DEAD Heat: A killer's mind unravels Page 4

  “’Cos my friend’s staying at her cousin’s just now. In Atlanta. I’m meeting her here and then we’re driving up north.”

  The guard loomed over her like a hulking black bear. “I see. Have an address for this cousin?”

  The image on the advertisement board changed just as the official finished his question. Jennifer could see it without shifting her gaze from her interrogator. It had flashed up a realtor advertisement. Complete with address.

  “Yeah. My friend told me she’s on Cherokee Avenue. Her name’s Adams”, she said, checking the details on the hoarding. “Jennifer Adams”.

  Jennifer read the official’s face. Could tell the answer satisfied him.

  “Yeah. I know Cherokee Avenue. Real neat place”.

  Jennifer exhaled quietly as the guard returned her passport and stepped aside. She moved past him. Slipped her passport into the handbag hooked over her left arm and picked up her flight bag with the other.

  ‘Made it’, she thought. ‘I’ve only gone and done it. Jennifer North / Jodie Weston: you should be in Hollywood’.

  Then, when she was only a few strides past the border guard, she heard his voice again. “Oh. Miss Weston; just one more thing…”

  Shit. Of all the TSA officials in the world, she had to pick the one who thought he was Lieutenant Columbo.

  “Could you open your bag for me, please?”

  **

  There was now only one party between Stonebank and the glass immigration booth. The closer he got, the more he contemplated whether he should intervene. With the detached emotions of his profession, he weighed up the odds once more. Always double-check. He’d survived this long by ensuring his plans were foolproof. Now was the opportunity for him to reassess the situation.

  He reached the same conclusion as before. Get through immigration checks and pass Jennifer as the strangers everyone thought they were.

  But then he saw Jennifer unzip her carry-on and a guard who looked like a line-backer delve his hands deep into it. Had she anything in there to link them? Shit. Stonebank had always worked alone. Never had to confront this problem before. He was in unchartered waters. Time to reconsider his plan for a third time.

  The group Pocahontas was checking-in was six-fold. Parents, one grandfather and three children, Stonebank assumed. They’d stood to one side to let the couple who’d been in front of Stonebank pass through – golfer’s etiquette, Stonebank thought - but they weren’t prepared to let another traveller in ahead of them.

  The old man couldn’t locate his passport. He’d already been through his pockets twice and was now depositing the contents of his flight-bag around his feet. The kids were getting restless. The parents were getting tetchy with the children.

  The rest of the human chain behind Stonebank began to mutter audible insults. The father returned the insults. He stepped towards the line behind Stonebank, and someone moved forward to confront him.

  “Get back behind the blue line, sir. Do it now”. It was the deep voice of the brute with his hands in Jennifer’s flight bag. Stonebank hoped that matters would escalate. Hoped the guard would leave Jennifer. Hoped there would be an opportunity.

  “Leave it to me, Walter. You got your hands full already”. It was the voice of the dog handler from the second wave of security. He stepped forward towards the angry mob.

  After a few choice words, the incident calmed. Stonebank knew the moment had come and gone. The guard called Walter had his hands back inside Jennifer’s bag.

  And the old man still couldn’t find his passport.

  **

  Jennifer stiffened as the search continued. She sensed the officer had found something from his body language. She racked her brain to think of anything incriminating that may be in the bag. The passports of Jennifer North, Jane West and Joanne Du Nord were inside the lining of her handbag, not her flight bag. She was safe, for now at least.

  The guard straightened. Pulled something out of the bag. Jennifer’s left eye twitched.

  “Ma’am?” he asked. He was holding a long brown wig between his pinched fingers as if it were a roadkill skunk.

  “Oh, that. If you look carefully, there’s another one in there, too”.

  Walter dug deeper into the bag. His fist came out with a black hairpiece wrapped around it. “Care to explain these, Miss Weston?”

  “Come on, Walter”, she toyed. “We girls like a bit of fun dressing up, know what I mean? Don’t tell me you’re not into that too with your good lady.”

  Where the inspiration for that line came from, Jennifer would never know. But it did the trick. Walter had already stuffed the wigs back in the bag and was zipping it up. Jennifer smiled to herself. The smile soon faded.

  “Now open your purse for me, please, ma’am”.

  She had no clever-dick line to get out of having four passports in her possession. Panic hit her like a truck. Her eyes filled with tears. On the periphery of her vision she was aware of someone bending to tie their shoelace. It seemed surreal that they were doing normal everyday things whilst she was amidst a crisis.

  The figure lost its balance. She saw an arm stretch out, sensed the figure topple towards her, felt its arm touch hers as the body tumbled into Walter and knocked him to the floor.

  “Go. Get out of here. Now” the figure whispered through clenched teeth. Stonebank’s voice.

  “Hey. Be careful, man” she heard Walter say from the floor beneath her.

  “I’m so sorry.” Stonebank again. “Here. Let me help you up. Damn shoelaces. Lost my balance. I’ve got tinnitus. Flight made it worse, see? Are you ok, sir?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Be careful in future, yeah?” Walter was back on his feet, dusting down his uniform.

  “Sure, I will. Sorry again. I got to go – cab will be waiting”. With that, Stonebank hurried through the exit to baggage reclaim. Jennifer was already there, waiting. She didn’t even think of making for the exit. This was going to be too difficult without Stonebank with her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  They hopped in a cab in silence. Jennifer had instructed the driver to avoid the weight of traffic on the I85 so they travelled south, against the flow heading downtown. Stonebank had been impressed with her foresight but he was determined to wrest control. When he instructed the driver to pull off the highway at a medium-sized motel not five miles from the airport, her concern was evident.

  Stonebank paid the fare out of the few dollars he had in his pocket and dragged Jennifer to the rear of the hotel before she could protest. “I need a smoke” he said by way of explanation. They found an isolated spot in the parking lot well away from windows. Stonebank made sure it was also out of range of CCTV cameras.

  “Now listen here”, he instructed Jennifer. “Every dog has its day and this is my day. You’ve had your chance. You got us this far but only just. The incident on the plane at Toronto and the debacle here, you’ve so nearly blown it twice already, Jennifer. You’re not up to the task. You need someone who knows what they’re doing. That someone’s me.” He stabbed his chest with a finger and waited for her protests.

  “You’re right.”

  “What? You agree?”

  “Yes, I agree. I’m out of my comfort zone here, Oliver. I realise that. I thought I had everything covered off. But I haven’t. I can’t do this. Not by myself.” She surprised herself with her confession. The incident at Hartsfield-Jackson had affected her more than even she realised.

  “Hallelujah”, Stonebank exclaimed, giving it jazz-hands. “Ok. We need somewhere to talk this through. We can’t hang around here long but we need somewhere to stay tonight”.

  Jennifer pointed towards the building. “Err, hello – a hotel. People tend to stay in hotels, don’t you know?”

  “Yes, they do. But not us. Not this one. ‘Cos it’s also the hotel where the cab dropped us off, which means it’s the hotel the driver can name if anyone asks”.

  Jennifer flushed with embarrassment, though she fanned her face with
her hands as if it were the searing temperature. “It’s my migraine. I’m not thinking straight”.

  “That, my dear, is why I’m in charge, see”. He trampled his cigarette butt as if it were a roach and strode off, Jennifer trailing in his wake.

  **

  It had been a long shift. Not a particularly taxing one, but a long one. Walter Devereaux stretched his back until it clicked, rolled his neck, and suppressed a yawn. Not long now. He checked the digital display. His relief was due any minute then he would have a week of relaxation ahead of him.

  He surveyed the arrivals hall. Busy but about as quiet as Hartsfield-Jackson ever got. ‘Typical’, he thought. ‘Just as my shift ends, things settle down. Drawn the short straw again’.

  Walter turned to his left in response to a tap on his shoulder. Debbie Weiss dodged round to his right. “Ha. Gets you every time”. She licked a finger and drew an imaginary figure one in the air.

  “So very droll, Ms Weiss”, Walter chuckled to his replacement. “How ya’ doin’?”

  “I’m cool. More than can be said for it out there. Hot as a groupie on E’s”. Debbie Weiss used both hands to pull her uniform cap down, squeezing her long black hair beneath it. “How’s the zoo been today?” she asked, surveying the crowds in front of them.

  “Mad as ever. Not much action, though, all things considered. A couple of illegals turned away. They weren’t impressed. Threatened to get outta hand. The dogs put an end to it”.

  “I bet they did. Good ol’ Lackland airbase, huh? What about the voices? Been quiet?” She touched her ear-piece.

  “Nope. Control bin’ pretty much leaving us to our own devices. Haven’t intervened all shift”.

  “Praise the lord”, Debbie sang. They laughed. “Hey. That’s you finished for a week, ain’t it?”

  “Yeah. A week of Walking Dead box sets in the company of Ben ‘n’ Jerry, that’s my week sorted”.

  “No wonder your waistline’s like a map of Sri Lanka”

  “I take it that’s not a compliment?”

  “You’d be right”.

  “Hey, it didn’t stop me getting a come-on today”.

  “Huh?”

  “Yeah. One of the zoo animals flirted with me. Into dressing up, too. She showed me her outfits”.

  Debbie had a look of scorn on her face. “Walter, you really must get out more”.

  “I’m bein’ serious, Debbie. Wigs, the works. Single, too. Or so she says”.

  “Yeah, for sure. So, tell me about it: bet I’ll catch you out”.

  “Ok, then. I will. Her name’s Jodie”.

  “Like that favourite actress of yours? Not very inventive, Walt. Ok, then. What’s her story? Where was she headed? Tell me that”. She was teasing him now.

  “Know that, too. She was headed for Cherokee Avenue. Visiting a friend. Jennifer Adams. See, I even remember that”.

  “Oh. Of course. Jennifer Adams of Cherokee Avenue. I should have known. Nice try, Walt. Now get outta here”.

  Walter Devereaux’s eyebrows folded inwards, his brow creased. Until he followed Debbie’s gaze and looked behind him. There, in ten-inch-high letters, was a familiar name.

  ‘Jennifer Adams Realtor.

  Cherokee Avenue

  Atlanta

  Ga.

  Call toll-free….’

  “Well I’ll be…”

  “Oh. And Walt?” Debbie again. “Don’t fantasise too much. Remember it’s darn hard to search a bag when you’ve a sprained wrist. Enjoy your week, big guy”.

  **

  The air was refreshingly cool in the restaurant. Ceiling fans kept the air circulating. They also ruffled the leaves on the imitation vines that snaked up the wall and along vast swathes of the tiled ceiling. Dusty wine bottles, long-since drained of their contents, filled a lattice-work rack against one wall. Waiting staff slalomed their way around faux-marble figurines.

  The style was distinctly Italian, though the only thing remotely Tuscan on the menu was pizza. Even the wine was Californian.

  Jennifer and Stonebank had walked four blocks from the hotel before coming across the restaurant. They’d passed a diner a couple of blocks back but Stonebank had said it was too obvious a location. He’d insisted they carry on further.

  When they came across this place, discretely set back from the main sidewalk, Stonebank agreed they’d walked far enough from their drop-off. Especially in this heat. And with luggage in tow. The bags now sat alongside them, adding to the servers’ obstacle course. They’d head further afield after eating, Stonebank had told Jennifer.

  They helped themselves from the salad bar whilst waiting for their entrees. Stonebank gulped from a refillable soda and poked at a limp lettuce leaf. “You know, you’re going to have to tell me where you’ve got North’s money. I can’t help us if I don’t know where we’re going”.

  “I suppose. Let’s just say we’re headed north. That’s all you need to know”. She loaded her fork with potato salad and motioned across the table with it. “Like I said in Amsterdam, I’m not as green as that lettuce”.

  “Not good enough, Jennifer. I need more than that. I need to think about transport, plan our route, where we’re going to stay. I can’t be sure we’ll be safe if I plan on the hoof, girl”.

  Jennifer thought for a moment. Brushed a plastic leaf away from her ear. Her chair screeched on the floor as she pulled it closer to the table. “You’re right. But only the general area, ok?”

  “That will do me. For now”.

  “Ok. We’re headed to Cincinnati”. She blurted the words out before she had time to think better of it.

  Stonebank sat back as a waitress arrived with their meals. A rare steak for him, peppercorn sauce. Black snapper for Jennifer. “Enjoy your meal”, the waitress said without feeling or a smile.

  “Cin City?” Stonebank said when she’d retreated several tables away. “Of all the places in the States to deposit, what – ninety grand you said, didn’t you? Why choose Cincinnati?”

  It was way more than the figure he’d quoted. At least four times the figure. Ninety thousand was the amount Stephen had agreed to contribute to her business venture but, once she had access to his account, she cleaned it out bit-by-bit. Still, she wasn’t going to let Stonebank know. He’d only want a bigger share.

  “I chose it precisely for that reason, Oliver. No-one will think of it. It’s not LA; it’s not Vegas, the Big Apple, Miami or BigBucksville Texas. It’s Cincinnati. Besides”, she added, a mischievous grin on her face. “I like their helmets”.

  Stonebank got the football reference but it didn’t stop him choking on a lump of his steak. He reached for his soda and raised his glass to Jennifer. “Can’t say fairer than that, Tiger”, he managed to say between coughs.

  **

  They finished their meal in silence. They had little to talk about other than ‘business’ and their business wasn’t something to be discussed in public. Besides, Jennifer was already worried she’d said too much whilst Stonebank always made a point of not getting too close to his clients. Felt it made him vulnerable.

  They asked the restaurant staff to call them a cab. Stonebank suggested they head downtown for the night. There’d be safety in numbers in the city, he reasoned. They’d be less conspicuous. He’d told Jennifer to remove her wig. Anyone tailing them would be looking for a blonde, not a red-head. They still wore the same clothes but ditching the wig was a quick-fix.

  They booked into a mid-range hotel off Trinity Avenue. There’d been a minor scare when the reservations clerk asked to see a passport for security. Jennifer had one of the twitching sessions she’d experienced at the airport, unsure which passport or name to use. Stonebank stepped in. Unconcerned, he showed his real passport and the receptionist was happy to book a room in the name of Oliver Stonebank and Jodie Weston.

  Their room was on the 4th floor. Stonebank used the private time in the elevator to assure Jennifer that she would be safe with him in the same room; that he wasn’t showi
ng her his helmet under ANY circumstances. He also made it clear this was the way it would be from now on. He didn’t – couldn’t - trust her.

  For her part, Jennifer was quite relieved. She knew he wouldn’t harm her. Without her, he had no way of finding the loot. And, although his downtrodden and pathetic appearance contradicted the reality, he could look after himself – and, by default, her. She felt safe around the Welshman.

  The room was standard hotel fare. Two queen size beds. Open space for hanging clothes rather than wardrobes. Flat-screen TV. Coffee maker but insufficient coffee. The bathroom was to the left of the entrance. Low-level WC, shower cubicle without bath. Toiletry dispenser affixed to wall.

  Whilst Jennifer explored the room, Stonebank wandered to the window. It afforded a view of the parking lot and the highway beyond. When he slid open the door, the room flooded with traffic noise. Stonebank looked left and right, seeking an escape route should it prove necessary. He sucked air through his teeth and closed the door. Only muffled sounds remained audible. “Not ideal. Not ideal at all. But it’ll have to do for tonight”, he said.

  “I think it’s fine. Perhaps more expensive than I thought. Our disposable cash won’t last long at this rate”.

  “’Our’?”

  “Ok, then. My disposable cash”.

  “Yeah. Make the most of it. We’re going down-market after this. Low-budget motels. Cheap diners. We’ve got car hire to think of, too, see?”

  “Shouldn’t need much money though, should we? Won’t take us long to drive to Cincinnati, surely?”

  Stonebank wandered to the window, his back to her as he looked out. “Not if we go direct, it won’t, no. But we’re not going direct”.

  Jennifer’s eyes narrowed. “Aren’t we?”

  “No, we’re not. You told customs you were on holiday. So, a holiday we’ll have”.

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry. Not long. Just enough so that if you’ve told anyone where we’re headed, or if the authorities somehow work it out, they’ll be disappointed. We won’t be going straight there”. He turned back to Jennifer. “And if we do happen to be ‘discovered’, our cover story kind of stacks up. We will be on holiday. Perhaps not where you said, but it’ll be enough to enable us to bluff out”.