Transience (28 page)

Jack stepped up to the glass, peering in.
 
Can it be this easy?
 
My incompetence so immense that you had to hand deliver him to my doorstep?

"Who is he?" Jack asked.
 
Jennifer read from a printout:

"Edward Bishop, 42, plumber, has a prior record of sexual assault of a minor, served four years.
 
Spent time at Northville Psychiatric Hospital on four separate occasions, self admitted."
 

Bishop sat slouched in his chair.
 
He was boyish looking; wiry brown eyes so dark they were almost black.
 
A thin, pointed nose.
 
Scratches on his cheek.
 
He looked disinterested.
 
"He also works part time for Baxter Mills Inc.
 
They contract out bonded cleaning services to offices, municipalities, schools.
 
They're under contract to several universities in this area."

Jennifer handed the report to Jack.
 

"Someone should talk to Baxter about their employee vetting process.
 
They search the vehicle?"
 

"We found a black duffel bag in his van," Harrington said, "gloves, rope, knives, and wire, along with these."
 
Harrington placed a few professional looking laminated ID cards on a table, all different occupations, all had Bishop's photo.
 
"We also found several stolen laptops."

"Forensics is running a trace on the vehicle for blood samples," Jennifer said.

"What about his residence?"
 

"They're tossing it as we speak," Harrington said.
 

Jack shot an anxious look towards Harrington.
 
Harrington shook his head.
 
"They didn't find anyone."

"How long has he been here?"

"I called you as soon as they brought him in, wanted you to be the first to speak to him."
 
Jack turned to look in again at Bishop.
 
He'd seen him before.
 
His picture, his prior arrest.
 
He was one of hundreds of potential suspects he had studied during the investigation.
 

Jack walked out and around to the interrogation room entrance, taking a moment to compose himself.
 
He slowly turned the handle and entered.

Bishop stared at the floor as Jack approached.
 
Harrington entered behind Jack and closed the door.
 

Jack bypassed his usual tactic of pushing the table across the room, leaving the suspect exposed.
 
He had so many questions, he didn't want to start out confrontational.
 
There was too much work to be processed between them.
 
He took the seat across from Bishop.
 
Harrington stood behind Bishop, his arms folded.
 

Bishop lazily tilted his head back to take a look at Jack.
 
He observed Jack's labored movements, the pain he was trying to conceal.
 
Jack placed the clipboard with Bishop's arrest report down on the table.
 
Bishop lifted his handcuffed wrists and awkwardly scratched an itch on his cheek with the back of his knuckle.
 
Jack felt a certain unease about him.
 

Bishop was unattractive, ugly, with thin hair combed forward to cover his receding hairline.
 
He had a fresh bruise around his left eye.
 
Jack sat perfectly still, staring at Bishop, hardly even taking a breath.
 
He picked up the clipboard and read aloud:
 

"You live at 23 Washington?"
 
Bishop remained silent, blank.
 
"Is that your residence?"

Harrington stepped forward and grabbed Bishop's brittle hair, forcing him to look at Jack.
 
Bishop grinned at Harrington's show of force, as if he expected it.
 
Jack flitted his hand for Harrington to release him.
 
Harrington obliged, letting go and taking a step back.
 

"Several messages sent to Teresa Mason were traced to an IP address registered to your computer," Jack said.

"I don't own one.
 
But nice try," Bishop said, his voice effeminate, high pitched and nasal.
 

"Claims he was home all day," Harrington said.
 
He looked down in Bishop's direction.
 
"Lemme guess, didn't match your tall, dark, and handsome profile; things went downhill from there?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."
 

"She's clinging to life in the ER.
 
Claims you attacked her," Jack said.

"Who?"

"Two witnesses saw you exiting her apartment at the time of the attack," Harrington said.
 
"They scraped your DNA from under her God damn fingernails.
 
I'm sure that's not the only place they'll find it."

"You say you were home all day?"

"That's right."

"So what happened between 5 and 7 P.M. that caused you to race onto the expressway headed towards Ohio?"
 

"You guys are full of shit."

Jack tossed an ID card onto the table between them.
 
Then another, and another.
 
"Forged plumber's license, telephone repair man."
 
Jack turned over another one to read it.
 
"I see you work for the US Post Office too?"
 
Jack tossed it into the pile accumulating on the table.
 
"You stay busy."

Bishop licked his lips and rolled his eyes, locking them in an odd angle, appearing quite deranged.

"Uniform's a good ruse to gain entry into a woman's home, isn't it?" Harrington said.

Bishop started to stand up; Harrington sat him down with one push from his powerful arm.
 
Bishop shrank, sensing Harrington's immense strength.

"I read Teresa Mason holds a black belt in Karate.
 
What happened, finally met your match?" Harrington said, a bullying grin, he wanted to hurt Bishop so desperately.

"Fuck yourself," Bishop muttered in a monotone grumble.
 
Harrington cracked his knuckles in anticipation, but Jack's stare held him at bay.
 

Jack continued to read from the printout: "Attempted rape, attempted murder, resisting arrest."
 
Jack raised his eyebrows at the next detail, then looked at Bishop, sizing up his thin, diminutive frame.
 
"Attacking an officer?
 
Resisting arrest?
 
You're in a lot of trouble, Ed.
 
But that's nothing new, you have a long track record of sexual offenses.
 
Did time in jail for rape, paroled a little over 4 years ago."

"Would explain the gap in time between the murders," Harrington said.
 

"Yes it would," Jack said to himself.

Jack took a photo out of his inner jacket pocket.
 
He placed it down in front of Bishop.
 
It was a picture of Angelina.

"Recognize her?" Jack asked.
 
Bishop looked away and spit on the floor.
 
Harrington grabbed him again and twisted his head to look at the picture.
 
"You look at it!" Harrington growled.

Bishop stared at the picture, breathing heavily through his teeth.
 
"She's been missing three months now.
 
Take a good look."

"Never seen her."

"If you don't help me, I can't help you," Jack said.

"You know what they do to sexual offenders in general population, you've done some time," Harrington said.

"Take a good look," Jack said.
 
"Do you know where she is?"

"After a while, they all start to look alike."
 

Jack stood up, frustrated.

"Give me a few minutes with him, alone," Harrington said.
 

The door opened and Jennifer entered.
 
"Mr. Bishop's lawyer is outside."

Jack leaned over the table, placing both palms down, leaning right into Bishop's face.
 
"Right now I've got you on aggravated assault, weapons possession.
 
If Teresa dies, you're looking at murder."

"I want to speak to my lawyer, tell him how you physically mistreated me."
 
Bishop flashed a big toothy grin.
 
He looked back at Harrington, who remained stone faced, only the rule of law holding him back.
 
Jennifer held the door open, Jack pulled on Harrington's shoulder to exit with him.
 

They retreated into the adjacent room.
 
Jack looked in at Bishop, who was sitting up straight now, his hands on his lap, not a care in the world.
 
Bishop turned towards the glass as if he could feel Jack's stare, sending the rare chill down Jack's spine.
 

"They found a tan Buick Skylark parked behind his house.
 
It's registered in his name," Jennifer said.

"The Ann Arbor victim, Delgado, was last seen getting into a late model tan vehicle before she disappeared," Jack said.

"We have Teresa Mason's account, Bishop fits the profile," Harrington added.

"She doesn't," Jack said.

"Maybe he got tired of Latinos," Harrington said.
 

Jack watched as Bishop picked his nose, examining his
 
fingertip for prizes.
 
"I expected more intelligence from someone so meticulous and patient.
 
Ten years is a long time to evade suspicion."
 

"Could be a ruse; they're master manipulators," Jennifer said.
 
Jack watched Bishop's lawyer enter the room, taking the seat where Jack had been sitting.

Jack exited the holding area and walked down the hall.
 
Carl Rosa entered his path from the other end, ambushing him head on.
 
Carl was sweaty, on edge, ready to burst.

"Jack, I hear you're holding a suspect in custody?"
 

"That's right."

"Did he take my daughter?"

"I don't know Carl."

"What are you waiting for?"
 

"He's a suspect.
 
If he knows anything, we'll get it from him."

Carl pushed past Jack.
 
"I've waited long enough."
 

"Carl, you can't go back there," Jack's words prodded an officer nearby into action.
 
He grabbed Carl, restraining him at the waist.
 
Carl didn't resist.
 

As they walked him away, he paused and turned to Jack.
 
"Do you have any idea what it's like to have the only thing you love in this world… ripped from your heart?"
 

Jack's lip quivered.
 
He had no desire to bring Carl Rosa up to speed on his familiarity with grief and loss.
 
And he understood, after years of hearing that question repeated in one form or another, that it was rhetorical.
 

Jennifer approached from behind to rescue him.
 
"Jack, call for you."

"I'll take it in my office.
 
Excuse me, Carl."
 
Jack respectfully placed his hand on Carl's shoulder as he sidestepped him to get to his office.
 

He closed the door behind him and picked up the phone.
 
"Hello?"

"Jack, she's gone."
 

"Laura?"

"I've searched everywhere.
 
Her bike is missing-"

"Okay, okay, slow down.
 
Where are you?"

CHAPTER 49

The rain pounded the pavement like buckets of water dumped all at once.
 
Thunder cracked in the distance.
 
Laura hopped in place, anxious, scanning the street.
 

Jack's car finally turned the corner and pulled up along the curb.
 
Laura raced off her front porch and climbed in.
 

"What happened?" Jack asked, pulling away, not even asking which direction they should head.

"I don't know, I was on the phone - when I went to check on her, she was gone."

"Don't worry, we'll find her."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know who else to call."

"I'm glad you did."

"She's gotten worse, Jack.
 
I don't know if I can handle it anymore.
 
I haven't slept in days; I can barely see straight."

"What's the last thing she said to you?"

Laura paused a moment.
 
"She keeps asking to go home."
 
Jack looked at Laura.
 
They both knew at that moment where she might be headed.
 

The rain streaked on Jack's dirty windshield, his wipers on the fastest setting, rocking back and forth as if they might fly off into the night.
 
Jack had a swivel searchlight mounted on the side of his door.
 
He rolled down the window and shined it along the dark side streets.
 
He turned a corner and continued, twisting it back and forth, searching while trying to drive a straight line.

"This is my fault," Laura cried.

"No, it isn't.
 
You've done everything right.
 
If you want to blame anyone, blame me.
 
I should never have brought her out there."

Jack turned another corner; they headed into the urban area of town.
 
Laura looked up and recognized the street they were on.
 
And where it led.

"I know this road," Laura said. Their eyes met for a moment, both thinking the same thing.