In Your Name, page 5
‘We’ll talk to the bank first and take a chance with the rest. We could strike lucky.’
‘But that’s my point. You’re not listening. What if the bank says, “Okay, sir, here’s the CCTV footage, knock yourself out.” We know it was her. All it will show is Mechanic standing at the counter receiving a large amount of cash, putting it in a bag and getting the hell out of there. So what? It tells us nothing we don’t already know. And what if we find the very same brand of sugar packet in some backstreet joint? We already know she was there. What’s the point? Keep your expectations real, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘Yes, but someone might know something.’ Lucas was still fizzing. ‘We might speak to somebody who knows her. Knows where she is …’ Lucas reached down and opened the glove box. Fishing around he brought out an old photo and a plastic bag and dumped them in Harper’s lap. The picture was of Jessica Sells in military dress uniform at her passing out parade. The bag was a red-topped plastic sealed evidence bag containing a single white sugar packet.
‘Jesus Christ, Lucas,’ Harper said holding up the evidence bag.
‘They weren’t interested. I thought it would be useful.’
‘Tampering with evidence is a crime. It’s a spell in jail, that’s what it is. Aren’t you in enough trouble already?’ Harper threw them back into the open compartment and slammed it shut. ‘You have to ease back on this, man, and get some perspective or it will destroy you.’
Much to Harper’s relief, Lucas sulked and said nothing for the remainder of the journey.
Just as Harper predicted, the bank was just a bank. The ever-so-helpful junior manager said there was nothing they could do and was positively gushing when he explained to Lucas that he didn’t recall the transaction.
No shit, Harper thought, it was eight months ago.
After a mind-numbing series of convoluted discussions, with Lucas asking the same damn questions a gazillion different ways, they left empty-handed. The cafés, bars and restaurants were next.
The early start was beginning to tell on both of them as they moved from place to place, looking at sugar packets and flashing around the picture of Mechanic.
‘Have you seen this woman?’ Lucas asked over and over.
‘No, sorry,’ was the response every time.
For Harper it was soul-destroying, but Lucas was driven by a childlike expectancy that they would somehow hit the jackpot.
‘Let’s split up,’ said Harper after the seventeenth café. ‘Let’s go to the hotel, check in and get that picture photocopied. Then I’ll take the bars and you can stick with coffee shops.’
‘Good idea.’
Harper was relieved he no longer had to endure Lucas’s inane questioning. At every venue the patter was always the same.
‘Have you ever stocked these at any time?’ Lucas would say, holding up the evidence pouch containing the plain white packet.
‘No sir, nothing like that,’ was the standard response. ‘Ours have writing on them.’
‘Have you seen this woman?’ Lucas would hold up the photo.
‘No sir, I’ve not seen her.’
Harper was enjoying the peace and quiet. Staking out the bars gave him a welcome rest from Lucas’s intensity. It also provided him an opportunity to take a small whisky every so often which, because of his prolonged abstinence, now burned the back of his throat and made his head swim. Harper was at risk of sliding off the waggon.
The night was long and predictable. After the cafés closed, Lucas joined Harper on the bar crawl, but each took a different route to cover as much ground as possible. It was one fifteen in the morning when they finally met up to take stock of their progress.
‘Big fat nothing.’ Harper was not best pleased with his day.
‘Same here.’ Lucas held his head in his hands.
They were perched on chrome-and-leather bar stools and Harper cleared the glasses to one side. He ordered two drinks and spread a street plan out before them.
‘We’ve been here, here and here.’ He drew circles on the paper with his stubby fingers.
‘These are all covered. They are the most popular areas and we’ve got nothing.’ He looked at Lucas who was still staring down at the countertop. The barman clunked the drinks down, along with the check.
‘I’m tired, let’s go back to the hotel and get some shut-eye,’ said Lucas. ‘We can make a fresh start in the morning.’
Harper shook his head.
‘Are you sure, man? I don’t reckon she’s here.’
‘She has to be.’ Lucas had more than an edge of desperation in his voice. He took a long slug of beer.
Harper placed his hand on Lucas’s shoulder. ‘Look man, you carry on. I’ll get a rental car and drive back. You stay as long as it takes to get this out of your system. I can rattle some cages at home and see what falls out. There may be other evidence we don’t know about.’
Lucas looked at Harper and nodded his head.
‘You need to do this, and I need to do something else.’ Harper drained his glass in one, slid from the bar stool and left.
Lucas gazed at the froth disintegrating from the top of his beer. It looked exactly how he felt.
11
The phone in the bathroom warbled into life. Mechanic woke with a start sending lukewarm water splashing onto the tiled floor. She pulled a towel from the rail and stepped from the tub, sending more water dripping onto the floor. She lifted the receiver from its cradle on the wall.
‘Hello.’
‘Hudson, this is Walker. Mr Silverton would like to see you in his suite now.’ The line went dead before she had chance to reply. It was a quarter after twelve and she was hungry.
Mechanic dressed herself in casual gear and munched on a breakfast bar from her bag. Her work suit was out of commission, it was dirty and torn from rolling on the ground. She holstered her gun. The leather bomber jacket hid it more effectively than her tailored jacket.
The lift doors dinged open and she stepped out into the wide corridor making her way to Silverton’s room. She rapped on the door and Walker opened it wide for her to enter. He said nothing. Once inside Walker disappeared into an adjoining room.
Silverton was on the phone laughing and joking with some unfortunate person, taking large gulps of JD from a crystal glass the size of a fruit bowl. The ice chinked as he banged it down on the table and he let out an enormous belly laugh.
‘Then she blew them both away!’ he boomed. ‘Hey, look, got to go. Got some business to attend to.’ He hung up.
‘Hey, Jessica Hudson I believe!’ He crossed the room in two strides and shook her hand vigorously. ‘Shit that was something.’ He was grinning so widely his head looked as though it might split in two. ‘You took those guys out like shooting turkeys in a run. That was quite something, quite something.’ He let go of her hand and offered her a seat.
‘Sir, please excuse me, I’m not properly dressed.’
‘Nonsense, you’re fine. I have to congratulate you, that was awesome!’ Harry sat on a large sofa which engulfed him. The room was decked out in over-the-top furnishings to complement the over-the-top décor. They sat in a study with a huge glass-topped desk and comfortable chairs. Through the adjoining twin doors she could see an even larger sitting room with a massive TV which was set into the wall. Through more double doors was the bedroom. She calculated the suite had more square footage than her two-up-two-down condo in town. ‘Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?’
‘I’ve done some range work in the past,’ Mechanic replied trying to shrug it off.
‘When that guy opened fire and the bullets were bouncing off the limo, I thought …’ Harry rambled on excitedly, recounting every detail as if it was news to Mechanic. He was highly animated and waved his arms around like a windmill. Occasionally he levelled a pretend gun and fired. ‘Bang! You blew his face off from inside the car, and then …’
But Mechanic wasn’t listening. She watched Walker pacing around in the other room. He had the phone pressed to his ear and was marching about, at least as far as the cord would allow. His voice was quiet and low. He flashed glances her way but avoided direct eye contact.
‘So, what do you think?’ Silverton sat on the edge of his seat.
‘Of what, sir?’
‘My offer, what do you say?’ Harry was leaning so far forward Mechanic thought he’d topple over.
‘Sorry, Mr Silverton, could you repeat it?’ She held her hands up in apology.
‘Come work for me,’ Harry said with his usual childlike enthusiasm. ‘Join me. I could do with someone running my security and I want it to be you.’
She tore herself away from Walker.
‘Well that’s a generous offer, Mr Silverton, but I’m not sure relocating fits with my plans at the moment.’
‘I don’t need you in Philly, I need you here. I have business interests in Vegas and regularly fly people in and out. I’d like you to look after them and make sure they have a good time. You would call the shots and organise what you need. When I come to Vegas you would be looking after me. Walker’s okay but he’s not you. What do you say? I pay well.’ He finished the sentence rubbing his thumb and first finger together in the universal sign for money.
‘This is a big surprise, Mr Silverton. I don’t know what to say. I’m flattered.’
‘Then say yes.’ He got to his feet.
‘I need to know on what basis I would be employed and how that would fit with my private work.’ Mechanic’s head was working overtime.
‘Oh, details, details, details,’ Harry said waving his hands around, swatting away imaginary flies. ‘Let’s assume we’re going to get all those itty-bitty details right. What do you say in principle? Huh?’
‘Can you give me a minute?’
‘Sure, I’m busting for a leak anyway.’ He went to the desk and picked up a slip of paper. ‘Nearly forgot,’ he said handing it to her. ‘Let’s call this a saved-my-ass bonus. You earned it, girl.’ He scuttled off in the direction of the bathroom.
She held the paper in her hand and stared at the scribbled handwriting. It was a cheque for fifteen thousand dollars made out to Jessica Hudson. Mechanic reread it. It definitely said fifteen thousand, it definitely had her name on it and it definitely had today’s date on it. She looked at the cheque and then at Walker. He’d finished his call and was reading a newspaper with a coffee in front of him.
He looked up.
Their eyes locked and in that split second Mechanic knew all she needed to know.
She folded the cheque and stuffed it into her jeans pocket. She pushed herself out of the chair and walked over to Walker who was still holding her gaze. As she approached he put down his paper.
Mechanic stood in front of him invading his personal space. ‘I’m about to accept an offer to run Silverton’s security here in Vegas, which means when you’re in town you work for me.’
‘I’m gonna talk to Silverton, this isn’t going to happen.’ Walker went to stand but she held her ground blocking his path.
‘Say what you want, Walker, because I don’t think he listens to you. I’m going to accept the job and when you’re here you’ll work for me.’ Mechanic placed her hands on the arms of the chair and leaned her face in close.
Walker spluttered another incoherent protest.
Mechanic cut him off.
‘You and I need to be clear. I don’t do sloppy. And last night was very sloppy. I figure your game was kidnapping with a sizeable ransom.’ She stared into his eyes and they flickered. ‘Thought so. But it was a shambles, even if you discount the fact that I was there to put a spanner in the works. Your guys were sloppy and so were you.’ She paused allowing Walker to digest what was being said.
‘I know how to do this stuff and I won’t stand for shoddy work. Are we clear?’ She stepped away and stood up straight. ‘So when this goes down again, it will be on my terms. And please don’t labour under any misapprehension, this is not a discussion. You have no option. Are we clear?’
Walker stared at her, open-mouthed.
‘It doesn’t look like I have a choice,’ he said. She smiled and walked back to the other room where Harry had now emerged from the bathroom.
‘Mr Silverton,’ she offered him her hand, ‘in principle, I say yes.’
Mechanic had been taught that all war is based upon deception. When she locked eyes with Walker, what passed between them told her it was time to go to war.
Now was the time to deceive.
12
Rebecca Moran’s first day at work was nothing like she’d imagined. The normal routine for starting a new job was always a parade of inductions and paperwork, drinking coffee and trying to remember people’s names. She’d done none of that.
She’d filled in one form to confirm her new address, signed her name five times, corrected her bank details and said ‘Hi’ to a handful of people whom she wasn’t introduced to. At least she had a badge, a gun and a desk. Presumably the phone would be coming later.
Moran recognised her new boss across the office, he’d interviewed her when she came for the assessment day. Captain Brennan was pushing fifty with craggy features and wore suits that were too big for him, probably the product of renewed gym membership and a reluctance to buy new clothes.
He marched up to her.
‘Morning, Rebecca, welcome to LVPD.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ She shook his hand.
‘Do you have everything you need? Is the day going well for you?’
‘Well, sir, I was wondering if I could meet some of the—’
‘Good, glad that’s going well.’ He handed Moran a plastic folder. ‘Go to the mortuary, they are about to do an autopsy on three drug dealers. See what you think.’
‘Thank you, sir. Is there any chance I could meet a few of the t—’
‘Better get your skates on, they’re going under the knife anytime now. Grace said something about it being unusual. See you later for a coffee.’ He strode away in a whirlwind of urgency.
* * *Forty minutes and three requests for directions later, Moran stood in the reception area of the city mortuary clutching the plastic file. She’d signed herself in and was waiting for Dr Jonathan Grace.
A door opened and a tall middle-aged man with a shaved head and large round glasses breezed in.
‘You here to see the three guys? LVPD?’
‘Yes. I’m Detective Moran. I have some papers.’ She flashed her new badge and waved the file in front of him.
‘I’m Jonathan Grace, the medical examiner. I thought it would be good for one of you lot to take a look at this before we do our thing.’
‘Okay, well what am I looking at?’
Grace handed her a white coat, overshoes and a hairnet.
‘Put these on and I’ll show you.’
They walked down a narrow corridor bathed in the sanitised glow from the fluorescent lighting. Grace skimmed a card through a slot in the lock and the door marked Forensic Autopsy Lab clicked open.
Moran entered and was hit by the smell of ammonia, disinfectant and rotting chicken. The room was large and bright with tiled walls and floor. There was a low humming noise from the refrigeration units keeping the guests cool.
‘These vics came in a few days ago. All found at the same location, all involved in the selling of narcotics and all with a rap sheet as long as my arm.’
Grace ushered Moran over to three stainless steel tables, each with drain holes at the one end. Hanging from the ceiling were chrome plated weighing scales and water nozzles. On the tables were three dead bodies covered with blue sheets.
Grace stepped forward and drew back two of the covers, one in each hand.
‘In the file are the personal details of each vic. It looks like a drug-related hit – you know the form, where one crew decides to muscle in on another.’
Moran’s eyes were fixed on the unveiling of the two bodies. This was not what a first day should be like, but she was already feeling the tingling rush of adrenaline.
‘The reason for the call is this one.’ Grace threw back a third sheet to reveal a large white male, his head pinned back, with a knurled iron bar sticking out of his mouth.
‘What the hell is that!’
‘At this stage we’re not certain, but from what I can tell it looks like the type of metal rod used to reinforce concrete. I think it’s called rebar in the trade.’
‘Have you seen it before?’
‘Yes, there’s plenty of it around Vegas with the amount of construction going on, but never seen it used in this way before.’
Moran moved closer. ‘What happened to the other guys?’
‘That’s the interesting thing. This guy died of asphyxiation and blood loss when his throat was ripped out and the other had his skull split in two. They both suffered major blunt-force trauma ante-mortem. And my guess is they were both struck with the same implement. Steel reinforcing bar, here take a look.’
They moved over to the first body, a stocky guy with tattoos.
‘See the pattern of bruising. It’s the same on both men. I figure when we extract that spike from the big man’s mouth we’ll find it’s got the same pattern as the ridges around the wounds.’
‘So whoever did this used the same weapon to kill all three.’
‘Looks that way, which, if this is a drug-related turf war, is unusual. Drive-by shootings are the normal way to settle disputes around here, not this.’
‘Was any other weapon found at the scene?’
‘A handgun. It hadn’t been fired. It was found next to this guy.’ Grace pointed to the second body, a tall man with a yawning hole where his throat should be. ‘We’ll know more when we run prints.’
‘To have killed all three in this way would require somebody getting up close and personal. This is more like a street brawl than an execution.’
‘I agree. The other thing is this.’ Grace went to the fat guy and tilted his body sideways. ‘Puncture wounds to his upper back. Two of them. Made with a short blade with cutting edges on both sides.’
