The Wrong Man (13 page)

When Bishop reached the doors to the terminal he took another look behind him. His pursuers hadn’t reached the corner building
yet, so he ignored
the entrance and began walking left towards the underpass. A hundreds yards ahead he spotted the mandatory
taxi rank and saw a short line of yellow cabs with
On Duty
signs. He turned to look behind him as he walked and saw Delaney sprinting towards the terminal doors with two more Marshals
and a couple of uniforms in tow. She yanked the door open and all five disappeared into
the building.

Bishop continued until he reached the taxi stand. In the cab at the head of the queue sat a bearded, fifty-something driver
reading the sports pages and picking his nose. Bishop opened the rear door and sank into the back seat.

‘Just tell me where, pal,’ the driver said without checking the rear-view. He flung the paper on the seat
next to him and
continued picking his nose.

Bishop looked out the side window and considered his answer. It was a good question. If he couldn’t trust the staff of a fleapit
like the Ambassador, what chance did he have with any of the others? Especially as his new ID was now worthless. So hotels
were out. Which didn’t leave too many other options.

Except one, maybe.

‘Make for Kennedy airport,’ he told the driver.

‘You were somewhere else tonight,’ Helen Sook Nam said.

Jenna Falstaff frowned at her friend as she pulled her towel tight across her chest. ‘Somewhere else?’ she asked.

As usual, they were the only two left in the locker room. Of all her students, the pretty, slight Korean woman had known Jenna
the longest, and
she always made sure the two of them were the last to shower so they could gossip about the men in their
lives. Or, rather, since Jenna was usually lacking in that department, so
she
could gossip about the men in
her
life. There was usually more than one at any given moment.

Helen looped the brassiere over her shoulders and reached through the long mane of impossibly
silky black hair behind her
to connect it. ‘Somewhere nice, I hope,’ she said. ‘You weren’t as focused as you usually are. You seeing someone I don’t
know about?’

Jenna smiled as she extracted various items of clothing from her locker and began to put them on. As far as Helen was concerned,
any change in your behaviour meant the involvement of a
man somewhere along the line. And would you believe it? For the first
time ever, she was right on the mark. James Bishop
had
been in her thoughts for much of the day.

When she’d suggested to Ali she might hang around the house for a while longer this afternoon he’d just smiled and said, ‘There’s
no future in it. And you the sensible one, too.’ She knew that
Ali was right on both counts, but she could also tell that
Bishop was attracted to her too. She’d considered giving him her cell phone number before she left, but as usual common sense
had prevailed at the last moment. If Bishop was picked up with her number on his person, the trail could end with Ali joining
Owen in Greenacres and she wasn’t about to risk losing another
brother.

Damn
, she thought. Why did she always go for the impossible ones? To her friend, she said, ‘The only guys I meet are the ones
you try to
set me up with. None of whom, I might add, are ever worth a second date.’

Helen giggled. ‘You’re too fussy is what it is, Jen. At least try them out in the sack. Then if you don’t like ’em, throw
’em out with the bacon rinds. Easy.’

‘Maybe I’ve got a few more scruples than you.’

Helen scrunched her nose at the word like it was week-old milk. ‘Scruples. What good are they?’ She nodded at the Elvis T-shirt
Jenna was placing in her bag. ‘
He
sure didn’t have any; that man went for anything that passed in front of him. Although you couldn’t
really blame him, looking
like that.’ She gazed at the ceiling and said, ‘I wonder if he ever had an Oriental?’

Jenna shook her head as she slipped into her tan suede jacket and reached down for her sneakers. After lacing them up, she
said, ‘Are we ready?’

‘Always.’

They picked up their equipment bags and slung them over
their shoulders, then left the changing room and walked through the
downstairs gym. It was empty now aside from the owner, who was checking the next day’s bookings on the computer at the front
desk.

They said goodnight and descended the steps to the sidewalk while the owner locked up behind them. The street below was lined
with parked vehicles that
were only partly obscured by the large elms that lined the pavement at twenty-yard intervals.

‘Can’t interest you in a night out at Artisans, I suppose?’ Helen said when they reached the sidewalk. Artisans was a new,
trendy singles bar cum nightclub that had become her hot place to be seen this month. ‘Tonight’s manhunt night.’

Jenna smiled. ‘Never
give up, do you? And tomorrow a work day.’

‘Hey, you’re only young once. Unless you live in LA, that is. I take it that’s a no, then?’

‘Ask me again on Wednesday, okay?’

‘Hold you to it.’ At that moment Helen’s cell phone went off and she reached into her bag and brought it to her ear, turning
and waving to Jenna as she began her three-block walk
to the bus stop. ‘Hank, I was gonna call
you
. . . Tonight? Baby, I’m bushed . . . Of
course
I do, but with tomorrow a work day . . .’

The girl’s incorrigible
, Jenna thought, shaking her head as she watched
her friend walk away. She turned to go in the other direction, but she’d only taken about ten steps when a man in a hood stepped
out from behind the tree a few
feet in front of her.

Dropping her right shoulder to let her bag fall to the ground, Jenna immediately gave him her left side and raised both fists.
Adrenalin pumped through her body and her heart rate doubled.
Please don’t let him have a gun
, she thought.

The man remained still except for the movement of the left arm as it pulled the hood back.
Jenna’s heartbeat slackened only
marginally when she saw his features.

Bishop smiled and said, ‘Let’s not fight, Jenna.’

‘Never been out here before.’ Bishop waited while Jenna found her keys and inserted one into the top lock of apartment 3C.
She looked good under the bright corridor lights. ‘It’s quiet.’

‘Yeah, it’s okay,’ she said. ‘For this town better than okay, I guess. People here mind their own business.’

After a short
walk to her ten-year-old Honda Accord, Jenna had driven them to her modern, six-storey apartment block in Laurelton,
a leafy suburb of Queens with wide roads and plenty of single-family homes. They’d parked in a small area at the rear with
spaces for twenty. Bishop had counted three apartments on each floor, leading off from a single elevator that ran through
the centre
of the building.

Jenna finished with the second lock and opened the door. She stepped inside and flicked a couple of switches. When the lights
came on she said, ‘You may enter.’

Bishop followed her down the short hallway, passing a neat bathroom on his left, and came to a stop in the living room.

It wasn’t immediately obvious that
a single woman lived here. Bishop had expected bright colours and houseplants, but he guessed
maybe that was just his sister’s taste. Jenna’s walls were white and made the place look bigger than it was, while a large
picture window took up most of the wall ahead. In the centre of the room a light grey three-seater sofa and two matching chairs
sat around a black wooden
coffee table whose surface was covered with folders, files, magazines and loose paperwork. On the
left-hand wall, next to an archway leading to another hallway, a widescreen TV sat alongside a tall bookcase filled with CDs,
DVDs and paperbacks. Another smaller bookcase against the right-hand wall held nothing but computer texts. For decoration,
two pen and ink Picasso lithographs
dotted the wall behind him, while a third hung to the left of the window.

Jenna drew the drapes and watched Bishop look the room over. She
asked, ‘Can I get you a drink of something? There should be a pint of Polish vodka at the back of the refrigerator. Just don’t
ask me how long it’s been there.’

Bishop was studying one of the drawings behind
him, counting the number of brush strokes the artist had used for the sketch.
He decided the pencilled signature underneath had probably taken more effort. He turned to Jenna with a frown. ‘Is this a
horse or a dog?’

Jenna laughed and said, ‘That’s a matador.’ Tossing her jacket on the sofa, she moved towards him and pointed at the one on
the right.
‘
That’s
the horse with its rider. And
that
’ – she turned to the one by the window – ‘is a sleeping woman.’ She turned back to the matador and frowned. ‘Although now
you mention it . . .’

Bishop leaned closer as she ran a finger over the glass, and then winced as his stomach muscles complained. Jenna looked at
him and said, ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I got my ass well and truly kicked yesterday. I’m still feeling the effects is all.’ He felt around in his pockets and realized
he hadn’t transferred everything over from his leather jacket after all. ‘I don’t suppose you got any Advil lying around?’

‘Sure. Follow me,’ she said, and led him into the other hallway. It contained two doors, one on each side. Bishop
followed
her into the joint kitchen and dining room on the right. It was predominantly white, like the rest of the apartment, and split
in half. A breakfast bar and two stools separated the kitchen from the dining area, where a large table was jammed against
the wall. Bishop guessed Jenna didn’t entertain much as a Power Mac currently took up much of the table. Next
to the computer
were two laptops, a pile of paperwork, a scanner, a printer, a router and additional hardware he couldn’t begin to identify.

Bishop leaned against the breakfast bar and removed his sweatshirt while Jenna rummaged through drawers in the kitchen. He
also removed the Beretta from his waistband and rolled it up in the sweatshirt before placing
the bundle on one of the chairs
under the table. He figured it would be easier than answering a bunch of questions.

Jenna turned round and held a packet of tablets in the air like a trophy. ‘I knew I had some. You didn’t tell me what you
wanted to drink with this,’ she said, and then made a clicking sound with her tongue. ‘You can tell I’m out of practice
at
this sort of thing. I haven’t
even asked if you’ve eaten yet. You feel up to a pizza? There’s a really good delivery place nearby that I use occasionally
and they’re quick.’

‘Pizza sounds fine. And I’ll take a shot of that vodka too.’

‘Sure thing. I think I’ll join you.’ She pulled out a slim, half-f bottle with
Chopin Potato Vodka
printed
vertically on the front from the refrigerator, and grabbed two glass tumblers. She poured two fingers of the clear
liquid into each glass, then picked up a cordless phone lying on the counter. Bishop chewed on three of the pills while she
pressed a single button on the phone and asked for a large pepperoni and mushroom thin crust. It sounded like Jenna ate a
lot of
pizza and Bishop smiled to himself when the person on the other end didn’t ask for her address. She hung up, picked
up her drink and smiled. ‘Ten minutes,’ she said.

Bishop picked up his glass and they each knocked back a shot. The effect was immediate for him. His system hadn’t been near
alcohol for three years and his skin tingled as a feeling of numbness
rapidly spread throughout his body. ‘Whoa,’ he said.

‘Kicks, doesn’t it?’

He looked at the tumbler in his hand. ‘I’ve heard things about this stuff.’

‘That old rumour about it doubling for anti-freeze is just an urban myth. It’s too expensive for a start.’

Bishop nodded and glanced at the table behind him.

Jenna smiled.
‘I’m guessing you’ve noticed not many people get into my fortress of solitude. I invite some of the girls from
work every now and then, but apart from Ali you’re the first man to cross the threshold in two years.’ She sipped at the vodka
and said, ‘You should consider yourself honoured.’

‘You haven’t invited Luke over?’

She sighed. ‘Luke would
very much like an invitation to visit. More than visit, actually. His problem is he can’t accept the
past should stay in the past and that mistakes should be learned from, not repeated. Let’s not go there, please.’

‘All right,’ he said. ‘So you want to tell me why you’re letting me stay here? I mean, you barely know me.’

She paused, then said, ‘You helped
Owen. It might have been for your own reasons, but my baby brother’s still alive, thanks
to you.’ She shrugged. ‘Or maybe I just want to help. People’s motives
can
be that simple sometimes.’

Only rarely in Bishop’s experience, but he saw no advantage in arguing the point and just said, ‘Okay.’

She took another sip and looked at him. ‘So, has the
real killer got a name?’

Bishop raised his eyebrows. He knew she’d start asking questions soon enough, but it really wouldn’t help her knowing any
more than she already did. ‘I think it’s probably best you don’t get any more involved. Believe me, the less you know, the
better for you.’

Jenna slowly placed her glass on the counter and crossed
her arms. He couldn’t read her eyes but he saw tension in her muscles
as she spoke. ‘Oh, really? And you think harbouring a dangerous fugitive from the law isn’t placing me in enough danger already?’

‘You can explain that away easily enough by saying I held you hostage.’

‘Uh, uh. That’s not how it works. This is
my
home and if you want to hide out here
a couple of days you’d best start talking to me like we’re both normal human beings.
Otherwise, how do I know you
didn’t
kill those people three years ago?’

‘Is that what you really believe?’

‘What am I supposed to think if you’re not gonna talk to me?’

He watched her, both fascinated and a little angry. Mostly with himself. He’d underestimated
her determination and it didn’t
help that she was right. After all, it wasn’t her fault she possessed an inquisitive mind. He reached over and poured them
each another shot. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘The first guy I need to find is called Adam Cortiss. But that isn’t an invitation
for you to get involved. I can handle this myself.’

Her face softened.
‘See? That revelation didn’t hurt, did it? So how—’ She stopped at the sound of the doorbell and dashed
out of the room without finishing the question.

Bishop heard her exchange pleasantries with the delivery boy, and then she returned holding a flat pizza box. She’d lost her
ponytail while out of the room. Her dark hair was now sitting on her shoulders,
the curls framing her eyes and high cheekbones.
Without speaking, they sat at the breakfast bar and started eating, but after a few mouthfuls Jenna said, ‘So how did you
find out about this Cortiss?’

Bishop took the papers he’d printed out from his pocket and dropped them on the bar, and she began browsing through them as
she ate. He realized he’d
already gotten Jenna involved the moment he came to her for help. He found himself feeling like
he owed her something, which
was a new experience for him. In Aleron’s basement, it had occurred to him that he already had enough enemies. And to continue
his habit of internalizing everything when help was being offered was tactically foolish. With both Falstaff brothers having
already given him major assists, why not allow the sister a chance to make it three for three? At the very least, he’d get
a fresh perspective. He considered how much Jenna already knew, and made a choice that he would never have made in his old
life.

He said, ‘I saw the bottom of this guy’s face at the Brennans’ house as he ran from the scene. Turns
out he used to work for
Randall Brennan, so I asked an old contact to dig up whatever he could find. That’s it.’

Jenna nodded, continuing to look through the pages. Bishop took another slice. The pizza was really good, and he realized
he hadn’t eaten properly in over thirty-six hours.

When she got to the end, she looked up. ‘A bad, bad
boy. So, obviously, if you saw him, what, a year later, it was somebody
else in that car when it crashed.’

‘Right.’

‘But wouldn’t the police check fingerprints?’

‘Cops don’t make extra work for themselves without good reason and there was no suspicion of foul play. Plus they had a relative
on hand who could ID the body.’

She turned pages until she found it. ‘Sean Stephenson?’

‘I’m guessing Cortiss under another alias. He’d be experienced at that kind of thing.’

‘Hmm.’ Jenna refilled their glasses. ‘It’s got his last known address here,’ she said almost to herself. ‘An apartment in
downtown Manhattan.’

‘Forget about it,’ he said, taking another
shot of vodka. ‘He’s long gone.’

‘I know. I’m just thinking out loud.’

Bishop studied her profile. ‘I haven’t asked what it is you do, Jenna.’

She faced him and smiled. ‘That’s okay, you got other things on your mind. I’m a computer programmer in the city. Not very
interesting, but I’m good at it and it keeps me on the straight and narrow. My
employers are pretty strict about that kind
of thing.’

‘Why? Were you a bad girl in your youth?’

She grinned. ‘The baddest. I still have my moments.’ Turning on her stool, she looked at him. ‘Another drink and I might show
you what I mean. Your turn to pour.’

Bishop was tempted. He really was. But it would be a mistake.
Even if he weren’t being hunted by half the civilized world,
this was the wrong time. And he was the wrong man. This was just a temporary way station and he couldn’t afford to let himself
get sidetracked. Not any more. ‘Probably not a good idea,’ he said. ‘Tell you the truth, I’m just about ready to drop and
your couch looks good.’

Jenna sat back
and looked at him with a half-smile. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I can probably find some spare sheets for you.’ They
both rose from their seats and she left the room, reappearing a minute later to hand him a pile of blankets. ‘There’s a towel
in there for the shower and you’ll find a pack of new toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet.’

He added the sweatshirt containing
his gun to the pile and said, ‘Thanks,’ before turning and making his way towards the living
room across the hallway.

‘Don’t mention it,’ he heard her say behind him.