The Outsider (James Bishop 4) (19 page)

Without making it obvious, Bishop turned his head to the left a little. He could see the cruiser had stopped at the aisle where he’d parked. The driver was speaking into his mic, probably calling for backup. The other one was standing and peering at all the pedestrians walking around. Bishop opened the door and stepped into the shop.

He smelled the incense first. Just a faint odour, but noticeable. He was the only customer.

Looking around, he saw the place was packed with product similar to the things in the window. Two large display shelves ran the length of the narrow store and finished up at the counter at the rear. More items were arranged against the walls on both sides. Bishop saw picture frames, hand-woven baskets, string beads, rainbow bracelets, artist’s easels, paints, scrapbooks and more. It all looked like good quality stuff. None of it looked tacky.

Bishop could hear somebody talking at the back of the shop. The voice sounded female, but he couldn’t see anybody. He went back to the front door and looked out. One of the cops was walking towards the ALCO store. The other one stood by the cruiser, speaking into his radio.

He and Strickland needed to get out of here as fast as possible. That much was clear. Because more cops would be coming and once they did, the situation would quickly become untenable for both of them.

Bishop walked down the aisle until he reached the unmanned counter at the rear of the shop. Behind it was a door, partly ajar. Through the gap he could hear the woman’s voice more clearly.

‘Look, Howard,’ she was saying in a calm, patient tone, ‘this is getting us nowhere. We’re just going over the same arguments as before, and I already allow Lucy to stay with you two full weeks out of every eight, which is far more time than the two weekends a month the judge awarded you. It’s not like I haven’t bent over backwards to accom …’ Silence for a few seconds, and then, ‘Well, you better make a decision now, then. You either choose this Tracy woman or you choose our daughter, because if I have to come and take Lucy away tonight, we’re going to be reverting to the original legal agreement and sticking to that from now on.’ Another gap. ‘Fine. Well, it looks like there’s hope for you yet. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, or the day after. Right.’

There came the sound of a phone being dropped into its cradle or base unit. Bishop waited a few seconds before clearing his throat.

A small, slim, bespectacled woman emerged from the back room, dressed in black jeans, white T-shirt and black waistcoat. Auburn shoulder-length hair framed a pleasant oval face. She looked about Bishop’s age, possibly mid- to late thirties, and gave him a sheepish smile. Her pale grey eyes seemed to look everywhere but at him.

‘How much of that did you hear?’ she asked. Her face had coloured a little.

‘Not much.’ Bishop said. ‘Are you the owner here?’

She nodded. ‘That’s my name on the sign out front.’

‘Clea? Nice name. Short for anything?’

‘Yes, it’s short for Cleanthe. How can I help you?’

‘Well, I actually came here to ask a favour.’

She looked at him for the first time and her brows immediately came together in a frown. Bishop watched her eyes and thought he saw something that looked like recognition in there. Which was bad news. Very bad news.

‘Um, a favour?’ she asked.

He reached behind him and gripped the Glock in his waistband. ‘I’m afraid I need to use your phone, Clea.’

‘My phone?’ The frown deepened. ‘Look, I don’t really think I can—’

She stopped as Bishop pulled the gun out and laid it gently on the counter. ‘Sorry, but I really have to insist,’ he said.

Bishop lifted the hinged end of the counter and came round and joined Clea. Her eyes were huge circles and she was actually shivering with fear, which hadn’t been his intention at all. Concerned she might lose control completely, he put the Glock back in his waistband. It had served its purpose. She knew he had it now and that was enough.

‘Look, I’m not here to hurt you, Clea,’ he said. ‘What’s your last name?’

‘What?’ She swallowed. ‘My … my last name? It’s Buchanan.’

‘And are you here on your own? Please don’t lie.’

‘Yes, I … I can’t afford help.’

‘Okay. Good. But you recognized my face, didn’t you? From where? The news?’

She nodded and wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I’ve got a portable TV in the back office and … and there was a piece about you a couple of hours ago.’

‘Great. And what did they say?’

‘Well, they said you were involved in a shootout at a house in Las Vegas this morning that left seven marshals dead, and that … and that you escaped in an SUV with two other people. They showed a photo of you in the vehicle, and said anybody who sees you should call the police straight away.’

Bishop wondered where they could have possibly gotten a photo of him. Then he remembered that damn jogger with the cell phone and silently cursed to himself. He said, ‘And were any names mentioned?’

Clea shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘But it was definitely seven marshals who were killed, right?’

‘That’s what they said.’

So that was all of them. ‘And did they say where I’m supposed to be heading?’

Clea shook her head. ‘I only caught the first part. I had to turn the TV off when a customer came into the store.’

Bishop studied the woman as he rubbed his hand over his scalp. She no longer looked as though she might collapse from fear at any moment, but she still looked far from calm.

‘Please don’t hurt me,’ she said. ‘I’ve done nothing to you.’

‘I know you haven’t, Clea. Let’s move into your office. I still need to use your phone.’

Clea backed up, pushed open the door and stepped through with Bishop right behind. The light was still on. The room was very small and very narrow, with another door at the other end. There were no windows. There was a work desk with a PC, some paperwork, and a cordless phone. Halfway down an old couch took up part of the wall. Next to it was a mini-fridge. At this end was a small table holding a small portable TV. It was currently turned off.

‘What’s behind that door back there?’ Bishop asked.

She wrapped her arms around herself again. ‘A small hallway and a restroom, and then the rear exit fire door.’

‘Which opens onto what?’

‘The rear loading area and staff parking lot.’

‘Good.’ He motioned for Clea to sit at her desk and said, ‘What’s the number for this phone?’

She recited the number, and he picked up the cordless and dialled the number of the cell phone. Strickland picked up after four rings. ‘Yeah?’ he whispered.

‘It’s me. I’m calling from a store a few doors down from you. What’s the situation?’

‘Right now I’m just walking around the men’s clothes section, but I can see one of the cops standing outside the main entrance, watching people come and go.’

‘Well, I’ve just been informed that my face is now public property, and possibly yours too, so don’t leave that way. There’s bound to be an employees’ exit somewhere at the rear, though, so try and use that. See any baseball caps where you are?’

‘Yeah, I got a whole bunch of them right in front of me.’

‘Good. Rip the price off one, stamp on it a few times and put it on. Then leave by the rear entrance and turn right.’ He turned to Clea. ‘Is there a sign so he can identify this place?’

The woman nodded.

‘Look for the sign that says
Clea Arts and Crafts
,’ Bishop said. He gave Strickland the number in case of problems, and then hung up.

‘What kind of car do you drive?’ he asked Clea.

She stared at him. ‘Sorry, what?’

‘Your car. What make is it?’

‘Oh, it’s a Ford Explorer. Why?’

‘New?’

‘No, it’s about twenty years old.’

‘And it’s parked out back?’

She nodded. ‘I can give you the keys. My bag’s right there in the desk drawer.’

‘Later. So what happens when you close for the day, Clea? You got roll-down security shutters on this place, anything like that? What about alarms?’

‘There’s an alarm for the front door, but I don’t use shutters or anything like that. Cramer’s only a small town. We don’t really get many thefts around here.’

‘Lucky you. And you live here in town?’

‘No, I … I live just outside Wellerby, the next town along.’

‘And what time do you generally close?’

‘Um, seven, usually. Eight o’clock on Fridays and Saturdays.’

‘And your neighbours along here all close around the same time?’

‘Mostly. Radio Shack closes about now. ALCO stays open till ten, I think.’

‘And what time is it now?’

She checked her watch. ‘Um, almost five thirty.’

‘Okay. I think it’s best if you finished early today, Clea. Let’s see that bag of yours.’

Bishop waited as she went over and pulled out an ornate, multi-coloured shoulder bag from one of the desk drawers and placed it on the desk. It looked handmade, like the rest of the stuff outside.

He said, ‘If I were to go through that bag, would I find a gun?’

The look of genuine innocence on Clea’s face was better than any verbal denial she could have come up with.

‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘All right, let’s lock up. Bring your keys.’

She pulled out a large key ring from the bag and Bishop led her through the shop until they reached the front door. Bishop waited as she flipped the light switches, leaving them in darkness except for the light in the back room. He held onto Clea’s arm as she locked the door and reversed the
OPEN
sign to
CLOSED
. After checking the door was actually locked, he peered out the window and saw a second cruiser had arrived at some point. It was parked outside the ALCO entrance. No flashing lights, though. They clearly didn’t want to scare the shoppers over what looked to be a simple case of car theft.

Bishop stayed there for a while longer, just watching. After a couple more minutes, he saw one of the cops started to stroll down this way, looking in doorways as he passed.

‘Let’s go back,’ Bishop said. He followed Clea into the back room and gently clicked the door shut. They waited in silence. Another minute passed before Bishop heard the sound of somebody knocking on glass out front.

‘You’re not here,’ he said. ‘Soon he’ll move onto the next door.’

Clea closed her eyes and just nodded.

Bishop waited. There came another knock on the front door. Bishop waited another minute and finally relaxed when no more sounds came.

The sound of a ringing phone suddenly interrupted the silence and Clea gave a shriek of surprise. Bishop grabbed the cordless and handed it to her. ‘You better answer it. Once you’re calm again.’

Clea took a deep breath, then pressed a button on the keypad and brought the phone to her ear. ‘Yes?’ A pause, then, ‘Yes, he’s here.’

Bishop took the phone from her and said, ‘Where are you?’

‘Outside the rear door,’ Strickland said. ‘Let me in, huh? I’m feeling self-conscious out here.’

‘Wait one,’ Bishop said and hung up. To Clea, he said, ‘Bring your bag.’

Clea slung her bag over her shoulder as Bishop opened the door. Beyond was a narrow corridor that ran back for about twenty feet and ended in a steel fire door. In the ceiling, a single fluorescent tube supplied light for the small space. Along the right-hand wall was another door that presumably led to the restroom.

Bishop turned off the light for the office, then shut the door behind him.

Clea went first. At the end of the hallway she pressed down on the crash bar and pushed the fire door open. Strickland was standing right outside, wearing a black baseball cap with a bat logo on the front.

He looked at Clea for a beat, and then turned to Bishop. ‘You made a friend.’

‘Kind of. You recognize this man, Clea?’

‘No,’ she said, frowning. ‘Should I?’

‘Well, that’s something, I guess,’ Bishop said.

He saw the whole rear area was just a wide open space, with various parked vehicles dotted around in haphazard fashion. A dark brown Explorer was parked just a few feet away from her door. About a hundred feet to the left, Bishop could see a Radio Shack delivery truck had backed up to the store’s rear entrance. A guy in dark overalls was loading boxes onto a handcart. Another one wearing similar overalls was puffing on a cigar as he talked into his cell phone. Neither of them was looking this way.

But more importantly, Bishop couldn’t see any cops. Yet. And it was getting noticeably darker too, which could only be to their advantage. He turned to Clea and said, ‘All right, let’s go.’

The woman’s eyes grew wide behind her glasses. ‘Go? But I thought you just wanted my vehicle.’

‘I wish it were that simple,’ Bishop said, ‘but at last count there were four cops out front, and at least one of them will be checking every car that leaves this area. Which means we’ll need you to help us get past them.’

‘Oh, God,’ Clea groaned, ‘this is turning into a nightmare.’

‘There’s nothing to it,’ Bishop said. ‘You say you simply felt a bad migraine coming on, so you decided to close up earlier than usual and go home and get some rest. It’ll be a cakewalk, believe me. Come on.’

Clea fumbled with her keys and finally deactivated the Explorer’s power lock. The poor woman looked totally dispirited. Bishop couldn’t really blame her. He hated doing it, but it seemed today was his day for threatening innocent civilians with firearms.

He looked the SUV over. It seemed in pretty good condition for its age, and clean inside and out. He checked the rear and saw a vinyl shade cover protected the cargo area. Patting the lift gate, he said, ‘Unlock this for me, will you?’

Clea did so and Bishop grabbed the handle and raised the lift gate. He estimated the gap between the floor of the cargo area and the shade cover to be about a foot and a half. Currently the space was filled with various different coloured blankets, arranged in two neat stacks.

Bishop turned to Strickland. ‘You’ll go in here.’