by Wiley Brooks
“Pardon me, Miss. Are you Crystal Erickson?”
She looked at him, smiled and said, “Well, yes I am. Who might you be, sugar?”
He told the story that there had been an emergency in Amanda’s family and he was trying to find her. She hadn’t seen her, she said, since the night at the restaurant before they left Mersing.
“I think she’s with that Joey fellow. He’s a hunk, you know. And part Malaysian.”
Mason asked if she had any idea where they might have gone?
“Not a clue, darlin’. They sure as shit didn’t come here.”
He asked her to tell him about how they met Joey. She hadn’t seen him before he got on the bus after them in Melaka. By the time they got to Mersing, though, they were all friends.
He asked her to describe him and got a repeat of what he had heard before. She did add one piece of new information. Joey had said he was from North Carolina.
Mason headed back toward the Merlin. He didn’t know what time the flight to Mersing was and hoped he’d get there in time. On the walk there, he did a mental inventory of the case.
The suspect goes by the name Joey. Likely biracial; mix of Malaysian and Caucasian. He boarded a bus to Mersing in Melaka the day before Amanda’s body was found, where he joined a group of backpackers who boarded ahead of him. He was a charming guy with “kissable lips.” The women thought him to be very attractive. Five feet ten inches tall. About one hundred eighty pounds. Obvious muscles. Skin tone darker than Caucasian, but not likely mixed with African, probably Malaysian. Light brown wavy hair. Clean-shaven. Soft features. Scar on his left forearm. Left-handed.
When he arrived at the Merlin, he learned that the flight to Mersing was scheduled to take off in ninety minutes. That would get him into Mersing by 4 p.m. He’d grab snacks and water for the car and head to Melaka.
He called Boonsri from a radio phone at the Merlin. He asked that she make him a hotel reservation for the night in Melaka. She should tell the hotel that he would be arriving late. If he didn’t call before she left the office, she should leave the hotel info with the answering service to pass along to him.
Boonsri told him that a long fax had come in from Fitz. Police reports and photos for the other murders. He asked that she fax them to him at the hotel he had stayed at in Mersing, but to do it a few minutes after 4 p.m. He would swing by to pick them up on his way out of town.
“One more thing,” he told her. “Send a fax to Mr. Anderson’s confidential fax number. Tell him that I will call him between ten and eleven his time tomorrow morning with an update.” That would give him enough time to settle into his hotel tonight before making the call.
Mason landed back at the small airstrip outside Mersing right at 4 p.m. He took a taxi to the hotel, where he had left the rental car. He popped inside. The first page of the fax was printing as he watched. That was good. No one would be able to send a copy to the police chief. He wouldn’t know about the other murders.
While the fax was printing, he used a hotel phone to call Boonsri again. She gave him the info on the hotel and confirmed that she had sent the fax to Mr. Anderson. When the fax was finished, he put it in a file folder and left, stopping before leaving town at a market. He bought three bottles of water, peanut butter, bread, fruit, a pack of gum and two Snickers’ bars. They gave him a plastic spoon for the peanut butter.
Mason was on the road out of town by 5 p.m. He parked opposite the entrance of the Hotel Puri in Melaka at 9:30. He loved these old, heritage hotels. This one did not disappoint. It was elegant in an old-world kind of way. Yet, it was inexpensive by American standards. His room for the night was about twenty dollars US.
He checked in and they directed him a short distance down Heeren Street to the hotel’s secluded parking lot. He parked the car then went to his room. He had some time to kill before the call to Bob Anderson. He showered, then headed down to the restaurant only to discover it did not serve the burger he was craving nor the Jack Daniels that he wanted even more.
Fortunately, there was a pub just a block away that served both. He ordered an American-styled hamburger and his Jack. The burger was so-so but satisfied him. The Jack Daniels was Jack Daniels. He didn’t touch the Coca Cola that came every time he ordered the whiskey in this country. Must be a Malaysian thing, he thought to himself.
Mason used the time to write out his key points to pass along to Bob and to think about what he wanted from the phone call. It was simple, he wanted Bob to know that he was making good progress, but that they had a lot of work left to do. He wanted Bob to hang up thinking he had made the right choice to hire him.
He then decided to take the can of Coke and return to his room. He settled in a chair at the ornate desk with inlaid stone in his room and called his client. Bob answered after the first ring. Mason was deferential to Bob’s feelings. It had been just a week since the man had learned of his daughter’s death. Within a couple minutes, though, he told Bob he had a lot to report.
“It’s been a dang good week,” Mason said. “Jump right in with questions anytime somethin’ pops in your mind.”
Bob said okay.
“First, Amanda was the sixth victim of a serial killer.”
“Oh my God.”
“And the fucker killed someone else a couple days later.”
“How do you know all of this?”
Mason told him that the State Department had gone back through its files looking for similar deaths of young women over the past few years. They didn’t limit it to Malaysia, but added in Thailand and Indonesia, as well. There had been two murders in Thailand and one in Indonesia during that time, but the only thing they had in common were that the victims were Americans.
Malaysia, though, Mason said was different. Since early 1985, there has been a young American girl killed in her hotel room about every five or six months.
“State really dropped the goddamn ball,” Mason said. “That shit just isn’t supposed to happen. That many murders of similar victims should have yelled out to someone.”
“Why didn’t it?”
“Beats the hell out of me. But hold your horses, there’s more. Each girl was between nineteen and twenty-three years old with blonde hair. Each died naked in her hotel room by havin’ her throat slashed. You don’t have to be Albert fuckin’ Einstein to see that this is all the doin’ of one sick-as-shit asshole.”
“Wait, someone at the local police must have put this together and saw it was just like a case they’d had before.”
“The guy never kilt in the same place twice. I’ll give him this much: He has to be a pretty smart cookie.”
“Jesus. I can’t believe they didn’t know this at State?”
“Fitz admits they should have caught it at State but didn’t,” Mason continued. “At this point, none of that shit matters. We’re on to this guy and we’ll find him.”
Mason told Bob everything he had learned to date. Bob was impressed.
“I’m in Melaka now. Got here a short while ago,” Mason said. “This Joey guy boarded a bus here with Amanda and the others. I’ll start in the mornin’ callin’ on hotels and restaurants near the bus station. He had to stay somewhere and since he wasn’t killin’ in Melaka, he might have been less careful to cover his steps.
“The other thing I’m gonna do tomorrow,” Mason said, “is get a roll of film developed that I got from one of the other girls. She doesn’t think this Joey guy’s on it, but I gave her a hundred dollars to let me take it to get it developed. If I think he’s on it, I’ll fly back to Tioman and have her ID him. If he’s not on it, I’ll just mail the photos to her home address.”
Bob asked what was next.
“We have descriptions of him, but I’d really like to get a picture. That’s probably a long shot. Hell, there’s no probably about it. Don’t get your hopes up. But it would be a huge if we can find one. Maybe we’ll get lucky with the film from Suzanne.
“And I want to find out his name. I really don’t
think he’s an American, as he claims. If he’s not, the Joey moniker doesn’t mean a lot. We do know that he has used it at least twice – Amanda and the Mary Higgins girl last week in George Town – so knowin’ helps. I’d bet the fuckin’ bank he has a Malaysian name. That’s what I want.”
“That sounds like a long shot, too.”
“You think? It’ll take more than a little luck. But that’s what this kind of work is all about. Just sayin’ that if I keep at it, I will find his name and him. It might be slower than molasses, but I’m good at this stuff, Bob. I’m like a hound dog on a scent. I don’t stop.”
“I believe you, Mason. I’m glad Fitz connected me to you. Call me in another week. Or sooner if you have a breakthrough.”
“I will. Listen, I’m like one-hundred-and-four percent tired. I need to try to get some sleep.”
“Good night, Mason.”
Sleep had never been a problem for him. He’d close him eyes and after a few minutes would drift off and then awaken seven or eight hours later, well rested and ready to take on the day. He wasn’t usually much of a dreamer, or at least he didn’t often remember his dreams.
All that had changed in the past several days. He had had two dreams so powerfully disturbing that he awoke in near panic. As he prepared for bed, he wondered what kind of night it would be tonight. Would he wake rested in the morning or face a middle-of-the-night vivid image of an innocent person whose blood was on his hands?
It would, unfortunately, be the latter.
In the dream, the restaurant was bustling. He could see General Tho and his mistress at their special table, but across the room his mind focused on a different table. A family was sitting there. There were two older women and an older man. Mason knew they had to be grandparents. Four children also sat at the table. They ranged in age from about six to a boy who appeared to be about sixteen. Then, of course, there was the children’s mother and father. They looked proud and Mason could tell this lunch was for the oldest boy. They appeared to be a close family. Laughter and smiles surrounded them.
They died in an instant. It happened so quickly that they all wore smiles as they took their last breaths. Mason watched in horror, though, as those smiles were ripped from their faces. All of them. Even the six-year-old.
Mason was sobbing as he woke up. He couldn’t stop. Those happy faces replaced in his mind’s eye by ragged, bloody ones. He got up and washed his face, hoping the cold water would push him to a new place. He grabbed his bottle of Jack and took a healthy swig. It was nearly three hours before he was able to sleep again.
Day 11
Mason had second thoughts about his day when the alarm went off. But he had a job to do, so he cleaned himself up and went down for breakfast. The Hotel Puri put out a grand buffet for breakfast, both Malay and Western styled. He had a plate of fresh fruit, ordered a fluffy omelet from the egg station, then added two pieces of toast with butter and fresh jam. He had three cups of coffee with thick, sweet milk.
After breakfast, he drove to the old bus station on the outskirts of town. Suzanne had told him that they had all boarded at the same terminal in Batu Berendam. There wasn’t a lot in Batu Berendam, which was a good thing for Mason.
It took him about half an hour to drive there. The first thing he did was cruise around the neighborhood near the old terminal. He wanted to get a feel for the place. It was, though, uninviting. Mostly industrial. A little dirty or at least unkempt. Why, he found himself wondering, would they have departed from here when there was a much nicer, newer terminal near the center of the city.
After parking the car, he was surprised to find a couple dozen western backpackers waiting for their buses in the station. He approached a small group of two guys and three girls who he heard speaking English.
“Pardon me,” Mason said glancing around the group. “Can I ask you a question?” They nodded yes. “Why are you using this terminal? There’s a better one in town.”
“It’s cheaper here,” one of the fellows said. “The downtown buses are all fancy air-conditioned ones with TVs and all. This terminal is for the older buses. They’re about half the price.”
“Do folks like you stay near here then or did you come up from the city this mornin’?”
“We stayed near here last night,” one of the girls said. “Rooms are cheaper here, too. If you are leaving Melaka anyway, why pay more for one more night in the city? You’re just sleeping.”
She gave him directions to the nearby hotel district.
Mason drove to where he saw the first hotel. He parked the car and headed out on foot. Same routine, hotel after hotel. He’d go in, ask for the manager, show the picture of Amanda and ask about Joey.
Nothing. Meanwhile, the wear and tear on his sleep-deprived body was taking a toll. The mid-day sun was making the walks from hotel to hotel miserable. By noon, the temperature already had reached ninety-four degrees. By one-thirty, he was exhausted, thirsty and hungry.
He wanted desperately to cool off. He passed a few cafes that had windows wide open and knew they’d offer little relief. When he finally saw a decent looking café with air conditioning, he walked right in. The Arzed Restaurant had about twelve tables. He took the one closest to the window air conditioner.
The first thing he noticed was that he was the only westerner in the place. That didn’t bother him. When you have lived in Southeast Asia as long as Mason had, you get used to it.
A young man who Mason guessed to be in his early thirties came over to offer him a menu.
“Thanks. I would like something cold to drink.”
“No alcohol. Just Coke, Fanta, water or juice,” the young man said in reasonably good English.
“A Coke sounds great, and a bottle of cold water, too.”
The man left and returned shortly with a can of Coke, a capped liter of water straight from the cooler and a glass. Mason had spread a few items from his file on his table. Included was the photo of Amanda.
“She’s a pretty girl. She was here last week. Why do you have her picture?”
“This girl? Are you sure? Look closely.”
“Yes. Yes. Same girl. She was going to catch bus. Very nice girl. Smile and talk. Very friendly. I remember her name. Ermanda.”
“Yes. Amanda. Was she with anyone?”
“No. Alone.”
“Did she talk with anyone else?”
“No. Just me. There was just one other person here then that spoke English, but he not speak.”
“The other person who spoke English. Man or woman?”
“Man.”
“Do you know him?”
“Not so much. He comes in every few months. But my little sister knows him. He had been in before when she was here.”
“How would your sister know him?”
“School. They both went to the mission school before it close.”
“Could you tell me what this fellow looks like?”
“Like a Malaysian but not. It hard to say. My sister said his father was an English.”
Mason’s pulse quickened. So far, this sounded like Joey.
“How tall is he?”
“About like you. He muscle man,” the waiter said, flexing his biceps. “You can tell.”
“Do you know his name?”
“I not remember. My sister she know.”
Mason couldn’t believe his luck. Then again, Amanda and Joey – he was sure it had to be Joey – might have chosen this café for the same reason he did. The big air conditioner above the front window.
“Can I talk with your sister?”
“She work. Not be bothered.”
“Could I maybe talk with her after her work?”
The waiter didn’t respond for a bit, then said, “No. Not right.”
Mason realized what the young man was thinking.
“Is she married with a family?” The waiter nodded yes. “How about if she brings the family here for dinner this evening? I will pay for everything.”
�
��I don’t know. You a stranger.”
“Listen, what’s your name?”
“Haziq.”
“Listen, Haziq. This is important. That nice girl is missing. She got on the bus with the fellow described. They went to Mersing. He was the last person seen with her. Her daddy is worried about her.”
He took out a small roll of bills and pulled a hundred-dollar bill from the roll.
“Here, Haziq, this is for your helping me. I know it’s a lot of money, but we have to find her. And if your sister and her family meet me, I’ll give them one hundred US dollars, too.”
At the sight of the first hundred-dollar bill, Haziq stood rigidly and his eyes widened. That was more money that he earned in a month. He could only imagine how his sister would react.
“Who are you?” he asked Mason.
“Mason Ray. I work for Amanda’s daddy. She has a health problem and he’s very worried about her. That’s why he sent me.”
Haziq gave it some thought.
“Okay. You come back at seven. My sister and her family will be here.”
Mason finished his meal, took his bottle of water and left. He saw Haziq as he was walking out the door.
“Tonight at seven o’clock. See you then.”
Haziq, still looking a little frightened, just nodded his head.
Mason returned to the hotel. Even though he had checked out that morning, he asked if he could stay another night. Of course he could, he was told at reception. He could even have the same room. He took the key and climbed one flight to his room.
He wanted to call someone, but it was two-thirty in the morning in Tampa and D.C. He tried to call Bo, but the detective was out of the office. He left a message for him to call back at the hotel.
He called room service. He asked if it would be possible to get an ice-cold beer. He was told they kept bottles of Tiger in the freezer. He said he’d like one sent to his room immediately. Two minutes later, a young man knocked on his door. He carried a silver tray with a single bottle of Tiger, sweating from being pulled from the freezer, and a chilled glass.
Mason took off his shoes and sat on the sofa in his room. He poured the Tiger and took a sip. It was exactly what he wanted. He took several bigger sips, then turned on the TV. He was in luck. Oprah was on. He fought the idea to take a nap, though he could certainly use one. He didn’t want to risk another vision before meeting Haziq’s family.
