by R. J. Jagger
“Think about it,” Sydney said. “If you can find Mint’s killer, and if he doesn’t have an alibi for the time when Tookta got killed, he’s going to be a suspect—a strong suspect—since it’s too much of a coincidence that the women both knew each other and both got killed in an up-close and passionate way within a week of each other. It’s going to look like the same person did both of them.”
Teffinger agreed.
“True.”
“That’s all Petchpon will need to close the Tookta case,” Sydney said. “At that point, you’re off the hook.”
Teffinger flicked hair out of his eyes.
“Right, but only if I let someone else take the fall.”
“He won’t get the fall unless he killed Mint,” Sydney said. “An extra charge isn’t going to hurt him.”
Silence.
“Teffinger, you didn’t mean to do it,” Sydney added. “Just get it behind you any way you can and move on with your life.”
41
Day 3—August 15
Wednesday Afternoon
WING’S ATTORNEY, SARAPONG, called mid-afternoon during a break with bad news. “The girl who gave you the envelope with the photos is a stripper at YaYa Bang. Her story is that some woman came into the club that she’d never seen before and asked her if she wanted to make some good money. She said Yes, the woman gave her the assignment, and she delivered the envelope. That’s it.”
Wing frowned.
“What’d she say about the woman?”
“Nothing, until I pulled my wallet out,” Sarapong said. “Then she remembered she was twenty-five or thirty, long hair, pretty, with a lot of tattoos. She’s going to call me if she ever sees her again.”
“That won’t happen.”
Silence.
“No one’s contacted you yet?” Sarapong asked.
No.
Not yet.
“Let me know when it happens.”
Yeah.
Don’t worry.
Sarapong almost hung up when Wing said, “You still there?”
He was.
“Do me a favor and dig into the background of this stripper,” Wing said. “What’s her name again?”
“All I got was her club name, Diamond.”
“Get her real name and dig into her,” Wing said.
“Why?”
“All I know is that if I was going to deliver an envelope to someone and wanted to stay anonymous, that’s not how I would do it,” Wing said. “I think she knows the person who gave it to her. Whether she’s in on it or not for more than just the delivery is another story, but I got to believe they at least know each other. The description she gave you about pretty and tattoos is probably bogus. In fact, it might not even be a woman at all. It might be a boyfriend. Find out everyone who’s in her life.”
Sarapong exhaled.
“That’s a big project,” he said.
“This is a big problem,” Wing said. “Money’s not important. Do what it takes and do it yesterday. Please and thank you.”
WING HUNG UP, saw Jamaica walking towards him and shifted gears. Moon had the paintings at her apartment, at least according to what she told Jamaica earlier. Wing ran a finger over the bandaging on Jamaica’s ear and said, “We’re okay right now but I’m worried about tonight.”
“Don’t say that.”
“We need to get this under control,” he said.
Right.
No argument.
“I’ve been thinking about who I might trust enough to break into Moon’s place and take the paintings,” he said. “I keep coming up blank. They’re too valuable. The only people I really trust are you and me.”
The specter of returning to Hong Kong etched on Jamaica’s face.
“There’s too much trouble for me there,” she said.
Wing put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “There’s no other option,” he said. “I can’t leave you here alone. We’ll take the first flight out.”
“What abut the video? I thought we were going to keep going until we finished it?”
Wing shifted feet.
“Actually, this is a good breaking point. We have enough to start prep at this point. We’ll pick it up next week. Besides, if you want to know the truth, my brain’s too fried to think about anything except keeping the next death star away from your head.” Wing saw the gratitude in Jamaica’s eyes and added, “Don’t give me that look. I’m just being selfish. I don’t want you disappearing out of my life.”
“No?”
“No.”
42
Day 3—August 15
Wednesday Afternoon
MID-AFTERNOON, PRARIE TOOK A WALK down the canal to figure out if she really wanted to get involved in killing someone, much less a Bangkok detective. Her hesitation bothered her because she didn’t want to let Kanjana down, especially now when the poor woman was a known death target.
She dialed Sophie in Paris.
“Hey, there.”
“Prarie? Is that you, girlfriend?”
It was.
It was indeed.
“This is a surprise,” Sophie said. “Michelle Lecan said not to expect any calls from you.”
Prarie exhaled.
“Yeah, well, apparently she was wrong.”
“Your psycho husband has a whole freaking army looking for you,” Sophie said. “He’s even got someone on my ass night and day.”
“You’re kidding.”
No.
She wasn’t.
“Get out of town,” Prarie said. “I’ll pay for it.”
A beat.
“It’s not a big deal, he’s after you, not me. So what’s going on with you, anyway? You sound weird.”
PRARIE TOLD HER ABOUT THE PLAN to kill Petchpon tonight. At the end Sophie said, “Murder’s a serious thing. If you do it, be damn sure you don’t get caught, especially in Bangkok. Their prisons aren’t exactly luxury hotels from what I understand.”
“So you think I shouldn’t do it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What’s that mean? That I should do it?”
“I didn’t say that either.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying what I just said, if you do it, don’t get caught.” A pause, then, “Hey, did you ever take any classes down at the university?”
No.
She didn’t.
“Why?”
“I was just wondering if you knew a professor there by the name of Claude Morel.”
“Claude Morel?”
“Right.”
“No,” Prarie said. “Never heard of him. Why?”
“He got murdered yesterday,” Sophie said. “It’s all over the news. It happened in his house. The word is that it was something real ugly, like he was tortured or something. Everyone’s talking about it. There’s a rumor going around that he was gay and had been trolling on the net for rough sex.”
“Weird.”
“Yeah, you never know about people.”
“No you don’t.”
WHEN PRARIE GOT BACK to the house, Kanjana said, “I’ve been thinking about tonight. This is my fight, not yours. I don’t think you should be around when it happens.”
Prarie hugged her.
“He’s too dangerous to handle alone.”
Kanjana studied her.
“You sure?”
Yes.
She was.
43
Day 3—August 15
Wednesday Afternoon
JINKA AND TEFFINGER headed for the river, the theory being that since Mint’s purse was still in her apartment, she had probably gone out for walk and since she ended up floating, that walk may have been down by the river.
Right now, midday in Bangkok, the waterside buzzed.
Vessels of every size, shape and purpose churned up the river. Cars, buses and Tuk-Tuks jockeyed for position wherever the asphalt let them.
The area had lots of e
yes.
Night, however, would be different.
Things could happen in a place like this after dark.
A dead fish bobbed on the surface ten meters offshore.
Teffinger threw a rock at it.
Bam!
Right in the head.
He looked at Jinka and grinned.
“Don’t be so proud of yourself,” she said. “Anyone can do that.”
Teffinger handed her a rock and said, “Go ahead, then. Do it.”
She bounced it up and down to get a feel for the weight, then pointed at a piece of wood floating on the surface, twice as far as the fish. “Watch and weep,” she said.
The rock flew fast.
It bounced off the wood, hopped another five meters and splashed into the water.
Teffinger nodded.
“Impressive,” he said. “But let me show you how it’s done.”
HE PICKED UP ANOTHER ROCK, a heavier one, and surveyed the water. Then he cocked his arm back and threw, a long ways, and said, “Water bottle.”
Two seconds later the rock smacked into a plastic bottle on the edge of a fast moving water taxi, forty meters offshore. The startled man next to it jumped, knowing something just happened but having no idea what.
Teffinger looked at Jinka and said, “Your turn”
She shook her head.
“You win.”
“Okay, then. So what’s my prize?”
She gave him a sideways look.
“Whatever you want.”
“Be careful, I might call your bluff.”
“Tonight,” she said. “Whatever you want.”
He studied her.
“What are the boundaries?”
“Your imagination.”
TEFFINGER ALMOST SAID THE NEXT THING on his mind, but got distracted by something in the rocks. He walked over and picked it up.
It was a purse.
If there had been a wallet inside, it was gone now. There was no money, no credit cards, no driver’s license, or anything with a name. All that remained was a hairbrush and cosmetics. That and one more thing at the bottom, something that looked like a credit card, imprinted with Millennium Hilton.
It was a room keycard.
Millennium Hilton.
Millennium Hilton.
Millennium Hilton.
That’s where Aspen Leigh was staying.
44
Day 3—August 15
Wednesday Evening
WING AND JAMAICA’S Thai AirAsia flight arrived in Hong Kong at 7:32 in the evening, early enough to get a few things done. Still not sure whether he was being brilliant or the one-eighty opposite, from a public payphone in the terminal, Wing placed a call to a man named Po Sin Zedong and arranged to meet him an hour later at the Klong Bar in Wan Chin. Wing and Jamaica got there fifteen minutes early and settled into a cozy nook with glasses of imported Thai firewater. The place was pretty much as Wing remembered it, with zebra-patterned pool tables and pole dancing. The last time he had been there was during one of the monthly full-moon parties which made tonight, by contrast, seem tame.
Po Sin showed up ten minutes late.
He was a 38-year-old ex-rocker with a bad-boy face and an easy way with the ladies. He wore jeans, a black shirt and gray tennis shoes.
A hint of alcohol hung on his breath.
Wing explained the situation.
First, Wing would pay Po Sin insane money for a small amount of work.
“So far I like this plan,” Po Sin said.
Wing grinned.
“I knew you’d like that part,” he said. “Here’s the part you won’t like as much. You scale the outside of an apartment building to a fourth floor unit. It has a balcony and the person who lives there, a woman, almost always leaves the door open. Even if it’s closed it won’t be locked. You go inside, find two cylindrical tubes and drop them down to me on the ground.”
So Pin leaned back.
“What’s in the tubes?”
“Paintings.”
“Paintings of what?”
Wing shook his head.
“That’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said.
“What about the woman?” Po Sin said. “Do I hold a gun to her head or chloroform her or what?”
No.
No.
No.
Nothing like that.
“We do it when she’s not home,” Wing said.
“When’s that?”
Wing shrugged.
“Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow night,” he said. “We have to wait and see. Once she leaves, I’ll watch from the outside and give you a call if she heads back.”
“Why scale the outside? Why not just go through her door?”
Wing frowned.
“First off, this is an upscale building. Affluent people live there. There are security cameras in the lobby, plus the hallways. Second off, the locks in the building are sophisticated. Getting through one wouldn’t be easy. Climbing is the best option. She lives on the back side, facing the river. The building isn’t lit up.”
“Why don’t you just climb up yourself?”
Wing shook his head.
“Me and heights don’t get along.” A pause. “So, is this something you feel compelled to do?”
Sure.
Why not?
“Let’s go scope out the building,” he said.
Wing downed what was left in his glass and pulled Jamaica to her feet.
“Good idea.”
THAT EVENING, what they were hoping would happen did. Moon took the elevator down to the parking garage, got in a white BMW and headed off into the Hong Kong night. Po Sin, dressed in all things black and using a four-meter rope with a padded grapple at the end, got up to the second floor balcony, then the third, and from there to Moon’s.
Wing waited below with a beating heart.
So far so good.
A minute passed.
Then another.
And another.
No tubes dropped.
What the hell?
Five more minutes passed.
Still nothing.
Suddenly Wing’s phone rang and Jamaica’s voice came through. “What’s going on?”
Wing paced.
“I don’t know. Something’s wrong. He should have found them by now.”
“Call him,” Jamaica said.
Wing thought about it.
“Maybe there was someone up there,” he said. “He could be hiding. Let’s give it a few more minutes.”
45
Day 3—August 15
Wednesday Afternoon
IN AN EFFORT TO IDENTIFY the woman in the other photo from Petchpon’s bedroom wall, Prarie developed a theory that some type of pattern or connection was at work between the victims, both the prior ones and the upcoming ones, and talked Kanjana into going over the files on the prior victims hoping some type of common denominator would emerge.
Nothing emerged.
Nothing clicked.
Long into it, Prarie had a wild thought.
“We’re operating under the assumption that she’s an upcoming victim,” she said.
Right.
True.
“Maybe she’s up there for a different reason.”
Kanjana raised an eyebrow.
“Like what?”
“Well, your picture is up there because he figured out you’re investigating him. That’s why you’re a target, not because you’re somehow connected to the prior victims.”
Kanjana wrinkled her forehead and said, “So what are you getting at? I’m not following.”
“What I’m getting at is that maybe she was doing the same thing as you.”
“You mean, investigating him?”
Prarie nodded.
“Maybe she’s a sister of one of the victims and somehow came across something to suggest that Petchpon was involved,” Prarie said. “Or maybe she’s a P.I., like you.”
“She’s not a P.I., I’d k
now her if she was. But this sister idea is intriguing. How the hell did you think of it?”
Prarie shrugged.
“I don’t know. I just came to me.”
THEY SPENT THE NEXT TWO HOURS on the web flushing out the family trees of all the known victims. So far, no connection. “All this will be moot if he comes for you tonight,” Prarie said.
True.
“My fear is that he’ll switch gears and go after her instead,” Kanjana said.
“Then let’s split up tonight,” Prarie said. “I’ll stay here and wait for him. You can hang outside his house and then follow him when he leaves. If he heads here, then fine. If he goes somewhere else and looks like he’s getting ready to make a move, you can take him down.”
Kanjana shook her head.
“I’m not leaving you here alone,” she said. “Plus, I need to kill him here, in self-defense. That’s the secret to getting away with it.”
Prarie exhaled.
“This is getting too complicated.”
“No it’s not,” Kanjana said. “We just need to keep working and figure out who this other woman is. Once we warn her and get her to safety, Petchpon will only have one person left to go after.”
“You,” Prarie said.
“Right.”
THEY KEPT WORKING.
No connection came.
Then Prarie had another thought. “Our theory is that this other woman was investigating Petchpon, same as you.”
Right.
True.
“Maybe she’s not doing that because she’s a sister or something, maybe she’s doing it because that’s her job.”
“Her job?”
“Right,” Prarie said. “Maybe she’s a detective or something like that.”
46
Day 3—August 15
Wednesday Afternoon
FROM THE RIVER, Teffinger and Jinka headed straight to the Millennium Hilton, which turned out to be only two blocks to the east, and met with the manager who had an office on the third floor. The man verified that the keycard from the purse had in fact been registered to Room 542 last Thursday.
Aspen Leigh’s room.
Teffinger’s chest tightened.
He slammed his fist on the wall.
