The Hunter’s Oath

by Jason Dean

  ‘Good old Ed.’ There was a short pause. ‘Bishop . . . Bishop . . . Yeah, I seem to recall your name coming up in conversation once or twice. So you have a need of my services?’

  ‘For the next few days, at least. How busy are you right now?’

  ‘Right now? Very. I won’t be free until tomorrow morning at the earliest. You still interested?’

  ‘Yes,’ Bishop said, and quickly explained the situation and what he wanted. ‘And I’d want you to take care of this personally. No assigning it to one of your operatives. Just you. Is that acceptable?’

  ‘Sure, but I gotta warn you, my time doesn’t come cheap.’

  ‘That’s fine. I’ll pay whatever it costs.’

  ‘Okay, then. I don’t see any problem. At least it makes a change from the usual divorce cases. I’ll contact you early in the morning to let you know when I’m coming.’

  ‘Good. Bring a contract with you and we’ll make everything legal.’

  Bishop ended the call, satisfied that at least Amy wouldn’t be left alone at any point. He would be free to focus his efforts on finding those responsible for putting her in here.

  He threw the empty coffee cup in the trash and walked in the direction of room 32 to wait for Willard.

  TWENTY

  Bishop and Seth Willard were sitting on two of the beam-mounted chairs in Amy’s corridor. The seats were as uncomfortable as they looked. It was no wonder they weren’t used much. But their location more than compensated. From here, both men could clearly see the door to room 32 on their right, less than twenty feet away.

  ‘I’ve hired a private detective to take over from you,’ Bishop said, ‘but he won’t get here until tomorrow morning. Can you stay awake that long?’

  Willard finished clipping the temporary overnight visitor’s pass Bishop had given him to the lapel of his jacket. It had taken all of Bishop’s diplomatic skills to get a doctor to issue it to him. They were like gold dust around here.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Willard said, ‘I won’t get bored. I already got a bunch of new movies on my iPod I haven’t seen yet. Plus I’m not sure it’s possible to sleep in these chairs.’

  ‘Yeah, they are pretty bad.’

  Willard used a hand to brush his hair away from his forehead and looked over at Amy’s door. ‘But, like, wouldn’t it be easier if I was in the room with Amy, rather than out here?’

  ‘It would be, but they told me it’s something to do with insurance. It’s probably bullshit, but you can see everything okay from here. Anything else you need from me?’

  Willard pulled a pair of earbuds from his pocket and said, ‘Can’t think of anything.’

  ‘Okay, then,’ Bishop said, standing up. ‘I appreciate this.’

  Willard smiled. ‘No problemo.’ He pulled his iPod from his jacket pocket and began scrolling through his playlists.

  Bishop left him to it and headed back in the direction of the waiting room. When he got there, he pushed open the door and saw everybody seated at the far end, as before. Lisa was awake now, and in conversation with her grandmother. Good. Bishop just stood there in the doorway for a few moments, waiting. Sure enough, Lisa’s sixth sense kicked in, and when she looked over Bishop beckoned with a finger before slipping back out into the hallway.

  Lisa pushed through the doorway a few seconds later and came over to him with raised eyebrows. ‘What?’

  ‘So you still angry with me?’

  She shrugged. ‘Nothing’s changed. Maybe I was too hard on you before, but you still should have been around more.’

  ‘You’re absolutely right, and that’ll change in future. I guarantee it. But for now, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?’

  ‘Depends. What kind of questions?’

  ‘Like how have things been at home recently?’

  The girl gave a sigh. ‘Well, Dad hasn’t been a whole lot of fun since he lost his job at the agency, although things picked up a few months back when he got himself a job as night watchman at some warehouse in Brooklyn. But they laid him off again a few weeks ago and that was the end of that.’

  ‘What about your mom? Has she been acting any different recently?’

  ‘Different?’

  ‘Preoccupied, or stressed out, like she had something on her mind.’

  Lisa made a face. ‘Mom always looks like she’s got something on her mind.’ Then the girl slowly brought her eyebrows together. She even frowned like her mother. ‘But she has been a lot pricklier than usual the last few weeks. Like if I did something wrong like not cleaning my room in time, she would totally bite my head off. Which she never used to do. Then she’d quickly say she was sorry and that’d be that.’

  ‘And did she ever talk to you about anything that was bothering her? Like at work, for example?’

  ‘What’s work got to do with anything?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’ He paused. ‘Did she ever take you out to see her office?’

  ‘No. Why would she?’

  ‘Some parents do. So you wouldn’t know if she’s got any personal items on her work desk. Like photos, or trinkets, anything like that.’

  Lisa shrugged. ‘Well, I guess she’s got photos of me and Pat there. But I don’t . . .’ She stopped and looked off into the distance.

  ‘What?’

  Lisa turned to him. ‘Mom’ll have her special little Japanese tree at work. She loves that thing.’

  ‘Japanese tree? You mean a bonsai?’

  ‘Yeah. Mom said she got it just after I was born. Whenever she gets a new job that thing goes with her. She told us it always makes her feel calm and relaxed.’

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ Bishop said. ‘Maybe I’ll go get it for her.’

  TWENTY-ONE

  Bishop took the 7 train to 33rd Street in Sunnyside, and from there it was just a short walk to 32nd Place. It was 16.09 already. The beginning of rush hour in the big city. Pedestrians everywhere were already starting to make their way home. He just hoped Artemis was still working to standard office hours.

  This part of Queens, especially west of 37th Street, was essentially a huge industrial area. 32nd Place was atypical. It was four blocks long, and lined with large commercial buildings that got smaller in size the further south you went. As Bishop crossed 48th Avenue he passed a mailbox on the corner, then a long brick building on the left claiming to be the headquarters for the Steamfitters Association. A small, overgrown plot of land separated the latter from its immediate neighbour, a two-storey tan adobe building with windows all along the second floor, but on the first just a large, shuttered garage door to the right and a tinted glass door to the left. Artemis International was pasted across the front in tasteful bronze lettering, with a simple crescent moon logo at the end.

  Bishop went over to the glass door, pulled it open and stepped into a large, well-lit reception area containing a number of soft chairs arranged around wooden tables bearing magazines and newspapers. There was nobody waiting. Bishop saw a concrete stairwell at the far end of the room, with a large desk set against the wall to the left. A young, heavily made-up woman in a white blouse sat behind the desk, working on her computer.

  Bishop walked over to her. The receptionist saw him coming and gave him a professional smile. She had short brown hair and wore a wedding ring on her left hand. Bishop guessed she was fairly good-looking, though it was hard to tell under all the make-up.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she said. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Amanda Philmore,’ Bishop said. ‘She works here, right?’

  The girl brought her eyebrows together. ‘Yes, but Amy’s not in today, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I’ve just come from the hospital. I’m her brother.’

  Her eyes instantly softened. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Isn’t it just terrible? The police came this morning and told us what happened. None of us here can believe it. Why would anybody do something like that? Will she be all right?’

  ‘It’s a little too early to tell. Look, is he
r boss around? I’d like to see him.’

  ‘Graham? Of course. I can take you up to his office right now. Just follow me.’ She clicked on something with her mouse, then got up, came around the desk and walked over to the stairwell. As Bishop followed her up the steps, she half turned and said, ‘I arranged for a large bouquet to be sent to the hospital earlier this afternoon. From all of us. It seemed the least we could do. Do you know if it arrived okay?’

  ‘No, but thanks anyway,’ Bishop said. ‘So this Graham, he won’t mind me just turning up without warning?’

  ‘No, we’re all pretty informal here.’

  When they reached the top of the stairs, Bishop paused and looked around. This part of the building was mostly open-plan, with a dozen work desks arranged in four groups of three. On one of the vacant ones, he spotted a small bonsai juniper tree. There were five men and three women working quietly at the other desks. All of the men were Caucasian. At the back of the room was a large, glassed-in office. Through the window, Bishop saw a blond, bearded man sifting through some paperwork on his desk. To the right of the office was a hallway going back towards the rear of the building.

  ‘This way,’ the receptionist said, walking towards the office. Bishop followed. A couple of the women looked up from their work as they passed. When they reached the office, the receptionist opened the door, leaned in and said, ‘Graham, I’ve got Amy’s brother here. He said he’d like to talk to you.’

  Graham saw Bishop and said, ‘Sure.’ He rose from his seat and walked round his desk. ‘Come in, come in.’

  Bishop stepped inside. The woman gave him a brief smile, closed the door and left them. Graham came over with his hand outstretched. Bishop noticed the fingers were very long. He wore a shirt and tie and was about five-ten, with narrow shoulders and the beginnings of a pot belly.

  As Bishop shook the hand, the man said, ‘Sit down. Please.’

  Bishop took the chair in front of the desk while the blond man resumed his place behind it. ‘I’m Graham Bryson, the office manager,’ he said, moving some of the papers to the side. ‘And you’re Amy’s brother . . .?’

  ‘Bishop.’

  ‘Bishop. So tell me, how is Amy? All we know is what the police told us this morning. That she was mugged and assaulted in one of the parks late last night. Is she all right? Has she been able to identify her attackers yet?’

  ‘She hasn’t been able to do anything yet,’ Bishop said. ‘She’s in a coma.’

  Bryson’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, sweet Jesus. I didn’t realize. A coma? That’s serious. Is there anything I can do?’

  Bishop was watching him carefully, but couldn’t detect any false notes. The man seemed genuinely affected by the news. But affected in what way? ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘It’s just a waiting game for now. But I wouldn’t expect her back at work any time soon.’

  ‘No. Of course not. God.’

  ‘So the police came to see you this morning?’

  ‘A detective, yes. Asking if anybody here knew when Amy left the office last night.’

  ‘And did they?’

  Bryson shook his head and rubbed a palm against his beard. ‘Most people had gone by six thirty, which is when we officially finish for the day. When I left at six fifty, Amy was still working. I knew she was planning to stay late and finish up some stuff, so she could have left any time after that.’

  ‘She’s got a key to this place, then?’

  Bryson shook his head. ‘No. There’s a rear exit staff can use if any of them want to work late. You don’t need a key to leave, only to get back in. Or rather the correct keypad combination. It locks itself automatically, you see.’ He pursed his lips, then looked at his watch. ‘Um, look, I don’t know if—’

  The door behind Bishop burst open and a grey-haired man came into the room, saying, ‘Graham, I need that Castor file as soon as—’ He stopped when he saw Bishop, then turned back to Bryson with a quizzical look.

  ‘Roger, this is Bishop, Amy’s brother. Bishop, this is Roger Klyce, our CEO.’

  Bishop got up and turned to face the newcomer. Klyce was wearing a dark sports jacket, dark pants and a pale shirt, but no tie. He was in his mid to late fifties. About Bishop’s height and fairly chunky with it, but otherwise in good shape for his age. He had a plain face with deep-set eyes, a large nose and a thin mouth that curved downwards.

  ‘Bishop?’ he said, narrowing his eyes. He offered his hand and Bishop shook it. The man’s grip was strong. ‘We only heard about the assault this morning. How is Amy? Is she okay?’

  ‘She’s in a coma, Roger,’ Bryson said.

  Klyce raised his eyebrows. ‘A coma? You’re not serious? But I got the impression from that detective it was a simple mugging.’

  ‘We all thought that,’ Bryson said. ‘But it looks as if it’s a lot worse than we thought.’

  Bishop was watching Klyce’s face. Trying to sense any hint of artificiality. Bryson still seemed genuinely disturbed by the news, but there was something about Klyce that got Bishop’s radar pinging. He wasn’t sure what, exactly. Certainly nothing concrete. Just a feeling the CEO might be holding something back.

  ‘That’s terrible,’ Klyce said, turning to Bishop. ‘I don’t know what to say. Amy’s a very popular figure around here. It’s hard to believe anybody would want to do her harm. But listen, you didn’t have to come all this way . . .’

  The desk phone started ringing. Bryson picked it up and began talking in hushed tones. Klyce said, ‘Maybe we should go to my office? It’s quieter. Fewer interruptions.’

  ‘Sure,’ Bishop said. ‘After you.’

  Klyce took him into the hallway he’d spotted before, which ended in a sharp right turn. There were three doors along the left-hand side. The first one was open. Bishop looked in as he passed and saw a large conference table, but no people. The second door was closed. Klyce opened the third door and stepped inside. Bishop followed him into a large office with a single window overlooking the rear of the building. There were a few abstract art prints on the wall, along with some framed photos and certificates. One corner of the room was taken up by a large, polished oak desk bearing a computer and the usual peripherals, along with three neatly stacked piles of folders. Against another wall were an antique-looking oak bookcase and three art deco oak filing cabinets.

  ‘Take a seat,’ Klyce said, and gestured at the two director’s chairs in front of the desk. Bishop chose one while Klyce fell into his own leather chair behind the desk. ‘I was just saying there was no need for you to come all this way, Bishop. A simple phone call to explain the situation would have been fine. We’d understand.’

  ‘I had another reason,’ Bishop said. ‘Amy’s daughter thinks putting her favourite bonsai tree next to her bed might help. I came to pick it up.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Well, I’m sure we can find something for you to transport it in.’ Klyce smoothed a palm across the surface of his desk. ‘You know, I find it odd that Amy’s never really mentioned you before.’

  Bishop shrugged. ‘Not so odd. Amy’s family probably takes up most of her thoughts these days. I’m just a part of her past who comes to visit every now and then.’

  ‘I see. And what is it you do, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘Well, you could say I’m in the problem-solving business.’

  ‘A problem-solver.’ Klyce smiled. ‘That’s a definition that could cover a lot of ground.’

  Bishop smiled back. ‘You’re right. It could.’ He passed his eyes over the office and said, ‘So has Amy helped you catch any international fugitives recently?’

  ‘Well, we don’t actually “catch” them, you know. We’re not equipped for that kind of work. We’re solely an intelligence-gathering service. Tell me, are you familiar with the Olympian legend of Artemis at all?’

  ‘Sure. Greek goddess of the hunt, wasn’t she? And daughter of Zeus.’

  Klyce nodded. ‘And twin sister of Apollo. You know your classics. Well, we’ve made our own hunting g
round that of paper trails and computer databases. That’s where we’re most at home. See, we have a whole network of contacts across the globe now, as well as a solid reputation that’s growing exponentially. Based on our past record, foreign governments and agencies now come to us first to help track down war criminals they’ve judged in absentia, or those guilty of crimes against humanity. We assign researchers to each case, and when we get a break we pass the relevant information on to the clients, who then do the groundwork necessary to bring those in question to justice.’

  ‘Meaning the client sends in an extraction team to snatch the fugitive and bring him back.’

  Klyce waved a hand. ‘What the client does with the information isn’t any of our concern. We just supply the data.’

  ‘Plausible deniability,’ Bishop said. ‘I get it. And you charge for this service, right?’

  ‘Expenses only. We’re a non-profit association, although we do receive hefty donations from satisfied clients on occasion. Enough to tide us over when we go through the inevitable slow patches. And to answer your question, yes, Amy’s certainly helped bring a number of fugitives to light. She’s a very capable researcher.’

  ‘Uh huh. What’s she been working on recently?’

  Klyce shifted in his seat. ‘Well, I can’t go into too much detail about open cases, but let’s just say it involved tracking down some leftovers from the Bosnian war.’ He shook his head and said, ‘And now this random mugging. The poor woman.’

  ‘I’m not convinced it was random.’

  Klyce’s brow became furrowed. ‘Not random? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ Bishop said. ‘Not yet. But I’ve discovered a few things today that tell me there’s more to this than Amy simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ He stood up. ‘Anyway, thanks for your time, Mr Klyce. It’s been interesting.’

  Klyce stood too. He was still frowning. ‘No problem. I’ll ask one of the girls to find you a box for that tree. And if you have any more news about Amy, please let us know.’