The Hunter’s Oath

by Jason Dean

  Bishop saw the top link was for a genealogy forum. The two-line snippet mentioned an Edward James Foster from the seventeenth century. July 28 only got a mention because one of the forum posters sent their message on that day.

  But his eyes were drawn to the second link down. It was part of an obituary from the South Dakota Gazette website. The snippet included the words James N. Foster, 49, died of heart failure on 07/28/2008, at his home near Wessington Springs . . .

  Kidanu clicked on that link and they were taken to an obituary archives page on the newspaper website. It was the sixth of nine pages listing surnames beginning with F. Kidanu scrolled down until he reached the Fosters. There were lots of them, but only four Jameses. Kidanu clicked on James N. Foster and was taken to another page.

  The listing for the guy didn’t provide a whole lot more information than the Google snippet. Just three lines in total. James N. Foster, 49, died of heart failure on 07/28/2008, at his home near Wessington Springs, South Dakota. A graveside service will be held at 2:30 pm on 08/04/08 at Laurel Cemetery in Huron. More a notification of death than an obit. Bishop guessed you could probably access the complete thing by paying a subscription fee.

  ‘Possibly the same man,’ Kidanu said.

  ‘Could be,’ Bishop agreed. South Dakota was nowhere near Wisconsin, though. Although if those numbers weren’t phone numbers, that wouldn’t matter anyway. ‘Try Googling the John Allen and Andrew Black names and dates.’

  Kidanu tried John Allen first. The first page of results gave them plenty of John Allens, but none with that specific date. The next two pages were the same. Kidanu then tried Andrew Black. No sites listed an Andrew Black with that date. But Bishop still had a feeling they were onto something. ‘Try Martin Garcia now.’

  Kidanu keyed in the name. The first result was a snippet of another death notice. This time from the Omaha Courier. Kidanu clicked on it and was taken to another page. One that gave a slightly more comprehensive history of the late Martin Garcia.

  Martin Garcia, 54, died from head injuries caused by an industrial accident on Sunday, November 22, 2009, at Cobre Valley Medical Center in Globe, Arizona. Visitation will be held at Maranatha Community Church from 4:30-6:00 pm on Saturday, November 28. A graveside service will be held at 2:30 pm Sunday at Ruiz Canyon Cemetery.

  Bishop skimmed through the rest quickly. The gist of it was that Garcia had never married or had kids, generally kept himself to himself, and spent most of his working life on the shop floor of a large printing works on the outskirts of town. His parents and brother had died some years before, and he had no surviving relatives.

  Bishop sat back in the seat, staring at the ceiling as he rubbed a thumb across his lip. ‘Interesting. We’ve got two deaths in two states, sixteen months apart. One heart attack and one industrial accident. If you believe the obits.’

  ‘You think the deaths could have been arranged?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think yet. I need more intel.’ After a few moments, he sat up and said, ‘See if you can get the number for the Wessington Springs Police Department in South Dakota. Or the sheriff’s office. Whatever they’ve got over there.’

  Kidanu went straight to Google and began a search.

  Meanwhile, Bishop sat back and thought about his sister again. And the whole crazy situation. He was still amazed that it had been she who’d gotten involved with all this rather than him. Of the two of them, it was always Amy who’d wanted the safe mainstream life. And she’d gotten it, too. Marriage, two great kids, nice apartment in the city. The works. Until she’d stumbled across something in her work she couldn’t just forget and brush under the carpet. Something that forced her into action. And naturally, she would have wanted to talk to her brother about it, since she knew Bishop had had experience with this kind of thing before.

  Except he hadn’t taken the call. Nor had he gotten back to her. He’d just assumed his sister wanted to invite him to dinner again or something. So much for his great instincts.

  Jesus, what an asshole, he thought. I’m so sorry, Amy. Whatever I have to do to make it up to you, I’ll do. Once we’ve gotten through this, things will be different. I guarantee it.

  ‘Here,’ Kidanu said.

  Bishop came back and looked at the contact details on the screen. He picked up his cell phone and keyed in the phone number listed.

  After two rings, a guttural female voice said, ‘Wessington Springs PD.’

  ‘Like to talk to the senior detective, please.’

  ‘Wait one,’ she said, and put Bishop on hold.

  Less than ten seconds passed before a male voice came on the line. ‘Detective Tom Elledge. Who am I talking to?’

  ‘Oh, hey, Tom,’ Bishop said. ‘This is Detective Joe Medrano, out of the 34th Precinct in Manhattan.’ He quoted Medrano’s badge number and said, ‘Look, I’m hoping you can help me out with some information in regard to one of the hundreds of cases cluttering up my desk here. At least I think there’s a desk under all this crap.’

  Elledge chuckled. ‘Sure, detective, if I can. What do you need?’

  ‘Call me Joe. Well, I don’t think it’ll come to anything, but I have to check every lead, you know? Think is, we got a possible crackpot down here who’s been bragging about all the people he’s killed for fun. Most of the names he’s handed us have led to nothing, but there is one name that actually exists. A James Foster of Wessington, South Dakota. So I did some checking and discovered a James Foster died around the same time our suspect claimed he offed him. Not at Wessington, but at Wessington Springs, which is your neck of the woods. You familiar with this Foster at all?’

  ‘Jim Foster? Sure, I knew him. Well, by sight, anyways. He was an electrical engineer lived outside of town a ways. And this perp of your claims he murdered him?’

  ‘That’s what he says. Was there was anything suspicious about the cause of death?’

  Elledge snorted. ‘Not unless you think a heart attack’s suspicious. Our medical examiner made a thorough examination of the body and came to the conclusion it was simple death by heart failure.’

  ‘Was Foster overweight, then? Or did he have a history of heart problems?’

  ‘No, he was in pretty good shape. Didn’t drink, didn’t smoke. Ran every day. No sign of drugs in his body. Not even aspirin. But you and I both know that sometimes it just happens that way. And to the unlikeliest of people.’

  ‘Sure. And what about his family? Were they satisfied?’

  ‘Well, Jim didn’t really have much in the way of family. No family at all, now I think about it. And he never married. One of those that are happy in their own company, I guess.’

  Another loner with no family ties. That was interesting. ‘Well, I guess it proves my suspect really is pulling my chain, after all.’

  ‘Some people’ll do anything for the attention, I guess.’

  ‘Yeah, just watch reality TV some time. Okay, well, thanks for your help, Tom.’

  ‘Any time.’

  Bishop ended the call. Kidanu said, ‘You were very convincing, Bishop.’

  ‘I can be when I want to be.’

  ‘So this Foster died of a heart attack?’

  Bishop nodded. ‘Sure looked like it. I remember reading about some banned diabetes drugs that can induce heart failure in certain people. Rosiglitazone was one, I think. But the ME found no signs of drugs in Foster’s body.’

  ‘Would that not depend on how closely he looked?’

  ‘I guess it would.’ Bishop picked up the cell again and said, ‘But before we start jumping to conclusions, let’s see what the Globe PD have got say about Martin Garcia.’

  FORTY-NINE

  Half an hour later, Bishop sat back in the chair and slowly exhaled. If anything, he was even more confused.

  A sergeant of the Globe PD had said that Martin Garcia had gotten himself trapped in one of his firm’s industrial presses and had later died from the injuries. There were plenty of witnesses. Kidanu had found two more obits t
hat matched the dates on the printout. One for Michael Taylor, 52, of Pine Bluff, Arkansas, and another for William Miller, 56, of Rushville, Illinois. Taylor died from injuries sustained from a traffic accident in which two others also perished. Miller died from a brain aneurysm diagnosed years before.

  ‘So all seem to be accidental deaths,’ Kidanu said, ‘or deaths from natural causes.’

  ‘It’s starting to look that way,’ Bishop said, rubbing his fingers across his forehead. ‘We’ve got a list of twenty-three seemingly unconnected men who, from 2007 onwards, died in circumstances that appear to be above suspicion. Other than the fact they were born with some of the most common names in the country, what’s so special about them? And who’s S. Bainbridge? We’ve also got numbers that are disguised to look like phone numbers, but clearly aren’t. So what are they? And why disguise them in the first place? And then those letters, N, C and L.’ He turned to Kidanu. ‘You know, I got a hunch once I figure out what they signify, I’ll really start to get a good handle on what’s going on.’

  ‘There is another connection between the four men you enquired about, though.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Bishop said. ‘All were loners, with little or no surviving family. Which means they won’t really be missed by anybody except a few friends and acquaintances. And the first deaths took place in 2007, the same year Klyce set up Artemis International. Then there’s all this money going into that numbered account in the Caymans. And what kind of services are being provided by Continental Surveying, Inc. in Ottawa? Or those vague “medical services” from EMC-Med Associates? It seems the more I find out, the more questions arise.’

  ‘There are still two more files to check,’ Kidanu said.

  ‘You’re right.’ Bishop had almost forgotten about them. ‘Let’s take a look.’

  Kidanu opened the 057 file first, but it was just another bank notification. He tried 058 next, but unlike the others this one was a Word file. A single page suddenly filled the screen.

  ‘It is blank,’ Kidanu said.

  Kidanu was right. The page was totally blank. Except Bishop was thinking like Amy, and remembering how sneaky she could be when she wanted to be.

  ‘Try selecting all,’ he said.

  Kidanu pressed Command-A. The middle of the page was immediately highlighted in light blue. ‘There is some text on there,’ he said. ‘Your sister must have set the colour to white.’ He moved the cursor up to the font colour tab and changed it to black.

  Bishop smiled. Two small lines of text were now visible in the centre of the page. The first line was a name: Janine Hernandez. The second line was an address in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. There was no phone number.

  He narrowed his eyes at the screen. ‘Arquette told me the guy who first approached him about Artemis was named Hernandez, and that he suspects Klyce had him killed for discovering too much. He also mentioned Hernandez had a wife. Maybe this is her. Amy obviously found out about this Hernandez somehow, so maybe she was planning to talk to her at a later date, but didn’t want anybody to know about it. Or even that she knew of the woman’s existence. There has to be a good reason why Amy wrote her address down.’

  ‘But why risk saving this woman’s details at all?’ Kidanu said. ‘Whoever took the copy from your sister’s bag can do what we have done and they will see the hidden files.’

  ‘You’re assuming she saved this particular document to both copies, which I very much doubt. Or the other files, for that matter. No, this looks like a simple reminder she made for her own use. Knowing Amy, I can’t believe she’d purposely double the risk of it falling into the wrong hands if things didn’t go to plan.’

  Kidanu didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue the point. Instead, he asked, ‘What do you plan to do now?’

  Bishop thought for a moment, then picked up his cell and dialled the operator. When she came on, he repeated the name and address on the screen and asked for a phone number. A few seconds later, he hung up and said, ‘No number listed under that name or address.’

  Which was no real surprise. If this Hernandez woman had a phone, Amy would have written it down with the address.

  ‘Then the only way to talk to her is face to face,’ Kidanu said.

  ‘Hmm.’ Bishop sat back and thought about it.

  Harrisburg was a three-hour drive. A trip there and back would keep him away from Amy for most of the day. That made him uncomfortable, even though it was stupid to feel that way. After all, he had Muro there on 24-hour guard duty. He knew he was over-compensating for not being there when it had counted, but he couldn’t help how he felt. Not where Amy was involved.

  He needed to be moving forward, though. He knew that much about himself. He needed to be making some kind of headway because then he felt in control. He felt moored. Anchored. However distanced and objective he tried to keep himself through all this, he was aware that he was far too emotionally attached to the case. With Amy’s safety on the line, it was inevitable. Too much was at stake. So he couldn’t afford to stop. He was like a shark. He had to keep moving. Keep following the leads. Get to the source.

  And right now the only lead was a three-hour drive away. It was all very simple, really.

  Bishop picked up his phone. Keyed in a number. Waited.

  After a few seconds, a voice said, ‘Muro.’

  ‘It’s Bishop. Checking in again. How are things over there?’

  ‘I think I’m putting on weight. That nurse who likes me won’t stop bringing me food. Other than that, no change. Which is kind of good and bad, if you get me.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Bishop said. ‘So nobody showing a special interest in Amy at all?’

  ‘Other than the medical staff, no. And I’ve been sniffing the air for anything that smells wrong. So far, nothing.’

  ‘Good. Has Amy’s husband been in to see her today?’

  ‘Haven’t seen him.’

  ‘Really? Okay, well, I’ll keep in touch.’ Bishop ended the call, frowning to himself.

  ‘No change?’ Kidanu asked.

  ‘To Amy? No.’ But where was Gerry? Something was going on with that guy, but what? He found Gerry’s number on his contacts list and called it. He listened to it ring and ring, but there was no answer. It didn’t even go to voicemail. He hung up.

  ‘So do we go to Harrisburg and talk to this woman?’ Kidanu asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Bishop said. He put Gerry out of his mind and scrolled through the contacts list until he found the number he wanted. ‘Let me see about getting us some wheels.’

  FIFTY

  Once they came out of the Holland Tunnel on the New Jersey side, Bishop kept them on I-78 West. Later on it would merge with I-81 South and take them right into Harrisburg itself. The traffic was light. He calculated they should reach their destination by fifteen hundred hours or thereabouts.

  He’d used the same car rental place as before. The one on West 83rd. He had an account there so it was easier all round. This time they’d given him a three-year-old silver Infiniti sedan. That was all they had left. No satnav, but that was okay.

  Much of the journey was spent in silence. Kidanu watched the scenery go by for the first half-hour, then took that day’s Times off the back seat and began to read. Bishop spent the time going through everything he’d found out so far, trying to come up with workable hypotheses that fitted all the facts at hand. The problem was, none of them did. He either had too little information or too much. Often one was as bad as the other. Plus he hadn’t slept in a while, which wasn’t ideal for clear thinking.

  For instance, those twenty-three dead men kept causing him problems. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what they might signify. Were they murdered, or were the deaths exactly as they seemed? And did they even play a major role in all of this? Clearly the commonness of the names themselves held some importance, but what? And those goddamn letters. N, C and L. What the hell were they?

  And then there was the matter of Gerry. Where was he if not at th
e hospital? There was definitely something going on with that guy, but Bishop couldn’t put his finger on what. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with. He definitely needed a talk with his brother-in-law when he got back from this trip, though. One way or another, he was going to get some answers from him.

  He was still brooding on it when Kidanu spoke for the first time in an hour. ‘There is an interesting story in this newspaper.’

  ‘There usually is,’ Bishop said, grateful for the interruption. ‘What’s this one about?’

  Kidanu carefully folded the paper in half, then into a quarter. ‘There was a traffic accident on the New Jersey Turnpike at six twenty-three on Wednesday morning. Apparently, the driver of an SUV lost control of his car just before the toll booths and slammed into the back of another vehicle. The SUV driver survived with some broken bones, but the driver and passenger in the car in front both died on impact. It says here that one of them, Christopher Buckler, was actually a crime reporter for the New York Times. A police source said they found a genuine fault in the SUV’s steering and that it was not a case of vehicular manslaughter.’

  He turned to Bishop. ‘You mentioned that Amy could have been working with a reporter on this. What if this Buckler was the man she was supposed to meet on Tuesday night? If Klyce did not know how much Buckler knew, it is possible he arranged the accident to make sure anything he did know died with him.’

  Bishop made a face. ‘That’s one hell of a long shot, Kidanu. All because of some small item you’ve read in the paper. And even if he was the guy, he was clearly still breathing on Wednesday morning. So why didn’t he show up at the park the night before?’

  ‘Perhaps he was warned to drop the story. After all, Klyce has a lot of influence. Or there could be any number of other reasons for missing the meeting. For instance, once Klyce found out about the planned rendezvous, he could have pretended to be Amy and sent this Buckler an SMS, postponing the meeting for another day.’ Kidanu nodded to himself. ‘Yes, now that I think about it, that would be much easier.’