The Outsider (James Bishop 4) (25 page)

Strickland said, ‘And
did
this Kwinell keep an eye on him?’

Bishop sighed. ‘Yeah, but he also made a mistake. Two, in fact. And they were big ones. I was on the phone to my supervisor at the time, giving him my daily report, when I realized I hadn’t heard the mower in a while. I went round the back and saw the machine standing there on its own, with the lawn still only half done and Kwinell still sitting in his chair. When I asked where the boy had gone, he said he went inside a few minutes before to take a leak. And without searching him, either. Remembering Andrew’s nervousness from before, I knew something was wrong then. I ducked inside and ran to the staircase at the other end of the house and heard faint movements on the landing above. I climbed the stairs silently, and when I reached the top I saw Andrew crouching in front of Mechner’s bedroom door, placing what looked like a tube of Lifesavers on the floor.’

‘They weren’t Lifesavers,’ Strickland said.

Bishop shook his head. ‘Semtex, as it turned out. In his other hand he held a miniature remote. That kid wasn’t just nervous, he was terrified out of his mind. He kept rubbing his free hand up and down his jeans, trying to wipe off the sweat, and he was also shaking like a leaf. The last thing I wanted to do was startle him, though, so I holstered my gun and very quietly called his name. But at the sound of my voice he jumped and when he saw me standing there, he screamed and panicked. He clenched both his hands into fists and he must have activated the detonator and … well, you can guess what happened next.’

‘Shit,’ Strickland said.

‘My God, that’s awful,’ Clea whispered.

‘Yeah.’ Bishop remembered the world turning white for a second, the noise of the explosion filling the house as the force of the blast propelled him into a wall, then down the stairs until he finally landed in a heap at the bottom.

Clea said, ‘Was this Andrew …? I mean, did he—’

‘He was gone.’ Bishop snapped his fingers. ‘Like that.’

‘And Mechner?’ Strickland asked.

‘The explosion completely destroyed the bedroom door and part of the wall, so he took some of the blast, but his work desk protected him from the worst of it. He was basically uninjured. At least, physically. Once I confirmed he was safe, I ran out the front and sprinted over to the boy’s house. I broke in, but Callaway and his people must have split the moment they heard the explosion. All I found were the bodies of Andrew’s parents in the dining room. Callaway probably had them killed the moment the boy left for our house. No survivors, no witnesses.’

‘Animals,’ Clea said, shaking her head. Bishop had to agree.

Strickland had also turned a little pale at that last part. ‘But Mechner couldn’t have survived,’ he said. ‘Callaway wasted him. He practically admitted it to me.’

‘Well, he got to Mechner eventually, but it wasn’t on our watch. After that breach, Mechner finally saw the light and decided to follow my advice. His wife had pretty strong opinions on the matter too. So I escorted them both to a meeting with the section chief of the Criminal Investigative Division at FBI headquarters in DC, and it turned out they were
very
interested in what Mechner had. They felt he had enough to initiate a tax evasion case that could put Hartnell behind bars for fifteen years. So they stuck them both in the Witness Protection Program, and that was that. Or so I thought.’

‘What happened?’ Clea asked.

‘Three months later, my supervisor gave me the news that he’d been taken out with poison. Although there was never any proof of Hartnell’s involvement, of course. Apparently his people found out where one of the marshals did the weekly food shopping and that was it. They must have known about Mechner’s particular craving for Dr Pepper, so they injected strychnine into some cans of their own and swapped them over somehow. Probably created a diversion at the checkout till or something. That’s what I would have done. My supervisor at the time said it was a very painful death.’

Strickland frowned. ‘So that’s why you joined up with us? To get back at the man who killed your old client?’

‘No, to get back at the man who killed a young boy named Andrew Truman. I liked him. He was a good kid. And while that initial explosion may well have been set off accidentally, it was still murder whichever way you look at it. Especially as the investigators found out later that there were two explosions, not one.’

‘What do you mean?’ Strickland asked.

‘I mean they found additional tiny traces of Semtex in what was left of Andrew’s belt, as well as bits of an intricate blasting cap hidden behind the steel buckle. They theorized that both bombs were tuned to the same electronic signal, so even if Andrew had gotten out of the area before pressing the detonator, he still would have blown himself up. His parents were already dead at that point, and he was the last loose end. Callaway, and by proxy Hartnell, was simply making sure all bases were covered to ensure no comebacks.’

Strickland nodded. ‘That sounds like them, all right. They never did like taking unnecessary chances.’

‘They should have killed me too, then. Because I’ve got a very long memory, and the moment I realized it was Hartnell you were testifying against I suddenly developed a very great interest in your continued well-being.’

‘I don’t feel hungry anymore,’ Clea said, and began edging out of the seat. ‘I’m going to the restroom, if that’s all right with you?’

‘Don’t mind if I check first, do you?’ Bishop said.

‘I think I can manage, thanks.’

‘Better safe than sorry,’ he said, sliding out after her.

Bishop followed Clea down the narrow hallway, past the basic kitchen area on the right, and a little further down on the left was an unmarked door. Clea rolled her eyes as Bishop opened the door and stepped inside.

It was a small, not very clean, unisex restroom. There was a private cubicle on the left, a single urinal affixed to the right-hand wall, and a small sink on the adjacent wall. There was a long thin transom window above the urinal, too high up for Clea to reach. In the cubicle there was a small, double-hung sash window of frosted glass in the wall behind the john. Bishop tried the latch, opened the lower half and peered out and saw the garage doors to his immediate right. To the left was the driveway that led to the front parking area. He latched the window shut again. It was small, but just about big enough for Clea to get through if she wanted. All he could do was keep a watch on the front and check back after a few minutes, in case she tried to make a run for it through the fields.

He stepped back outside and said, ‘Go right ahead. I’ll check back in a while to make sure you’re all right.’

‘Do you really think I’m going to try and make a run for it?’ she said. ‘Out here? In the middle of nowhere?’

‘People have surprised me before.’

She stared at him, sighed, then went inside, closing the door behind her. Bishop carried on down the rest of the hallway. He passed two more doors on the right, the first of which was partly ajar, and inside he could see a small, but well-stacked kitchen. He kept going down the hallway until he reached the rear exit door at the end. It was just a normal windowless wooden door. Obviously fire regulations weren’t taken too seriously in these parts. He tried the handle. It was locked. Satisfied, he walked back to the booth where Toby was busy piling their empty plates onto a tray.

‘Any chance of some more coffee?’ Bishop said.

‘Be right back with another pot,’ Toby said, and carried his load back to the kitchen. Clea’s unfinished omelette he left on the table.

Bishop sat back down. He glanced out the front and saw the Explorer was still the only vehicle in the lot. The fog had thinned out a little, but there wasn’t a whole lot to see. Just dormant farmland in the distance and a road that was still completely empty of traffic.

Strickland turned to look. ‘You checked she didn’t bring a spare key with her, right?’

‘Back at the house.’

‘Okay.’ Strickland looked down at the table. ‘I have to tell you, Bishop, I didn’t like hearing that part about the kid at the end. I didn’t like that part at all.’

‘Be glad you didn’t have to witness it first-hand. It’s not an image I’ll ever forget.’

‘That isn’t what—’ Strickland paused as Toby came back and placed the same urn in the centre of the table.

‘Anything else you need?’ Toby asked.

‘We’re good, thanks,’ Bishop said. The owner stared at them both for a beat, then gave a single nod and went away.

Bishop poured himself some more as Strickland continued, ‘That isn’t exactly what I meant, Bishop. All you did was highlight the fact that we’re dealing with a couple of assholes who make a habit of tying up all loose ends, no matter what. And they haven’t got too many scruples about wasting kids, either. When I heard you talking about that Andrew, all I could see was Barn’s scared face as he hit that detonator. We both know what kind of animals we’re dealing with here, so what makes you think they’ll
ever
let Barney go free?’

‘What happened before won’t happen this time, Strickland. I’ll be there to make sure Barney comes out of this in one piece.’

‘But you can’t
guarantee
that.’

‘Nobody can guarantee anything. But you’ll just have to trust me on this, that’s all. I keep my promises, and if I’m not able to this time it’ll be because I’m dead.’

Bishop needed to end this line of thought, fast. Further worrying about Barney’s situation couldn’t serve any useful purpose, not when they needed all their concentration for getting through the coming day in one piece. Recalling Paul Mechner’s comment about Hartnell’s business partner, he said, ‘Where does he get his coke from?’

Strickland looked up from the table, mouth open. ‘Huh? What?’

‘Hartnell’s been one of the US’s leading distributors for the last couple of decades, right? And I assume it all comes from somewhere south of the border, but where? Colombia? Bolivia? Peru?’

‘What difference does it make now?’

‘How do I know until you tell me? At this point, all information is useful information. So who’s Hartnell’s supplier? You must know.’

Strickland jerked his shoulders. ‘He’s got a long-term partner over in Mexico keeps him supplied with shit. One of the major cartel bosses down there, name of Rafael Guzman. Ever hear of him?’

Bishop frowned. ‘The name sounds familiar. Can’t quite place it, though.’

‘Well, he’s a major-league badass, believe me. He’s also been in the game for as long as Hartnell, and you know how long the average life expectancy is for guys like that, which means he must be doing something right.’

‘But they don’t manufacture coke in Mexico, so where does Guzman get it from?’

‘Peru, I think. I don’t know for sure. Hartnell and his higher-ups always kept everything nice and compartmentalized when I was working for him. You knew your part, and you soon learned everything else was none of your business.’

Bishop picked up his mug. Drank some coffee. He thought for a few moments, then said, ‘And whose responsibility is it to get the coke into the States? Hartnell’s?’

‘Like I said, I don’t know too much about that side, but I think they share the risk. No idea how they do it, but each time they’ve gotten the stuff through without any problems so I imagine we’re talking some major payoffs somewhere along the line.’

Bishop nodded. ‘How long is “long-term”?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You said Hartnell and Guzman were long-term partners. How long is that?’

‘Fifteen years, maybe twenty. Something like that.’

Bishop gave a low whistle. ‘That’s an unbelievable amount of time for a business relationship, especially for the drug trade. But surely if this Guzman survived as a cartel boss for this long, then it’s a given that he’s burned a lot of enemies and competitors along the way. And probably in very nasty ways. They like to make big statements down there.’

‘I guess. What’s your point?’

‘So what the hell are Guzman and Hartnell still doing together? A man like that would surely have tried to take over Hartnell’s part of the operation for himself by now. Too much is never enough for these kinds of people. Sooner or later, they always want to get their hands on everything, and Guzman doesn’t strike me as the shrinking violet type.’

Strickland sat back in his seat. ‘Well, there
were
some rumours back in the day that Guzman might try something like that, but it never came to anything. The way I heard it – and this is all third-hand, remember, so it’s probably equal parts exaggeration and bullshit – was that one of the rival cartels decided to go after Guzman one time. The story is the hit team somehow got into his compound but he wasn’t there, so they grabbed his sister instead. His elder sister, his only living relative, apparently. So they took her away and soon got in touch and told Guzman he had three days to hand himself over to them or they’d send her back to him in pieces.’

‘Sounds familiar.’

‘Yeah, right. This Guzman went crazy, of course. And he was probably half-crazy to start with. He had his men search that whole section of the country trying to find her, but they kept coming up blank, so Hartnell heard about this and sent about a hundred of his best guys over to Mexico to help find her. And a day before the deadline Hartnell’s people helped locate the kidnappers’ hideout, only to discover she’d been dead for a while already. The kidnappers had raped her repeatedly, then just slit her throat and let her bleed out. Or maybe she’d slit her own throat out of shame. Nobody knows. Of course, Guzman was ready to declare war on everybody at that point, but Hartnell’s guys somehow managed to grab the head of the rival cartel and
his
family, and basically delivered them right to Guzman’s doorstep. You can pretty much guess what happened to them next. But the end result was Guzman never forgot what Hartnell did for him.’

Bishop made a face. ‘And that’s why they’re still together after all this time? Doesn’t sound too likely, does it?’