The Outsider (James Bishop 4) (38 page)

‘I know you are, Dad.’

There was a second’s silence. Then two.

‘Excuse the interruption,’ Bishop said, ‘but have you ever heard of a guy named Lao Tzu?’

‘No,’ Barney said. ‘Why, who is he?’

‘An ancient Chinese philosopher. He founded Taoism. He also came out with a lot of wise proverbs, including one my sister told me when I was younger. He said,
Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage
. It’s a bit hokey, I know, but I’ve always liked it. How about you?’

‘Yeah, that’s pretty good. Can you say it again?’

Bishop repeated it, and Barney said, ‘Yeah, I really like that. I’ll try and remember it from now on. Thanks.’

‘Now isn’t that touching?’ Callaway broke in. ‘I’m getting teary-eyed here.’

‘
You bastard,
’ Strickland shouted into the phone. ‘
Put him back on
.
Now
.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Callaway said, unruffled. ‘I already explained why we need to keep these conversations brief, so suck it up and get your asses back on the road. I’ll call you again at around five so we can talk location.’

The line went dead.

‘Son of a
bitch
,’ Strickland said, smacking his palm against the wheel.

‘You all right?’ Bishop asked.

‘What do
you
think?’

‘In that case I better drive. Let’s switch.’

Strickland gave a long sigh, then opened his door and got out. Bishop did the same. Once he was in the driver’s seat again, he pressed the GPS display to zoom out and saw the turn-off for State Road 67 was only a few miles away. That would then take them most of the way to Bloomington, which was currently about eighty miles to the north-east. Bishop wanted to get there before 23.00, if possible. It was now 21.38.

He turned on the headlights, swung a U-turn and took them back to the intersection. There was a pair of headlights approaching from the east, about thirty yards away. He waited for them to pass.

‘Hey, Bishop,’ Strickland said quietly.

‘Yeah?’

‘Thanks.’

‘What for?’ The oncoming vehicle, a large pick-up, sped past and Bishop pulled out after it and stepped on the gas.

‘For what you said to Barn just now, that quote from that Chinese guy. That was a good thing to say.’

‘I just wanted to keep his spirits up, and that was the first thing that came to mind.’

‘Well, I think it worked, and not just for him.’ He paused, then cleared his throat. ‘So, anyway, thanks.’

‘No problem,’ Bishop said, and increased their speed.

They reached West Evergreen Drive without incident by 23.03. It was located just off State Road 37 on the north-west side of Bloomington, in a very quiet section of town. The street had no lights, no road markings, and not that many residences, but there was no shortage of evergreens in the vicinity. They were everywhere you looked, with large copses covering the grounds between the houses and lining almost every driveway. All in all it seemed a nice, peaceful, rural setting. Bishop could see why Frank Lomax had chosen it for his base.

Bishop cruised slowly down the street with his headlights off. He didn’t want to announce his presence if he could help it. The quarter-moon peeking through the thin clouds provided them with just enough light to see by. They passed about two dozen single-storey houses. These varied in size, but most were dark, which suggested early nights were the norm around here. Bishop checked the numbers of each mailbox they passed. As they approached the end of the road the trees gradually became thicker and the houses fewer and farther between. Finally, just before the woods threatened to take over entirely, Bishop saw a mailbox on the right with 844 on it.

Just past the mailbox was a narrow driveway that angled through more trees. Bishop could just about make out part of a single-storey brick house beyond, maybe fifty feet away from them. He couldn’t see much from the road, but the house looked dark.

‘That it?’ Strickland asked.

‘That’s it,’ Bishop said. ‘Let’s go take a closer look.’

He swung a U, parked on the other side of the road and killed the engine. After deactivating the interior light, he got out. He carefully closed the driver’s door without a sound, and was glad to see Strickland acting with the same caution. Then they crossed the road and walked down the dirt driveway towards the house.

As they got closer Bishop could see Lomax’s place was a fairly large brick bungalow, with a couple of steps leading to a front porch with a wooden railing. There was a prefab double garage to the right of the house, also wooden, with a narrow pathway running between the two buildings. There were no lights on in the house, and no vehicles parked on the driveway. The only sounds were some faint traffic noises far off in the distance.

They stopped before the house and just stood there for a moment.

‘So we breaking in, or what?’ Strickland whispered.

‘Only as a last resort,’ Bishop whispered back. ‘Lomax told me they’ve got a German shepherd and I don’t want to get him worked up if I can avoid it. I’m hoping for an unlocked door or maybe an open window. I’ll try the front. You check the back, but do it quietly. If you see anything come get me.’

Strickland nodded and disappeared down the pathway towards the rear while Bishop climbed the steps to the porch and moved carefully over the wooden decking towards the front door. There was an elaborate lion’s-head steel knocker in the centre and an oval doorknob on the right. Bishop tried turning the doorknob, but there was no give at all. Locked.

He stepped off the porch and began walking towards the large window on the right-hand side of the house when he heard a
psst
from the direction of the pathway. He saw Strickland waving. Bishop went over to him and Strickland said, ‘Both back doors are locked, but I found an unlatched window we can use to get in.’

‘Good.’

Bishop followed him down the pathway, passing a couple of dark windows, and soon entered a vast backyard bracketed by even more trees. He turned to the house and saw a pair of sliding window doors in the centre, but with the drapes drawn. There was a frosted window to the right of it, which suggested a bathroom. At the far left of the house was a panel door with a sash window next to it. The window’s lower panel had already been raised a couple of inches.

They walked over to the window and Bishop slowly raised the lower panel as far as it could go. Inside, he saw a small, narrow utility room containing a washer, a tumble dryer, a clothes hamper, and a few other appliances. Bishop could just about make out a partially open door at the other end of the room.

‘Wait here,’ Bishop said. ‘I’ll unlock the door for you.’

‘Right.’

Bishop climbed up and swung his right leg over the sill, then brought his other leg round and gently lowered himself until his soles touched tile. He stood there for a moment, listening to the house. Listening for anything.

Other than his own pulse ringing in his ears, he heard nothing at all.

But he could smell something like dog food. Stale dog food. He looked around the room and saw three small dark round shapes on the floor a few feet away, arranged in a row. Edging past them, he went over to the door and felt along the wall until he found a single light switch. He pressed it and the room was immediately flooded with light. The three round objects were dog bowls. One held a smattering of doggie snacks in the shape of bones, one held water, the other contained the remnants of the dog food he smelled.

Old leftover food and a partially open door to the rest of the house. It didn’t bode well for the dog. Or the wife. But there was no lingering smell of death or decay either. So maybe he was wrong. He hoped so.

‘You planning on letting me in or what?’ Strickland whispered from the window.

Bishop went and opened the door, and Strickland entered and gently closed it behind him. Bishop retraced his steps to the other door and pushed it open, the light spill from the utility room allowing him to see a large, open-spaced, sparsely furnished living room beyond, with a couple of archways leading off from it.

Strickland, just behind him, said, ‘You sure turning on the lights is a good idea? What about that dog?’

‘Look at the dishes on the floor behind us,’ Bishop said in his normal voice. ‘If the dog hasn’t heard or smelled us by now, he isn’t going to. That goes for the wife too.’ He looked to the wall at his left and saw another panel, this one with three switches. He stepped inside, flicked all the switches and the living room instantly lit up.

There was a familiar canine odour in this part of the house, which immediately reminded Bishop of his old mongrel, Casper. His childhood bedroom had smelled exactly the same, no matter how many times he was forced to clean it.

The living-room furnishings consisted of a large L-shaped couch, two easy chairs and an oak coffee table arranged around a large TV. Against the left-hand wall were three chest-high bookshelves, filled with a combination of paperbacks and magazines. Directly ahead was a large archway that led to a hallway with more doorways on either side. At the other end, Bishop could see the front door of the house. To the right, another large archway led to what looked like a dining room. Next to the archway was another door, which was shut.

‘You check through there,’ Bishop said, pointing to the archway that led to the front of the house. ‘I’ll check the rest. Turn the lights on if you need to. Whistle if you find anything.’

Strickland moved off ahead and Bishop went to the right, passing the long drapes that covered the sliding glass doors. He went to the closed door first, and opened it. It was a bathroom. Set into the right-hand wall was the frosted window he’d seen outside.

Exiting, he stepped through the adjacent archway into a large windowless dining area with a large round table and four chairs in the centre. The table surface was completely clean. There were various framed photos on the wall. Many featured Lomax with his wife at home or on holiday. There were also a number of shots of a German shepherd pup playing in the grass. Bishop noticed the room smelled faintly of burnt toast, mixed in with stale tobacco.

Directly ahead of him was another open doorway leading to a darkened kitchen area. He stepped through and looked around, but there wasn’t enough light. He found the wall switch and pressed it and two harsh, fluorescent tubes in the ceiling came on instantly.

Looking past the breakfast bar on the right, he saw only the usual kitchen appliances. Ahead was a window that looked out onto the garage. Underneath the window was the sink and various kitchen cabinets, to the left more cabinets and a wooden door. Probably the entrance to a basement.

By the door, Bishop pressed his ear against the wood but heard nothing on the other side. He grasped the handle and pressed it down.

Pulling the door open, he saw only darkness.

But only for a moment.

Bishop heard a low menacing growl and saw a brief flash of sharp fangs, then something resembling a demon from hell leaped out of the darkness and slammed right into his chest.

Bishop swore and crashed to the kitchen floor with a hundred pounds of snarling dog on top of him. Completely winded, Bishop struggled for breath as the German shepherd’s huge front paws scrabbled against his chest and he felt hot, sickly breath close to his face. The dog gave a single bark that almost deafened him, and Bishop instinctively rolled his body to the left, forcing the animal off him and onto the floor.

The dog didn’t stop moving. His rear paws scrabbled against the tiles and he immediately swivelled his body so he was facing Bishop again. His eyes were wild, his fangs bared in a terrifying grin. Without pause, the muscles in his hind legs bunched and he suddenly launched himself again. Bishop barely had time to raise his left arm for protection when the dog crashed into him and forced him onto his back once more.

Bishop, expecting to feel sharp incisors ripping through his left jacket sleeve, was surprised when he felt something like sandpaper moving up and down his palm instead.

It was the dog’s tongue. He was licking Bishop’s hand. And he wasn’t growling anymore, but whimpering.

Strickland appeared at Bishop’s left. ‘
Christ
, that thing’s
huge
. You okay, man?’

The dog turned to the new sound with his ears folded back. He snarled and bared his teeth. Bishop quickly reached out with his other hand and massaged the dog’s head, spreading his fingers between the soft fur between his ears. The snarling stopped.

‘Be quiet and stand still,’ he told Strickland. To the dog, he said in a soothing tone, ‘There’s a good boy. We’re all friends here. That’s right. That’s a good boy.’

The dog, clearly calmed by the petting and the soft voice, answered by whimpering and trying to lick Bishop’s other hand again. The dog’s tongue was completely dry, though, and Bishop noticed his eyes also seemed dull. Clearly weakened from thirst and hunger, jumping out of that basement must have used up his last vestiges of strength. Still massaging the dog’s fur, Bishop noticed a circular metal tag on the dog’s collar with the word
BIFF
engraved in large capitals.

‘So where the hell did he come from?’ Strickland said.

‘The basement over there. You thirsty, Biff? You want some water, boy?’

The dog gave a weak wag of his tail at the sound of his name and his whimpers became more plaintive. ‘Go get that water bowl from the utility room,’ Bishop said.

Strickland trotted off, returning a few seconds later with the half-full bowl of water. He put it down next to the dog and Biff immediately sunk his muzzle into the bowl and began lapping up the contents, splashing most of it onto the floor. He finished it off in a matter of seconds and Bishop filled it up again from the cold tap in the sink. As soon as he placed the bowl on the floor, the dog dived in again.