In Your Name, page 12
It was a large farmhouse-style kitchen, with a big oak table and six chairs pushed under it. The wooden worktops were wiped clean and dishtowels hung against the front of the range cooker. No one was there.
Harper stayed close to the wall and ducked under the sill to the second window. This one looked into a hallway with the walls covered in paintings and photographs. Wall lamps flooded the ceiling with light and the floor was covered with rugs of various shapes and designs. No one there either.
The curtains on the third window were only partly closed. Harper bent down and looked through the gap. It was the living room, spacious with vases of fresh flowers and a random selection of soft furnishings none of which matched. He could see the back of the sofa and the dark silhouettes of two heads. One was a woman and the other a man. They were watching television.
To the side Harper saw two seated figures. He had a good line of sight to the one nearest. A withered figure of a woman in a wheelchair with a blue mask over her mouth and a skullcap which gave the impression of her being bald. He couldn’t make out the second person, his view was obstructed.
He changed position but it was no use.
Harper was about to try the other window when the woman on the sofa got up. She placed both hands on the shoulders of the emaciated woman and kissed her on the forehead. She pushed her back slightly and walked towards the kitchen. Harper ducked down and held his breath.
He raised his head and peered through the curtains. The second woman was now in full view.
Her face was puffy and a neck brace held her head upright. She wore a bandage around her head with tufts of hair poking out. She stared at the TV with her jaw hanging down. Harper could only see the side of her face but there was no mistake. He was looking at Dr Jo Sells.
Moran pulled up at the out-of-town trading estate. It was dark, and the red and blue flashing lights bounced off the shopfronts. There was a buzz of activity inside the yellow taped-off area with paramedics hunched over a body on the ground. To the left there was another huddle taking high-resolution pictures of the back of a car.
She reached the tape and held up her badge.
‘Detective Moran,’ she said to the uniformed officer standing on guard. ‘I’m here to meet Detective Chad Mills.’
‘He’s over there, the one in the loud shirt.’
‘Thanks.’ Moran couldn’t miss him. If her dress sense was all about being monochrome, his was the complete opposite. He looked like a tourist who’d spent all his money at the Hawaiian market.
‘Detective Mills?’ She stood next to him as he checked the pockets of the man on the floor.
‘Who’s asking?’
‘I’m Detective Moran. Despatch sent me over here.’
Mills looked up. ‘Ah, the new girl.’
Moran disliked him instantly.
‘I saw the new-joiners memo which said you’d be turning up sometime soon. Welcome to Vegas.’ He stood up. ‘What we have here is a standard drug-related hit straight out of the playbook. John Doe No.1 here looks like he was rammed by the car which broke his neck. John Doe No. 2 over there had a much tougher ride.’
They walked over to the second knot of people. The body was sitting upright against the rear of the car, illuminated by the bright white staccato flash of the camera. It gave the scene a Friday the 13th look.
‘This vic was also run over but I don’t reckon that’s what killed him. He was dragged to this position from over there and died from having this rammed down his throat.’ He pointed to the metal spike sticking out of the man’s mouth.
Moran bent down and shone her flashlight onto the bar. It had the same knurled pattern cut into the metal as the one from the mortuary.
‘I’ve seen this before,’ she said.
‘So have I, Detective, so have I.’
‘No, I mean I’ve seen this MO before. The metal bar. I saw this on another drug relat—’ She wasn’t allowed to finish.
‘They do this all the time. One crew grows stronger than another and moves in on the weaker gang’s territory. Then they get rich and complacent and another gang moves in on them. And so it goes around and around.’
‘But this is different, don’t you think? No shots fired, the vics are killed by hand. The steel rod rammed down the throat. This is a high-risk strategy for someone who simply wants to take out the competition. There are three more bodies exactly like—’
‘Like what exactly? Like what?’ Mills was walking away.
Moran caught up with him. ‘I saw this a few days ago with another gang.’
‘As I said, it happens all the time. You’d better get used to it cos this is Vegas, baby, this is Vegas. I’m heading back to the station, fancy a coffee?’ Mills got in his car and drove away.
This jerk was annoying as hell.
27
Lucas and Harper were sitting in the darkest part of the darkest bar in Vegas. Lucas’s vocabulary had completely deserted him.
‘Fucking hell.’
‘Yeah, I’m telling you it was her,’ Harper replied from the gloom.
‘Are you sure, are you absolutely sure?’
‘It’s her. I even heard the Huxton woman talking to them and she definitely said Jo.’
‘I can’t believe it.’ Lucas finished his drink and ordered two more.
‘I couldn’t tell what state she was in but it didn’t look good. I stayed as long as I dared and she didn’t move. I mean, didn’t move an inch. Nothing. The other woman, the daughter, didn’t look in great shape either. She wore some sort of medical helmet and was motionless the whole time I was there.’
‘Fucking hell.’ His vocabulary failed again.
‘Other than being in a wheelchair and unable to move, with a bandage around her head, she looked the same.’
‘Mechanic brought her all this way and kept her alive,’ said Lucas.
‘Looks like you were right. The question is, now what do we do?’
‘We need to think of a way to get to Mechanic through Jo.’
‘Snatch her,’ replied Harper a little too quickly.
‘That’s a possibility but we’ll need to be able to look after her. We want her alive as bait, not dead.’
‘Do we?’ Harper emptied the glass in a single glug and picked up another.
‘How do you mean?’
‘We snatch Jo and use her to lure Mechanic into the open. She could be dead or alive, Mechanic wouldn’t know. I say snatching Jo is our only option. We gotta use her as leverage to make Mechanic give herself up. If we keep Jo alive – fine, if we don’t – fine. The result is the same.’
‘I’m not sure about that.’ Lucas was feeling a little squeamish. ‘I want Mechanic dead more than anyone but I’m not convinced about killing Jo in the process.’
‘The way to Mechanic is through Jo. We need to stop that murdering psycho bitch before she kills again, which she will. It’s simply a matter of time. I shot Jo because I wanted her dead, I have no scruples about finishing the job. If she dies as a result of the snatch, so be it. If it means we get to kill Mechanic, it’s worth a few sleepless nights.’ He tilted back his head and another drink disappeared down his throat.
Lucas knew he was right. They stood no chance tackling Mechanic head on. The only way this could work would be if she gave herself up in return for her sister.
‘There’s another reason we have no choice,’ said Harper.
‘What?’
‘Who do you think is top of Mechanic’s kill list right now?’
‘Yeah, I thought of that. It’s you and me.’
‘Exactly.’
Lucas was quiet for a while, and then offered a poorly thought through suggestion. ‘We could go back to first base and inform Chuck Hastings.’
Harper looked at him in disbelief. ‘You want to trust this to them? It’s now a cross-jurisdiction case because it’s in another state, which means the FBI will want their slice of the pie, as well as the guys from Florida and Vegas.’ Harper waved his hand and ordered two more drinks. ‘Let’s be fair, you and I both know it’s got “catastrophic screw-up” written all over it. Mechanic will slip away in the confusion and we’ll be in hiding for the rest of our lives.’
Harper was on a roll. ‘Besides, have you forgotten you’re suspended? You drag your flabby ass to the other side of the country chasing a serial killer when you’ve been told to back off. You would be dead meat my friend. Dead meat.’ The bartender beat a hasty retreat having overheard the last set of comments.
‘Shhh!’ Lucas put his finger to his lips. ‘Okay, okay. I get it, that’s not a good thing to do.’
‘It’s a stupid, bone-headed thing to do. We turn this over to the police and we lose control. You get fired for gross misconduct and I’ll be done for perverting the course of justice or something. Mechanic will evaporate into thin air, and you and me will be dead men walking.’
Lucas picked up the shot glass and necked it back.
‘A snatch it is then.’
28
Mechanic showed Silverton the stark photograph depicting a long-coated man propped against the back of a car with the metal spike protruding from his mouth. He was ecstatic.
‘Nice touch,’ he said referring to the signature method. ‘That sends a clear message. Have you turned up anything on who hit my team?’
‘No nothing, Mr Silverton.’
‘This goes through the accounts as a business development cost,’ Silverton said throwing a paper bag across the room. It landed in her lap. Mechanic opened it and stared at fifteen thousand dollars in used notes, apparently the going rate for destabilising the drug market one gang at a time.
She was getting paid well to do something which she was doing for free anyway. Her stress levels were low and her cash reserves were high. She would soon have enough money to buy a bigger place, convert it and move Jo in. The Huxton woman could call daily to look after her as she no longer required twenty-four-hour care. Jo was stable, but nothing could be done to bring her out of her locked-in state. Drugs, bathing, toileting and feeding had become routine tasks which could be delivered at Mechanic’s home equally as well as at the Huxtons. She wanted Jo to be near her.
‘So who’s next boss?’
Back home Mechanic put the paper bag into a holdall and stuffed it into the top of her wardrobe. She zipped up her light bomber jacket and checked her kit. The silenced .45 was holstered in place under her left arm with four spare clips, throwing knives secured to her ankles, and a hunting knife in the back of her belt. She wore black cotton trousers and gloves. The small dark rucksack at her feet contained all the necessary toys and treats if you were looking to take down a drug den. Today it was the turn of the Turks. All she needed to complete her preparation was a two-foot length of knurled metal reinforcing bar and it was time to go to work.
The Turks ran the east side, they were a small outfit and new to Vegas. What they lacked in size they made up for in bloody carnage. The territory had been previously occupied by the Cobras who were wiped out by the Turks over the course of a single weekend. On Friday the punters had bought gear from their friendly local Cobra dealer and on Monday did business with the Turks. It was clinical and brutal.
The intel and surveillance provided by Silverton was more like a military briefing dossier. Mechanic learned that the Turks operated in teams of three with one guy being a dedicated shooter for when things got rough. They peddled a wide range of drugs from crack cocaine, tina and LSD, to party poppers, and prided themselves on being a one-stop shop for all your recreational needs. Silverton had already identified the team to be hit and it wasn’t going to be easy.
They worked out of a derelict house on a rundown estate. Either the developer had run out of cash or lost interest but there were around twenty part-completed homes. It had one road in and out due to the burned-out vehicles and garbage blocking the adjoining routes. The Turks occupied the property which had the sign saying Show Home.
A gunman sat in the upstairs window keeping watch, while the other two took care of business from the front garden, which was surrounded by a three-foot-high wall. Punters would place their order with one guy and leave money on the wall, the other guy would dispense their purchases, also by leaving them on the wall. It was a non-contact transaction carried out under the watchful eye of an assault rifle sticking out of the bedroom window.
Mechanic viewed the grainy reconnaissance photographs provided by Silverton. It was a slick set-up for sure but with one tiny flaw. All the action took place at the front of the house, who was looking after the back?
Mechanic parked up and looked at the green digits on the dashboard. They read 11.30pm. She got out of the car, pulled the rucksack across one shoulder and approached the estate on foot. She stopped about two hundred yards out, unzipped a side pouch and took out a single lens night-sight. She twisted the ratchet and the back of the house came into focus. It looked deserted.
She crossed the ground using the other properties for cover and at fifty yards out repeated the observation. Nothing had changed. Music was playing and cackling laughter drifted towards her on the breeze. They seemed to be a happy team.
Mechanic reached the house and crouched at the back wall. She could hear the steady stream of business out front with punters revving their engines and women shrieking.
She tried the back door. It was locked – a peculiar safety measure as the window next to it contained no glass. Mechanic eased her way through the opening and dropped to the other side. She remained still, tuning into the sounds and smells of the drug den.
The place was gutted, every fitting, every worktop, every door was missing and the floor was stripped down to bare concrete. Mechanic drew her gun and crossed the kitchen into the living room. She cursed under her breath. The whole house was littered with broken glass, beer cans and pizza boxes, not easy to negotiate in silence. She picked her way through the obstacle course staying close to the inside wall. The front window was a gaping hole onto the garden and she could hear the two out front welcoming their regulars. Mechanic climbed the stairs, sticking to the edge, and as she reached the top it was easy to spot which room contained the shooter. He was in the one behind the solid metal door with no handle on the outside. She eased the thick blade of her hunting knife under the door and levered it towards her. The door was solid. Locked shut.
Mechanic surveyed her options. The doorway immediately to the right led to a bedroom. She entered and positioned herself against the front wall near the window. From her bag she fished out a small round mirror on a telescopic arm and inched it above the window ledge. Mechanic angled it and could see across the front of the building. As she watched the barrel of the assault rifle poked out into the night.
She put the mirror down and looked around the floor for something to throw. A cluster of nuts and bolts lay in one corner, the product of removing the fitted furniture during the house gutting. Mechanic gathered them up and waited.
Outside was a non-stop procession of cars with people eager to score. She would have to wait, this was not a time to be impatient.
After about an hour it all went quiet. Mechanic positioned the mirror over the ledge and the two men outside were chatting. There were no cars and no customers. This was her time.
She threw three of the bolts at the left-hand corner of the front wall. The garden guys shouted something at each other and went to investigate. Mechanic could see more of the gun barrel in the mirror as the shooter edged forward. She threw two more into the same corner. They clattered against the wall.
This time one of the two men at the front called to the shooter.
‘Hey man. Did you hear that? Something’s down here!’
The shooter leaned out of the window to get a better view. Mechanic threw her last bolt.
‘Hey, what the hell, man?’ said one of the garden men as it struck him on the back.
‘Are you seeing anything?’ the other called to the shooter.
He leaned out of the window, aiming his rifle into the corner.
A fraction further. That’s it. A little more …
The bullet hit him below his right ear and he crumpled back into the house, a muffled spit as the shell splattered blood against the brickwork. Mechanic spun her aim around and the man nearest the house took the first shot in his shoulder and the second in the head. The remaining garden guy still couldn’t work out where the shots were coming from and took cover against the front wall. This was the easiest of all. Two more shots blew his head wide open.
Mechanic packed away her gear, went downstairs, through the front door and into the garden. She removed her rucksack and slid out the two-foot metal reinforcing bar.
‘Now which one of you wants to be famous?’
29
Lucas favoured the subtle approach based upon deception while Harper preferred an armoured vehicle through the front door and stun grenades. Planning the abduction of Jo Sells was proving to be a challenge.
They clashed on a minute-by-minute basis. Lucas pressed hard his opinion that a forced abduction would inevitably lead to police involvement, which was difficult to argue against. But despite this Lucas struggled to persuade Harper to ditch his Wild West option.
In order to take a well-earned break from the constant arguing they watched the house as much as they could to gain insight into Jo’s condition.
The daily routine was repetitive. Jeb Huxton left the house every morning at 7am and returned at 5.45pm, dinner was on the table at quarter past six sharp. Jenny-Jay occasionally shopped for groceries but for the main part stayed in the house attending to the two women. Other than the mailman they didn’t have any visitors.
During the dark hours Lucas and Harper took turns to observe the bizarre proceedings as the family sat in front of the TV, absorbing their regular diet of game shows and cop programmes. On each occasion Jo was completely inert in her wheelchair and showed no physical responses whatsoever, while Jenny-Jay busied around her. Jo was always immaculately dressed with a food tube plumbed into her stomach.
