Bishop lazily tilted his head back to take a look at Jack. He observed Jack’s labored movements, the pain he was trying to conceal. Jack placed the clipboard with Bishop’s arrest report down on the table. Bishop lifted his handcuffed wrists and awkwardly scratched an itch on his cheek with the back of his knuckle. Jack felt a certain unease about him.
Bishop was unattractive, ugly, with thin hair combed forward to cover his receding hairline. He had a fresh bruise around his left eye. Jack sat perfectly still, staring at Bishop, hardly even taking a breath. He picked up the clipboard and read aloud:
“You live at 23 Washington?” Bishop remained silent, blank. “Is that your residence?”
Harrington stepped forward and grabbed Bishop’s brittle hair, forcing him to look at Jack. Bishop grinned at Harrington’s show of force, as if he expected it. Jack flitted his hand for Harrington to release him. Harrington obliged, letting go and taking a step back.
“Several messages sent to Teresa Mason were traced to an IP address registered to your computer,” Jack said.
“I don’t own one. But nice try,” Bishop said, his voice effeminate, high pitched and nasal.
“Claims he was home all day,” Harrington said. He looked down in Bishop’s direction. “Lemme guess, didn’t match your tall, dark, and handsome profile; things went downhill from there?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“She’s clinging to life in the ER. Claims you attacked her,” Jack said.
“Who?”
“Two witnesses saw you exiting her apartment at the time of the attack,” Harrington said. “They scraped your DNA from under her God damn fingernails. I’m sure that’s not the only place they’ll find it.”
“You say you were home all day?”
“That’s right.”
“So what happened between 5 and 7 P.M. that caused you to race onto the expressway headed towards Ohio?”
“You guys are full of shit.”
Jack tossed an ID card onto the table between them. Then another, and another. “Forged plumber’s license, telephone repair man.” Jack turned over another one to read it. “I see you work for the US Post Office too?” Jack tossed it into the pile accumulating on the table. “You stay busy.”
Bishop licked his lips and rolled his eyes, locking them in an odd angle, appearing quite deranged.
“Uniform’s a good ruse to gain entry into a woman’s home, isn’t it?” Harrington said.
Bishop started to stand up; Harrington sat him down with one push from his powerful arm. Bishop shrank, sensing Harrington’s immense strength.
“I read Teresa Mason holds a black belt in Karate. What happened, finally met your match?” Harrington said, a bullying grin, he wanted to hurt Bishop so desperately.
“Fuck yourself,” Bishop muttered in a monotone grumble. Harrington cracked his knuckles in anticipation, but Jack’s stare held him at bay.
Jack continued to read from the printout: “Attempted rape, attempted murder, resisting arrest.” Jack raised his eyebrows at the next detail, then looked at Bishop, sizing up his thin, diminutive frame. “Attacking an officer? Resisting arrest? You’re in a lot of trouble, Ed. But that’s nothing new, you have a long track record of sexual offenses. Did time in jail for rape, paroled a little over 4 years ago.”
“Would explain the gap in time between the murders,” Harrington said.
“Yes it would,” Jack said to himself.
Jack took a photo out of his inner jacket pocket. He placed it down in front of Bishop. It was a picture of Angelina.
“Recognize her?” Jack asked. Bishop looked away and spit on the floor. Harrington grabbed him again and twisted his head to look at the picture. “You look at it!” Harrington growled.
Bishop stared at the picture, breathing heavily through his teeth. “She’s been missing three months now. Take a good look.”
“Never seen her.”
“If you don’t help me, I can’t help you,” Jack said.
“You know what they do to sexual offenders in general population, you’ve done some time,” Harrington said.
“Take a good look,” Jack said. “Do you know where she is?”
“After a while, they all start to look alike.”
Jack stood up, frustrated.
“Give me a few minutes with him, alone,” Harrington said.
The door opened and Jennifer entered. “Mr. Bishop’s lawyer is outside.”
Jack leaned over the table, placing both palms down, leaning right into Bishop’s face. “Right now I’ve got you on aggravated assault, weapons possession. If Teresa dies, you’re looking at murder.”
“I want to speak to my lawyer, tell him how you physically mistreated me.” Bishop flashed a big toothy grin. He looked back at Harrington, who remained stone faced, only the rule of law holding him back. Jennifer held the door open, Jack pulled on Harrington’s shoulder to exit with him.
They retreated into the adjacent room. Jack looked in at Bishop, who was sitting up straight now, his hands on his lap, not a care in the world. Bishop turned towards the glass as if he could feel Jack’s stare, sending the rare chill down Jack’s spine.
“They found a tan Buick Skylark parked behind his house. It’s registered in his name,” Jennifer said.
“The Ann Arbor victim, Delgado, was last seen getting into a late model tan vehicle before she disappeared,” Jack said.
“We have Teresa Mason’s account, Bishop fits the profile,” Harrington added.
“She doesn’t,” Jack said.
“Maybe he got tired of Latinos,” Harrington said.
Jack watched as Bishop picked his nose, examining his fingertip for prizes. “I expected more intelligence from someone so meticulous and patient. Ten years is a long time to evade suspicion.”
“Could be a ruse; they’re master manipulators,” Jennifer said. Jack watched Bishop’s lawyer enter the room, taking the seat where Jack had been sitting.
Jack exited the holding area and walked down the hall. Carl Rosa entered his path from the other end, ambushing him head on. Carl was sweaty, on edge, ready to burst.
“Jack, I hear you’re holding a suspect in custody?”
“That’s right.”
“Did he take my daughter?”
“I don’t know Carl.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“He’s a suspect. If he knows anything, we’ll get it from him.”
Carl pushed past Jack. “I’ve waited long enough.”
“Carl, you can’t go back there,” Jack’s words prodded an officer nearby into action. He grabbed Carl, restraining him at the waist. Carl didn’t resist.
As they walked him away, he paused and turned to Jack. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have the only thing you love in this world… ripped from your heart?”
Jack’s lip quivered. He had no desire to bring Carl Rosa up to speed on his familiarity with grief and loss. And he understood, after years of hearing that question repeated in one form or another, that it was rhetorical.
Jennifer approached from behind to rescue him. “Jack, call for you.”
“I’ll take it in my office. Excuse me, Carl.” Jack respectfully placed his hand on Carl’s shoulder as he sidestepped him to get to his office.
He closed the door behind him and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Jack, she’s gone.”
“Laura?”
“I’ve searched everywhere. Her bike is missing—”
“Okay, okay, slow down. Where are you?”
CHAPTER 49