In Your Name, page 11
‘Are you saying, don’t look for the dirtbags who did this?’
‘No, do the digging because people will expect you to look. But if your eyes and ears on the street are coming up with nothing then they must be well hidden. In the meantime hit one of the competition in the same way. You can hold your hands up and say: “Not me – I already got hit by these guys. I’m trying to find them.”’
‘But what if they continue to target my network?’
‘That will give us more to work on and we’ll flush them out. Besides, hitting the other players will create confusion and whoever it is could make a mistake and give themselves away.’
‘I like it. But how the hell am I gonna hire a team to do this without the word getting around?’
‘I would have thought that was obvious. You already have.’
Silverton smiled and nodded his head.
Mechanic nodded back. ‘Which do you want hitting first?’
Lucas and Harper visited the nursing homes on the list. Lucas divided the route map into a grid and plotted each location. ‘Clustering’, he called it; ‘a pain in the ass’ was how Harper described it. As the list of ticked-off venues grew, so did their ability to get past the reception welcoming committee and into the home.
Harper continued with his ‘tugging at the heartstrings’ speech while Lucas provided sketchy detail on the condition of his mythical sister. The combination seemed to work well.
The staff at the homes were all too pleased to provide a thorough tour of their facilities, which provided ample opportunity for Harper to slip away and look for Jo. They drew a blank at every visit. They were parked at the Calder Bank convalescent home discussing their latest walkabout.
‘I liked that one,’ said Harper. ‘It had a nice feel to it.’
Lucas stopped tracing out the directions to their next location on his map.
‘What?’ He looked at Harper the way a family regards their mad uncle.
‘I thought the staff were a little more relaxed than some of the others. A little more friendly.’
‘We’re not going to live there.’
‘No I know. I’m only saying that was better than the others we’ve seen. Bit on the pricey side though.’
‘Are you serious? Get real. We are looking for Jo so we can catch ourselves a serial killer – we’re not conducting a suitability assessment.’
‘Yes I know, but it cost quite a lot more than the others. That’s all I’m saying.’
Lucas shook his head. ‘You’re fucking losing it.’
Harper put his head down, rereading the brochure he’d picked up from the home.
There was a rap on the driver’s-side window. Harper reached for his gun and Lucas jumped in his seat. He pushed the button and the window glided down.
‘Can I help you?’ Lucas said.
‘Sorry to bother you, but I’ve seen you looking around homes asking about availability.’ A young man stood beside the car. He was in his late twenties, wore a two-piece boiler suit, safety shoes and a baseball cap. Emblazoned across the peak was Blue Water Medical Supplies, and across the back of his jacket was written Your Complete Solution in a Single Delivery.
Lucas and Harper both stepped out of the car. Harper stayed on the passenger side keeping his gun out of sight. The young man looked excited, like he was meeting up with two old friends.
‘Hey, I deliver supplies to the homes.’ He removed his cap and pointed to the logo. ‘I go to every facility at least once a week and I’ve seen you both a couple of times. I thought if you want to know anything about the homes here in Vegas then I’m your man. I know them all.’ Lucas looked across at Harper who stuffed the weapon in the back of his belt.
‘I saw your van,’ said Lucas pointing at the two-tone blue transit in the parking bay.
‘You deliver to all the nursing homes?’ asked Harper.
‘Yup, and some of the hospitals as well. They don’t take weekly deliveries, they do theirs on a monthly consignment basis because of volume discount and shit.’
‘You must know them all pretty well then?’ Lucas asked, playing him along.
‘Oh, hell yes. I know them all. I don’t walk around with my eyes shut, I notice things.’ He seemed to have a much more exciting life taking place in his head.
‘Yeah I bet you do,’ said Harper. ‘Do you know any of the patients?’
‘Not really, but I see them coming and going. I get to stock the stores and sign off the inventory count. That means I get to walk about. I reckon I could be a doctor – that’s what I want to do. My name is Gus.’ He extended his hand and Lucas shook it.
‘Well, Gus, a doctor eh?’ Harper whistled. ‘You seem like a switched-on guy, I get that. You must see a lot of stuff, I bet you notice all manner of things when you walk about.’
‘Yes I do, sir. I know them all and for a small consulting fee I can give you two gentlemen the low-down.’
‘Consulting fee?’ Harper repeated.
‘Yes, medical school is gonna cost a bundle. But I could save you guys a ton of time driving around. What do you say?’
‘How much would this consulting fee be?’ asked Lucas.
‘Ten bucks.’
‘Wow, Gus, these medical fees must be huge,’ Harper said.
‘You better believe it.’
Lucas looked across at Harper and shrugged his shoulders.
‘Sounds good to me,’ he said taking the bill from his wallet. ‘This better be worth it, Gus.’
‘Okay. From a purely clinical perspective I would recommend Sunny Village in Clover Heights. They have the highest staff-to-patient ratio and have some cool medical kit. It’s more like a hospital than a care facility. It’s not the cheapest but it looks like a really smart hotel. I’d go for that one.’
‘From a clinical perspective, eh? Well that’s fantastic. That will save us a whole heap of time. Thank you very much.’
‘You’re welcome, sir. Anything you want to know, I’m your man.’
‘It sounds like you are, Gus, that’s for sure,’ Harper chipped in.
Lucas decided to grasp the nettle.
‘We are looking to place my sister – she’s in her thirties and was involved in a car accident. It left her with head injuries and she needs constant care. With your expertise can you think of a place where they already look after people like that?’
‘Head injuries you say?’ Gus stroked his chin. ‘The majority of places take folks suffering with cancer or dementia. It’s kind of end-of-life care.’
‘Have any of the homes taken in a woman in her early-thirties with head trauma in the past few months?’ Lucas was being dangerously direct.
‘No can’t think of any.’
‘Hey come on, Gus,’ said Harper. ‘I thought you were the man. You said you wanted to be a doctor. Come on, you gotta have more than that?’
Gus assumed a theatrical pose to accentuate the fact he was thinking.
‘It’s not a nursing home to speak of but I do deliver to a house where they look after two women. They must be in thirty-something I suppose but it’s hard to tell.’
‘That might be interesting,’ Harper said casually, hiding the fact that his stomach was in his mouth.
‘There used to be one of them but now they look after two, and one of them has a head injury of some sort. It’s not a business like this.’ Gus waved his arm at the plate-glass and wooden frontage of Calder Bank. ‘It’s more like a family home.’
‘Where would we find this place?’ Lucas said.
‘I don’t think they take cold callers. Like I said, they’re not a normal type of business. I’ve never seen anyone else there.’
‘Yeah I understand. So, for completeness, Gus, and to make sure we don’t turn up by accident, where is this place?’
‘Wait here.’ He ran back to his van and returned with a red folder.
Lucas and Harper held their breath.
‘It’s Honeydew House in Buxton Cope. The name on the docket is Huxton.’
Lucas fished around in his wallet and pulled out another ten-dollar bill. He offered it to Gus.
‘We didn’t have this conversation. We need to keep this to ourselves, you know like patient–doctor confidentiality.’
Gus touched the side of his nose with his finger and gave Lucas a wink.
‘I was never here,’ he said taking the money.
He turned and walked back to his van with the warm, fuzzy feeling that he was twenty bucks closer to med school.
25
The answer to Mechanic’s question was the Crips. They were a well-organised drug gang who controlled the south-west side of Vegas selling low-grade coke. It was cheap-end material, not in the same league as the Silverton gear. They thrived on pushing volume to compensate for the low margin and that meant there were loads of them to choose from. It didn’t take long for Mechanic to select two lucky candidates.
The duo peddled their business from an out-of-town trading estate and tended to work from 6pm onwards when the shops closed for the day, though in reality it was when the shop closed – singular. The real-estate development company had grossly overestimated the volume of trade when they built the place. A four-hundred-space car park serving nine businesses was a little over the top, a ratio made even worse since eight of the business units lay empty. The only one trading was a tyre replacement workshop at the far end. For the Crips, this was perfect: no CCTV, minimal street lighting and all-round visibility.
Their trade was all drive-by customers stocking up on the evening’s entertainment. They operated from the front of the unit farthest from the tyre place and used the same procedure every time. When a vehicle pulled onto the lot the two dealers would separate and stand about ten yards apart. The car pulled up to the first guy and handed over the money, he held his hands up and signalled what had been purchased and the quantity. The customer drove to the second guy to pick up the drugs. It was the narcotics equivalent of a drive-through happy meal.
The guy handling the cash was scrawny, he wore clothes two sizes too big and enough gold chains to double his body weight. The second man was a big guy with a shaved, tattooed head and wore a long leather coat, appropriate attire for hiding a long-barrelled weapon.
Trade was brisk and most of their clients were regulars. They had been there for over twelve months selling their packets of fun without any problems. All that was about to change.
Mechanic drove the battered Dodge Sebring near to the lot and parked up. The vehicle was sprayed a putrid two-tone green with tiger seat-covers and red crushed velvet covering the dashboard. Not her usual choice of ride but it was the car of choice tonight, owing to the keys being in the ignition and no one there to prevent her taking it. She killed the engine and watched the buying and selling from a distance.
She saw the dealers dispatch another satisfied customer, and then started the car and edged towards them. The guys looked up as she rolled along the tarmac and did their usual separation routine. Scrawny guy stayed put and long-coat guy turned his back and walked away.
She slammed her right foot to the floor. The tyres screeched in protest as they gained traction and the car sped forward, accelerating fast.
The man in the long coat heard the squeal and spun around.
She reached the scrawny guy a little slower than planned but the front fender hit him about thigh height sending him bouncing onto the hood and off the windshield onto the ground. The glass splintered on impact.
Her next target was a split second away.
The big guy pulled open his coat and fumbled for his weapon. He was too slow and the impact wrapped him around the front of the car. He lay across the hood with his arms outstretched, his face a mix of terror and disbelief as Mechanic powered forward. The vehicle hurtled headlong into a parking bollard. His upper body catapulted backwards and then forward as the car came crashing to a stop. He thrashed around on the hood, pinned against the concrete pillar.
Mechanic got out and walked back to scrawny guy. He lay on the floor groaning and rolling around. She stood astride him and grasped his jaw and the back of his head. His eyes locked with hers. She smiled and with a violent twist the bones cracked as his neck broke. He went limp.
The man in the long coat was flapping around screaming and banging his hands on the hood trying to free himself. She walked over, reached into his coat and ripped free the sawn-off shotgun tossing it onto the floor. Back in the car she shoved it into reverse. Long-coat guy came along for the ride for about twelve feet then slid off the hood and onto the concrete.
Mechanic looked through the splintered windshield at the figure crumpled on the ground in front of her. He was trying to sit up. She shifted to drive and stamped the accelerator into the carpet.
There was a sickening squelch as the front grill smashed into his head and shoulders, followed by a rumbling as he passed under the car. Mechanic hit the brakes, got out and walked back to the mangled shape that only a couple of minutes ago had been selling narcotics to kids. He was unconscious but still alive.
She grabbed his coat collar, dragged him back to the car and sat him upright against the fender. Mechanic opened the trunk and retrieved what she was looking for – a two-foot-long piece of knurled metal reinforcing bar.
She bent his head back and opened his mouth.
His eyes flicked open.
Mechanic allowed herself a moment of pure indulgence as she held his gaze. She grasped his jaw and drove the bar down his throat. His body spasmed as the jagged edge tore its way into his body, blood erupted into his mouth.
Mechanic stepped back and pulled a small camera from her pocket. The tiny flash lit up the gaping face. She walked away leaving the Crips’ market share more than a little destabilised.
26
The public library located on Regents Place was particularly helpful. Lucas and Harper stared at the flickering screens as microfiche images passed before them.
Buxton Cope was a small township about twenty miles to the north of Vegas, population of 243, with sixty-one residences. Honeydew House housed three adults, family name of Huxton.
A newspaper search turned up the report of the car crash which had left Mary-Jay in a vegetative state. It also reviewed the trial of Jeb Huxton following his Sunday afternoon visit to the dead boy’s home. The editorial slant vehemently disagreed with the judge who’d sent Jeb to prison. It would appear their readership thought Jeb should be made a congressman for what he’d done.
Lucas pushed his chair away from the booth and wheeled himself next to Harper.
‘Doctor Gus might have given us exactly what we were looking for.’
‘Yeah, and you only paid the guy twenty bucks to get him into Harvard.’
Lucas smiled. This was getting close.
‘Okay, so we’ve confirmed Honeydew House is a real place and the Huxtons live there. They have a daughter who was injured in a car crash and the paper mentions her being in an unresponsive state.’
‘I also read somewhere that the mother was a nurse,’ Harper added.
‘This is coming together nicely. The daughter is being looked after by the mother – Doctor Gus sounded certain there were two women being cared for at the house. Our working assumption has got to be the second one is Jo Sells.’
‘It sure looks that way. Off the grid but within easy reach. I’m getting a positive feeling.’
‘How do we approach this? We don’t know what sort of state she’s in, we need to check the place out. But we can’t turn up at the front door selling life insurance or encyclopedias in case Jo recognises us. She’ll alert Mechanic and then we’re all in need of end-of-life care.’
‘The other risk is what if Mechanic turns up, or worse still is at the property when we’re there.’ Both men spoke in hushed tones even though the place was deserted apart from a woman sitting behind a large counter about twenty yards away.
‘Jo is less likely to recognise me,’ said Harper. ‘A front door approach is too risky. It makes sense if I go to the house and case the joint to see if she’s there.’
Lucas was deep in thought. ‘Until we’ve positively identified her there’s nothing we can do. We need to have eyes-on confirmation and then we can work out what comes next.’
‘It will be dark in a little over an hour, no time like the present.’ Harper removed the microfiche tape, got up and left.
Lucas took one last look at the grainy newspaper report of the accident. The pretty face of Mary-Jay Huxton stared out of the screen. He wondered what she was staring at now.
Harper was right. Seventy-five minutes later the sun disappeared and the headlights on the rental car illuminated the sign saying Buxton Cope. Lucas slowed down and they both scoured the neighbourhood looking for the Huxtons’ place. The address didn’t help much as there were no street names and very little street lighting, which made for slow progress. After a while they spotted a handwritten sign pointing to a house at the end of a long unmarked dirt-track road. It said Honeydew House.
Lucas killed the lights and pulled over. The property was lit up, someone was home.
‘At least I’ll see anyone coming,’ said Harper, popping the clip from the grip of his gun. He checked it then snapped it back in place. Lucas kept his eyes on the rear-view mirror, all was clear.
‘No heroics,’ he said. ‘The last thing we want to do is spook them. If you can’t get a clear view come away and we’ll try again.’
‘Got it,’ said Harper flicking the switch in the roof of the car. He opened the door and the interior light stayed off. He stepped into the darkness and hurried up the road towards the house.
As he got closer he could make out the layout of the property. It looked like the Huxtons were throwing a party – every light in the house was on. He skirted around the front gate and made his way down the side of the house. Despite the light show, the place was silent. Harper placed his foot onto the veranda which ran around the house. There was a creak as his weight transferred onto the boards, and he stepped onto the whitewashed porch. He made his way to the first of four windows and peered inside.
