Authors: Jason Dean
The room was mostly in darkness. The drapes had been pulled across, but enough light came in for him to see the figure in the bed. Colleen Marin was an elderly lady and looked to be asleep. At least, he hoped so. Otherwise the hospital might find themselves with another cardiac arrest on their hands.
Bishop stepped inside and closed the door. The room had the same layout as 4–29. There was a call button on the bedside table and a phone. He picked up the phone and carried it into the bathroom and closed the door. He pressed
0
and after two rings a female voice said, ‘Reception.’
‘Yeah, this is Roger over at Radiology,’ Bishop said. ‘I’ve been told to ask if you can page Nurse Hernandez on the fourth floor. We need her to come over here and pick up some patient files? It’s fairly important and her phone’s busy.’
‘Right now?’
‘That would be great. Thanks a lot.’ Bishop ended the call, then placed the phone on the bedside table as before. He went over to the door and pulled it open a crack. He waited, and forty-three seconds later heard the call for Nurse Hernandez come over the loudspeaker.
Shortly afterwards, he saw her walk past the door towards the elevator bank. He gave it another twenty seconds before he peered out the door. She was gone. Bishop took a last look at Colleen and exited the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Just before he got to the nurses’ station, he looked round and was pleased to see the area currently unoccupied.
He walked on and stopped outside 4–29. He was about to bring out his keys again, but decided to try the door handle first.
It was unlocked. That wasn’t good.
He pushed the door open and saw the room was empty. No Mary Eastman. The bed was still there, but there were no sheets. Just a bare mattress. Nothing to show anybody had been here, except a faint medicinal odour in the air.
Bishop scowled. They sure hadn’t taken any chances. Mary Eastman had either been switched to another room or moved to another location entirely. But if here, which room? Perhaps they’d updated the database with her new room number. It was a slim hope, but one worth checking while he still had the chance.
He was about to turn for the nurses’ station when he heard the unmistakable sound of a revolver being cocked behind him. Then a voice said, ‘Don’t move. You’re under arrest.’
Bishop walked through the hospital lobby with his hands cuffed behind his back and the uniformed cop at his side. Upstairs, Bishop had seen
Officer P. Blake
on his nameplate. He was a solidly built guy a couple of inches shorter and a decade younger than Bishop. As they were passing the front desk, all three receptionists stopped what they were doing and stared.
Bishop stared back and came to a sudden halt before the one who’d helped him. He pointed with his chin to the ID badge clipped to his shirt.
Blake said, ‘Move your ass,’ and tried to push him along, but Bishop kept his ground.
The receptionist slowly got up from her chair, reached over and unclipped the ID from his shirt before sitting down again. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
Bishop smiled, and when Blake nudged him in the back again allowed himself to be led through the metal detector and out through the front doors.
There was a cruiser waiting directly outside with
Saracen Police Department
in large letters on the side. He guessed they must have a fairly good relationship with the Garrick police if they were allowed to make arrests within the town’s borders. Bishop didn’t know where the car had been parked, but it was a safe bet they’d been waiting on the off-chance that he’d show up here again. But it wasn’t like he’d had a whole lot of options. And he’d still been too late. They probably moved Eastman last night.
As Blake unlocked the rear door, Bishop saw Vallejo’s Fusion, still parked in the same space. He could make out her face as she watched him from the front seat. That was one thing he’d done right, at least.
Blake placed a hand on Bishop’s head and pushed him down into the back seat and shut the door. The car smelled faintly of aftershave and fast food. The driver turned his head and watched Bishop with small eyes. Through the steel mesh partition, Bishop could see old shaving cuts all over his neck.
‘Didn’t think we’d find you so fast, did you?’ he said with a smirk.
Bishop blinked and said nothing. Just looked out the side window. The Miranda warning was full of good stuff for somebody in Bishop’s situation, but the right to remain silent was his absolute favourite. You couldn’t incriminate yourself if you stayed quiet.
Blake got in the passenger seat and said, ‘Okay, Vern. Let’s go.’
Vern grunted, then faced front and put the vehicle into gear and started off.
At no point during the journey did Bishop turn to look out the rear window. He could already feel Vallejo back there in the distance. He didn’t need to see her. Most of his time was spent coming up with possible reasons for his arrest. As far as he knew, there were no legal ramifications for impersonating a doctor unless you were dumb enough to give out medical advice as well. Although manslaughter was a distinct possibility. That fat orderly last night hadn’t looked too good when Bishop last saw him. A ‘spear hand’ strike could cause all kinds of problems, not the least of which was internal bleeding.
More likely, it was to do with the fire. Vallejo said his hire car had been there for all to see. But Bishop wasn’t about to ask. He didn’t want to give these two the satisfaction of telling him to go screw himself.
Forty minutes later, Vern entered West Garfield Avenue and turned in to the police station. The large, one-storey building was hard to miss, mainly because of the cantilevered flat roof that extended out on all four sides by about twenty feet. As an example of unconventional modern architecture, Bishop thought the structure held up pretty well.
There was a large visitors’ car park out front, separated from the station house by a small access road. Vern parked in a bay outside the front entrance. Blake opened the rear door and used a hand to help Bishop get out. Then they marched him into the station.
Inside, everything was polished wood, chrome and glass. All very modern. The air conditioning had been set to the default ‘freezing’ mode, like the library yesterday. Maybe it was an official mandate around here. Bishop saw two short rows of visitors’ seats at his left. Ahead, a desk sergeant sat behind a long counter, watching them. There were two corridors, one at each side of the desk, that presumably provided access to the rest of the station.
The two uniforms led Bishop towards the counter. The desk sergeant, a dark-skinned man with long sideburns, turned to his computer and said, ‘Okay, let’s have your name, date of birth, address and telephone number.’
Bishop said nothing. Just looked back at the sergeant without expression.
‘We couldn’t shut him up on the drive over here, sarge,’ Blake said and handed over Bishop’s wallet. ‘Here you go. His name’s James Bishop. Everything else is in there.’
The sergeant slid the wallet over, opened it and pulled out Bishop’s driver’s licence and social security card. He tapped his fingers against the keyboard for a minute, then placed the cards back in the wallet and slid the wallet back to Blake. He turned away, took a clear plastic zip lock bag from one of the cubby holes, stapled a form to it and slid that over, too. ‘Okay, take him over to Hannah.’
Blake led them down the left-hand corridor and stopped outside the third door down on the right. Vern opened it and went in first, followed by Bishop, then Blake.
It was a grey room with grey walls and a grey ceiling. A single, circular ceiling light provided the only illumination. To his left, Bishop saw an expensive-looking digital camera on a tripod, pointed towards the left-hand wall. Directly ahead was something that resembled a small ATM, but with a glass panel instead of a keypad. On the right was a desk bearing a computer, a scanner, a printer and lots of other things. Behind it sat another uniformed cop. This one was a large, bespectacled Latino woman with long curly hair. She looked up from some paperwork and then stood up and came round the desk.
‘Hey, come on, guys,’ she said, tilting her head. ‘I’m gonna need access to his hands.’
Vern took his revolver from his holster. Blake said, ‘Okay, Bishop, I’m going to uncuff you then bring your hands to the front and cuff you again. You twitch without warning and my partner over there
will
shoot you. Understand?’
Bishop nodded and didn’t move a muscle throughout the whole process.
Once that was done, Hannah led him to the wall, handed him a number holder and told him to face forward. Bishop held it at chest level and looked directly at the camera. Then he gave his left profile. Then the right. It wasn’t the first time he’d gone through this procedure. He knew the routine.
Next, he allowed Hannah to lead him over to the fingerprint scanner. No need for messy ink in the twenty-first century. Hannah took his left hand and pressed his thumb against the glass plate for ten seconds. A red light swept back and forth under the plate as the laser scanned his print. Once the rest of the left hand was done, she took his right and frowned when she noticed the missing third joint of his pinkie finger.
Bishop just smiled at her.
Hannah shrugged, began printing his thumb, then turned at the sound of the door opening behind him. ‘Hey, chief,’ she said.
Bishop turned too, and saw an overweight, grey-haired man of medium height standing in the doorway, looking back at him. He was wearing a dark blue, short-sleeved uniform with four gold stars on each lapel. Bishop saw
L. Emery
printed on his gold name badge. He had a heavily lined, jowly face and appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties. His pale grey eyes looked at Bishop with deep suspicion.
Emery turned to Blake and said, ‘This is the one?’
‘That’s right, sir,’ Blake said. ‘Bishop. We just brought him in this minute.’
Emery nodded and looked back at Bishop for a few more moments. Like he was cataloguing him. Then he closed the door and was gone.
What was that all about?
Bishop thought.
Hannah shrugged again and then carried on printing Bishop’s remaining fingers. Once she was done, she said, ‘Okay, boys, he’s all yours again.’
He was led out the room and the trio moved on down the corridor. Near the end of the hallway, Vern opened a door on the left and they all stepped through.
Straight away, Bishop knew he was in an interview room. It had all the hallmarks. It was small, windowless, and contained a desk and three chairs, one of which was clearly more uncomfortable than the others. That would be his. A one-way mirror took up most of one side and there was a small closed circuit camera in a corner near the ceiling.
Vern stood near the door with his hand on his holster again. Blake didn’t warn him this time. He just said, ‘Turn around and place your hands on the desk.’
Bishop complied. Blake searched him thoroughly, but found nothing except his keys and cell phone. He threw them onto the desk along with his wallet.
Blake pointed to the steel folding chair in front of the desk and said, ‘Sit down.’
Bishop ignored that chair and sat in the one behind the desk instead.
‘Not there, shit-for-brains,’ Vern said.
‘Forget it, Vern,’ Blake said.
Blake filled the zip lock bag with Bishop’s possessions, handed him a ballpoint and told him to sign his name on the form stapled to the bag. Bishop signed. Blake took the bag and pen, tore off the bottom part of the form and handed it to Bishop. Then he and his partner left the room.
Bishop pocketed the receipt. Then he sat back in the chair, put his feet up on the desk and closed his eyes.
Bishop knew they were watching him, trying to get a read on his body language. Either via the camera or through the one-way mirror. It was straight out of Police Interrogation 101. Leave the suspect alone for a while and see how he reacts. Bishop almost smiled at that. If they’d wanted to see him sweat they should have turned off the air conditioning first.
After about twenty minutes of pretending to sleep, he heard the sound of the door being unlocked. It swung open and two men in shirtsleeves and ties entered the room. One was a slightly overweight man in his late forties holding a plastic cup of clear liquid. He had grey, thinning hair and heavy-lidded eyes. The other was probably early thirties with strawberry-blond hair, a long face and a nose that was too straight to be totally natural.
Bishop slowly lowered his feet from the desk before one of them did it for him. Neither man made any move to remove Bishop’s cuffs. Or offer him the water. And Bishop wasn’t about to ask.
The older one glanced at the two remaining chairs and remained standing with his back against the wall. He hitched his pants up and took a sip from his cup. ‘I’m Detective Levine,’ he said. ‘This here’s my partner, Detective Shaw. Looks like we got a situation here, doesn’t it, Bishop?’
Shaw perched on the edge of the desk and looked down at Bishop with a faint smile. ‘You know, you look pretty relaxed for a guy who’s just been arrested. But then, you ain’t exactly a first timer at this, are you? We been checking up on you. That trouble you had back east last year, for instance. And then that business that started it all, three years before that. Tell me, Bishop, is it just me or do people have a habit of dying around you?’
Bishop remained silent. So they knew his history. So what? He was just waiting for them to get down to the business at hand.
Still watching him, Shaw said, ‘You want to tell us where you were between the hours of ten p.m. and two a.m. last night?’
Bishop kept his breathing steady and said nothing. So this was about Hewitt. He couldn’t say it was entirely unexpected, but he wasn’t exactly happy about it, either.
Shaw tilted his head. ‘Didn’t think so. Here’s an easier one then: why’d you murder Gary Hewitt?’
Bishop stayed silent.
‘Because we found his body at the Bannings place last night with his neck broken. What was left of his body, I mean. You know about the fire they had over there, right? What am I saying? Course you do; you started it. We found your hire car right outside with your rental agreement in the glove compartment. Didn’t take us long to get a photo from that and we been showing it to people all night. Seems you been a busy boy recently.’