Back Track (25 page)

‘And something went wrong,’ Bishop said.

‘Badly wrong. So much had been done to his face that it practically fell apart when I went near it. Well, I got the blame, of course, even though it wasn’t my fault. Everything was hushed up, as usual. Prime didn’t dare fire me, but I was persona non grata around town, which means I was essentially unemployed. And then a man came into my life, offering to pay three hundred thousand a year for my services if I were to consider moving to Arizona.’

‘Abraham,’ Bishop said.

‘Abraham. I was obviously very interested, especially as Patricia was desperate to get away from L.A. So I said yes at our first meeting. That’s when he laid down the rules. I couldn’t talk to the patients, although I’d be presented with signed authorization papers in every case. I’d be assigned two male nurses, and I was forbidden to discuss my work with anyone else in the hospital but them. And I’d work from written instructions, from which I wasn’t allowed to deviate in any way.’

‘And that didn’t raise your antennae at all?’

Tatem shifted in his chair. ‘It did, but the money quickly overrode any objections I might have had. I’m only human, and three hundred thousand a year’s hard to ignore when you’re unemployed.’

‘So what changed? You see something you weren’t supposed to?’

‘No, I just started getting bad feelings about what I was doing. I knew there was something very wrong with the situation, but I didn’t know what exactly. For a start, I couldn’t escape the possibility that I wasn’t the only surgeon working on these patients.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that I started noticing laparoscopic marks on many of the women, and they weren’t my doing.’

‘Laparoscopic?’ Bishop asked. ‘You mean the fibre-optic scope they use for keyhole surgery?’

Tatem nodded. ‘It doesn’t have to be for surgery, though. Sometimes it’s used merely as a diagnostic aid, but it’s always in the abdominal or pelvic area. You see,
lapar
is Greek for—’

‘Abdomen,’ Bishop said. ‘Yeah, I figured that part out. And you’re telling me all these women had those marks?’

‘Well, I don’t know for sure. Most of my work was done on the upper body so I really had no reason to look below the chest area, but once I did I started noticing these small insertion scars and after that I always made a point to check. And I’d say about eight in ten of the women had them.’

Bishop looked out the window.
Stranger and stranger
. ‘And they were all in perfect health otherwise?’

‘They seemed to be. I wasn’t allowed to do much in the way of tests.’

‘They must have had something your employers were interested in, then. Something specific to the female anatomy.’ He paused, thinking. ‘What about ovaries?’

‘What? You mean for illegal transplants?’

Bishop nodded. ‘Why not? I figure there must be plenty of rich, infertile women around who’d pay through the roof for the ability to have kids of their own.’

Tatem gave a pained smile. ‘I really think you’re barking up the wrong tree there.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the only successful ovary transplants have been between identical twins sharing the same genetic material. Anything else is doomed to failure. The host body will instantly reject the new tissue. I do remember there was a surgeon out of New York who claimed he’d come up with a theoretical model for successful transplants using non-relatives as donors, but he died a few years back and he left no papers behind to back up his claims.’

‘Okay. So what’s the alternative? What are they really doing over there?’

‘I don’t know. In all honesty, I’ve been afraid to think too much about it since they took Patricia. If they thought I knew anything more than I do already, there’s no telling what they might do to us.’

Bishop ran a hand over his scalp and decided to let it go for now. But it was definitely something he needed to look into further. ‘So did you discuss all this with your wife?’

‘Yes, after about six months Patricia and I talked it over. Up until then I was able to justify what I was doing. Simple cosmetic surgery. Nothing too complex. But now I didn’t know
what
I was getting into and wanted out. Patricia agreed. She said if I felt strongly about it I should walk away.’

Bishop looked at the pictures on the wall. He was beginning to understand Tatem’s devotion to his wife. Regardless of whatever other qualities she possessed, if she was willing to trade a comfortable lifestyle for an uncertain future, she was clearly something special.

‘And that was the second time you met Abraham?’

‘Yes. It wasn’t a pleasant meeting. I was told to go home and think about it, and the next morning I woke up to find Patricia missing from our bed. They must have taken her in the middle of the night and I didn’t hear a damned thing.’

‘Sounds like their MO,’ Bishop said. ‘I take it you didn’t call the cops?’

Tatem shook his head. ‘I got a phone call a few minutes after I woke. It was Abraham. He said Patricia would remain safe for as long as I continued to do my job and didn’t talk to anybody. After he let me speak to Patricia briefly, he then laid down the new rules for me. They’d still pay me and we’d be allowed conjugal visits once a month.’

‘What, till the end of time?’

‘Until the four years I’d initially agreed on were up. Then they’d let her go.’

‘You really believe that, doc? That once they’re finished with your services they’ll just let the two of you waltz off into the sunset?’

‘I try not to think about that part. Besides, what else can I do?’

Bishop didn’t have an easy answer to that one. He said, ‘Where do they keep Patricia? You must have talked about it.’

‘Over and over, but it’s no good. She says they keep her locked away in some kind of secluded living quarters furnished like an apartment. Except there are no windows anywhere and the walls are made of thick hardwood. The only time she ever leaves is when they take her to the motel once a month. They drug her with a sedative first, of course. As you can imagine, her skin’s bleached white by now from the lack of exposure.’

‘What about sounds? Can she hear anything at all?’

‘Well, she can hear people talking sometimes, but she can’t tell how many. The thick walls muffle everything.’

‘Does she ever see Abraham?’

Tatem paused and looked at the floor. ‘She says she doesn’t see anybody. Any time they deliver food, she’s told to lock herself in the bathroom. It’s probably for the best, anyway. Abraham’s not the kind of person anybody would want to meet on their own.’

Bishop gave a thin smile as he glanced out the window again. ‘Well,
I
sure would.’

‘So here’s your chance,’ a voice said from the doorway.

Bishop swivelled his head to see the man from the surveillance footage standing there with a gun aimed straight at his chest. He was impressed with the man’s stealth, considering his size. He hadn’t heard a thing.

Bishop kept his hands in plain view on the desk either side of him. There was no way on earth to reach back for the .38 anyway. He’d be dead before he even tried.

Abraham was dressed in a dark suit over a white shirt. Bishop noticed the small eyes and the heavy creases lining his forehead. He also looked bigger than expected. Bishop could see the guy’s shoulder muscles straining against his suit and the large hands looked as though they could crush a man’s windpipe in a second. Or snap his neck.

‘So you’re the idiot who tried to kill me,’ Bishop said.

Abraham smiled. ‘And you’re the asshole who doesn’t know when to quit.’

‘That’s me. The second part, anyway.’

The big man kept smiling. Without taking his eyes off Bishop, he said, ‘I’m disappointed in you, doctor, falling so easily for an obvious fake-out. Didn’t I tell you to accept instructions from me, and only me? Lucky for you I have your phone tapped, otherwise Bishop here might have gotten Patricia killed. In fact, he still might. Where’s your gun?’

Bishop saw Tatem shift in his seat. ‘It . . . he’s got it in the back of his waistband.’

‘Fine. It can stay there for the moment. Bishop knows better than to reach for it.’

Abraham entered the room and approached Bishop’s left side. The gun was a black, 9mm automatic with a stainless steel slide. Clunky-looking. Looked like a Sig Sauer P226. When Abraham was five feet away, he reached into a jacket pocket, pulled out a pair of steel handcuffs and tossed them in Tatem’s lap.

‘Cuff Bishop’s hands in front of him, doctor.’

Which immediately told Bishop they were going somewhere, and that he would probably be driving. Probably to his own burial site. No sense in killing him here when there were so many other locations within easy reach. They were in desert country, after all.

Bishop slowly raised both hands as Tatem got up and walked over to him. The doctor refused to make eye contact. It also took him over a minute to get the cuffs on Bishop’s wrists. Bishop expected better hand control from a surgeon.

‘Butterfingers,’ he said.

When Tatem was done, he glanced over at Abraham like a dog to its master. Obeying Abraham had clearly become second nature to him now. Bishop had an idea his wife was the stronger half of the relationship, and that she was probably holding up a lot better.

‘Good,’ Abraham said. ‘Now carefully remove the gun from his waistband and bring it to me.’

Tatem reached around and Bishop felt the gun disappear. Then he watched the doctor walk over and hand it to Abraham, who placed it in a pocket. ‘Now search the rest of him from head to toe and show me what you find.’

Bishop remained still as Tatem clumsily patted him down. He found the wallet and keys and laid them on the desk. Then he found the letter opener. He brought it out and showed it to Abraham.

Abraham raised an eyebrow. ‘Yours?’

Tatem nodded. ‘I keep it in the same drawer as the gun.’

‘Never miss an opportunity, do you, Bishop?’ Abraham said, smiling.

Bishop shrugged. ‘I just collect letter openers, that’s all. It’s an addiction of mine.’

‘Sure it is. Okay, Tatem, hand me his wallet and keys. You can put the letter opener back in your desk.’ After pocketing Bishop’s meagre possessions, Abraham waved his gun in the direction of the doorway. ‘Okay, Bishop, back to the garage. We’ll use my car this time. And open some windows and clean this place up, will you, Tatem? It stinks in here.’

Bishop pushed off the desk and said, ‘Shampoo and baking soda, doc. That ought to do the trick.’ Then he began walking.

Abraham’s car was a brand new silver Lexus LS460L with four thousand, four hundred and seventy-six miles on the clock. Bishop knew the exact mileage because it was there on the speedometer in front of him. He was the designated driver, as he’d suspected. Steering was a little problematic with his hands cuffed, but the automatic transmission balanced things out.

They were travelling south on Saracen Road, having passed the town limits about four miles back. Straight road ahead of them and desert all around. An occasional car or SUV whizzed by, heading north. Abraham was sitting in the passenger seat with his gun pointing at Bishop’s side. He’d already warned that if Bishop went over 30 mph or made a wrong move, he’d shoot him in the leg. Bishop believed him.

‘Fill me in,’ Bishop said. ‘Before you went bad, what were you? No wait, let me guess. A squid. You look the navy type: all muscle and not much upstairs.’

Abraham just smiled at him. After a few beats, he said, ‘Dumb jarhead. You know what we used to sing whenever we took a dump? “Here I sit on the old latrine, giving birth to a new Marine.” I always liked that song. Real catchy.’ He looked out the windshield. ‘Take the next left onto Terra Cotta Road. It’s coming up in half a mile.’

A minute later Bishop saw the sign and slowed down. He took the turn and carried on driving.

‘Where you keeping Tatem’s wife holed up?’ he said. ‘The same place you keep Selina Clements and the other women?’

‘Don’t give up, do you? Forget about them. Right now, worry about yourself.’

‘Sure. Is Abraham your first or last name, by the way?’

‘Just drive and keep your mouth shut, asshole. You’re giving me a headache.’

Bishop shut up. But he was thinking back to what Tatem had said. And what he perhaps hadn’t wanted to admit to himself. For instance, that short pause after Bishop asked him if his wife had ever seen Abraham. Nothing definite, but there had been something there.

‘You’re screwing his wife, aren’t you?’ He turned to see Abraham smiling. ‘And with a face like yours, I’m fairly sure it’s without her consent. There’s a word for that, you know.’

‘Pretty quick for an ex-jarhead, aren’t you? And it’s not rape if she secretly enjoys it. I know what women want. Especially that one. After being married to that prick, she’s bound to want someone who takes charge. And I’ve never gotten any complaints.’

‘That’s probably because she wants to keep on breathing, dickhead.’ Bishop glanced at him. ‘You’re really the bottom of the barrel, aren’t you?’

Abraham pressed the barrel of the gun hard against Bishop’s temple. ‘Maybe I’ll just do you here. Right now.’

‘And make a mess of this beautiful car?’ Bishop sneered. ‘Typical swab.’

Abraham took the gun away and sat back. ‘I’m gonna enjoy it when your time comes, Bishop. I really am. And it’ll be slow, you can believe that.’

‘Just tell me we’re getting close. Your body odour’s getting unbearable, even with the air conditioning.’

‘We’re close, all right. See those old huts in the distance? That’s our stop, asshole.’

Bishop had already spotted them. They were the only things on the horizon. A collection of ramshackle wood cabins about a couple of miles away to the left. He couldn’t begin to guess their original purpose. Or why they’d been constructed out here in the middle of nowhere. But he had no doubt the site would make a great burial ground.

A couple of minutes later Abraham said, ‘Slow down. There’s a gravel road coming up on the left. There, up ahead.’

Bishop saw it. A break in the road and a dirt track leading off towards a steel gate further down and a fenced-off area. He slowed the vehicle and took the turn. Another thirty seconds and they reached the gate. Bishop stopped the car a few yards away. There was a large padlock barring entry and a
No Trespassing
sign.