In Your Name, page 25
PENANCE DAY TOMORROW – APRIL 28
CHRISTCHURCH MALL MULTISTORY
8TH FLOOR, BAY 864.
5am SHARP
His stomach turned over as he read the ad. This was it.
‘Moran has been in touch, it’s game on,’ Lucas lied marching into the motel room. Bassano emerged from the bathroom with a toothbrush sticking from his mouth.
‘What’s the plan?’
‘Christchurch mall, tomorrow morning at 5am. We are going to take that bitch down.’
‘Get Harper, we don’t have much time and there’s a lot to do,’ Bassano said spraying flecks of white paste onto the carpet. Lucas lifted the phone and called the station.
Moran was already in work and picked up straight away. She listened to Lucas read the advert.
‘That’s good. We have a situation here which means I won’t be with you till later. You know what to do.’ She hung up.
The station was in complete freefall.
An officer had been found shot through the head at a low-rent property on the east side of the city. He was one of the team doing the house-to-house calls on recently rented properties taken out on short-term leases. The alarm was raised when he failed to call in. Another cop went to investigate and found his patrol car parked outside his last known location but there was no sign of him. The investigating cop could hear the sound of a police radio coming from inside the apartment, so he kicked the door in and found him dead. The rest of the place was empty.
Moran tried to stay focused. The morning briefing had been brought forward to 7am, which made Mills a very unpopular guy. The team gathered in the evidence room and went through the orders for the day. Lucas had been right. Despite every officer out looking for Mechanic there was not a single sighting. She’d vanished. When it came to Moran’s turn she reported a ton of activity but very little progress. The briefing was over in forty minutes and Moran rushed from the office to meet with Lucas.
She found the three of them at the mall checking out parking lot 864, on the eighth floor of Christchurch Mall multi-storey. Despite her distractions at work, Moran delivered a totally convincing performance describing how she had fed the storyline at the station about Harper talking to the police. The meeting was set for tomorrow at 5am. Mechanic was bound to show up to protect her sister.
Realisation was dawning on Harper that he had put his head well and truly into the lion’s mouth. Volunteering to be the bait to draw Mechanic into the open at some time in the future was completely different to the stark reality of actually being the bait tomorrow. The others rallied around him in support, each one relieved it wasn’t them.
Lucas was suffering crushing feelings of guilt. He’d offered up his friend to be killed and lied about it. He felt like shit. Moran was the only one not feeling bad about anything, all she could think about was that this was her big chance. Her career would be guaranteed when she took Mechanic down.
By 10pm all was set. No more strategies to formulate, no more contingency plans to rehearse, no more checking of comms equipment and guns. They were ready to go, all that stood between them and catching Mechanic was seven sleepless hours.
There was one more thing left to do.
Back in his motel room Lucas reached for the phone and dialled home. There was no answer.
Damn, he thought. Now he would have to navigate around Heather the Rottweiler. He dialled anyway.
‘Hello.’ Heather answered.
‘Hi Heather, is Darlene there please.’
‘Jesus, Edmund, do you not understand about time zones? It’s one in the morning. She is here but she doesn’t want to speak to you.’
Lucas clenched his fist to stop himself exploding.
‘Please, Heather, I’m begging you. It’s important, put her on.’
‘It’s not me you need to beg to, it’s Darlene. She’s the one who spends her evenings crying. She’s the one watching her marriage fall apart and all that’s down to you.’
‘That’s why I need to speak to her. I’m coming home soon and I want to put things right.’
‘She told me.’
‘Can I speak to her please?’
‘She doesn’t want to.’
‘Put her on the fucking phone!’ Lucas could hold back no longer.
The line went dead.
He slammed the receiver into the cradle and redialled. It was engaged. He tried again. It was permanently engaged. Once more, the phone ended up on the floor.
62
Mechanic was at the Huxtons’ house walking towards Jo’s bedroom. The pictures in the hallway told of a different life, before Mary-Jay was in a wheelchair. Images of a life full of church outings, eating ice-cream sundaes on the lawn, riding a bicycle … The framed photographs floated by as Mechanic reached Jo’s door and eased it open.
The room was ice cold despite the sun pouring through the window. A figure lay on the bed covered with a white linen sheet, Mechanic stood beside it and reached out her hand. The material felt slimy to the touch and she couldn’t grip the fabric. Try as she might the sheet slipped through her fingers.
The shape beneath the covers stirred.
Slowly the head lifted off the pillow and the body started to sit up. Mechanic grappled with the sheet but it glided through her hands. The cover slipped down the face. She was welded to the spot. Her legs wouldn’t work. Try as she might she couldn’t move.
The cover fell away to reveal the body beneath, it was Lucas.
He threw his head back and laughed. Mechanic’s legs refused to move, she couldn’t get away. His head jerked backwards and forwards, the inside of his cavernous mouth was black and his breath reeked of rancid meat. He raised his hand and pointed to the corner of the room. Jo was sitting in her chair and behind her stood Harper. He reached around with one hand and grabbed her forehead pulling it back against his chest. In his other hand was a long serrated knife. Lucas filled the room with manic laughter. The foul smell coming from his gaping mouth was overpowering.
Mechanic felt her legs come to life and slowly she slid one foot in front of the other edging towards her sister, Jo’s eyes were pleading with Mechanic to help. She was mouthing words but Mechanic couldn’t hear what she was saying. Laughter echoed off the walls.
Mechanic’s feet inched along the floor, moving her ever closer. Then she found her voice and screamed at Harper, ‘No!’
Jo’s eyes were bursting from her head, she mouthed the words ‘Please, please help me.’
Harper raised the knife and the serrations ripped through Jo’s throat. Her mouth still moved as a gaping slash opened up across her neck. Her head rolled back. Her mouth still moving – ‘Please help me. Please …’
Mechanic jumped and gasped for air. She sat bolt upright gripping the bedcover, her arms and chest glistened with beads of sweat. She focused on the surroundings and her head flopped down.
She took a moment to steady herself, threw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. It was early and the alarm hadn’t gone off yet. She reached for the remote and flicked on the TV. The morning news was full of an employment bill not being passed in Congress and forest fires raging in California. The tickertape headlines ran across the bottom of the screen telling of a celebrity who had been found dead from a suspected drug overdose at the age of thirty-one. Mechanic walked to the bathroom.
The programme didn’t include the most important news item of the day.
Today was penance day.
Mechanic pulled up next to the black SUV and looked out at the multi-storey opposite. There was a clear view of her target. She got out of her car and groped around under the back wheel-arch of the SUV. She removed the keys, pushed the button, and the indicator lights flashed. Next she went to the back and let down the tailgate, which cleared the metal crash rail against the outer wall. She slid open the side door and climbed inside closing it behind her.
Harper was late. The traffic was awful and he swerved and honked his way to Christchurch mall. It was 4.45am and this was not going well for a 5am rendezvous. Where the hell were all these people going, shouldn’t they still be tucked up in bed? Lucas, Moran and Bassano were already in position. Moran and Bassano were in separate cars parked on the eighth floor and Lucas was on the ground floor by the lifts.
The back seats of the SUV were missing, replaced instead by a raised wooden bed about six feet long and four feet wide. Mechanic reached underneath and pulled out a long black case. She placed it in front of her, snapped open the clasps and lifted the lid to reveal a military sniper rifle.
The gun was long and matt black, with a cut-out metal stock and precision telescopic sight. A silencer was screwed into the muzzle. Mechanic removed it from the soft foam interior and rotated the bipod feet into place. She took a box containing 0.3 Winchester centre-fire cartridges, picked one out and slid it into the chamber with a soft metallic click. The rifle smelled of fresh gun oil.
Harper could see the multi-storey and began to relax, he would make it with time to spare after all. Moran popped the clip from her gun, confirmed it was loaded for the umpteenth time and snapped it back in place before placing it on the passenger seat. Bassano flicked the gun safety on and off and watched the entry and exit ramps. Lucas was trying not to think of the terrible consequences which might unfold in the next fifteen minutes. He felt like throwing up.
Mechanic lay on her stomach with her legs apart, her toes digging into the wooden surface. She pushed the butt of the rifle into her shoulder and rested against the cheek piece. Her non-trigger hand supported the stock as she looked through the telescopic sight. Through the back of the vehicle she had a clear line to the car park opposite. She checked the rangefinder, it read 210 yards.
Harper didn’t wait for the lights to turn green. He sped over the pedestrian crossing, to howls of protest from the people halfway across. Moran checked her watch, it was 4.56am.
Where the hell was Harper?
Mechanic scanned the car park, the crosshairs dancing along the empty parking bays. She trusted the sight was accurately calibrated to the distance, and with very little wind drift it should be a clean shot. She slowed her breathing and could feel her heart rate drop as she relaxed into the rifle. Mechanic released the safety catch.
Harper roared up the ramp to the eighth floor and circled around the one-way system. He spotted the parking bay and skidded into it. He unfastened his seatbelt and looked around. The floor was empty apart from Moran parked in one corner and Bassano in the other.
Mechanic saw the front of the car pull into the space. There was movement inside the vehicle then the driver’s door opened. Sunlight glinted off the window. She zoned everything out and focused on the target.
Harper gripped his gun in his belt and stepped from the car. The ceiling was low, which amplified every sound. He looked around him. Nothing.
Mechanic saw the head emerge, then the shoulders. Her breathing was slow and shallow. The crosshairs bounced slightly in time with her heartbeat. Up and down, up and down, always fire at the bottom of the down stroke.
Harper drew his gun. This didn’t feel right. He twisted around and checked all the angles. Something was wrong.
The driver’s door obscured Mechanic’s view but that didn’t matter. She placed her finger on the trigger. Her heart pulsed sending the crosshairs dancing once more.
Harper didn’t like this. Every sinew in his body was screaming to get the hell out of there. This felt wrong.
Mechanic’s body was completely relaxed. Always shoot on the respiratory pause at the end of the exhale. Always shoot on the down stroke.
1 … 2 … 3 … squeeze.
Point three of a second later the shell sent a shower of blood and brain tissue into the air. The rifle angrily spat out the empty casing against the side of the SUV. Mechanic continued through the trigger pull and slowly released it back to the rest position. She stayed in place, focusing on the magnified image, counting down the seconds. Nothing moved.
Mechanic sat up, packed the gun into the case and fed it back under the wooden bed. She picked up the shell casing, closed the tailgate, locked up the vehicle and placed the keys under the back wheel-arch.
She looked at her watch. It was 8.03am.
Lucas wiped the perspiration from his face and felt light-headed. Why was nothing happening? Then it dawned on him, Mechanic must have killed Moran, Bassano and Harper.
Lucas panicked. The only thing he could think of was Harper lying in a pool of blood on the eighth floor. Mechanic must have got all three of them.
It was over. The penance had been paid.
His earpiece crackled.
‘She’s a no show. Repeat, Mechanic is a no show.’ It was Harper.
Lucas looked at his watch. It was 5.04am.
63
Friday 27 May 1983
Tallahassee, Florida
The warm spring rain drummed hard against the umbrellas as the sun scorched steam off the grass. Only in Florida could that ever be considered normal weather.
Lucas stared blankly ahead completely immune to the fifty or so faces staring back at him. He had no more tears to cry, no more emotion to give. His hands shoved deep into his pockets, letting those around him do the job of keeping the rain off. His crushing sadness permeated everyone that was there.
The priest read from a book and the words floated past Lucas without being heard. The ground was awash with white flowers, all with handwritten cards stuck between the folds of cellophane. In stark contrast the mourners all wore black.
A pale wooden casket stood above the grave. Raindrops danced off the coffin onto the grass.
The priest was coming to the end: ‘… and so we commit this body to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.’
There was a soft whirring sound and the coffin descended out of sight.
‘So let us go in peace to live out the word of God,’ the priest continued from his script, crossing himself.
Lucas stepped forward, scooped a handful of wet soil and dropped it into the grave. The dirt rattled against the wood. Pain shuddered through his body and he struggled to keep his balance. He stood motionless while the rain cascaded down his face, dripping from his eyelashes. He didn’t blink, staring into the middle distance. An arm reached around his shoulders and guided him back under the umbrella.
Others filed past the grave, wearing their masks of grief and allowing soil to spill through their fingers onto the coffin lid. Lucas was escorted back to the black limousine. The crowd milled around chatting as the car silently pulled away.
Lucas twisted in his seat and looked out of the rear window. He could just make out the white marble headstone with black writing.
There was no way to come back from this.
HERE LIES DARLENE ANNABEL LUCAS
DIED AGED 53 YEARS
BELOVED WIFE OF EDMUND
TAKEN BEFORE HER TIME
HER SOUL RESTS IN PEACE
Harper was never the intended target.
Mechanic had put Lucas through the emotional turmoil of choosing between his friends as a sick game, one she enjoyed over and over while she was planning how to kill Darlene. This was a penance with a sting in the tail. This was a punishment worthy of the death of her sister.
Darlene was an easy prey. When she worked out of the Tallahassee office she always had the same routine. She would drive to work and park in the multi-storey at 8am, in her designated slot on the eighth floor. It was like clockwork, every morning was the same. Every morning that is until Mechanic put a bullet through her head.
Jameson had been thorough in his surveillance report and the multi-storey was the natural choice. The SUV and sniper’s rifle were procured with the usual no questions asked and returned three hours later to the military compound from which they originated. It was a relatively straightforward assignment for a man with no scruples.
Mechanic had picked up the airline tickets from a baggage locker at McCarran International Airport and had taken the six-hour flight to Tallahassee. There was a perfect symmetry in killing Darlene Lucas at precisely the time Harper was at the multi-storey eighteen hundred miles and three time zones away. It had taken meticulous planning but it was a lovely touch. Mechanic hoped the subtlety was not wasted on Lucas, after she had gone to so much trouble.
Lucas and the others were completely stumped when the morning had turned into a non-event. Moran couldn’t believe her moment of fame had failed to materialise. The single biggest moment of her whole career had evaporated into nothing.
For two days they waited for further contact from Mechanic, but none came. It was all a big fat zero until the cops tracked down Lucas. They found him at the motel and gave him the news. When the realisation finally struck home, he cried for days.
Mechanic used to think that eight months was a long time to go without killing someone of consequence, and the only thing of consequence was slaughtering Lucas and Harper. In the end that turned out not to be true. She found as much pleasure in knowing they were still alive, while Darlene Annabel Lucas lay prematurely in Rose lawn cemetery.
After all, killing them was not to be rushed. This was a dish to be savoured. When the time was right she would give herself a treat and kill all three.
As for Lucas, his every waking moment used to be consumed with finding Mechanic and killing the psychotic bitch, though in public he used the phrase ‘bring her to justice’. This was still the case, but from now on justice didn’t get a mention.
64
11 Months Later
April 1984
Queens, New York City
Bassano relished the distractions of the second Friday in the month. Some wore dresses, some wore suits, some primped and preened for hours while others came straight from work. But they all wore the same expression when they met him. And today was distracting as hell.
