by Jason Dean
Yuri was watching the knife’s progress with wide eyes. ‘Hey, guy, I tell you the truth, I swear. It was just a job, yeah?’
Bishop gave Yuri a smile completely devoid of humour and said, ‘Sure, Yuri, I understand. Now let’s go through it all again. Only this time we’re gonna go into a lot more detail, okay?’
‘Sure,’ he said, nodding, ‘okay. But I tell you one thing I—’
Then Bishop heard a sharp crack and a hole suddenly appeared in Yuri’s left cheek.
EIGHTEEN
Bishop instantly dived to the left and rolled his body along the floor away from the couch. Behind him he heard more popping sounds in quick succession. When he felt he’d covered enough space, he rose on one knee and turned at the hip until he was facing the doorway. His left hand was already drawn back, and he prepared to throw the knife . . .
And saw his brother-in-law standing there, with a revolver still aimed at Yuri, the hammer clicking on a now empty chamber.
‘Gerry?’ Bishop said, and slowly lowered his arm. He pocketed the knife and glanced over at Yuri to his left. The man’s head lay back against the couch, his eyes staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. In addition to the cheek wound, Bishop saw two small holes in his forehead and one in his left temple. Blood leaked slowly from each wound and dripped onto the couch. If he wasn’t dead now, it was only a matter of seconds.
Gerry just kept pulling the trigger as though in some kind of trance.
‘Hey, Gerry?’ Bishop said quietly. ‘How we doing over there?’
He stopped firing then. He pulled his finger from the trigger guard and slowly lowered the gun. It looked to Bishop like an old .22 Colt Trooper. Which explained the muted sounds of the shots. In an enclosed space, a .22 usually sounded more like a firecracker going off than actual gunfire. That was something. Bishop was also glad to see Gerry was still wearing the gloves.
Gerry turned to Bishop. His eyes were orbs. ‘When I heard him . . .’ he mumbled. ‘When I heard . . .’ He shook his head, then dropped the gun on the carpet.
Bishop said, ‘Where’d you get the gun?’
‘Huh?’
‘The gun. Is it yours?’
Gerry shook his head. ‘No. No, it’s not mine. I . . . I found it in that other apartment. In one of the bedroom drawers.’
Bishop nodded to himself. Gerry was a fool, but he was also a cunning one. He must have had this in mind all along. Earlier, when he’d said he’d keep his promise, he’d clearly been talking about the one he made to himself. To act out his Charles Bronson fantasy. Since he already had the address from the magazine cover, he must have gotten himself over here after Yuri arrived, then slipped in quietly through the front door and listened to the whole thing. Or most of it. Before he just lost it and started shooting. Complicating everything in the process, which is what idiots usually did. Well, the how and why didn’t matter at the moment. Now it was simply a case of getting them both out of here, leaving as few traces as possible.
Gerry was staring at Yuri’s body with a blank expression on his face. Bishop said, ‘Have you taken those gloves off at any point this afternoon?’
Gerry slowly looked down at his hands and shook his head. ‘No.’
‘You sure? It’s important.’
‘No, I haven’t take them off at all.’
‘Okay. Good. Just leave the gun there on the floor. We’re going now.’
Bishop grabbed Gerry by the arm and led him into the foyer. Pulling the front door open, he looked left and right. The outside hallway was empty. But it wouldn’t stay that way for long. He glanced briefly at the locked bedroom door. The girl had to still be unconscious in there or they would have heard something. Bishop didn’t feel comfortable with the thought of her waking and finding the body, but there was no other choice. They had to leave. Once they were out of the area, he’d call the cops. Hopefully, they’d get here before she awoke. They might even have the foresight to cover the body before letting her out.
‘Come on,’ he said, and pulled Gerry into the hallway. He silently pulled the door to 1907 shut, then began leading his brother-in-law towards the elevators at the end.
‘Where are we going?’ Gerry asked as they walked. He still sounded dazed.
‘Away from here. Don’t talk now.’
They carried on down the hallway and reached the centre of the building without seeing anybody. Luck appeared to be with them. Not that Bishop believed in luck, particularly. He was more a believer in will, determination and opportunity. Ignoring the elevators, he kept moving until he found the doorway to the fire stairs. He pushed it open, took himself and Gerry down one level and opened the door to the eighteenth-floor landing. He dragged Gerry over to the elevator bank and pressed the down button. Hidden machinery began to whirr.
Gerry looked around and said, ‘What are we doing on this floor?’
‘I think it’s better all round if we call the elevator from somewhere other than the nineteenth, don’t you? You clear-headed yet?’
Gerry brought a hand to his forehead. ‘Christ, Bishop, I just killed that guy.’
Yes, you did, Bishop thought, and I’ve a feeling he still had plenty more to tell me. But he said, ‘It’s done now, so try and forget it.’
‘Forget it? I’m not like you, Bishop. It’s not that easy.’
‘You’re right. You’re not like me. And nothing in life ever comes easy. But you’ll get over it. A month from now and this’ll all seem like a bad dream.’
Gerry just looked at Bishop as though he’d just told him the moon was square. The elevator arrived. The doors slid apart, revealing an old black couple standing there, looking back at them. The man nodded at Bishop and said, ‘Going down?’
Bishop pushed Gerry inside and said, ‘All the way.’
NINETEEN
Bishop pushed open the door to the hospital waiting room and let Gerry enter first. A balding, grey-haired, rugged-looking man in his late sixties sat next to Pat, showing him something on his phone. In the next seat, a handsome, smartly dressed woman of the same age sat with her arm round a sleeping Lisa.
Gerry’s parents. Bishop had never actually seen them in the flesh until now. He would have met them at Amy and Gerry’s wedding fifteen years before had he not been posted overseas at the time. One of the drawbacks of military life was that sometimes you had to miss out on important family events.
The woman noticed them first. She carefully disentangled her arm from around Lisa’s neck without waking her and got up. Gerry reached her and she gave him a long hug. The father and Pat got off the chairs and also came over.
‘Where have you been?’ the father said. ‘We were getting worried when you didn’t answer your phone.’
‘Sorry about that, Dad,’ Gerry said, and reached down to ruffle Pat’s hair. ‘I found out I had it on mute for some reason. Have they let you in to see Amy yet?’
‘Not yet,’ his mother said. ‘But definitely within the hour. One of the doctors said she’s still in the coma, but her condition’s a lot more stable. We wanted to tell you.’
‘Oh, thank God,’ Gerry said, closing his eyes. Bishop also allowed himself a small smile. At least things seemed to improving here.
‘Hi, Uncle James,’ Pat said.
Bishop smiled down at his nephew. It always amused him when Pat and Lisa used his first name. They were about the only ones who did. The boy’s eyes were still red-rimmed, but he managed to smile back. ‘Hey, Pat,’ Bishop said. ‘How you doing?’
Pat shrugged his small shoulders. ‘’Kay, I guess. I wanna see Mom, though.’
‘And you will. Won’t be long now. Just be patient.’
Gerry turned to him and said, ‘You haven’t met my folks, have you, Bishop? This here’s my dad, Arnie, and this is Janice.’
Bishop shook their hands. ‘Hello. Glad to meet you both.’
‘It’s just a shame it has to be under these circumstances,’ Janice said. ‘Poor dear Amy. The whole thing’s just terrible. What’s
wrong with people these days?’
‘The world’s going to hell is what’s wrong,’ Arnie said. ‘I just pray the police catch the bastards responsible and send them down forever. Do you think they will, Bishop?’
‘The detective in charge seems capable enough,’ he said.
After a moment’s silence, Janice asked her son something about the kids’ school situation. Bishop tuned out and just watched Gerry. He’d been watching him in the back of the cab, as well. It seemed whatever remorse he’d initially felt over the shooting had quickly dissipated. Either that or he was one of those people with the ability to compartmentalize their actions and move on without a backward thought. Gerry seemed the type. Or was it something else? Bishop still couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that Gerry was hiding something from him. But what? And why?
He excused himself and left the room. He needed another coffee, but he also needed a few moments alone to think. He went to the same vending machine as before, got himself a cup and sipped at the warm liquid, gazing blankly at the hospital staff passing in front of him and mulling over his next step.
Because this wasn’t finished yet. Not for him. Not by a long shot. The worker ants had been dealt with, but the one who’d given the order was still out there. And Bishop needed to find him. Or her. And not for any romantic notions of revenge, either. That might have been his overriding motive before, but not now. As far as the people behind this were concerned, Amy was unfinished business. She’d been marked for death, but the three morons they’d hired had bungled the job. Which meant as long as she was still breathing she was in danger. And it was up to Bishop to erase that danger.
He took a moment to reflect on the few facts he’d gleaned so far.
First, there was the black guy who’d recruited the three dead men. The one he’d caught a glimpse of outside Angelo’s. Bishop couldn’t quite see him as the man in charge, though. He was too much the professional. Bishop marked him down as a point man for his boss. The one who got things done. The one who’d been tasked to tie up the loose ends, and had almost succeeded before Bishop entered the picture.
But his presence at the park during Amy’s assault was a crucial factor, too. The item he’d taken from her bag might have been the reason she’d been targeted in the first place. Possibly a data CD, or a memory stick, containing information that was vital to somebody. And the fact that Amy had been privy to that same information appeared to be reason enough to have her killed. These people clearly weren’t taking any chances.
So the question was, from where had Amy acquired the information? Well, her workplace seemed the obvious bet. Amy had been a researcher with a company called Artemis International for almost a year now. Ever since Gerry had lost his job. Bishop knew they had offices out in Sunnyside, in Queens. Apparently, it was a small outfit that often worked alongside foreign governments to track down war criminals and bring them to justice. Real righteous stuff. Amy had been pretty jazzed about it at the time. Except what if it wasn’t quite so righteous? What if it was also involved in some less-than-legal sideline that Amy found out about? Or she’d simply discovered something about one of her clients that they wanted to keep secret at any cost? Or what if one of the people they were hunting thought Amy was getting a little too close to their whereabouts and decided enough was enough?
It could even be a simple case of Amy’s selling sensitive information on to somebody for profit. But Bishop didn’t believe it. Not Amy. She’d always been the moral one. Always. She wouldn’t suddenly change character now.
But there were any number of reasons why somebody might want Amy dead. He just didn’t know. He was still working in the dark at the moment. But he had to start somewhere, and her workplace seemed the obvious choice.
Bishop ran a palm over his head as he thought through one of the possibilities. Amy discovers something she can’t ignore and decides to approach somebody about it. An outsider. Maybe a journalist. And this somebody urges her to gather evidence and physically smuggle it out, since lots of companies nowadays monitor email traffic. She stays late one night, waits until she’s alone and then gets down to it. She arranges to hand the information over to the third party, at a pre-arranged spot at a pre-arranged time. That’s why she’s standing on Fort George Hill at 23.00.
Bishop frowned as he took another sip of the coffee. The bad guys must have suspected something was up, because they ordered the black guy to recruit some cheap thugs and keep them close by, just in case. And they had to have found out about Amy’s meeting just beforehand, because Yuri had said he’d only been given forty-five minutes’ notice. But it also raised the question of what happened to the third party. Why didn’t he make the meeting? Had he been killed as well?
And then there was Gerry. Back at the start he’d withheld information from Bishop. He’d tried to explain it away, but Bishop wasn’t completely convinced. Was there really something in it, or was it just Bishop’s natural distrust of the man coming through? It was hard to tell. But he couldn’t ignore it. All leads had to be checked, without exception. He just didn’t know how yet.
Still too many questions, and too few answers. He needed to start reversing that ratio.
Then something else occurred to Bishop. Something that immediately made his blood run cold. Amy had tried to get hold of him two weeks ago. Could this have been the reason why? Had she been concerned enough about her situation to approach her kid brother for help? Was it possible? And by not getting back to her, was he to blame for her current condition? He knew it was more than possible. It was actually probable.
‘Oh, Jesus Christ,’ he whispered. ‘No. Amy.’
He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. If that were the case, it meant he was the reason his sister was in a coma. Nobody else. Him alone. If he’d gotten involved earlier, Amy would still be up and walking about. He was sure of it.
Suddenly, for the first time in his life, Bishop wished he were dead. Then the pain he was experiencing would go away. It was like a knife in his ribcage. He couldn’t believe he’d been so thoughtless. Why hadn’t he called her back? How much effort would it have taken?
None. That’s how much. None at all.
He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. He took a long deep breath. And another. This was no good. Thinking this way served no purpose other than to cripple him. And right now, he was the only person who could prevent further harm from coming to Amy. Much as he hated the thought of leaving her, he wasn’t going to get the answers he needed by hanging round the hospital. But he wasn’t about to leave her unguarded, either.
Bishop pulled his cell phone out and keyed in a number from memory. After a few rings, a male voice said, ‘Hello?’
‘Willard, it’s Bishop. Where are you?’
‘Home.’ Bishop knew home meant an apartment in Jamaica, Queens. ‘Just got back a couple of hours ago and my girlfriend’s already giving me shit. Why?’
‘I need your help with something. It’s a personal matter.’
‘Personal, huh? Okay, shoot. I’m all ears.’
Bishop described what had happened to Amy and explained his concern for her continued safety. ‘Which means I need someone to stand guard over her when I’m not here. It would only be temporary until I can find a permanent guy, but I really need somebody right this minute. I can pay for your time.’
‘Not necessary,’ Willard said. ‘I’ll get a cab now and I should be with you in about thirty, depending on traffic. Good enough?’
Bishop checked his watch. It was 15.21. ‘Perfect. I’ll be waiting in Intensive Care for you. You’ll want room 32.’
He ended the call and keyed in another number. His contact at Equal Aid, Ed Giordano, picked up after two rings and said, ‘So how’s your sister? She okay?’
Bishop had already spoken to Giordano on the drive back from Pennsylvania, advising him that although the Ellen Meredith situation was all wrapped up, it might be a while before Bishop could update her in person. Once Gi
ordano knew the reason why, he’d said that anything he could do to help, all Bishop had to do was call.
‘Not really,’ Bishop said. ‘But she’s breathing. For now, anyway. But what I really need is a professional to keep Amy company around the clock until I get to the bottom of things. I was hoping you could recommend someone for the job.’
‘Well, I can think of a number of people off the top of my head. It all depends what kind of qualifications you’re—’
‘Put it this way,’ Bishop cut in. ‘If Amy was your sister, who would you call?’
‘Scott Muro,’ Giordano said.
‘Okay. And what is he?’
‘He’s a private investigator works out of Brooklyn. Just a few blocks away from our offices, in fact. I’ve used him a few times for various assignments and he’s always come through. He’s ex-army, and he’s also licensed to carry a firearm, which is a rarity in New York. He’d definitely be my first choice, but I don’t know how busy he is. Want me to get you his number?’
‘If you’ve got it handy.’
‘Hold on.’ Bishop waited. A short while later, Giordano came back and reeled off a phone number. ‘And if he can’t help you, call me back and we’ll find somebody else, okay?’
‘Thanks,’ Bishop said and hung up. Then he keyed in the number he’d been given.
It was picked up after a few rings. A man’s voice said, ‘Muro Investigations.’
‘That Scott Muro?’
‘The same. And who am I talking to?’
‘My name’s Bishop. It seems we’ve both done work for Ed Giordano in recent months. He passed along your name as somebody he trusts.’