I should say – that I would never have thrown away, so they’d have to be around somewhere.’

  ‘Any idea where?’

  She gave a shrug. ‘Well, if it’s still in the house there’s only one place it can possibly be, and that’s up in the attic.’

  FIFTY-THREE

  The attic entrance was a simple ceiling trapdoor located at the very end of the long L-shaped corridor on the second floor. Attached to the inner frame of the trapdoor was a set of aluminium folding stairs, now unfolded. The three men were all silently standing at the foot of the ladder while Emily rummaged around the attic up above. They’d been waiting for five minutes already.

  Dario spent his time busily chewing his gum as loudly as possible, while Bishop stared up at the square hole in the ceiling and pondered his next step if Emily came up blank. There had to be an alternative, but he was currently having trouble thinking of one. And he was also acutely aware of the one o’clock deadline too, which further limited his options. If the worst came to the worst, all he could think to do was incapacitate Dario and grab his gun, and then head back to the apartment and somehow neutralize the other three gunmen without risking Strickland’s and Clea’s lives.

  Sure. No problem. As easy as falling off a bridge.

  Finally Emily called out, ‘I think I found something.’

  There was the sound of something being slid across a flat surface above them. The sound stopped and Emily appeared at the opening and climbed down the ladder. Once down, she said, ‘I did find a box of our old stuff up there although I don’t know how much good it’ll be to you. There’s not much of Paul in there. Chris, can you bring it down? I left it by the opening there.’

  ‘Sure.’ Rylander climbed a few steps and grabbed a medium-sized cardboard box and brought it down with him. Bishop saw a number of picture frames and LPs peeking out the open top, along with a pile of other stuff. Rylander handed it to him and said, ‘You three go back to the kitchen while I close up here.’

  Emily led the two men downstairs again. Back in the kitchen, Bishop placed the box on the table and pulled out the LPs first.

  ‘Those albums are mostly mine, actually,’ Emily said, taking a seat.

  Bishop went through the record sleeves quickly and counted eighteen in all, mostly of the easy-listening variety. Tony Bennett, Dionne Warwick, Neil Diamond, that kind of thing, although there were also several John Coltrane and Charlie Mingus records in there too.

  He pulled out the picture frames next. There were four of them, each containing a shot of husband and wife together. One was an old wedding photo. Two others looked as though they’d been taken on holiday. One was on a beach somewhere, while the other was on a boat harbour, possibly in Florida. In contrast, the last had been taken in a backyard on a grey overcast day when neither Paul nor Emily had been in much of a smiling mood.

  So far, so useless.

  Shaking his head, Bishop placed the pictures to the side and reached into the box again, hoping against all odds that there was something here that might give him a lead. Any lead. He pulled out half a dozen old John MacDonald paperbacks and a couple of hardcovers and placed them next to the LPs. Emily took one of the paperbacks and opened it to a random page while Bishop pulled out an old Kodak Retina Reflex camera and looked it over. A quick check revealed there was no film inside. There were also some souvenirs from various holidays: a miniature Eiffel Tower, fake French francs, a lighter from Tombstone, and plenty more knick-knacks besides.

  But no old diaries, no notebooks, no paperwork of any kind.

  He soon reached the bottom of the box where all that was left was a stack of postcards, held together by a rubber band. There were about a dozen of them, all showing scenery from a variety of foreign locations, and all blank on the address side.

  Sighing, he quickly riffled through each paperback, hoping something might fall out, but all he got out of it was a single blank bookmark. And nothing inside the LP sleeves either.

  ‘Not much help, is it?’ Emily said.

  ‘No, but it was always a long shot. Can I ask why you held onto these things in the first place? The choices seem fairly arbitrary.’

  Passing a hand over the stack of records, she said, ‘Memories, I guess. Isn’t that why people usually hold onto stuff? I mean, I haven’t looked inside this box for a while, but I can see each item is a reminder of a pleasant moment in my life. Paul and I both loved these old records of mine, for instance, although the jazz ones were Paul’s particular favourites. And we both loved anything John MacDonald wrote too. We’d usually pass them along to each other once we were finished. The photos kind of speak for themselves, of course, and these holiday trinkets are just—’

  ‘Wait a second,’ Bishop interrupted. ‘I can understand the wedding photo and the two shots of you on holiday, but what’s this one all about?’ He extracted the last framed photo, showing the unsmiling couple in somebody’s backyard, and showed it to her.

  ‘Oh, that one,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Not exactly showing us at our best, is it?’

  ‘So why keep it?’

  ‘Because Paul told me to. I even threw it out once, frame and all, and Paul nearly had a meltdown over it. He said I shouldn’t ever throw anything out of his unless I asked first. And he said this photo meant a lot to him. God only knows why. I mean, look at my hair.’

  Bishop could already feel his pulse picking up speed. This picture was an anomaly, and right now that was enough. He looked up and saw Rylander entering the kitchen.

  ‘So did you find anything useful?’ he asked.

  ‘Not sure yet,’ Bishop said. He flipped the picture frame over and saw the backing board was attached to the frame by old masking tape. He carefully pulled the tape away to reveal four metal clips, one on each side of the frame, holding the board together. He reversed each clip and then pulled the board away to reveal the back of the photo underneath. Resting against it was a small yellow envelope, like the kind that usually came with Christmas presents. He picked the envelope up and opened the flap.

  There was a plastic card inside. And a thin key.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Bishop pulled the key out first. It was a flat little thing with a shaft full of intricately cut teeth. There was also a number engraved on the face: 119643.

  ‘What’s it open?’ Dario asked.

  ‘Excellent question,’ Bishop said, and set the key down on the table. He pulled out the plastic card and saw it was an Arizona Driver’s Licence. According to the dates the card had been issued some twelve years before, and still had another fifteen to go before it expired. The background was a shot of the Grand Canyon. The photo showed the same Paul Mechner that Bishop remembered: a serious bespectacled man with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. The address listed was 906 West Wilson Avenue in Coolidge. The printed name underneath was for a Mark Tamill. The signature sample on the lower left showed the same name written in a terse script.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Emily said, looking at the licence. ‘Who’s this Mark Tamill?’

  ‘Paul, obviously,’ Bishop said. ‘Is the signature in his handwriting?’

  Emily nodded. ‘Yes, it is. Without a doubt.’

  ‘And the Coolidge address? Does that mean anything to you?’

  ‘Not a thing.’

  Bishop studied the licence more closely as he thought it all through. The key and the licence clearly went hand in hand,
or else Mechner wouldn’t have hidden them together. So one was no good without the other. Which made it a good bet that Mechner had stashed his evidence somewhere with half-decent security measures. Like a bank, maybe. He frowned. No, not a bank. That wouldn’t work for a number of reasons. So something else.

  ‘How on earth did Paul get a licence under an assumed name?’ Emily asked.

  ‘It’s a fake,’ Bishop said, turning it under the light. ‘The actual card itself, I mean. And a pretty good one with a hologram that works, although I guarantee if you swiped the barcode through a proper scanner you’d get some pretty random data popping up. And I doubt it’s got a proper watermark either. But if all he needed it for was to pass a basic security check to get at his stuff, then that wouldn’t matter.’

  Emily frowned. ‘Where would he have gotten it from?’

  ‘It’s easy enough over the internet. Outfits in China do them for a couple of hundred bucks a pop. High-school students use them all the time.’

  ‘Why an Arizona licence?’ Rylander asked.

  Bishop said, ‘In most states you have to renew your licence every few years, but an Arizona licence remains valid until your sixty-fifth birthday. Meaning Paul could just stash this one away without the worry of it expiring anytime soon. If it had been real, of course.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Dario said, ‘but what does the key open? That’s all I care about.’

  Bishop couldn’t actually fault him on that one. To Emily, he said, ‘You and Paul hid out in Oklahoma City for a while before he eventually decided to hire RoyseCorp for protection, correct?’

  ‘That’s right. I suggested it as I knew Paul had never been there before, and I knew the area a little since my folks originally came from that part of the country.’

  ‘Duncan, right?’

  She tilted her head. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now. And how long did you stay in the city altogether?’