The Outsider (James Bishop 4) (21 page)

The channel also broadcast footage of the bullet-ridden SUV on Route 91, along with the overturned patrol car, both vehicles surrounded by numerous law enforcement officials. Naturally, one of the local crime reporters had been listening in on the police scanner at the time and said he heard one of the murdered state troopers saying they’d just apprehended two men and a boy and were bringing them into headquarters. That was the last anybody had heard of them until they discovered the two dead bodies.

An assistant sheriff from the Las Vegas Police Department also gave a statement saying it seemed likely, thanks to Martin’s account, that the driver of the SUV was connected to the team that hit the house and he confirmed a nationwide manhunt was currently in progress, with every law enforcement agency in the country now on the lookout for the two men in the photo, along with the unidentified child. Citizens were also advised to stay alert and to call in straight away if they saw either of the men in the photo.

From bad to worse
, Bishop thought.

On the plus side, it seemed unlikely that the feds would ever give out Strickland’s or Barney’s identities, not to the cops and definitely not to the media. But Bishop knew it was just a matter of time before somebody put a name to the face of the driver, and things were certain to go downhill from there.

CNN also showed a brief clip of Deputy Director Lawrence Whitaker of the US Marshals Service. Whitaker, a distinguished-looking fifty-something with hollow cheeks, thinning grey hair and piercing blue eyes, was carrying a briefcase and trying to make his way down the steps of a federal building in DC to his car, but his progress was being hampered by a small army of reporters and cameramen blocking his way.

One reporter called out, ‘Sir,
sir
, can you confirm that the murder house in Las Vegas
was
being used to shelter a high-profile witness?’

‘No comment,’ Whitaker said, trying to get through.

‘But surely you can confirm that the six murder victims at the house
were
federal marshals, as has since been verified by independent witnesses?’

‘Again, no comment.’

Another reporter said, ‘Isn’t it true that the same man who took off with the alleged witness and an unidentified boy is also the same man wanted for the murders of those two state troopers on Route 91 this morning?’

Whitaker said, ‘I have no comment to make on that.’

‘From the information we’ve uncovered so far,’ the same reporter said, ‘it seems possible that a third party may also have been involved in the state troopers’ murders. And if that’s the case, it’s possible that the SUV driver was working hand in hand with them, isn’t it? That they killed the troopers in order to rescue him?’

‘I still have no comment to make,’ Whitaker said. ‘And you should really be talking to the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police about this anyway.’

A female reporter said, ‘Sir, isn’t it feasible that this driver is merely trying to protect this alleged witness, and that he has no connection to the assailants at all?’

Whitaker finally reached his car at kerbside, opened the rear door and said, ‘How many times do I have to say it? No comment. Now I’m late for an urgent appointment, people, so if you’ll excuse me …’ He got in the back, slammed the door shut and the driver of the car pulled away from the kerb.

Bishop could see the station was getting pretty desperate now. He pressed a button on the remote and the TV screen went black. He’d heard and seen enough anyway.

‘Great,’ Strickland said, staring up at the ceiling. ‘That’s just great. So now we got the whole world out looking for us.’

Bishop remained silent.

Clea was watching the two men from her chair, no doubt trying to digest everything she’d seen so far. Finally, she said, ‘So
did
you have anything to do with the deaths of those two state troopers?’

‘Well, we were there when it happened if that’s what you mean,’ Strickland said. ‘Two goons came up alongside us and –
BOOM BOOM
– took ’em both out like it was nothing. Almost took us out too.’

‘So why haven’t you turned yourselves in? Has it got something to do with that boy in the photo not being with you?’

‘It’s got everything to do with that, lady,’ Strickland said. ‘See, that boy is my son, Barney, and during the firefight those two men managed to grab him and take off. One hour later we got a call saying he’s on his way to Columbus, Ohio, and the only way we can get him back alive is to be there before dawn on Thursday and make a trade. Me for him. And if the cops grab us at any point, the deal’s off and Barn’s dead.’

Bishop let the talk wash over him. He was thinking over what he’d heard on the TV and what he hadn’t. Although little mention had been made of the sole survivor other than his current condition, Bishop had to assume that once Lomax awoke he’d give his superiors his version of what happened. And if he
was
the leak behind the massacre, then it was a good bet he’d add a few extra details in order to lay the blame entirely at Bishop’s door.

At least there had been no mention at all of Roger and Eleanor Souza, though, which suggested they’d kept their word, at least. That meant the cops would still be on the lookout for two men and a boy, instead of just two men.

And no mention of Charlie Hooper yet, which meant they still had a little breathing space. Not much, but some.

Time enough to grab some food and maybe to make some minor adjustments to their appearance before getting back on the road again.

Bishop was first to finish his food. He was no expert in the kitchen, but it was almost impossible to screw up steak and scrambled eggs. Strickland was still making his way through his, though. He’d argued that he wasn’t hungry, but Bishop had told him he had to eat something if he wanted to keep going and he’d grudgingly agreed to try.

Clea was also sitting at the table, silently staring into her mug of coffee as though there might be a way out of this at the bottom.

As Bishop took a sip from his glass of water, he looked out the rear windows and saw it was already completely black outside. They’d need to get going soon. Once a few more details were taken care of.

‘There’s more bad news to come, isn’t there?’ Clea said, still staring at her cup.

Bishop turned back to her. ‘What do you mean?’

She raised her eyes to him. ‘I mean that I’ve been sitting here thinking it all over and it’s obvious to me that you can’t afford to just take off and leave me here. Am I right?’

Bishop sighed. ‘I’m afraid you are.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Strickland said, wiping his mouth with a piece of kitchen towel.

‘Clea here will have to come with us. At least part of the way.’

‘I knew it,’ she said. ‘I just knew this day was going to get worse.’

Strickland frowned. ‘What’s wrong with tying her up like we did with the pilot? We can take her down to the basement, tie her up and make her comfortable, then make an anonymous call to the cops tomorrow.’

Bishop shook his head. ‘What we did with Charlie won’t work here. For one thing, he’ll have gotten himself free in a few hours and once he does he’ll get straight on his radio, then meet up with whoever was waiting for us at that airfield. Possibly local cops, possibly feds, but whoever it is, it won’t take them long to figure out who else was on that plane.’

‘You figure Charlie will talk, then?’

‘Not straight away, but they’ll get the whole story out of him sooner or later and then there’ll be roadblocks set up from here to the East Coast.’

‘Why? They don’t know where we’re going. Nor does Charlie.’

‘He knew we were heading east, and that’ll be enough. The feds will take one look at a map and figure we’re headed for Ohio. They won’t know the reason why, although they’ll probably assume I’m taking you to my supposed employer, Hartnell.’

‘Hartnell?’ Clea said.

‘The guy I’m supposed to be testifying against,’ Strickland said. ‘But they can’t set up roadblocks on every single road. It’s impossible. So all we have to do is stick to the back roads and we should be okay.’

‘We can avoid most of them that way, sure, but if we
do
come up against a roadblock I’d prefer having the car’s legitimate owner there with us, with the correct documents and everything.’

‘Yeah, okay,’ Strickland said slowly. ‘I see what you mean.’

‘Sorry, Clea,’ Bishop said, ‘but it’s the only way.’

‘But I can’t go with you,’ she said. ‘Can’t you see that? Just leave me here. I swear I won’t tell anyone about you. Look, I’m a mother myself, with a daughter who expects—’

‘How old is she?’ Bishop cut in.

She gaped at him. ‘What?’

‘I said, how is old is your daughter? I saw photos of you with a pretty little girl in the hallway, but they could have been taken anytime. How old is Lucy now?’

‘How do you know her name’s Lucy?’

‘From that phone conversation with your ex-husband back at the shop.’

Her face relaxed a little. ‘Oh, yes, right. Well, she’s eleven if you must know. Almost twelve.’

‘Almost the same age as Barney,’ Bishop said. ‘And you must love her very much, right?’

‘Of course I love her. She’s the world to me. What kind of question’s that?’

‘I’m just trying to get across that my associate here is just as attached to Barney as you are to Lucy. The only difference being that your little girl’s currently safe with her father, while his son’s currently in the hands of some people who’ll go to any lengths to get what they want. And I do mean
any
lengths. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t dream of taking you with us, Clea, but with Barney’s life at stake I really don’t have a choice.’

‘And that justifies you forcing me to come along, does it?’

‘I’m not trying to justify anything. I’m merely explaining.’

Clea said nothing, just placed both hands on either side of her head and stared at the table.

There was no point in arguing the point any further, so Bishop let the matter rest. It was a shame, though. Clea seemed a decent person who’d ordinarily be willing to aid somebody in trouble, especially a kid, but being forced to help rather than being asked understandably played a major factor in a person’s attitude. However it couldn’t be helped. She had to come along, it was that simple.

After a few moments, he said, ‘Does this Howard also wear spectacles?’

Her brow furrowed as she looked up at him. ‘Only for reading. Why? Is this relevant?’

‘I’m just wondering if you’ve still got any of his stuff here. Because an old pair of reading glasses would really come in handy right now.’

‘There might be a pair of his old frames up in the attic, along with the rest of his junk. Why?’

‘Well a little basic camouflage wouldn’t go amiss, and a pair of glasses can often do wonders for a face. My face, in particular.’ He studied her. ‘Do you dye your hair?’

Clea made a face. ‘And what’s
that
got to do with anything?’

‘Is that a no, then?’

‘Yes, that’s a no. Auburn’s my natural colour. Why does that matter?’

Bishop ran a palm over his buzz cut. ‘I was hoping you’d be able to turn me into a redhead or something, but never mind. The glasses will have to do. But if you’ve got some scissors or clippers lying around, maybe you could do something about my associate’s hair.’

She turned to Strickland and studied his thick shoulder-length locks. ‘No clippers,’ she said finally, ‘but I do have some hair scissors in the bathroom cabinet.’

Strickland brushed a hand through his hair. ‘I guess it kinda stands out, huh?’

‘Right now you look a little too much like that guy in the back seat for my liking,’ Bishop said. Strickland also had a heavy five o’clock shadow. He was probably one of those high-testosterone types who needed to shave twice a day just to keep things on an even keel, which could only work in their favour. ‘How about it, Clea? Can you do anything?’

She sighed as she got up from her seat, and said, ‘If you think you can trust me with sharp objects, I guess I can give it a try.’

Bishop drove them through the mountains as they headed south on Route 40. It was almost nine and the sky was still overcast, so no moon, and no stars. And for long stretches no streetlights either, with the only illumination coming from the Explorer’s headlights and those of the occasional vehicle coming the other way. The rest of the world was just various shades of black. Bishop had to keep almost all his concentration on the few feet of visible road directly in front of them.

Clea sat in the front passenger seat while Strickland stretched out in the back, occasionally rubbing a hand through his new haircut. She’d gone at it with the scissors and managed to pare it down to half an inch all round. It looked uneven in places, but that seemed to be the current style anyway. He’d told Strickland to take a wet shave but to leave the upper lip alone. The remaining hair still had a little way to go before it could realistically be labelled a moustache, but Strickland had assured him it would grow quickly.

The drive had been quiet so far. Clea hadn’t spoken at all since leaving the house. She was sitting with her head at an angle against the seat rest as though she was looking out the side window, although Bishop wasn’t even sure her eyes were open.

‘I been keeping tabs,’ Strickland said from the back, ‘and I think we maybe passed five side roads in total since leaving Winter Park back there. What if the local law decide to surprise us with a roadblock on this one? How do we get off it?’

‘That’s why I’m keeping us at a steady seventy,’ Bishop said. ‘The sooner we’re off this, the better. Once this road bears east it’s about another fifteen miles before Idaho Springs, and after that things start opening up again the closer we get to Denver. Meaning plenty of back roads.’

‘We’re not going through Denver?’