Grant Mckenzie Read online

  ‘Darlene, you there, honey? Come on back.’

  ‘I’m here, cowboy,’ replied the unit dispatcher. ‘What’s your twenty?’

  ‘Are you flirting with me, darlin’? I am a large man, but twenty may be pushing it.’

  Darlene’s cackle sent a shiver down Hogan’s spine. How she could possibly believe his partner’s B.S., he didn’t know. Darlene had a face like a Louisiana alligator and, to every officer but Preston, the personality to match.

  ‘What you needin’, cowboy?’

  ‘Patch me through to Cosmo, will you, honey?’

  Preston winked at his partner.

  ‘I took a look through the actor’s wallet,’ he explained. ‘Then had Cosmo run a few numbers and keep them active.’

  The radio squawked and a clipped voice announced, ‘Kostyuchenko.’

  ‘Cosmo, any new hits on the Visa I gave you?’

  ‘Hold.’

  Preston turned to his partner. ‘Real chatterbox, huh?’

  Hogan shrugged. ‘He doesn’t like you.’

  ‘You kiddin’? The geek worships me.’

  ‘You call him Cosmo. He hates that.’

  ‘If I used that Russian handle, I’d be so tongue-tied I’d need to arrest him for assault.’

  The radio hissed. ‘Hello? You are there?’

  ‘Talk to me, Cosmo.’

  ‘Card used to check into Bluesman Motel. It’s located at—’

  ‘Yeah, we know it,’ Preston interrupted. ‘Good work, Cos. I’ll talk to the captain about those sheep you wanted.’

  ‘Sheep?’ Kostyuchenko blurted in a panic. ‘Not sheep. RAM! I need more RAM.’

  26

  Sam woke with a jolt and swept a thin polyester blanket from his shoulders. His skin was flushed and damp, his mind instantly abuzz with anxiety and guilt.

  He sat up in the small bed set adjacent to the only window. Through sleepy eyes, he took in his surroundings: one medium-size room decorated in basic primer white with a wash of nicotine. Twin beds, their bare metal frames bolted to the floor; and two narrow, sawdust-board nightstands.

  A 24-inch colour TV, its remote firmly connected to its side with a two-foot-long curly telephone cord, sat atop a solid three-drawer dresser. A black Bakelite phone, from which he had made frantic but fruitless calls to Hannah’s parents and his own, rested on the nightstand beside Zack’s bed.

  On the far wall, a hollow-core door led to the tiny bathroom.

  Zack stirred on the matching bed and opened one eye, the way a house cat might just to see if it was worth opening the other.

  ‘You sleep?’ he asked.

  Sam shrugged. ‘A bit.’

  ‘Sleep helps you deal, Sam, and either you deal or you lie down and die. Personally, I don’t mind the dying.’ Zack’s face grew dark. ‘But you don’t have that option, and I don’t want that asshole walking around on the planet when I’m gone.’

  Sam swung his legs off the side of the bed and reached for his clothes. He understood that, unlike Zack, he at least had been given a little hope, but it didn’t make him feel any less afraid.

  As he dressed, he looked through the gap in the curtains to see Zack’s Mercedes parked in the asphalt lot one floor below. Its polished metallic surface reflected the early-evening light.

  ‘You sure the money’s OK in the car?’ Sam asked.

  Zack nodded as he slipped into his own clothes. The silk suit had lost some of its wrinkles from hanging in the shower stall while he slept, but the humidity had done nothing for the blood, dirt and grass stains.

  ‘Mercedes build their cars like tanks,’ he explained. ‘I also paid a little extra for the Diplomat package, which adds fireproofing and a secondary deadbolt on the trunk. You would need some real special tools to get that money, and even then you wouldn’t waste your time unless you knew it was there.’

  ‘Mmmm, OK, it’s just . . .’ Sam searched for the word, ‘unsettling, I guess.’

  ‘You want the keys?’ Zack asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Would you feel better if you had the keys, instead of me?’

  Sam shook off the suggestion. ‘Nah. Forget it. I’m so jittery I’d probably lose the damn things.’

  ‘Any time you change your mind . . .’

  Sam nodded to show he appreciated the offer. ‘So what now?’

  As if in answer, the cellphone rang.

  27

  ‘You know,’ Detective Preston said, ‘it’s not that I don’t appreciate spending extra time with you, but my stomach is telling me to go home, get something to eat, curl up with the wife and watch a little Jeopardy. Maybe even crack a cold Texas beer.’

  Hogan ignored him and continued to search the abandoned room.

  The motel clerk stood at the open door to Room 4, his hands on hips and a frown creasing his face.

  ‘He not check out,’ he said for the fourth time in under a minute. ‘I see who come, I see who go. He not go.’

  ‘Snuck out.’ Preston jabbed his thumb in the direction of the small washroom at the rear. ‘Open window.’

  ‘He not to do that,’ said the clerk. ‘Window not to be opened. We run very clean place here. Very nice. No pornographers.’

  ‘Pity,’ Preston quipped. ‘Those are always fun doors to kick down.’

  Hogan sighed and scratched his chin. ‘You think White planned this?’

  ‘Misdirection?’ Preston shrugged. ‘He didn’t strike me as being that clever, but . . .’

  ‘If the explosion was a cover-up . . .’ Hogan voiced aloud.

  ‘Of the black girl’s murder . . .’ Preston continued.

  ‘Then he could be on the run,’ Hogan finished.

  ‘Which makes us look like dopes for letting him walk,’ Preston added.

  Hogan turned to the clerk. ‘How was he acting when he checked in?’

  The clerk’s eyes grew large. ‘He very tired and yawning. Did not strike me as scumbag or pornographer. I very careful, but not perfect. Only human.’

  ‘Any visitors?’ Preston asked.

  ‘No. I see who come. I see who—’ He stopped himself and looked a touch embarrassed. ‘I did not believe window could be opening.’

  ‘Well, it did take a bit of elbow grease,’ Preston agreed. ‘And he certainly didn’t do it for the fresh air.’

  Hogan sighed. ‘Doesn’t look good, does it?’

  ‘Maybe he’s a better actor than we gave him credit for.’

  Hogan flipped open his cellphone.

  ‘I’ll get approval for patrol to watch his Jeep, and get the coroner to make identifying the victims a priority. Once we know who was killed, we can figure out why.’

  Preston pulled out his own phone. ‘I’ll make sure Cosmo alerts us if any new charges pop up on the card.’

  ‘I will be closing window now,’ said the clerk, and vanished into the bathroom.

  28

  Sam forced himself to breathe as he answered the cellphone.

  ‘Mr White. Just listen,’ said the altered voice. ‘There is a liquor store, Toler’s Tonics, on Tenth Avenue and North Street. I want you to go there and pick up two forty-ounce bottles of hard liquor. I don’t care what brand or what type of alcohol you choose. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’ Sam glanced over at Zack, frowning.

  The voice continued. ‘I know you consider yourself to be an honest man, Sam. It’s one of the little things you take pride in. That’s about to change.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Sam asked, frustration clear in his voice.

  ‘Pride is a sin, Sam.’

  ‘I apologize,’ Sam snapped. ‘There! Can we end this now?’

  ‘I told you to listen. Do not test me. You won’t like where it leads.’

  Sam took another deep breath. ‘OK, I’m sorry. I’m listening.’

  ‘You are not to pay for the alcohol,’ the voice continued. ‘The owner of that store has been robbed four times in the last six weeks. During the last attempt, the thief’s
head was removed from his shoulders by shotgun. You may have read about it. The unrepentant store owner was hailed by media and police as a local hero. Along with relishing the glory, he now has a taste for blood.’

  Sam groaned. ‘Christ.’

  ‘You may wish to retrieve your weapon from its locker at the mall before entering the store. I will call again in two hours. If you have not accomplished this task, I will execute your wife. The choice, as always, is entirely yours.’

  Sam blurted, ‘Can we meet—’ but the phone went dead before he could complete the plea.

  Sam let the phone fall on to the bed, his face ashen.

  ‘Your first assignment,’ Zack said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  29

  Alan Robertson picked at his supper, his fork slicing through a baby red-skinned potato. He moved the half-moon pieces to one side where they would wait to be sliced again.

  He didn’t notice his wife’s worried stare radiating from the other end of the oblong table. Nor did he hear the escalating squabble between his two children as they argued over whose turn it was on the PlayStation 3 after supper.

  When the phone rang, Alan rose automatically and walked to the front hall where his wife had fashioned an elegant alcove. A cordless phone sat on an antique roll-top desk beside a red-velvet bench.

  Alan remained standing as he answered the ringing receiver.

  ‘Did you read the email?’ asked a voice that Alan knew too well.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And watch the news?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Shame about his family.’

  ‘Y–yes.’ Alan’s voice cracked.

  ‘It must have been horrible.’

  ‘Y–yes.’

  ‘What would you do to save yours?’

  ‘Anything. I would do anything.’

  ‘I believe you.’

  Alan sunk to his knees with the phone still pressed against his ear. The ceramic tiles were hard, but comfortably warm from the under-floor heating. He had sacrificed no expense to give his family the best of everything, and yet when they needed him most, his money was worthless.

  ‘Isn’t there something else I can do to show how sorry I am?’ Alan asked.

  There was a long pause, and then, ‘You should have thought about that before, Alan, when it would have mattered.’

  ‘But I never lied. I . . . I . . .’

  ‘You told what you saw, Alan, not what you knew. You were in that room, too.’

  ‘It was the lawyers. They only asked—’

  ‘Too late!’ the voice screamed. ‘Far too fucking late, Alan.’ He was breathing heavy now. ‘Do you love your family?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you want them to suffer?’

  ‘No. God, no.’

  ‘Then prepare yourself and wait for my call. You’ll have one chance and one chance only. Do you understand?’

  Alan’s voice was barely audible. ‘Yes.’

  The phone went dead in his hand and Alan began to weep.

  30

  ‘I’ll need your keys,’ Sam said.

  Zack held them up so the laser-etched Mercedes logo caught the light.

  ‘They’re yours,’ he said. ‘But stop for a second and hear me out.’

  Sam frowned.

  ‘I know this is difficult,’ Zack continued. ‘Hell, it’s impossible, but this is exactly what he did to me. He kept me running around so much that I didn’t take the time to think. I just reacted, like you’re doing. But there are two of us now. What did he ask you to do?’

  Sam hesitated, and then explained.

  Zack thought for a moment. ‘He’ll need to be watching somehow – to make sure you don’t cheat and just pay.’

  ‘Christ,’ Sam groaned. ‘I didn’t even think about paying.’

  ‘Amazing how quickly we change, huh? In different circumstances, we’re all different men. This is what he wants, to break us down, bit by bit. We have to out-think him.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ Zack said. ‘But drop me off around the block. Maybe I can catch him watching you. If we can get a licence plate, a face, a name, something that will tell us why he’s picked us, then maybe we can end this before your family pays the same price as mine.’

  Sam thought about it. ‘He said I should get my gun.’

  Zack raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m in no position to judge anything you do.’

  Sam chewed on a fingernail, quickly ripping it down to the quick.

  ‘If he wants me to get the gun, I should do it. It doesn’t mean I have to use it, but if I defy him on this, he may take that as a challenge.’

  ‘Let’s do it, then.’ Zack got to his feet and held out the car keys. ‘You want to drive?’

  Sam waved him off. ‘Like you said before, I need to think.’

  31

  On the way to the mall, Sam stared at Zack, his mind chugging through its gears. Underneath the exhaustion, he had a good face, handsome, sharp and obviously intelligent. It even seemed vaguely familiar, but Sam doubted he was part of the acting brigade. He was good at remembering the competition.

  ‘What did he make you do?’ Sam asked.

  ‘My first assignment?’ said Zack.

  Sam nodded.

  ‘Nothing like this,’ Zack said. ‘I was to run five red lights in different parts of San Diego.’

  ‘San Diego?’

  ‘That’s where I live . . . lived.’ Zack paused. ‘Nothing left there for me now.’

  ‘Why the red lights?’

  ‘Until that point in my life, I’d never even had a speeding ticket. Squeaky clean, I was.’ Zack grimaced. ‘My palms were sweating so badly I could hardly hold the steering wheel. Nearly crashed at two of the intersections, too. Cars everywhere, honking and screeching tyres. He was timing me between lights. I only had so much time.’

  ‘What did he get out of making you do that?’

  Zack shrugged. ‘Got me an arrest warrant, I suppose. Each of the lights he chose had one of those automatic cameras installed. I don’t know how long it takes for the cops to download the photos or whatever, but I knew when they saw my car running five lights in one afternoon, they would be tracking me down. That alone made me paranoid about every cruiser I saw, wondering when they were going to pull me over, take me out of the game.’

  ‘That’s what he threatened me with. If the cops became involved and I couldn’t respond to his calls, my family was dead.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Zack sighed. ‘Bastard holds a short leash.’

  At the mall, Sam slid out of the Mercedes and raced inside, snaking his way through the unruly dinner crowds.

  When he reached the escalators, he cut off from the main walkway and headed up the side corridor that led to the washrooms. Entering the Authorized Personnel Only doors, he took a sharp left to reach a single blue door labelled Security.

  He unlocked the door and slipped inside.

  Sitting on the bench facing the lockers, Sam spun the dial on his padlock and yanked it open. Since he had removed his uniform, the inside was practically bare, containing only his black leather shoes, leather holster and belt, and the small blue plastic gun box.

  He lifted out the box and unlocked it.

  From inside, Sam withdrew his company-issue Smith & Wesson Model 25 revolver in blued carbon steel and Cocobolo finger-groove grips. It was the kind of gun designed to look intimidating when worn on the hip, yet at 39 ounces it was still light enough to carry around for an eight-hour shift.

  Sam’s permit only allowed him to carry the gun while on duty within the confines of the mall. The company issued additional temporary permits whenever he needed to transport the gun to the shooting range for his monthly practice sessions. But those permits had to be ordered at least two days in advance.

  Sam slipped the gun into his belt at the small of his back and stuffed a box of standard .45 cartridges into his pocket. He returned the gun case to the locker and re-spun the lock.

/>   Just as he stood, the door opened and Harry Coombs, one of four day-shift guards, entered.

  ‘Oh, hey, Sam,’ Harry bellowed good-naturedly. ‘Awful keen today, ain’t ya?’

  Harry was six foot five, with wide shoulders, so he had to slip in through the doorway sideways. Despite his bulky size, Harry’s head still looked too large for his body and sported a meaty, shovel-flat face. If they ever made another Flintstones movie, Sam was sure Harry could land a good part.

  Sam smiled nervously as his hand slipped behind his back to make sure the gun was secure in his belt and hidden from sight by his grey vest.

  ‘I forgot something in my locker last night,’ Sam said, thinking quickly. ‘Didn’t want it stinking up the place.’

  Harry laughed, exposing a set of crooked, yellow teeth.

  ‘Fuck, yeah, I hear ya,’ he said. ‘Remember when that English dude – was it Winston or Cecil? Something sissy like that, anyway – when he left some of his weird cheese here? Chrrrist, did that stink.’

  ‘He never lived it down,’ Sam added. ‘You called him Cheese Head until the day he packed it in.’

  Harry roared and slapped the wall so hard, Sam could hear plaster breaking.

  ‘I called him Stinky Fuckin’ Cheese Head till the day he quit. Served him right, too. Some days I think I can still smell it.’ Harry lifted his nose towards the ceiling and sniffed loudly.

  ‘Nah, that’s your giant feet you smell, Harry.’

  Harry laughed again and swung one of his size 18 Wingtip Oxfords in a mock kick.

  ‘So what did you forget?’ he asked.

  ‘Err, tuna sandwich,’ Sam said. ‘Just starting to go ripe, too.’

  Harry wrinkled his nose.

  ‘Well, get it the fuck out of here, then. I think I’m beginning to smell it.’ He grinned. ‘Fish Head.’

  Sam groaned, but took the excuse to leave the tiny room and Harry’s curiosity behind.

  Back in the corridor, Sam readjusted the gun and moved quickly through the staff doors to rejoin the noisy stream of busy shoppers.