by Jason Dean
‘What are you talking about? Why would I wait twenty minutes before calling you?’
‘I don’t know,’ Bishop said, scratching his cheek. ‘Could be you weren’t entirely convinced what you’d heard was a personal security alarm. So you brushed it aside and kept smoking your cigar. And then around eleven thirty, you see something, or someone, that causes you to think you might have made a mistake. That there might be a person in real trouble over there. So this time you do call 911, but you feel guilty about waiting so long. So you say you’re calling because of the alarm and nothing else. That sound possible?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Everson said, shifting in his seat. ‘I heard that alarm go off at eleven thirty. That’s what I reported and that’s what happened.’
‘Look, Mr Everson,’ Bishop said, ‘I’m not here to bust your balls, okay? Any citizen who reports a crime is already aces in my book, so I know you’re one of the good guys. All I want is the truth. Because if that alarm did go off earlier, it pushes this case in a whole different direction, know what I mean? Believe me, something like this, it’s important.’
Everson said nothing for a few seconds. Then he cleared his throat. ‘Look, if I was slightly wrong about the exact time, just saying if, you sure it won’t come back to me later?’
‘Tell us how it really went down and you won’t hear from me again. I guarantee it.’ Since Bishop had no authority here at all, he felt this was a promise he could safely keep.
Everson closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them and said, ‘This other witness said it was about eleven ten when she heard it?’
‘Give or take,’ Bishop said. ‘But definitely somewhere around that area.’
Everson tapped his fingernails on the desk. ‘Well, that’s about when I heard it, too.’
‘Godammit,’ Gerry said. ‘You mean to tell us—’
‘What did I tell you before?’ Bishop snapped, glaring hard at Gerry. The first rule in these situations was to always stay in character, no matter what. He knew the slightest mistake from Gerry and the guy would sense something was off. He might even ask for ID. ‘This is my case,’ he said. ‘You’re just along for the ride. Got it?’
Gerry clenched his jaw, but he stood down and didn’t say anything else.
Bishop turned back to Everson. ‘Sorry about that. He’s kind of excitable. So what made you finally make that call?’
Everson paused, frowning at Gerry. Then he said, ‘Well, I saw these three guys coming out of the woods on this side, and it got me thinking.’
‘Three men. Okay. And what were they doing?’
‘Well, they looked pleased with themselves, you know? Two of them were high-fiving each other like they’d just scored a touchdown. There were a few cars still parked at the kerb, and they all got in one and just drove off.’
The image of the rapists casually high-fiving each other almost caused Bishop to lose it. He could feel the rage threatening to take over. He gripped his pen until he could feel it about to snap in two. Almost immediately he relaxed his hold. Stay in control, man. Don’t let your emotions ride you. Not now. Stay objective.
He saw Everson hadn’t even noticed his brief loss of control. The manager showed Bishop his palms and said, ‘You see something like that on a normal day and it don’t mean a thing, but I was thinking about that alarm from earlier and figured there was a chance they might have been the cause of it. I couldn’t be sure, though, so I didn’t bother mentioning it.’
‘Right. So did you get a good look at the men? Or the make of vehicle?’
‘Hey, come on. You know how far away I was? I’m up on the sixteenth floor and it was almost midnight. Not too many streetlamps along that stretch, either. At least, not working ones. I’m pretty sure they were guys, but I couldn’t even swear to that.’
‘What about the car?’
Everson shrugged. ‘A modern-looking sedan. Could have been a Ford something, I guess. And it looked kind of grey, but then everything does in the dark.’
Bishop rubbed his forehead with a thumb. He’d managed to bring the guy this far, but he’d been hoping for something a little more than vague shapes in the night. ‘Nothing else that sticks in your mind at all? Take a moment and think, Mr Everson.’
Everson sat back and stared at the ceiling. After a few moments he straightened up again. ‘Nothing, except I noticed the car was kind of juddery as they took off.’
Bishop raised his eyebrows. ‘Juddery? What do you mean?’
‘Well, I don’t know if they had a stick shift or what, but it looked like the driver maybe put it in too high a gear? You know, like sometimes when you accidentally put it into third or fourth instead of first and the whole car starts shaking before stalling? It looked like that. Then it smoothed out some and they just drove off. So there it is, that’s everything.’
‘And they took off at eleven thirty, after which you immediately called 911?’
‘That’s it. I went straight in and made the call on my cell. I figured I’d wasted enough time already, you know?’
Bishop nodded and started tapping his thumbnail against his lip. It was something, all right. Not much, but enough to keep them going forward. Because he was pretty certain the shaking had nothing to do with being in the wrong gear.
Bishop stood up to go. ‘Okay, Mr Everson. Thanks. You’ve been a help.’
Everson smiled. ‘Good to know I did something right today.’
NINE
Once they were outside again, Bishop began heading west, back to the station on Second Avenue and East Houston. As they walked, Gerry said, ‘You were pretty convincing in there. For a few moments I actually thought you were a detective.’
‘Acting a part’s easy,’ Bishop said. ‘A monkey can do it.’
‘So were you lying to Everson? Because I don’t see how he was any help at all.’
‘Then you weren’t listening. For a start, how many cars do you think there are in Manhattan with manual stick shifts?’
Gerry frowned. ‘Okay, not many, I guess. I don’t drive, but I take it automatic transmissions are the norm?’
‘Exactly. With the constant traffic jams and red lights, it wouldn’t be long before you got a permanent cramp in your left leg from all the clutch movements.’
‘Okay, I get it. So if those three were driving a car with manual transmission, it’ll be a hell of a lot easier to track down than a standard automatic, right?’
‘No, I’m saying they weren’t driving a manual at all.’
‘Huh? What are you talking about?’
‘That juddering Everson mentioned didn’t sound like the driver chose the wrong gear to me. That’s the act of somebody in a panic, or flustered. But these three were kidding around with each other, Everson said. They were in control and relaxed.’
Gerry looked at the ground. Clearly, he hadn’t wanted to hear that part again.
Bishop continued, ‘It could possibly be a fault in the engine, but what that sounded like to me was a vehicle running on empty. Or close to it. Could be they hadn’t realized how low they were getting until that point. See, if you pull out and the fuel injection system’s unable to deliver enough gasoline into the engine block, the vehicle starts shuddering. For a few seconds, at least.’
He thought for a moment as he walked. ‘It could also be low fuel pressure caused by a faulty fuel pump, but I don’t think so. You get the same shuddering effect, but it doesn’t just go away like it did here.’
‘You know your cars.’
Bishop shrugged. ‘Back in my old career I had to be prepared for all contingencies. Troubleshooting basic engine problems was one of them.’
‘Okay. So assuming they were low on gas, that means their obvious next stop would had to have been a filling station.’
Bishop nodded. ‘And what I need to do now is find out which one.’
TEN
They didn’t take the A train all the way back to Dyckman Street, but got off tw
o stops earlier, at 181st Street and Fort Washington Avenue. Once they’d made their way up the escalators to the south exit on 181st, Bishop paused on the sidewalk outside and checked his watch. He was glad to see it was still only 12.33. He still had most of the day ahead of him.
‘Let me see that map again,’ he said.
Gerry pulled his Samsung Galaxy from his coat pocket and played his fingers expertly across the screen, looking for the same site as before.
Bishop thought these smart touch-phones were great. He didn’t have one himself, or even want one. As far as he was concerned the ability to make and receive calls was all he needed from a cell phone. The simpler, the better. In all things. But he could see why people would be attracted to these gadgets. He imagined it could all get pretty addictive in no time at all. Your whole life, available at a single touch.
‘Here,’ Gerry said, and passed the phone over.
Bishop took it and studied the onscreen map. Gerry had found the website earlier, just before they’d descended to the subway. Every gas station in New York was listed, with a map marking each one’s location. There weren’t that many. One of the consequences of Manhattan’s steady gentrification was the gradual reduction of places to buy gas on the island. Bishop knew most filling stations simply weren’t profitable enough when balanced against their site’s real estate value. But there were still a few left, mostly on the east and west sides. More important, there were also half a dozen in the Upper Manhattan area.
For instance, there was one along Broadway, south of the crime site. Then there was a place north of it. Both were about the same distance from the park. And there was a third option if those two came up blank, a ‘gaseteria’ on Nagle Avenue.
It also depended on where the attackers’ next destination had been. If they’d been heading for the Bronx, then the last two would have been the best choices. Heading back to Jersey or Queens, the Broadway option would have been the most attractive. He picked out the Broadway station to check first.
They headed east along 181st and turned left when they reached the Broadway intersection. About ten minutes later, Bishop saw the tall green sign up ahead with its familiar star-shaped logo. He looked at the green roof above the pumps and spotted at least two internet protocol cameras up there. Further back was a one-storey building that doubled as a convenience store. The place looked busy.
‘What now?’ Gerry asked.
‘Same as before. Follow my lead and let me do all the talking.’
‘What if they ask for ID this time?’
‘Let me worry about that.’ Bishop led the way across the forecourt until they reached the store, then pushed open the glass entrance door and entered. Inside, he saw two cashiers, one male, one female. The man was serving a customer with three more waiting in line behind him. The woman’s till was closed. She was leaning on the counter, writing something in a ledger.
Bishop walked over to her and said, ‘Can you call your manager and ask him to come out? I’m Detective Hurley.’ He pointed a thumb at Gerry behind him. ‘This is Detective Adams. Tell him we’d like to talk to him about last night’s customers.’
The cashier took the request in her stride. She shrugged and picked up a phone next to the cash till. Then she paused and said, ‘Wait a second. What time last night?’
‘Primarily between eleven thirty and midnight,’ Bishop said. ‘Why?’
She replaced the phone. ‘Well, I can call Mr Motta if you want, but from about ten thirty onwards the only fuel we had here was diesel, and we ran out of that half an hour later. We put up a sign outside to warn people. And the fuel supply trucks didn’t get here until about two a.m. We still had a few people buying stuff here in the store, but no gas customers. Or did you mean everybody?’
‘No, just gas customers,’ Bishop said. ‘But thanks anyway.’
‘You’re welcome,’ she said automatically, and went back to her ledger.
Outside, Gerry said, ‘So that’s one down, then.’
Bishop nodded. But how many more to go? He was thinking back to the map. If the suspects had been heading south, then the next filling station in that direction was in the Hamilton Heights area. Miles away. Too far for a vehicle running on empty when it would have been simpler to hang a U on Broadway and head north. Which meant checking on the other two he’d already marked in his mind. But there were still far too many variables for his liking. What if they hadn’t been low on gas at all? What if it had been an engine fault that caused the shudder? Or a faulty fuel pump. Then what?
He mentally shook himself out of that kind of thinking. It was pointless and got him nowhere. He was tired, but that was no excuse. Logically, all he could do for now was explore all the possibilities to hand. And if he got nothing out of it, he’d have to try something else. Simple as that.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘on to the next.’
ELEVEN
When the cab came to a stop just before the Dyckman Street intersection, Bishop gave the driver a five and they got out. He and Gerry continued north-east along Dyckman, passing a small residential park area before stopping on the corner of Seaman Avenue.
On the opposite corner was another open forecourt with another steel canopy, this one overlooking three pump dispensers. There was a small shop further back. Next to that were three open garage areas with signs promoting auto repair and wheel alignment services. He could see a few mechanics working on vehicles, but the filling station itself only had one customer pumping gas into his station wagon. The whole area was almost entirely overlooked by apartment blocks, which made Bishop think this particular site could soon be the next victim of the all-consuming gentrification god.
The two men crossed the street, walked across the forecourt and entered the shop.
Straight away, Bishop could see the same approach wouldn’t work here. The shop wasn’t much bigger than a shoebox, with just the one guy working the cash till. If Bishop had to guess he’d say he was looking at the proprietor. He looked in his fifties, with neat, greased-back grey hair and the kind of lined, lived-in face that told the world he was nobody’s fool. He watched his two customers with a careful scrutiny. One thing Bishop knew for sure was that if he came on as a plainclothes detective this guy would want to see a badge. In which case it looked as though it was time for plan B.
Bishop stepped over to the counter. The man said, ‘Help you?’
‘Possibly,’ Bishop said. ‘You’re the owner here?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Were you on duty last night?’
He shook his head. ‘We got a night boy for that. Why?’
‘But you’ve got security cameras covering the forecourt, right?’
The man shrugged. ‘That a trick question or something? What’s it to you, anyway?’
‘Well, I’d like to check out last night’s footage. Specifically from eleven thirty onwards.’
The man chuckled. ‘Sure thing,’ he said. ‘Want me to stick a floor mop up my ass so I can clean the floor as I leave?’
Bishop shrugged. ‘If you really feel it’s necessary.’
The man suddenly lost his good humour. ‘Who the hell are you? You’re not cops.’
‘I didn’t say we were.’
‘So why am I even talking to you?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe because you think there’s possibly something in it for you.’
The man looked at Bishop. Then at Gerry standing by the window. ‘Maybe that’s exactly what I’m thinking,’ he said.
Bishop nodded and reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his billfold. He extracted three fifties and fanned them out on the counter.
The man looked at the notes. ‘Know what my pet peeve is?’ he said. ‘Odd numbers. Call me weird, but I can’t stand the sight of them.’
Bishop added another fifty to the fan.
‘Now we’re talking.’ The man picked them up and placed them in his shirt pocket. He turned to the wall phone behind him, put it to his ear and pressed 2. A few
seconds later, he said, ‘Harry, you wanna come and look after the store while I take care of something? . . . Yeah, right now . . . Okay.’ He replaced the phone and said, ‘Be a minute.’
‘Sure,’ Bishop said and looked out the window. The guy outside had already finished filling his tank. Bishop watched as the station wagon slowly pulled out of the forecourt.
The owner said, ‘So what you looking for that’s worth two hundred bucks?’
‘Last night,’ Bishop said, ‘somebody close to us was attacked by three men over in Highbridge Park. A witness gave us information that indicates they might have been seriously low on gas when they took off. And you’re one of the filling stations closest to the crime scene.’ As he spoke, Bishop’s eyes followed a shaven-headed young guy in mechanic’s overalls walking past the window.
He appeared at the door. ‘What’s up, Tony?’
‘Just need to show these two gentlemen something out back. This way, guys.’ Tony lifted up a hinged part of the counter, then opened a door at the side of the shop and stepped through. Gerry, then Bishop, followed him inside.
Bishop closed the door behind him and saw they were in a small, windowless storeroom-cum-office. Various boxes were stacked up against two walls. Three TVs in various states of disrepair were lined up against a third. In the centre of the room was a chair and a desk. On the desk was an old PC and keyboard, a printer, two full filing trays and various components that looked like hard drives, or modems. Or perhaps both.
Tony sat down and switched on the computer. ‘We only got the one camera right above our heads. It’s aimed at the pumps, but it’s pretty old. Don’t know how useful it’ll be.’
Gerry stood over his shoulder and tapped a small black box next to the computer. ‘And everything gets automatically saved onto this hard drive?’