by Jason Dean
Arquette was closer to the truth than he knew, but Bishop saw no reason to enlighten him. ‘You could be totally wrong about all this, you know. It could simply be Klyce seeing history about to repeat itself, and deciding to take care of business like before.’
‘I’d really like to believe that, but the MO’s all wrong. If Klyce wanted her dead he’d simply make her disappear, like he did with Hernandez. No muss, no fuss.’
‘That’s assuming he was the one who got rid of Hernandez in the first place. There are a lot of ifs and maybes in your theory.’
Arquette showed his palms. ‘That’s why it’s just a theory at this stage. All I can do is work with the facts that are available.’
‘So here comes the big question. Why you telling me all this?’
‘I’ve been keeping track of you today, Bishop. Or trying to. There are a lot of blank spaces. See, after reading up on your history, I suspected you might investigate Amy’s assault on your own and so far you’ve proved me right. I’d probably know a lot more if we hadn’t lost you at that dollar store in Seaman Avenue this afternoon. I presume you and your brother-in-law both left by the rear exit?’
Bishop said nothing. At the time, he hadn’t been quite sure why he’d chosen that way to leave. Just that it had felt right at the time. One more tick for his instincts.
‘Don’t suppose you want to tell me where you went next?’
Bishop just looked at him.
‘Didn’t think so. Anyway, my point is I think we both have similar aims. I want Klyce. You want the person who ordered your sister killed. I think Bekele’s the key to both. I can’t touch him for a variety of reasons, one of them being that as a senior official in the embassy he has diplomatic immunity. But as a free agent, you can go where I can’t.’
‘So that’s what all this is about. You want me to do your dirty work for you. Okay, you can let me out here, thanks.’
‘Come on, Bishop. You’re not about to ignore the information I’ve given you. I could hear the wheels turning when you looked at those photos. I know you plan to have a very serious talk with Bekele. And all I ask is that whatever information you discover you share with me. No obligation. Just a simple request, nothing more.’
Bishop said nothing. This subtle approach was a new one on him. He’d generally found cops got in your face at the smallest opportunity. Arquette had obviously learned a few things over the years. But Bishop wasn’t about to commit to anything just yet. The less anybody knew of his actions, the better. Especially the Feds.
Which reminded him. Bishop pulled his cell phone from his pocket and said, ‘You operate out of the New York field office? The one on Federal Plaza?’
‘That’s right,’ Arquette said. ‘Why?’
‘What’s the number for the switchboard there?’
Arquette brought his brows together, then slowly reeled off a ten-digit number. Bishop keyed the figures into the phone and brought it to his ear.
It was picked up almost immediately. A clipped female voice with a heavy Bronx lilt said, ‘Federal Bureau of Investigation, New York Office. What’s the nature of your call, please?’
‘I need to speak to Special Agent Dermot Arquette. My name’s Alan Carraway. He’s expecting my call and I lost the cell phone number he gave me. It’s kind of urgent.’
‘One moment, please,’ the woman said, and put Bishop on hold.
Arquette was still frowning as he took his own cell phone from his inside jacket pocket and placed it on his knee. Seven seconds later, it began to ring. He picked it up and took the call. ‘This is Arquette,’ he said. After a pause, he said, ‘Fine, put him through.’
Bishop watched as Arquette said, ‘Happy now?’
Bishop heard the words in stereo. ‘Just checking,’ he said, and hung up.
Arquette smiled. ‘So now what?’
‘Now you let me out of here, like I asked.’
After a few moments of silence, Arquette sighed and pressed a button set into his armrest. ‘Pull over, will you, Wescott?’ he said. ‘Our guest wants to leave.’
The driver slowed and pulled up next to a fire hydrant. Bishop looked out the window and saw they were on East 59th Street. He checked his watch and saw it was 19.08. The caffeine in the sodas had kept him going a little longer, but he still felt beat. His body needed rest. He’d catch the 4 or 5 train to the end of the line, then the ferry over to Staten Island, then the bus to his house in Great Kills. With any luck, he’d be asleep in his own bed within the hour. Ninety minutes at most.
Arquette pulled a card from his pocket and held it out. ‘Well?’
Bishop took the card, memorized the phone numbers on it and handed it back. ‘Let me sleep on it,’ he said. Then he opened the door and stepped out into the night.
TWENTY-NINE
Bishop woke up at 05.30 the next morning. It was still dark, but the early start was necessary. He didn’t know what time Muro would be at the hospital, and he wanted to be there when the guy arrived.
Once he’d showered and shaved, Bishop went downstairs to the kitchen, carrying a knapsack full of items he might need if he was going to check out Arquette’s story. Which obviously meant a trip to DC. The thought of being away from Amy for any length of time made him edgy, but he couldn’t stay at the hospital, either. That was what he’d hired Muro for. Bishop needed to go where the leads took him if he was going to protect Amy from possible further harm.
He poured some tap water into a pot and switched on the stove. Whenever he was home he always began the day with tea if he could. He generally avoided set routines, but he figured a mug of the hot stuff in the morning was a pretty harmless one. If it was good enough for the ancient Chinese it was good enough for him.
As he waited for the water to heat up, his thoughts turned to the house around him, and what it signified. Bishop generally didn’t think about it much. To him it was just a base where he could lay down his head whenever he was in town. He’d never been the nostalgic type. But he and Amy had both spent their formative years here. He guessed that had to count for something.
Dad had left the place to both of them in his will, the deeds held in trust until they reached twenty-one, but after their grandparents died it had remained unoccupied for a long time. After leaving the Corps, Bishop had rarely been in one place for too long so he’d never used it. And Amy had no emotional attachment to the place at all, thanks to those couple of years she’d spent under the care of Dad’s parents.
Tom and Annabel. They’d been a cold pair of oddballs, without a doubt. They weren’t bad people, exactly. They just had no empathy for anybody else. Not even their own blood. Bishop sometimes wondered how his dad had turned out so different from them. Strength of character, probably. But after Mom and Dad died, it was a simple fact that the only affection Bishop ever received came from Amy. And she’d never let him down. Not once. Not even when she’d had to leave him alone with them.
It was inevitable she would, of course. Bishop knew it, even at twelve. That was the year she departed for university in Bridgeport, Connecticut. Amy’s last day at the house had been one to remember, though, because it was on that day that Bishop witnessed a ruthless side to his sister he’d never seen before. It left him tremendously impressed.
It had been a bright September morning and the four family members, Tom, Annabel, Amy and Bishop, had been standing in a loose circle by the front door while out front the cab driver waited to take Amy to the Staten Island Ferry. Annabel was trying to hide her joy that this last threat to her authority was about to leave, and not doing a very good job.
Bishop allowed Amy to hug him for about the twentieth time in as many minutes, and when she finally released him she said, ‘Remember, kiddo, I’m only a phone call away. Call me any time, even it’s once or twice a day. And for any reason whatsoever, even if it’s just to hear my voice. And if I’m in class, leave a message and I promise to get back to you as soon as I can. Okay?’
Before Bishop could answer
in the positive, Annabel cut in with, ‘That might not be possible, Amy.’
Amy turned and looked at her grandmother with narrowed eyes. ‘Why not?’
Annabel gave a thin smile, which was probably the worst thing she could have done. ‘Well, Amy, we’re not a rich household as you well know, and we’ll have to start being a lot more careful with our finances from now on. Neither Tom nor I are working and I can’t really justify unnecessary long-distance calls every day. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.’
Amy raised an eyebrow. ‘You can’t justify it. Is that what you just said?’
‘Well, as head of the household, I think I have the right to—’
‘Listen to me carefully, Annabel,’ Amy interrupted. ‘You’re both here because you are my brother’s legal guardians until he reaches eighteen, but don’t ever think that gives you any rights as far as this house is concerned.’
Tom said, ‘Now wait a minute—’
Amy stopped him with a raised hand. ‘And I also know for a fact neither of you are suffering financially, either, so let’s not go there.’
‘I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,’ Annabel said.
Amy smiled then. ‘Annabel, I know the exact amount you got after selling your Brooklyn apartment two years ago, so let’s not pretend any more, okay? You’re both sitting pretty with money in the bank and free boarding in your beloved house in the suburbs. But don’t forget that in three years the property deeds for this place come to me, after which I’ll have total authority over who stays here and who doesn’t.’
Annabel’s mouth dropped. ‘You’d actually be willing to throw your own grandparents onto the street? I don’t believe it. Who’d look after James?’
‘I would. I’m his sister, after all. And I’m a hell of a lot closer to him than you are.’
Tom said, ‘You’d really do that? To us?’
Amy shrugged. ‘I’d prefer not to, but when you start throwing your weight around I lose my temper, and when that happens I make regrettable decisions. So my advice to you is to not make me lose my temper. And that means letting Bish here call me any time he feels like it. And for as long as he wants. Is that clear?’
Annabel just glared at her and said nothing.
‘Please don’t make me ask twice,’ Amy said. ‘I might lose my temper again.’
Finally, Annabel said, ‘Of course James can call you whenever he wants. I was just putting forward a suggestion, that’s all.’
Amy had smiled at that point and said, ‘Wonderful. So we’re all friends again.’
And that had been the end of it, but the steel in his sister’s voice that day was something Bishop would never forget.
Amy always came back during vacations too. She always made time for him, no matter what. After all, they only had each other. Naturally, things had changed for her over time, what with her family and all. But for him, Amy was still the one true constant in his life. Always had been. And if she got through this, she probably always would be.
But her continued survival was down to him now. That much was clear.
The water started bubbling. Bishop picked up the pot and poured some of it into his plain black mug. He was just placing a bag of Earl Grey in there when his cell phone started ringing. He picked it up and immediately recognized the number as Willard’s.
He took the call and said, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Better get over here as fast as you can,’ Willard said. ‘Somebody tried to kill Amy again.’
THIRTY
When the elevator reached the third floor Bishop exited and marched down the corridor towards Amy’s room, trying to keep his anger in check. It wasn’t easy. After suffering the ferry ride to Lower Manhattan, he’d taken a cab straight to the hospital. He’d spent most of the 45-minute drive fuming. He wasn’t used to feeling so powerless and hated every second of it.
Willard had been full of apologies when he’d explained what had happened on the phone. He’d also accepted all the blame. He’d said that at 05.45, a nurse had come over and said that there was a call for him at the nurses’ station. When Willard took the phone, somebody who sounded exactly like Bishop had said to meet him down in the hospital cafeteria ASAP. Willard had taken the elevator down to the second floor and, when he saw no sign of Bishop anywhere, realized he’d been had. He then raced back up to see an army of emergency staff running in and out of Amy’s room.
Somebody had gone in and removed the ventilator tube from her throat, and it was only thanks to the quick thinking of a doctor who’d looked in by chance that she was alive at all. They calculated she’d stopped breathing for between ninety seconds and two minutes, and that any longer could have resulted in permanent brain damage. Willard said she was still in the coma, but at least her condition was no worse.
Bishop took a right turn and saw Willard sitting in the same seat that Bishop had left him in, staring expressionless at Amy’s door. Further back, Gerry was at the nurses’ station talking to two men. One was a thin guy in a raincoat, with olive skin, centre-parted black hair and a neat goatee beard. The other one was older and stockier. He had perfectly groomed grey hair and wore a dark grey suit that looked as though it had been moulded onto him. Since there was also a uniformed cop standing close by, Bishop assumed one of them was a detective. He carried on towards Amy’s room. Willard saw him coming and got up to meet him.
‘I’m real sorry, man,’ he said, ‘I was only away from my seat for a few—’
‘How’s Amy?’ Bishop cut in.
Willard shrugged. ‘Same as before. Still unresponsive, but she’s alive.’
‘Okay, fine. And who called the cops? You?’
‘Yeah, I thought it best. That guy in the raincoat back there is Detective DuBay. I already told him what I know, and that somebody must have come and cut off Amy’s oxygen while I was away from my post, but he didn’t sound too convinced. Why, did I do wrong?’
‘I don’t know yet. When did Gerry get here?’
‘Maybe ten minutes after the alarm went out. It wasn’t long. I guess he must have already been on his way here or something.’
Bishop had more questions, but first he needed to see Amy with his own eyes. He left his knapsack with Willard and went over to her room. He stepped inside and approached his sister. She was lying in the same position as before, arms still atop the sheets. There were three IV lines attached to her now. Her steady breathing echoed throughout the room. The ventilator was still making its electronic beeping sounds, although it looked to be a different model from the one he remembered.
Just hang in there, Amy, he thought, and went over to her. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. We’ll get there. I’ll make sure of it.
He watched her breathing for another minute and then stepped back out. He looked down the hallway to his left and noticed the ceiling security camera he’d passed before. He turned the other way and saw Gerry and the detective walking towards him. Willard also came over, with Bishop’s bag over his shoulder.
Gerry spoke first. ‘This is Bishop, detective. My wife’s brother I told you about.’
DuBay nodded at him. ‘Mr Willard here said you were on your way. I’m Detective DuBay.’
‘I know,’ Bishop said. ‘So what’s your take on this? Seems clear to me that this was a deliberate attempt on my sister’s life.’
DuBay scratched his goatee with a long index finger and said, ‘I don’t agree. And neither does Mr Philmore here. As far as I can make out from interviewing the staff, it appears Mrs Philmore had a violent convulsion and dislodged the ventilator tube herself. They said she’s already suffered a number of minor spasms since being brought in, and it seems this was a big one.’
‘It happens, Bishop,’ Gerry said. ‘I wish to God it hadn’t, but I don’t see anything suspicious about it.’
Bishop looked at him, then at DuBay. ‘That’s interesting. So how do you explain the phone call when somebody told Willard to leave his post at exactly the same time as th
e incident took place? Doesn’t that raise any kind of flag at all?’
‘It’s an anomaly, I gotta admit,’ DuBay said, and turned to Willard. ‘And this caller didn’t actually identify himself to you by name?’
‘No,’ Willard said, ‘but he sounded just like Bish—’
‘Because I spoke to the nurse who called you over,’ DuBay continued, ‘and he didn’t identify himself to her either. Nor did he ask for you by name. He just asked her to go get the guy in the chair. That’s all.’
Willard frowned. ‘So?’
‘So it’s possible it was a wrong number. Or maybe he got the wrong floor. This is a big hospital, after all. Maybe he thought he was talking to somebody else. Lots of people sitting around on chairs. And no offence, Bishop, but I can think of a dozen colleagues of mine who sound just like you.’
‘None taken,’ Bishop said. ‘Putting aside your theory for a second, have you at least checked with the hospital’s phone carrier to see where the call originated from?’
‘I did. It came from an unlisted cell phone. Completely untraceable.’
‘Convenient.’
DuBay shrugged. ‘If you say so. And there’s also the fact that we’re missing a motive. I don’t know why anybody would want to kill your sister, unless there’s something you’re not telling me?’
Gerry looked down at the floor and said nothing. Bishop looked DuBay right in the eyes and said, ‘I’m not keeping anything from you, detective. But what about security safeguards? Surely there would have been an alarm if the respirator malfunctioned?’
‘There was. But whoever set the machine up accidentally set the alarm at a much lower volume than usual. It activated, but nobody heard it. It’s just lucky a doctor checked on her and was able to perform emergency CPR when he saw she wasn’t breathing.’
‘That’s something we can agree on.’ Bishop turned and pointed at the security camera in the ceiling twenty feet away. ‘As for what caused it, I take it you’ve checked the security footage from that camera over there?’