Edge of Mercy (A Kate Reid Novel Book 11) by Robin Mahle (reader novel .TXT) 📗

forgave him because as it stood right now, he might not be willing to wait much longer.

Now that Kate had been given a green light, it was time to make a move. There had to be more to Dr. Theodore Bishop than what she already knew. Too many people had looked the other way where he had been concerned and she questioned whether it was due to a fear of lawsuits or a fear of something or someone else.

To know where to start, Kate would have to start at the beginning. Family. Somehow, in her experience, it always came down to family. Whether it be parents or siblings or a distant uncle, most of the killers she had profiled so far had violence or sociopathic behavior rooted in their family history. It was time to find Bishop’s. They knew who he was. She needed to know why he was. From there, she could piece together where he might be now.

The work they had done to date on Bishop’s family included a mother who lived in Providence and a father who passed away when Bishop was a teenager. She knew of no siblings but hadn’t looked into the possibility of aunts or uncles or even cousins. It hadn’t mattered to her at the time, but it mattered now. Nothing could be overlooked, including whatever role the ex-girlfriend, Holly, might have played.

“Hey.” Duncan walked into Kate’s office. “I heard you got the go-ahead to follow up on Bishop.”

“It seems Fisher had a change of heart. In fact, I was just about to start looking into Bishop’s family ties.”

Duncan continued inside and sat down. “Didn’t we already go down that road?”

“I think we made it about a quarter of the way. I want to finish the trip.” She studied Duncan for a moment. “What do you have on your plate right now?”

“I’m cleaning up. Tying loose ends with the Riverside field office and gathering the witness statements to hand over to Mexico City. Why?”

“I could use an extra hand if you’re interested,” Kate replied.

“Interested? Nah,” Duncan swatted away the notion. “Determined to find Bishop? Hell yes.”

Kate smiled. “I thought so. Here’s where I’d like to start.”

Bishop pulled down his baseball hat and stepped off the bus. His bag was slung over his right shoulder and as he stepped down, it caught the arm of another. “Sorry about that.” He looked at the man.

“It’s okay.” The man spoke with a heavy Central-Mexican accent and he seemed to let his eyes linger on Bishop for longer than necessary.

Bishop cast down his eyes and moved on.

It was time to find a place to put his head down. The long journey was over after spending two days on three buses to get here. Now it was almost midnight and he needed to find a room that was off the beaten path.

Bishop hailed a cab. “Habla Inglés? Cheap hotel?”

“Cheap, ah si; barato.” The driver pulled onto the road and started into the city.

From what Bishop could tell so far, there weren’t a lot of English-speakers here and this would present a problem for him as he spoke virtually no Spanish.

Several miles from the bus terminal, the driver stopped at what looked to be a cheap hotel. Maybe more rundown than Bishop had expected, but the upside was that it was probably very inexpensive. He had exchanged his money to Pesos and held some in his hand.

“265, señor.”

Bishop counted the money carefully to ensure he didn’t hand over more than required. He had no idea if he’d been screwed over or if the fare had been reasonable. There was no time to debate. He needed to get out of sight and the fewer people he made an impression with, the better. “Here you go. Gracias.” Bishop stepped out of the cab and approached the entrance to the hotel. It was a 5-story building with a chipped peach-colored stucco exterior in need of a power wash.

He walked inside and approached a woman behind the desk. “Uno night, uh, Uno—uh, what’s the word for night?”

“Noche,” the woman responded. “I speak English. One night?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

She typed on an old computer and turned to grab a key from the wall of keys behind her. “Room 358. Stairs are to your right. Check out is 11am.”

“Gracias.” Bishop made his way to the stairs and walked up to the third floor. The narrow corridor was lined with stained teal carpet and dingy orange walls. Florescent lights were mounted on the ceiling and cast down a sickly glow as he walked to room 358. Bishop had grown accustomed to living a lifestyle suited for the more downtrodden. However, on his own, after losing his medical license and trying to stay off the radar, he’d learned to adopt a meager way of life. It wasn’t like EMTs made a fortune either. Some did all right, but in the grand scheme of things, it was nothing compared to that of a doctor. But there were more important things for Bishop than money.

He inserted the key and opened the door to a waft of stale air that smelled of smoke and booze. Something that never appealed to him. Drugs, alcohol, smoking. It all dulled his senses and Bishop needed to stay sharp at all times.

He tossed his bag onto the bed and pushed off his shoes. An old 19-inch television sat on top of a dresser that looked as though it could scarcely handle the weight. Bishop pushed a button on the TV to turn it on. There appeared to be no remote.

It flickered on and he switched over the channels. All the stations were in Spanish and none appeared to be news related. Bishop walked to the window and peered through the heavy green curtains at the street below. Several people walked by, some lay on the sidewalk, probably homeless and some were women, likely prostitutes. It was legal in Mexico City as well as in many states in the country.

He looked at one