The Outsider (James Bishop 4) (34 page)

It turned out 1640 South May Avenue was actually a fairly large shopping centre, with a CVS Pharmacy as the anchor and various smaller franchise stores trailing off either side. Bishop pulled into the entrance and drove slowly down the parking lot’s central aisle, scanning both sides. Directly opposite CVS was a large branch of the Wells Fargo Bank. And to the left of that was a smaller single-storey stucco building with a portico entrance, above which was a sign bearing the words
GREYHOUND VAULT AND SAFETY DEPOSIT BOX COMPANY
in block letters. Bishop could make out the tinted glass of the entrance doors further back.

Bishop peeled off the main aisle and had no difficulty finding a pair of connecting spaces close to the Greystone building. He parked up and killed the engine, and a few seconds later the Chevy pulled in next to them.

The digital dashboard clock said it was 11.14. Bishop got out and stretched. He walked round the front of the van where Dario was already waiting. Rylander and Emily were both standing next to the Chevy and looking at the Greystone entrance. Back at the house, Rylander had replaced the sweatshirt for a dark sports jacket over a plain white shirt so as to look more presentable. He still didn’t look very happy.

‘How you feeling?’ Bishop asked him.

‘Nervous,’ Rylander said. ‘This really isn’t my thing, Bishop.’

‘Don’t worry about it. It’ll be a piece of cake, believe me.’

The bigger man snorted. ‘I’m glad
you
think so.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ Emily said. ‘And we’ll be right here, waiting for you.’

‘That’s right,’ Bishop said. ‘And don’t forget to slouch. It probably won’t make much difference, but it’s a good idea to keep those big shoulders of yours pointing at the floor as much as possible.’

Rylander slumped his shoulders and immediately lost a couple of inches in height. Bishop nodded his approval. ‘Much better.’ Pulling the fake licence and the key from his jacket pocket, he said, ‘Don’t forget these.’

‘How could I?’ Rylander said. As he was slipping them into his own pants pocket, a man in a tan windbreaker walked passed them carrying a canvas sports bag. He approached the Greystone entrance, opened one of the doors and went inside.

‘See?’ Bishop said. ‘Plenty of customers visit their safety deposit boxes like it’s nothing it all. Okay, tell me your name.’

‘Mark Tamill.’

Bishop smiled. ‘Right, you’re good to go.’

Rylander took a deep breath and said, ‘Well, wish me luck.’

‘You won’t need it,’ Bishop said.

‘Go get ’em, tiger,’ Emily said.

They all watched Rylander lope off towards the portico entrance as though he were being led to the electric chair. He opened the left-hand door and disappeared inside.

Now it was just a waiting game. Bishop hadn’t been lying to the guy before. He felt certain they’d only give the ID a cursory check, but Rylander’s nervousness could be a problem. Well, it was out of their hands now. All they could do was wait.

Dario, still chewing loudly, leaned against the side of the van and started playing with his cell phone. Emily turned to Bishop and said, ‘How long will it take, do you think?’

‘Ten, fifteen minutes, maybe.’ Bishop gently steered Emily to the front of the van until they were just out of Dario’s earshot. ‘No way of telling really.’

She searched his face. ‘Just how bad
are
things for you, Bishop?’

He shrugged. ‘Well, they’re not good. All I can do at the moment is take things one step at a time. To be honest, everything kind of depends on what your husband brings out with him. And if it’s what I hope it is then at least I’ll get some extra breathing space.’

‘And if it’s not?’

‘That’s a bridge I’ll cross if and when I come to it.’

They both lapsed into silence after that. Bishop found his thoughts turning to the two hostages back at the apartment. Clea, in particular. Not only was she an innocent civilian in all this, but she was also a lone woman amongst a gang of thugs used to taking what they wanted, whenever they wanted. But the deal had been to let them all go
unharmed
, and Guzman had ordered Geraldo to stay put and watch over them for a reason. And Geraldo had struck Bishop as a pro, much more so than Dario and the other two.

But the rule was, never waste time worrying about things over which you have no control. And the situation at the apartment was very much out of his control right now.

Instead, he turned his thoughts to Deputy Marshal Frank Lomax again – the possible source of the leak that started all this – and that tense phone call Bishop had overheard yesterday morning with the guy’s wife. They lived in Bloomington, he’d said. Bishop remembered seeing it on a map and knew it was somewhere south of Indianapolis, in which case they’d probably be passing the place on the way to Ohio. Maybe he could afford to make a short detour before continuing their journey.
If
they had time, of course. And assuming he and Strickland survived the next few hours, which was far from guaranteed at the moment. Still, he’d learned long ago that it was always better to be prepared than not.

He turned to Emily and said, ‘Did you bring your cell phone with you?’

‘I certainly did.’ She frowned. ‘At least, I think I did.’ She began patting both sides of her coat and stopped when she felt the left-hand pocket. Smiling, she pulled out a basic Samsung and handed it to him.

Thanking her, Bishop keyed in the same number as before and brought the phone to his ear. It rang. He waited.

When the call connected, the same voice said, ‘Muro Investigations.’

‘It’s me again,’ Bishop said. ‘We talked a short while ago.’

‘Hello, man-with-no-name. And using a different number this time, I notice.’

‘The phone belongs to the lady I asked you to find before, who’s actually standing here right next to me.’

‘That’s good, isn’t it? So what do you want from me now?’

‘The home address for a man named Frank Lomax. He’s a US marshal who lives in Bloomington, Indiana, with a wife named Karen. That’s about as much as I know.’

‘Well, that doesn’t sound too hard. You want to wait on the line again?’

‘I’ll be here.’

The line went silent. He and Emily watched as a young stockbroker type in a smart three-piece suit exited Greystone and trotted off towards the pharmacy directly opposite.

Less than a minute later, Muro came back to him. ‘Got it. He’s not in the phone book, but that’s not the only book I use around here. The address is 844 West Evergreen Drive, Bloomington. I’m checking it out on Google Streetview right now, and I can see it’s a nice little one-storey house at the end of a cul-de-sac. Lots of trees.’

‘And where’s Bloomington in relation to Indianapolis?’

‘Indianapolis? Uh, about fifty miles south of it, I guess. So is that all you want?’

‘That’s all, thanks.’

‘Then consider this one a freebie. Watch your back, man. I mean it.’ The line went dead and Bishop handed the phone back to Emily, who put it back in her pocket.

From behind him, Dario said, ‘Who you calling?’

Bishop turned and saw Dario still leaning against the van, still playing with his own phone. ‘The same guy I called before.’

‘Yeah? Why?’

‘I needed somebody else found.’

‘Sure you weren’t calling the cops, man?’

‘How would calling them help me? Or my friends, for that matter?’

‘Now you’re getting the picture.’ Dario casually scratched his crotch with his free hand and said, ‘So how much longer we gotta stick around here?’

Bishop turned away without answering. It would take as long as it took. Assuming Rylander hadn’t completely lost his nerve in there. That seemed unlikely, but you never knew.

They waited. After a couple more minutes, the Greystone doors opened and a fifty-something woman in a smart business suit, carrying a laptop bag, exited and went straight to her Audi parked a few spaces away. A short time after she drove off, a casually dressed man in his sixties walked past Bishop and Emily and turned into the entrance.

After five minutes of nothing else happening, Bishop was staring absently at the ground at his feet when Emily said, ‘Chris is back.’

Bishop looked up and saw the glass doors swinging shut behind Rylander as he walked towards them carrying a very slim black briefcase. He looked fairly pleased with himself.

‘Hail, the returning hero,’ Emily said when he reached the van.

‘Cut it out,’ Rylander said with a smile. His cheeks had coloured a little.

‘No problems then?’ Bishop asked.

‘None,’ Rylander said as Dario came over and joined them. ‘It all went just like you said. I signed in at reception, went downstairs to the vault where the guy took a quick look at the licence, checked it against my face and let me through to the anteroom. Then he checked my key against the computer and took me into the vault itself. I couldn’t believe it.’ He gave the case to Bishop and added, ‘Paul rented one of those large flat safety-deposit boxes. That case was the only thing in there. Nothing else would have fitted anyway.’

Bishop quickly inspected the case. It looked new but the design was pure retro. It was made of black aluminium, measured about sixteen inches by twelve, and was less than two inches thick. Instead of key locks, it had the old-style numbered wheels next to the two latches. Both locks were set at
0000
. Bishop tried flipping the release tabs, and wasn’t surprised when nothing happened. The case was also fairly hefty. Maybe twelve pounds all told, three of which probably accounted for the case itself.

He gently shook it from side to side, but nothing rattled round inside.

‘I did exactly the same thing in the viewing room,’ Rylander said. ‘No idea what’s inside. And I don’t know the code either.’

‘When you took it out of the safety-deposit box,’ Bishop said, ‘both combinations were set at zero like this?’

‘That’s right.’

And Mechner had been an accountant too, which meant the right combo could be pretty much anything. And with a four-number lock, that meant a total of ten thousand possible combinations to choose from. Per lock. Bishop walked back to the van and slid open the side door. He took a seat and placed the case on his lap. The others came over and Emily sat down next to him.

‘Any ideas?’ he asked her.

‘I couldn’t begin to guess what the combination might be,’ she said.

‘When were you born? If you don’t mind me asking.’

She smiled. ‘I don’t mind. I was born on the second of July, during the so-called Summer of Love, although my dad said it was anything but.’

Bishop moved his thumb over the left-hand rotary dials until he had
7267
. He moved the latch to the side. Nothing. He then tried it on the right-hand lock. Again, no result. He tried
0702
on one side and
1967
on the other. Nothing. When he asked her for Paul’s birthday, she told him it was the twentieth of November, 1962. He tried
1120
on one lock and
1962
on the other. When that didn’t work, he reversed them. Again, no success.

‘Hey, let’s go,’ Dario said. ‘We’ll open it back at the apartment.’

‘Be patient,’ Bishop said. ‘Let me think for a minute.’

He wasn’t about to explain to Dario that they had to open it here and now. There was no other way. If he took the case back to the apartment unopened only to discover that its contents weren’t what he’d said they were, then Bishop, Strickland and Clea would all be dead within seconds. That’s if they were lucky.

No, Bishop needed to know what was in the case now. If Mechner’s evidence was related to Guzman and his sister, all well and good. But if it wasn’t he’d have to act accordingly. That meant disarming and incapacitating Dario to start with, then working out some kind of game plan to somehow get Strickland and Clea back alive.

But first he needed to get inside.

There
was
another way to do it, of course. Back when Bishop had been in prison his old cellmate, Jorge, had shown him a thing or two about picking locks, and that had included numbered combination locks on cases. But the whole process was time-consuming. It would be better all round if he could just figure out the actual combination somehow.

‘Paul would have written it down somewhere,’ Emily said. ‘I’m sure of it. Unless it was something obvious, that is.’

Bishop turned to her, eyebrows raised. ‘Really?’

‘Really. Paul had a pretty awful memory for numbers and dates. Hard to believe, but it’s true. He was always very precise in writing down everything, though, and he rarely made mistakes in his job. I mean, if he had, he wouldn’t have lasted very long, would he?’

‘No, I guess not.’ With his eidetic memory Bishop was just the opposite. He rarely had a need to write anything down, but he knew he was an anomaly in that respect. Yet Mechner hadn’t left any written code in the envelope to help jog his own memory, and the safety-deposit number engraved upon the key was unlikely to open the case. Not only was it too obvious, but it was made up of six numbers. So something else then.

Then he got it. It was the only answer left. He said to Rylander, ‘Let me have that licence again.’

‘Oh, sure.’ Rylander pulled the card from his pants pocket and handed it over.

Bishop checked the address again: 904 West Wilson Avenue. And the zip code was AZ 85128. He joined the two numbers together and tried
9048
on the first lock, and got nothing. He tried it on the other lock. Same result. But on the upper right of the card, just above the issue and expiry dates, was the fake licence number itself:
024357695
. It was also eight digits long, if you discounted the zero.

Bishop thumbed the left-hand dial to read
2435.
He slid the release tab to the side. There was a click and the latch snapped open.