by R. J. Jagger
“Why, what was in there?”
“Secrets.”
Secrets?
Right.
Secrets.
“From your P.I. work?”
She nodded.
THEY HEADED OUT TO THE DECK and brainstormed, wondering if Prarie’s journal had been the target, but not coming up with any ideas how anyone would even know about it other than the two of them.
“I’m not behind it,” Kanjana said.
Prarie wrinkled her brow.
Confused.
“What does that mean?”
“It means if you’re thinking that I put someone up to stealing my own safe to get your journal and make it look like it wasn’t me, that’s not what happened.”
“I never even thought of such a thing.”
“Good, because that’s not what happened.”
“I believe you.”
“Good, because it’s the truth.”
“How did you even think of such a thing to say?”
Kanjana looked at her.
But said nothing.
“So who would want your papers?” Prarie asked.
Kanjana grunted.
She didn’t know.
She couldn’t even begin to guess.
As far as she was aware, no one even knew she had a safe, much less what was inside.
Suddenly she stood up, headed into the house and grabbed her purse. “That guy in the longtail boat this morning, the rental that slowed down, he has to have something to do with this. Let’s go find out who he is.”
THEY SPENT THE NEXT TWO HOURS asking questions at every place up and down the canal that rented boats. No one had a shred of information for them. No one heard of such a man, much less rented a boat to him.
At the end Kanjana said, “Someone’s lying to us.”
“You think?”
She nodded.
“They guy paid them to keep quiet,” she said. “Paid them a lot by the looks of things.”
Prarie spotted a rock by her foot and kicked it.
“Why don’t we just report it to the police?”
Kanjana shook her head.
“Not an option.”
“Why not?”
“Because like I said before, there was information in there.” A pause then, “Let’s head back to my place and knock on some doors. Maybe someone saw something.”
18
Day 2—August 14
Tuesday Morning
TEFFINGER APPROACHED THE VICTIM’S DOOR, took a deep breath, rapped on the wood three times and turned the handle to find it locked. “Go around outside to the window,” Jinka shouted through the jam.
Teffinger complied.
Jinka met him there, tossed him a small package and said, “Glove up before you come in.”
He did.
Then climbed through the window.
Tookta was on the bed.
Still tied exactly as Teffinger left her.
She was the deadest person he had ever seen.
Vomit shot up into his mouth.
He swallowed it down.
“Nice, huh?” Jinka said.
Teffinger said nothing and stared at the body.
The closet door was open and camera flashes came from inside. Teffinger took two steps to the side to see what was going on and found a small, serious man documenting the scene. The interior of the closet was as he remembered it from last night, but not exactly. Something was off. It took him a few moments before he figured it out.
There was a window in the outside wall, half covered by hanging clothes.
The panes were painted black.
Otherwise, it was identical in size, shape and structure to the windows in the bedroom and the main room. It was hand-latched from the inside, exactly like the other two.
“There’s a window in the closet,” he told Jinka.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
SHE STEPPED AWAY FROM THE BODY and headed over to take a look. “It’s latched from the inside,” she said. “Everything in the apartment was locked from the inside except that one window over there. Even the front door was locked from the inside. Whoever did this went out that window right there.” She pointed to the window that Teffinger just climbed through to get in.
And the one he climbed out last night.
“What’s a window doing in the closet?” he asked.
Jinka shrugged.
“It’s pretty common to chop up apartment buildings, usually to make the units smaller to increase the take, but sometimes to make them bigger and improve the desirability,” she said. “Either way, things like windows usually end up abandoned in place instead of bricked over.”
That made sense.
“I’ll tell you one thing right now,” Jinka said.
“What?”
“I’m going to find the bastard that did this if it takes the rest of my life. It’s going to be my mission to be sure he rots in hell.”
Teffinger stared at the body.
So dead.
So incredibly dead.
“What’s her name?” he asked.
“Tookta Vutipakdee,” she said. “From what I can tell, nothing was taken. This was nothing more than a sick act of depravity. Someone got thirty seconds of kicks out of it and now she gets to spend the rest of her life dead.” She studied Teffinger’s face and said, “I did something I’ve never done before. I promised her I’d find out who did it. Have you ever done that before, made a promise like that?”
Teffinger nodded.
“Twice,” he said.
“And?”
“And I caught both guys.”
“There you go.”
He shifted his feet.
“Sometimes you have no choice but to promise,” he said. “When those cases come along, you know them. They hit you right between the eyes.”
“If you have told me that yesterday I wouldn’t have understood, I honestly wouldn’t have.”
“Now you do,” Teffinger said.
Right.
Now she did.
Perfectly.
19
Day 2—August 14
Tuesday Morning
WING LEFT SARAPONG’S OFFICE feeling better, but not much. He was wrestling with insanely thick traffic, heading back to his loft, when he got a phone call from the last person he expected, Jack Vutipakdee from Hong Kong. “We met last fall at Ren Kwak’s party.”
Wing remembered.
He remembered well.
Jack Vutipakdee was the founder, chairman and CEO of Broken Stone Films, which was Asia’s most prolific film producer, with works of stature in almost ever category from comedy to dark drama to action-adventure. Vutipakdee was the creativity and driving force behind it all, with a very hands-on style, using his charisma and foresight to achieve the unachievable.
Everyone liked him.
The directors.
The actors.
The industry.
He was in his late-40s, just shy of six feet, with a rugged, chiseled face that looked like it came out of an old spaghetti western.
Wing suspected the man was going to offer him some kind of employment opportunity.
But he was wrong.
“I just got a very disturbing call,” Vutipakdee said. A slight wind noise filtered through the background, as if the man might be in a jet.
“What’s wrong?” Wing asked.
“I have a daughter living in Bangkok,” Vutipakdee said. “Her name’s Tookta. I just found out that she got murdered last night.”
The words shocked Wing.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Someone tied her down on a bed and stabbed her in the chest over and over. Then he just left her there to rot, like a dog.”
Wing pictured it.
“That’s terrible.”
Yes.
It was.
Beyond terrible.
“I’m on my way to Bangkok as we speak,” Vutipakdee said. “I want to
talk to you about something later today if you have a chance, after I meet with the police.”
“Sure,” Wing said.
“Good. Don’t tell anyone I’m in touch with you, all right?”
“No problem.”
WING GOT BACK TO THE LOFT to find his assistant, Yingfan, in the kitchen making rice and chicken. She was a 27-year-old, flat-chested beauty with fuzzed-up, bleached-pink hair and the most hypnotic eyes on the planet. She wore her usual attire, jeans and a short top, with a strip of taut abdomen showing between the two.
Her navel was pierced.
So was her lower lip.
Wing must have had a look on his face because she said, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Okay, be that way.”
“Where’s Jamaica?”
“In the shower.”
“How are you two getting along?”
Yingfan rolled her eyes.
“I’m in lust. Have you seen her dance?”
No.
He hadn’t.
“You’re going to wet your pants.”
JAMAICA STEPPED INTO THE ROOM. Wet hair danged from her head, dripping down her back and soaking a white, long-sleeve shirt.
One of Wing’s.
“I’ve been thinking about the video all morning and have some ideas,” he said.
“Really?”
Yes.
Really.
“It’s going to cost some money, but it’ll be completely fresh, something no one’s ever seen before. I’m going to make some calls this afternoon and we’ll start work tomorrow morning.”
She hugged him.
Tight and firm.
Her breasts pressed tight against his chest.
Then she kissed him on the mouth.
A peck.
That was all.
Just a peck.
But enough to make Wing’s life shift just a tad more.
20
Day 2—August 14
Tuesday Morning
NONE OF KANJANA’S NEIGHBORS saw a thing, either that or they didn’t want to get in the middle. Kanjana grabbed her car keys, pulled Prarie towards the door and said, “We need to find you someplace different to stay.”
“Why?”
“Because I might be a target.”
“From who?”
“Someone named Petchpon.”
“Who’s Petchpon?”
“He’s someone you don’t want to meet.”
They drove east, crossed the river and headed deeper and deeper into the concrete, pollution and congestion. Kanjana started off reluctant to say anything specific about Petchpon, but finally opened up.
“There have been six or seven particularly brutal murders in Bangkok over the last four or five years which have never been solved,” she said. “Three months ago, I was hired by a sister of one of the victim’s to find the killer after the police came up empty. I started digging around. The more I did, the more the name Petchpon came up.”
“So who is he?”
“You’re not even going to believe it when I tell you,” Kanjana said. “He’s the main detective in charge of Bangkok’s homicide department.”
“Are you saying he’s a serial killer?”
Kanjana shook her head.
“I’m not prepared to go that far yet,” she said. “What I do know is that he’s managed to become involved in the investigation of most of these cases.”
Prarie wrinkled her forehead.
“Isn’t that his job?”
Kanjana shrugged.
“Yes and no,” she said. “Detectives under his jurisdiction make the initial responses to homicides and usually end up being the main detective on the case. Petchpon technically has the authority to become involved in any case he wants to. He often does that on high profile cases and the cases I’m talking about have all been high profile. So at first blush it looks innocent. The problem is that all of these cases have gone unsolved. My guess is that he’s somehow either stifling or misdirecting the investigations The question is, Why? Maybe it’s because he is, in fact, the killer. But it’s also plausible that someone else is the killer and he’s covering up for them.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Money.”
KANJANA ABRUPTLY TURNED into a parking space in front of an electronics store and killed the engine. “Come on, let’s get you a cell phone,” she said.
Right.
Good idea.
“I’m going to get a fresh number for myself, too.”
They hopped out and headed for the front door. On the way Kanjana said, “I’ve been following Petchpon around off and on at night for the last month, hoping to catch him in the act, either that or verify that he was somewhere else when then next suspicious murder occurred. So far I don’t have an answer one way or the other. My surveillance notes were in the safe. That’s the problem.”
“How is that a problem?”
“Because if he’s dirty—either by the fact of being the killer himself or by covering it up—and he finds out I’m tracking him, I’m dead.”
Prarie considered it.
“Maybe he spotted you when you were tracking him,” she said. “Maybe he figured out that you’re keeping the notes in your safe and then took it, to see what you know.”
Kanjana nodded.
“Now you’re starting to think like me,” she said. “Welcome to hell.”
Prarie grunted.
“Whatever your client’s paying you, it isn’t enough. One thing for sure, it’s not just me who needs a fresh place to stay for the time being.”
“That’s where you’re exactly wrong,” Kanjana said. “Being home my only chance of survival.”
Prarie didn’t get it.
And said so.
“If he comes for me, I need to be there to kill him.” Prarie must have looked confused because Kanjana added, “Laying in wait is my only chance.”
Prarie swallowed and couldn’t believe she was going to say what she was about to say.
Then she said, “You’re going to need help.”
Kanjana put a stubborn look on her face.
No.
No.
No.
“Absolutely not.”
“But—”
“I’m not going to put you in harm’s way, end of sentence.”
“Look, if you let me—”
“It’s not going to happen so get it out of your head,” Kanjana said.
21
Day 2—August 14
Tuesday Noon
TEFFINGER GOT A FEW SHOCKERS about the woman he killed, Tookta. She turned out to be the daughter of a famous Hong Kong movie producer named Jack Vutipakdee. She also turned out to be prostitute.
Teffinger didn’t remember discussing money.
He didn’t remember her asking for any.
He didn’t remember giving her any.
It could have happened though.
Speculating that the violence might be a trick gone wrong, Jinka bagged all the money in the apartment as potential fingerprint or DNA evidence, and said, “We need to figure out where she was last night. She probably has some regular haunts.”
Teffinger agreed.
“They shouldn’t be hard to find.”
Jinka gave him a sideways glance.
“In Bangkok, everything’s hard.” She looked at her watch, 11:45. “I’m starved. Feed me, cowboy.”
Teffinger tossed his hair.
“As in me pay?”
She nodded.
“You obviously didn’t get the memo,” he said.
“What memo?”
“The one about me being the cheapest person on the face of the earth.”
She grinned and said, “I’ll swap you. You buy me lunch and I’ll make you supper tonight.”
“Are you a good cook?”
She shook her head.
“No, but I’m good company.”
THEY HAD A QUICK LUNCH on barstools in a crow
ded, wooden place called Cactus Dan’s. Teffinger ordered two large coffees that ended up tasting like mud but were still better than not. “I’ve seen a lot of brutal stuff over the years, but the one this morning is as bad as any,” he said. “It’s the kind of thing you might see if the guy was drugged up and went into a rage or something.”
Jinka speared a piece of chicken and stuck it in her mouth.
“Murder’s murder,” she said. “No excuses.”
Teffinger said nothing.
“Don’t you think?” Jinka added.
He shrugged.
“There can be differing degrees of intent.”
Jinka tilted her head. “I’ve never bought into all that diminished capacity crap. It’s all the same from the victim’s point of view. A knife entering the heart is a knife entering the heart.”
“Okay.”
“If someone feeds their dark side with drugs or alcohol or something like that, and the dark side ends up coming out, they need to pay.”
“I don’t disagree,” Teffinger said.
“You don’t sound so sure.”
“My brain’s shifting to Aspen Leigh,” he said. “Have you interviewed the radio execs that she came here to meet?”
Jinka shook her head.
Her hair tossed.
Very sexy.
For a brief second, Teffinger pictured the two of them in bed, with her on top, straddling him, sweaty, naked, rocking back and forth and consumed with animal lust.
“No, not yet,” Jinka said.
Teffinger was confused.
The words didn’t make sense.
“I forgot the question,” he said.
“You asked whether I interviewed the radio execs,” Jinka said. “It’s on my to-do list but isn’t on my done-that list.”
“Can we do that?”
“You mean this afternoon?”
Right.
In fact, as soon as they finished lunch.
“Sure,” she said.
22
Day 2—August 14
Tuesday Afternoon
NOTHING WAS AS SWEET in Wing’s life as when his creative juices got flowing and a spanking new video began to take shape in his head. Usually the process was a solitary one but this time was different. This time he had a rough vision that got more and more solidified as he bounced it off Jamaica and Yingfan, who took it to the next level. He was glad he did it that way because he now had a firsthand understanding just how deep Jamaica’s talent ran. Yingfan’s too, for that matter.
