The Last Quarter (A James Bishop short story) Page 5

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘No reason you should. I’m just saying his word goes a long way with me, but that don’t mean I’m overjoyed about an outsider being brought in.’ He gave a sigh. ‘Still, what’s done is done, I guess. No point crying about it now. So what do you want?’

  ‘Cassandra told you about her vague theory, right? Her belief that Frederickson and Padgett’s deaths might be connected to something you guys did?’

  Spurgeon picked up a remote and muted the TV, then sat back. ‘Yeah, she told me. And I assume you now have a pretty good idea of what it was we did?’

  Bishop nodded.

  ‘And how do you feel about that, Bishop? Me being a cop and all.’

  ‘Why should you care what I think?’

  ‘I’m asking you, ain’t I?’

  Bishop felt like saying he didn’t much like cops anyway, and that whatever Spurgeon had or hadn’t done wouldn’t lower his opinion of them any. But he thought diplomacy might be a safer bet in this instance. He didn’t want to make an enemy out of the guy before he’d even started. Instead, he said, ‘I guess, better you than them.’

  Spurgeon smiled. ‘Good answer. Except I’m getting the feeling you still don’t like me too much. Why’s that, Bishop? You been in trouble with the law before?’

  ‘Once or twice.’ Bishop decided to get off that subject while he still could. ‘I can’t figure out why you got involved in this, though. The other three had obvious money problems, but you’re a detective making what, sixty thou a year? Why risk all that on a scheme like this?’

  Spurgeon said nothing for a while; just looked at the moving images on the TV screen. Then he said, ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but maybe there’s this cop who did something for an old partner of his a couple of years back, except it kind of blew up in his face. And as a result, maybe this cop’s now on Internal Affairs’ shit-list. Like forever.’

  ‘And what might this this cop have done to get on to that shit-list? Hypothetically speaking.’

  Spurgeon shrugged. ‘Could be his old partner was on trial for wasting this piece-of-shit child molester who’d previously got off on a technicality, and maybe he testified in court that this old partner of his couldn’t have done it because he was with him all night, getting drunk. And maybe the prosecution tore that alibi apart with a witness that said the exact opposite.’

  ‘Resulting in the partner being convicted of the killing?’ Bishop said.

  Spurgeon took another slug of beer and burped. ‘Could be. And maybe the cop who provided the fake alibi barely escaped a perjury conviction himself, but instead got suspended, then demoted to detective third-grade, and then transferred from narco to vice, which is about as low as it gets. And maybe IA’s still looking for any excuse to bust him out of the department altogether. Maybe a guy like that starts thinking about making a little nest egg for himself in case things get any worse. Which things tend to do. And that ain’t mentioning the alimony payments to his bitch of an ex-wife that are practically sucking him dry.’ He finished the beer and crunched the can in one fist, then lobbed it on to the table. ‘Hypothetically speaking, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Spurgeon said with a sigh, ‘let’s get back to the real world. What I really want to know is what’s in this for you. Eric told me you and he go back a ways and that you can be trusted, but that ain’t no answer.’

  ‘It partly is. He saved my life once a long time ago on another continent. So when his wife came to see me this morning, I figured I might be able to finally pay back that debt.’

  ‘Meaning if he hadn’t saved your ass, you wouldn’t have bothered?’

  Bishop felt that was a fair question. ‘No, I would still have come. When you think a friend’s in trouble, you don’t just stand by and do nothing. Especially when you don’t have too many of them.’

  Spurgeon smiled. ‘So since you made this trip all the way over here to see me, I take it you still think Cassie’s on to something.’

  Bishop nodded. ‘I’m starting to think that way, yeah.’

  ‘Why?’

  Bishop told him about his visits to the Padgett and Frederickson households and what he’d found out. He also mentioned his theory that one of the four men might have spoken to somebody they shouldn’t have, and that if that somebody was behind the two deaths, then either Eric or Spurgeon would likely be next. Then he recalled something Spurgeon had said earlier. ‘You mentioned you had your own reasons for talking to me. What are they?’

  ‘Only one reason, really. And that is, I think you’re right. I think Darren and Mike were both murdered, and that me and Eric are next on the list.’

  TEN

  It was the last thing Bishop had expected to hear. He didn’t bother trying to hide his surprise.

  ‘That’s not what Cassandra told me this morning,’ he said. ‘She said you thought she was getting carried away, and you even showed her the official paperwork for both deaths to convince her.’

  Spurgeon sat forward in his seat. ‘That was then. Now I’m starting to have second thoughts, enough that I check my car engine and brakes before I head off to work each day. To be honest, I had my doubts about that hit-and-run on Mike from the first. It felt a little too coincidental, happening so close to that incident by the waterfront. But there was nothing to go on except a vague report from a witness who only saw a flash of car. And that heart attack of Darren’s. I mean, we all knew he had a condition, so it didn’t come as a complete surprise. But again, the timing of it stuck in my craw. And now with this new information of yours about those vitamin injections, it’s looking more and more like I was right to be suspicious.’

  ‘But you showed Cassandra the autopsy report for Frederickson. Didn’t the pathologist find anything suspicious in the guy’s system?’

  Spurgeon shook his head. ‘Nope. But you know how understaffed those places are. The pathologist only needs to take a longer coffee break than usual and the bodies start piling up. So if one comes in that everybody knows is death from natural causes, he ain’t gonna waste precious time and resources trying to prove otherwise, is he? He probably just did an external examination and wrote out his basic report saying that Darren’s heart had had enough and that was that. On to the next one.’

  ‘So get him to check again,’ Bishop said. ‘But properly this time.’

  Spurgeon gave a snort. ‘That might be a little difficult.’

  ‘You mean Jennifer Sanford’s already buried her brother?’

  ‘Worse. Cremated.’

  Bishop exhaled loudly. ‘So much for that.’

  ‘But this guy in the leather overcoat you saw coming from Mike’s apartment. Give me a physical description of him.’

  Bishop described the man he’d seen for only a few seconds in a doorway. One of the benefits of having an eidetic memory was that he never forgot a face. Or much else, come to that.

  When he’d finished, Spurgeon said, ‘You got no idea who he might be? No name or anything?’

  ‘Nothing. Lauren said he was a family friend helping her through her grief, but she didn’t seem all that broken up. Just the opposite, in fact. She even came on to me while I was there.’

  Spurgeon nodded. ‘Doesn’t surprise me. We all tried to tell him about her, but he never listened. Okay, so let’s assume Lauren has been two-timing Mike with this guy for some time. And let’s assume Mike told Lauren a little more than he should have about that night by the waterfront, and she goes and tells her boyfriend.’

  ‘And the two of them decide to go into business for themselves?’ Bishop asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘It sure didn’t seem to me like she was hiding anything. To be honest, she was a bundle of exposed nerves. I even asked her outright if Mike had come into any money recently, and it was clear she had no idea what I was talking about.’

  Spurgeon’s lips turned into a smirk. ‘You ever been married, Bishop?’

  ‘No. What’s that got to do with anythin
g?’

  ‘Women are masters at misdirection, and I talk from experience. Accuse them of something and ten seconds later they can change the subject so naturally you forgot what it was you were accusing them of in the first place. You said this Lauren bitch came on to you. That’s one of the ways they do it. Usually works, too.’

  Bishop didn’t agree, but he saw no point in arguing. The man’s mind was made up. All women were manipulative and couldn’t be trusted to give you the time of day if you asked. The sad thing was, there were millions more like him. Instead, he said, ‘That theory might hold for the hit-and-run, but how do you account for Frederickson’s murder? From what little I know of the guy, he was too security-conscious to let a total stranger into his apartment without a damn good reason. And then there’s the switcheroo with the vitamin injection that killed him. That was pretty well planned out, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yeah, so?’

  ‘So the guy I saw leaving Lauren’s apartment didn’t exactly look like the Brainiac type.’

  ‘Looks can be deceiving.’

  ‘Agreed. But I still can’t see Frederickson opening the door to him for any reason. Not unless he had a gun in his hand. Which makes me think it was somebody he knew.’

  Spurgeon’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re treading a thin line, friend,’ he said after a few beats. ‘If you’re suggesting what I think you are.’

  Bishop shrugged. ‘I’m just laying things out the way I see them, that’s all. And I understand he knew a lot of people.’

  The fire slowly left Spurgeon’s eyes. ‘Yeah, that’s right. He did.’

  ‘About the car that hit Padgett. What did the witness say?’

  ‘Not a whole lot. Guy was just coming out his front door when he saw an older, light-coloured sedan tear off into the night, and then he noticed the body on the road. He said it looked like it might have been a Buick or something. Maybe a Chevy. Something American, though. And that was it.’

  Bishop said nothing; just looked blankly out the front window, thinking. It was getting darker. He could see the football game was winding down in the empty lot opposite.

  ‘Anything else you wanna say?’ Spurgeon asked.

  Bishop turned back to him. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said.

  ‘In that case, what I’m gonna do is go take a shower, then head off back to the station and do some checking into little Miss McLaughlin. Maybe see if I can dig up anything about that boyfriend of hers. He interests me.’ Spurgeon slowly stood up. ‘What about you?’

  Bishop got to his feet as well. ‘Guess I’ll go fill Eric in on what I’ve found out since this morning.’

  Neither man bothered saying goodbye. Bishop heard the front door close behind him as he walked down the steps and let himself out the front gate. He didn’t need to turn to know that Spurgeon was probably watching him from the front windows. Neither man had liked the other. A simple matter of chemistry, or lack thereof. Spurgeon’s cop nose had been twitching all the way through that interview. While he was at the precinct, he’d probably have a good look into Bishop’s history while he was at it.

  Bishop gave a mental shrug. Let him. My past isn’t exactly a secret.

  He turned right and began strolling back to his car. The sun was setting and there wasn’t much light left. He checked his watch and saw that it was 19.23. He heard a hoarse female scream from the playground and instinctively turned to look. But it was just a girl who’d been picked up by one of the players and was being dragged into the game. She was struggling to get free, but her efforts seemed half-hearted at best. Her friends were laughing at her.

  Bishop began walking again and thought back to Spurgeon’s description of the car that had killed Padgett. American-made. An older model. A Buick or a Chevy, maybe. He didn’t like the thoughts that kept trying to force their way into his consciousness. Uncomfortable thoughts that didn’t make any kind of sense to him. None at all.

  He needed to talk to Eric first. Only then could he consider his next step. Whatever the hell that might be.

  Sighing, Bishop realized he’d almost passed his BMW. He stopped a few feet away and reached into his pocket for his keys.

  He was just in the process of pulling them out when he heard the explosion behind him.

  ELEVEN

  Bishop didn’t think; he just dived to the ground like it was the most natural thing in the world. Which it kind of was to him. He felt a hot breeze wash over him briefly, but that was all. He was obviously too far away for the full shock wave. After a moment, the thunder died down and he heard screams and shouts coming from the playground across the way and raised his head to look.

  What he saw didn’t surprise him. The explosion had come from Spurgeon’s house, and there wasn’t much of it left. The roof was completely gone. The outer walls had collapsed in on themselves and the whole property was engulfed in flames. Dark smoke writhed and billowed into the sky like something solid you could reach out and grab. Bishop got to his feet and saw a guy run out of the neighbouring house in just his undershorts, checking his own place for damage. He had a cell in his hand and was keying in numbers. 911, no doubt.

  The guys from the playground had already crossed the street and were trying to impress the girls by getting as close to the flames as possible. But it was no good. The heat was too intense. Even from his distance, Bishop knew that nobody could have survived a blast like that.

  A middle-aged black couple erupted out of the house next to him and stood motionless, staring at the devastation with wide eyes, as though hypnotised. Without turning, the man said, ‘Jesus Kee-rist. What the hell happened?’

  Bishop said nothing. He’d like to know the same thing. Especially as he could just as easily have died along with Spurgeon. Or maybe that had been the plan. To take them both out in one go. That was something worth thinking about.

  He watched the man keying in numbers in his own cell phone and knew half the people on the street would be doing the same thing. Those who weren’t were using their cells to take photos or movies of the fire.

  Bishop knew he needed to get out of here fast. As far as he knew, nobody had seen him come out the house, but it was only a matter of time before the emergency services got here. Including the police. And he didn’t want to be here when they arrived. Not with a dead cop on the scene. With his background, things could get complicated in no time at all.

  The middle-aged couple were still ignoring him, so he quickly unlocked his car and got in. He started the engine, put the BMW in gear and pulled away from the kerb. At the next intersection, he swung a right and barely missed colliding with a pickup as it raced by in the opposite direction, the driver probably hoping to catch some of the action. When he reached Ferry Avenue, he pulled the car over and dialled Eric’s number on his cell.

  It just kept ringing. No answer. No voicemail. Nothing. Hanging up, he tried the office number. When it went straight to an answering machine message, he ended the call and tried the home landline number Cassandra had given him. This time the phone was picked up. A soft female voice said, ‘Hello?’

  ‘Cassandra, this is Bishop. Is Eric around?’

  ‘No, he’s not home yet. He’s probably still at the depot.’

  ‘There’s no answer there. Look, I’m on my way over to you, okay? Stay there, and if Eric arrives, tell him to wait for me.’

  ‘Sure. Is something wrong?’

  ‘You could say that,’ Bishop said. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  TWELVE

  Eric and Cassandra lived on Glendale Lane, a pleasant tree-lined street in a suburban part of Cherry Hill. The street lamps were bright and closely spaced. Bishop drove past plenty of modest, well-kept homes with neat front lawns and long driveways. All set far apart. And not a single vehicle parked on the street. It was that kind of neighbourhood.

  He found Eric’s house easily enough. It was a simple one-storey stucco building with a gravel driveway leading to a double garage at the side. He parked the car in front of the left-
hand garage door, then got out and rang the front doorbell.

  After a few moments, Cassandra opened the door. ‘Eric hasn’t come back yet,’ she said as she let him into the house. ‘Should I be worried?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Bishop followed Cassandra into a large, well-lit living room. ‘At least not about Eric’s welfare.’

  Lines appeared on Cassandra’s forehead as she perched on the couch. ‘And what does that mean?’

  Bishop shrugged. There was no easy way to say it. Besides, it would be on the TV news pretty soon. ‘I just left Gene Spurgeon’s house,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid he’s dead.’

  Cassandra’s eyes widened and she stared at him open-mouthed, as though all her fears had just come to pass.

  ‘You mean he was murdered?’ she said.

  ‘That’s right.’

  He quickly filled her in on his visit to Spurgeon’s house, and how Spurgeon was starting to come round to her way of thinking. Then he described the explosion just moments after he left, and how unlikely it was that Spurgeon could have survived the blast.

  ‘Oh God,’ she said, running a shaky hand through her hair. ‘I can’t believe it. I just can’t. And now Eric’ll be next, won’t he?’

  ‘I think he’ll be okay, Cassandra,’ Bishop said and sat down next to her. ‘There’s usually a long gap between . . . incidents.’

  ‘But you don’t know.’

  No, he didn’t. All in all, there was too much he didn’t know, but he didn’t like the way things were adding up. And he didn’t like the dark thoughts he’d been having on the drive over. Like how it wouldn’t take much for a man with Eric’s IED experience to wire up a little surprise in Spurgeon’s house, for instance. And Eric had known exactly when Bishop would be there too, should he feel the need to kill two birds with one stone. Also, that vague description of the hit-and-run vehicle wasn’t a million miles away from the tan Chevy he’d seen parked at the depot. Assuming it was Eric’s, of course. Maybe it belonged to that Penny woman.