Back Track (6 page)

Bishop crouched down and picked the necklace up. Looked at it for a moment before putting it in his pocket. Everything else in here was replaceable, but Selina would want the necklace back for sure. If she was still alive. And if she wasn’t, the people who took her would soon join her. That much he could guarantee. First, though, he needed to find them.

And he had a good idea of where to start.

At the offices of Addison & Fraser, Attorneys-at-Law, Carl Addison made sure all the lights were turned off before picking up his briefcase and making for the front desk. It was past nine and he was the only one left. The others had gone home hours ago. Addison locked up, then walked to the third floor elevator and pressed the button. The doors opened immediately. He got in and sighed as he pressed for the basement car park. It had been a long day, most of it spent trying to get to the bottom of a particularly complicated tax case on behalf of Len Chappell, millionaire owner of Chappell Construction. He felt tired and irritable.

When the doors opened again he walked towards his Lexus, the only vehicle left in the car park, and thought about what to do for dinner now he was a single man again. No more meals waiting for him when he got home. But then Sonja had never been much of a cook anyway. That was something he’d only found out
after
they’d gotten married, of course. Dumb bitch. Although he had to admit that was partly his fault. He’d always been more interested in the chase than the catch. Still, at least she was finally out of his hair. Maybe he’d simply skip dinner tonight. He wasn’t really hungry anyway.

Addison unlocked the Lexus, got in and started her up. He drove over to the entry gate, swiped his card at the machine to raise the barrier, then pulled out onto Vercer and drove west.

Pity about the Mustang, though. It hadn’t been the prettiest thing on four wheels, but it could sure move. On the other hand, as soon as that hefty life insurance payout of Sonja’s came through, he could easily buy another Mustang to replace it. But a Mach 1, this time. The genuine article. Up till now, he’d had to be careful how he spent the money he got from his extracurricular work, but now he’d have a legit source to explain it away things would be different. He still found it hard to believe how well life was working out for him these days, but then it wasn’t like he hadn’t worked hard for it.

All good things come to those who wait
, he thought.

And that was another thing. Now the Sonja situation was finally resolved, he was back in Gaspard’s good books again. Not the same as before, of course. Not yet. But he would be. The drug boss didn’t have many bagmen he could trust and he knew it. Not with Addison’s respectable credentials. With a little patience, he’d be Gaspard’s number one choice again soon enough.

Yes sir, after a brief bad spell there, everything now seems to be working out just fine.

He turned on the radio and for a change tuned into a country and western station as he drove, hoping they’d play a ditty about a dead wife. Something to give him a chuckle.

Ten minutes later, he entered his street. It was a short cul-de-sac containing only six houses, three on each side. Addison’s was one of those at the end, set well away from his nearest neighbour. He’d always appreciated the privacy it gave him. Especially those times when he’d needed to discipline Sonja.

After pulling into his driveway, he got out and approached the front door. Another bonus was that the single-level house didn’t feel so crowded now Sonja was gone. He could just put his feet up and relax. Right now, a couple of cold ones from the refrigerator sounded just fine and then he’d hit the sack. Gaspard had said he’d probably need him tomorrow. In which case, it would be a good idea to get a decent night’s sleep while he could.

He opened his front door and entered the hallway. He was turning to push the door closed when he saw movement out the corner of his eye. Then something slammed against the back of his neck and he felt himself falling, falling.

By the time his head hit the floor, Carl Addison was already unconscious.

First, there was movement behind the eyelids. Then Addison began moving his head slowly from side to side. Like he wanted the dream to last a little longer. Bishop sat in a chair several feet away and waited patiently for Addison to regain full consciousness.

They were in Addison’s basement. Bishop had brought him down here and positioned him directly underneath the only light bulb. Bishop wasn’t planning on wasting the lawyer. Not unless he absolutely had to. That’s why he wore the black ski mask and leather gloves. And for the psychological effect, as well, he had to admit. Nobody likes seeing a man in a ski mask, especially when they’re tied to a chair in a dark cellar. Then there was the small work table Bishop had placed next his own chair. And the items he’d placed upon it. They’d have their own effect too.

Addison slowly opened his eyes. He furrowed his brow, trying to figure out the new reality in which he found himself. Then he raised his head and looked straight at Bishop. His eyes grew round. He looked down at his bonds and said, ‘Huh?’ He tried to move his arms and legs without success. ‘Hey, what is this?’ he said, rocking his body from side to side.

Bishop let him. He’d already tested the chair and found it pretty sturdy. There wasn’t much danger of it toppling over unless Addison lost it entirely. Bishop just sat there and watched as the man fought uselessly against his bonds. Waiting for him to adjust.

Finally, Addison became still and said, ‘What the hell is this? You must have made a mistake. I’m just a lawyer, for God’s sake. What do you want with me?’

Bishop switched his gaze to the desk at his side and knew Addison would be looking, too. He’d see two clear glass laboratory jars, each containing a clear solution and each bearing a white label. The first read
Sulphuric acid – H
₂
SO
₄
. The second read
Hydrochloric acid – HCl
. Addison would know what they were, even if he couldn’t make out the words from where he sat. They belonged to him, after all. Bishop had found them upstairs. In front was a large, empty beaker. Next to it was the gun that Addison kept in his bedroom drawer. A black 9mm Sig Sauer P226. Fully loaded. At the back were eight wads of bank notes stacked in two piles. Bishop had searched the basement and found them in a lockbox buried under an old filing cabinet in the corner. Four hundred thousand dollars in total. Drug money. Had to be.

Bishop picked up a $50,000 wad and tossed it on the floor between them. He then picked up the bottle of sulphuric acid, pulled out the stopper and carefully filled the beaker.

‘What?’ Addison said. ‘Hey, you don’t have to do that. Just tell me what you want, okay? I’ll tell you what you want to know. We’ll work this out. Just
talk
to me.’

Bishop said nothing. He just picked up the beaker, leaned forward, and slowly began pouring the acid onto the wad of notes.

The effects were immediate and impressive.

Holding his breath to avoid the fumes, Bishop watched, fascinated, as the notes began to turn brown and flaky before dissolving completely. The stuff ate through it at a rapid speed, as though he were observing it via time-lapse photography. He kept pouring until he’d made a deep hole in the bundle. When the beaker was empty, Bishop watched the acid consume the bundle from the inside out, as if it were a living organism. It was amazing to look at. Really incredible. Even Addison was silent, the awe clear on his face. After another minute, all that remained of the bundle of notes was a few untidy piles of discoloured powder on the concrete floor. And fumes.

Bishop sat back in his chair and said nothing.

Addison finally looked up. He was blinking rapidly. Bishop saw real fear in his eyes now. Fear of the unknown, probably. He was trying to figure out the reason behind Bishop’s actions and coming up blank. To him, destroying money made no sense at all.

‘I don’t understand what you want,’ he said. ‘Just tell me what you want.’

Bishop said, ‘Powerful stuff, huh? Sulphuric acid.’

Addison nodded. ‘Yeah. Yeah, sure.’

‘Know how human skin reacts if it comes into contact with this shit?’ Bishop motioned his head towards the other jar. ‘Or, even better, hydrochloric acid?’

Addison shook his head.

‘Sure you do, Addison. Why else would you keep these in the house? Tell me what happens if you were to squeeze a few drops of hydrochloric acid onto . . . an arm, say. Let’s make it a woman’s arm. Like your wife’s.’

‘My wife? But she’s . . .’

‘Dead. I know. In that bungled loan store robbery. I read all about it. Taken hostage by some guy and they both die in a gas tank explosion when the getaway car speeds off a cliff. That must have taken some arranging, huh?’

‘What are you talking about?’

Bishop nodded at the remaining bundles of cash. ‘That wasn’t enough for you, was it, Addison? You wanted the three hundred grand from her life insurance, too.’ Bishop let his voice become more animated. He needed Addison to believe he was a real loose cannon. That he was capable of anything. Which was partly true. ‘So you dreamt up this robbery scenario and arranged it so she dies at the end. Real convenient. And the robber. Who was he? Some poor loser you represented once? You promise him a big fat paycheck if he did this one favour for you, or did you always plan to kill him, too?’

‘What? I didn’t know him and that’s the truth. I deal with things like tax law, employment law and personal injury cases. My partner, Ben Fraser, he’s the one deals with criminal cases. And why would I want Sonja dead? She was my wife. I loved her.’

‘Yeah, she showed me exactly how much you loved her. All those acid burns over her arms, for example. Told me how she’d get a new one any time she did something to displease you. And how you threatened to use hydrochloric acid on her face if she ever talked.’

Addison looked at the floor. Then at Bishop again. ‘You knew her?’

‘I loved her,’ Bishop said, hoping the pain in his voice sounded genuine. It was essential for the role he was playing. ‘And she loved me. She told me everything. We were planning on disappearing together when you stuck a spanner in the works.’

‘Look, whoever you are, I had nothing to with her death. You’ve
got
to believe me. There was no way I could have organized something like that. It was all too random. The police were in pursuit of the car all the way and saw everything. It was just a bad hairpin turn and an eighteen-wheeler they didn’t see coming. That’s all. Her death was an accident. I’m telling you the God’s honest truth. Ask anybody.’

Bishop studied Addison closely as he spoke. There are many ways to tell if a person’s lying. Not so many if the suspect’s restrained, but enough. Bishop had gotten to know almost all of them over the years. Too much or too little eye contact, for example. Or glancing up and to the right. Or unnatural pauses as they think about what to say next. Added to which was his gut instinct, which rarely let him down. And much as Bishop hated to admit it, the guy was speaking the truth. Or the truth as he knew it. He really did believe she’d died in that crash. Which meant he couldn’t very well be behind her disappearance, too.

Bishop just sat and stared at him, thinking. He’d been so sure Addison was the one. Or that he had some connection to those who’d taken Selina. Had he been totally off the mark? Frowning, he let his eyes wander over the items on the table. He stared at the wad of notes, then picked up the top bundle. Flicked through it once. Fifty thousand dollars. The kind of money people got killed over every day.
If in doubt, follow the money
.

‘Your friend in Reading,’ Bishop said. ‘Tell me about him.’

Addison didn’t meet Bishop’s eyes. ‘What are you talking about? What friend?’

‘Your wife told me you did regular errands for some drug bigshot in Reading. So what are you, his bagman? Or do you help launder his cash? What?’

Addison didn’t say anything, but he didn’t really have to.

‘So was this guy aware your wife knew about his operation, and your connection to it?’

Bishop watched Addison’s facial muscles relax as he gave a one-shoulder shrug. It was another tell and Bishop could almost guess the next words out of his mouth.

‘He didn’t know Sonja at all,’ he said.

‘So that’s how you want to play it, huh?’ Bishop moved his hand towards the gun.

‘Look, you better kill me now if that’s what you plan to do anyway.
He
will if he even
suspects
I’ve talked. You might as well get it over with.’

Bishop’s hand passed over the gun and grabbed the bottle of hydrochloric acid instead. He pulled the stopper out and filled the beaker again. It gave off an evil-looking vapour that dissipated on contact with the air. He touched his palm against it. It was very warm, even through the leather of his glove.

‘Kill you?’ Bishop smiled at Addison. ‘Who said anything about killing?’

‘Apparently,’ Bishop said, ‘when this stuff makes contact, all you feel at first is this unbelievable stinging sensation. That’s what I hear, anyway. After that you can actually start to feel your face coming away in pieces. Really horrible. But you’d know all about that, right? Probably described it all to your wife in Panavision detail.’ Bishop made a show of looking at his watch. ‘Look, it’s getting late. Tell you what, I’ll just repeat the question one more time and we’ll go on from there, okay? Did this guy in Reading find out about her know ledge of his organization and your connection to it, or didn’t he?’

Addison took his eyes from the beaker and looked at Bishop. ‘He found out.’

‘That’s better. How?’

Addison looked at his feet. ‘I might have mentioned it to one of his people in passing. How my wife kept nosing into things she shouldn’t.’

‘And he passed it on.’

‘He must have. Next thing I know, I’m being called into his private office and—’

‘His name.’

Addison sighed, defeated. ‘Gaspard,’ he said. ‘Joshua Gaspard.’