Back Track (13 page)

Bishop parked, got out and walked over. Even from a distance he could see the vehicles didn’t fit Hewitt’s description. They were the right colour, but that was all. These ambulances looked like cargo vans with slightly raised roofs. No stripes on the sides, either. Just blue and yellow checkers running along the bottom and the name of the hospital in big letters on the rear doors.

He turned and walked back to his car. He hadn’t really expected to hit paydirt so close to the scene of the crime, but he had to check anyway. On to the next.

The driver of the Ford Fusion stayed in the main car park with the engine running. She knew the Impala would return. There was only the one road in and out. It was just a matter of waiting, that’s all. And she was good at that. In her line of work, you had to be.

And here it came now. She caught a glimpse of this Bishop behind the wheel, looking straight ahead with that same focused expression she’d seen before. It was a look that told her he wasn’t the type to give up once he started out on something. That was something to think about. She might have to take some action soon.

She let the Impala pass by and just sat there for a few more moments. There was no rush. She’d already planted the low-frequency tracker under his vehicle back at the auto repair place, so she had some breathing space. You couldn’t get away with shadowing somebody in this state without them noticing sooner rather than later. Not unless you had an edge.

The Impala had already disappeared from view. She counted to twenty to make sure, then pulled out of the parking area and drove off in the same direction.

Bishop got back onto Saracen Road and when it joined Highway 60 turned right, back the way he’d come.

It was almost dusk by this time and in his rear-view Bishop could see the sky start to turn orange. Out of habit, he once again took note of the buildings as they whipped by. There weren’t many. Another business park with a smattering of large warehouses. Some ranches here and there, both private and for tourists. A dilapidated old aircraft hangar in the distance. The abandoned remains of a roadside motel with a decrepit arrow-shaped sign out front. The ever-present RV resorts and trailer parks with those great names, like Sunrise Paradise and Eden Park. Then it was just desert. And the road.

After twenty-eight miles, he passed through Aguila and then took the turn onto State Route 71. After another fourteen miles of that he joined the US 93 and headed north-west. Soon after, he left the highway and followed the signs that pointed him to the town of Garrick.

He stopped at the first gas station he saw and went inside. There was a selection of road maps near the till and he took one for Garrick, handed the proprietor a ten and said, ‘Do you know where the medical centre is?’

‘Sure do,’ she said as she gave him his change. ‘Want me to mark it for you?’

‘That’d be great.’

She smiled, unfolded the map and used a pen to draw a cross on the east side. ‘Right there on East Clifford Avenue. It takes up the whole road, so you can’t miss it.’

‘I won’t,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’

It took him less than five minutes to find it. The town of Garrick was about half the size of Saracen, but the hospital more than made up for it. It took up several acres and was made up of five connected buildings, each with its own parking area. The main building was four storeys high. The rest were the usual two. Bishop checked all the front entrances and didn’t see a single ambulance. Finally, he followed the sign that pointed him to
Emergencies
.

It was almost dark now and Bishop switched his headlights on. He followed the service road round and parked in the most remote lot. After deactivating the ceiling light, he opened the door and got out. He walked the rest of the way down the road, then through an open entranceway towards the rear of the main building.

He was in a service area illuminated by spotlights, semi-sheltered by an eight-foot high brick wall running round it. Bishop saw a covered entrance to his left with sliding access doors similar to the ones at Saracen. No doubt electronically operated via infrared sensors at the top of the doors. They usually were. There was a call button in the wall to the side.

Adjacent to the doors, jutting out like an afterthought, was a solitary, one-storey utility structure with no windows and a single metal door. There was a dark passageway separating it from the hospital. Beyond that, facing him, was a continuation of the main building with a raised area for deliveries. He saw several shuttered doors, an ice machine, a row of seats and a small table outside. There was also a large, unoccupied mobile unit parked in the corner with
Give blood – the gift of life
written on the side.

But no ambulances.

Bishop went back to his car, got in and saw it was 18.58. One would turn up soon, he was sure. The odds were with him. There was always an emergency somewhere. He moved the car so it was facing the way he’d come, sat back in his seat and got as comfortable as he could. Then he just stared out the windshield, watching everything that moved.

A minute later, he saw a car pull into the next parking lot ahead. Some Ford or other. It looked vaguely familiar, but then there were plenty of Fords around. He soon lost sight of it behind some other parked vehicles.

He slowed his breathing and waited.

At 20.52, Bishop saw flashing red and white lights in the distance, coming his way. There was no siren. The ambulance followed his route down the service road, took the curve and passed in front of him. Bishop had enough time to take note of the box shape and horizontal lines on the side as it sped by, then it disappeared through the entranceway.

Bishop got out and ran over, staying out of sight behind the wall. The ambulance was backing up to the emergency doors, where a male nurse in scrubs waited, clipboard in hand. The lights above the entrance gave Bishop a clearer view of the vehicle. It was definitely a type I or III. That box shape was unmistakable. It was white and had two horizontal stripes that ended in a jagged heartbeat graphic. It almost looked like an M.

The vehicle stopped and the nurse pulled the rear doors open and helped the paramedic in the back lower the patient and gurney to the ground. The paramedic went back for an oxygen canister and held a mask to the patient’s face. Bishop noticed he was wearing the same kind of clothes Hewitt had described: dark pants and white short-sleeved shirt with badges on the shoulders. Then they both rolled him or her through the doors and into the building. Bishop instinctively started counting. Ten seconds later the automatic doors began to close.

Same kind of clothes. Same kind of ambulance. That wasn’t coincidence. But he still needed to investigate further.

Next step was to get inside. Problem was, you couldn’t just walk into a hospital and nose around like in the old days. Everybody wore identification now. Even visitors. Besides, visiting hours at most hospitals ended at 20.00, and entering that way wouldn’t allow him the freedom of movement he needed. Which left just one option.

Bishop turned his attention to the driver. He was still sitting in the ambulance, writing something down and checking his watch. Then he yawned, opened the door and stretched as he got out. He ambled over to the raised area, jumped up and took one of the seats. He pulled something from his shirt pocket, stuck it in his mouth and lit it. Then he took his cell phone from another pocket and started pressing buttons with one hand as he smoked.

Bishop stayed by the wall and calculated the distance to the ambulance. About forty feet, more or less. The driver was still playing with his phone. Bishop moved to the left until the ambulance shielded him from view. Then he took a deep breath and sprinted towards it.

Three seconds later he came to a stop next to the rear cabin, breathing deeply through his nose. He checked the back. The stripes continued along the rear doors and there was the same heartbeat graphic, only smaller. It still looked like an M. Which meant this couldn’t have been the ambulance Hewitt had seen. But right now it could still prove useful.

Bishop sidled over to the passenger side door and glanced through the window. The driver hadn’t moved. But Bishop was more interested in the vehicle’s interior. There was a dark windbreaker in an untidy heap on the passenger seat. Bishop had never looked a gift horse in the mouth, and he wasn’t about to start now. He wanted that jacket.

He crouched down and grabbed the door handle. He took one last look at the driver, then opened the door a couple of inches. Not wide enough to activate the interior light. He reached in, pulled the jacket through the gap and gently closed the door again.

Bishop quickly went through the pockets. There was a wallet in one and he opened it up. Credit cards. Some cash. Driver’s licence. The usual. But not what he wanted. He put it back and tried another pocket. He felt something plastic and brought it out.

It was the guy’s hospital ID.

The laminated kind, with a mylar strip and alligator clip attached to it. At the top of the card was the name of the hospital. On the left, an illustration of the caduceus – the winged staff entwined by two serpents from Greek mythology. On the right, a head shot. In the centre it listed the owner’s name as Albert Williamson, gave the date of issue and his ID number. Then a thin barcode at the bottom. On the back was a list of the hospital’s alert codes, specified by different colours.

Perfect.

After another glance at the driver, Bishop opened the door and dropped the jacket on the seat. Chances were he wouldn’t notice the ID was missing for some time yet. And even then he’d figure he’d simply dropped it somewhere and go get a replacement. No big deal.

Remembering that shadowy passageway he’d seen earlier, Bishop went to the rear of the ambulance and took another look. It was about twenty feet from the emergency doors. Good enough. Since the utility building concealed him from the driver, he walked over and entered the passage a little way until the deep shadows enveloped him entirely.

He leaned against the wall and watched the sliding doors. For the next few minutes, other than breathing, Bishop barely moved at all. Then he saw movement to his left. In the reflection from the driver’s side window, he saw Williamson walking back to the vehicle. The driver then leaned with his back against the door and continued doing things on his cell. He yawned again. Bishop guessed he was at the tail end of a long shift.

Bishop watched him for a while, then moved his eyes at the sound of the emergency doors opening. He saw the second paramedic exit with the gurney and knew he now had ten seconds before the doors closed. And he could cover the distance in less than three.

He saw Williamson look at his partner and put his cell in his pocket. Without saying anything, he turned, opened his door and got behind the wheel.

Two seconds had passed. At three, the second man hefted the now empty stretcher into the rear cabin and slid it forward.

At the five-second mark, the paramedic stepped up into the ambulance and turned to reach for both doors.

At six, he pulled them both closed.

Bishop sprinted for the open doorway, hoping Al the driver wasn’t looking in his wing mirror.

He reached the entrance in less than three seconds and darted through the opening and slammed against the wall opposite. Then he heard a faint hum and the glass doors began to close.

He’d made it. Question was, had he been spotted?

He turned and saw the ambulance doors were still shut. Nobody was investigating. They hadn’t seen him. He watched the rear tail lights come on and then the ambulance slowly pulled away to the right.

One obstacle over with
, he thought.
Now, on to the next
.

Bishop saw he was at the end of a long, well-lit corridor. Halfway down was a set of double doors, currently closed. He couldn’t see anybody through the glass panels, but that wouldn’t last. He needed to move. And what he really needed right now was a locker room.

He walked down the hallway, checking each door as he passed. One bore the legend
Records – 2b
. Then came
Records – 2a
. Most doors had no identification at all. These were all locked. But on the left side he came across one that said
Supplies
. It was also locked.

Good thing he never left home without his tools.

He looked at the lock for a few seconds, then brought out his key ring. On it were three different-sized ‘bump’ keys he’d made the year before to practise with. His old cellmate had shown him how. The one he picked was just a normal house key, but with the five evenly spaced, triangular grooves filed right down to the minimum setting. He looked both ways, then inserted it fully into the lock. He pulled it out one notch, using his index finger to apply a little torque pressure from one side. Then he took his Swiss Army knife from his pocket, tapped it against the key and felt it catch against the tumblers. He turned the key all the way and unlocked the door.

And people say you never learn anything useful in prison.

Once inside, Bishop closed the door and felt around in the darkness until he found the light switch. He was in a narrow, windowless room with ceiling-high shelves on either side and a metal cabinet at the far end. Amongst all the spare bed sheets, pillows and towels, he also spotted a whole section devoted to green scrubs. But best of all was a shelf loaded with piles of doctors’ white lab coats. Looked like he wouldn’t need a locker room, after all.

He flipped through until he found a size 42 and pulled it out. He put it on, but it felt a little tight around the shoulders. He tried the next size up and that fitted perfectly. Then he went over and opened the door to the metal cabinet. Inside were stationery supplies, surplus chart holders, name panel pads, and some aluminium portfolio clipboards. He took two pens and one of the clipboards and closed the cabinet.

Next, he took the items he’d purchased earlier from his pocket and laid them out on an empty shelf.