by R. J. Jagger
The plaster cracked.
The manager jumped.
Teffinger bounded out of the office.
“Nick!”
He said nothing, spotted the stairwell and headed down, two at a time. Sounds came behind him. He looked up to see Jinka following. He knew he should stop but couldn’t because he kept picturing Aspen underwater, snagged in a goddamn root system or something.
“Nick! Wait up!”
The stairwell emptied into the lobby. Teffinger trotted across it with his hair flying, got outside and kicked a taxi. The door dented in.
He didn’t care.
Screw it.
Screw everything.
HE HEADED FOR THE RIVER, looking back only once, to find Jinka handing a card to the taxi driver. He got to the place where they found Aspen’s purse, sat down on the rocks and stared at the water.
Jinka showed up ten minutes later.
“That was pretty,” she said.
Teffinger threw her a sideways glance.
“Someone killed her and dumped her in the river, the same as Mint,” he said. “I’m going to rip his heart out with my bare hands. Mark my words.”
Jinka almost said something.
Instead, she sat down next to him and put her arm around his shoulders.
Teffinger said nothing.
Not for a long time.
Then he exhaled and said, “Sorry.”
Jinka laid her head on his shoulder.
“Don’t be.”
47
Day 3—August 15
Wednesday Night
AT GROUND ZERO, Wing waited in the shadows second after second for the tubes to drop, but they didn’t. Instead, Po Sin worked his way down the side of the building and said, “They’re not there.”
“They got to be there.”
“They might got to be, but they’re not. I looked everywhere, man, every single place they could possibly be. I even looked in the fridge. They’re not there.” He put on a mean face and added, “I still get paid dude. I can’t throw something down if it’s not there. That’s not my fault. My deal was to go up, that’s all. I did what I was supposed to do.”
He locked eyes and let the words sink in.
“I’ll have an envelope delivered tomorrow,” Wing said.
Po Sin relaxed his face, slapped Wing on the back and said, “You do that.”
Then he disappeared into the night.
Wing walked around to the parking garage, found Jamaica and told her what happened.
She didn’t buy it.
“They’re up there,” she said. “When Moon told me they were there she wasn’t lying. I would have heard it in her voice.”
Wing shrugged.
“Maybe she moved them afterwards,” he said.
“Why would she?”
BACK AT THE CAR, Wing stuck the key in the ignition but didn’t turn it.
“What’s wrong?” Jamaica asked.
“Maybe Po Sin’s more devious than I thought,” he said. “Maybe the paintings were there and he pulled them out to see what they were and then came up with a plan instead of throwing them down.”
“What kind of plan?”
“A plan to tell me they weren’t there and then come back after we left and take them for himself.”
Jamaica wrinkled her forehead.
“I don’t care,” she said. “Let him have them.”
Wing shook his head.
“I’ll rot in hell with a broken back before I’ll let someone pull a trick like that on me.” A pause, then, “He’s only got two ways in, either through the lobby or back up the side. Let’s go.”
They headed back.
Jamaica took a position across the street where she could see anyone coming in or out the front door of the building. Wing covered the side of the building.
Then they waited.
THEY DIDN’T HAVE TO WAIT LONG. Within thirty minutes, a shadowy figure appeared at the base of the building and beginning climbing.
“You little prick,” Wing muttered.
He dialed Jamaica and whispered, “The little shit actually showed up. He’s climbing up as we speak.”
“I’m heading over.”
“No, just stay on the phone with me and watch the lobby, in case he tries to leave that way.”
“Good point.”
They waited.
Not talking.
Po Sin got up to Moon’s balcony, disappeared inside and reappeared a few heartbeats later with two cylinders strapped to his back.
“He’s coming down,” Wing told Jamaica. “He has the paintings.”
“I’m on my way.”
WING OPENED AND CLOSED HIS FISTS.
Again.
And again.
And again.
His chest heaved from deep breaths.
In and out.
Out and in.
More like an animal than a human.
His eyes fixated on the target, edging down the side of the building in what seemed like slow motion.
Wing didn’t have a weapon.
It didn’t matter.
What was about to happen was about to happen.
There was no stopping it.
There was no turning back.
Po Sin screwed with the wrong man.
Now it was time to pay the price.
WING WAITED until the man was almost down, then charged at full speed.
“Wing!”
He registered the voice as Jamaica’s.
Then lunged through the air.
48
Day 3—August 15
Wednesday Afternoon
KANJANA AND PRARIE STAKED OUT District 8 where Petchpon worked, under the theory that if the other woman on his wall was indeed a detective, then it would most likely be someone close to him.
Someone who saw something on his desk.
Or got a wrong vibe.
Or smelled something.
The number of people coming in and out of the area was staggering. Most were at a distance, moving fast or talking into cell phones.
“She could have passed us six times and we wouldn’t even know it,” Prarie said.
Then, late afternoon, it happened.
A woman walked past them who may very well have been the one from the wall. With her was a striking man, very tall, with thick raven hair that hung halfway down his back.
“That’s the guy who came to see me about getting a safe harbor,” Kanjana said. “Teffinger, that’s his name. Nick Teffinger.”
Prarie nodded.
“I remember him. We passed on the stairs.”
“He said he killed someone. If that’s the case, what the hell is he doing walking step in step next to a homicide detective?”
Prarie shook her head.
“He must have been bullshitting you.”
No.
That wasn’t it.
“What he said was true, it was in his eyes. But I don’t get what’s going on.”
Prarie didn’t either.
“So what do we do?”
Good question.
KANJANA DIALED INFORMATION, got the general phone number for the district and called. When a man answered, Kanjana said, “I talked to a detective this morning and I’m supposed to call her if something else came to me, except I left her card at home and forgot her name. She has long black hair and was wearing a white blouse and blue skirt.”
“That would be Jinka Sanaveenin.”
“Right, that’s her,” Kanjana said. “Can you give me her number?”
The man could.
And did.
She jotted it down.
“Many thanks.”
Prarie, who had been hearing only Thai, said, “Well?”
“HER NAME IS JINKA.”
“Are you going to warn her?”
Kanjana bounced the phone in her hands, deciding.
Then she said, “No, not yet.”
Prarie scrunched her face.
“
Why not?”
“Because she’s a detective,” Kanjana said. “The last thing I want to do is talk to a detective this afternoon about what’s on Petchpon’s bedroom wall and then kill him tonight. We can’t afford to have connections.”
“Are you sure?”
Kanjana nodded.
“Nothing’s going to happen to her with Teffinger around,” she said. “If Petchpon makes a move tonight, it’ll be on me.”
49
Day 3—August 15
Wednesday Afternoon
TEFFINGER AND JINKA WALKED THE RIVER AREA where they found Aspen Leigh's purse. Nothing else showed up in the rocks; no body parts, no blood, no purse contents, no nothing, other than old garbage and junk. None of the surrounding buildings had a security camera that pointed that way. Sweaty and tired, they headed back to headquarters and had forensics examine the purse, contents and keycard. There were only a few readable prints and none of them matched anything in a database.
“Figures,” Teffinger said.
Jinka’s phone rang.
She talked in Thai, wrinkled her face and hung up.
“Trouble?”
“That was the Taxi guy,” she said. “He got an estimate on the damage and wants to swing by and get a check.”
“From you?”
“I told him I’d take care of it.”
Teffinger pulled his wallet out, checked what he had inside and frowned. “Is there a bank nearby?”
There was.
Teffinger got a cash advance on his credit card and paid the man when he showed up, double what he owed, and said to Jinka, “Tell him I’m really sorry.”
Jinka did.
The man was about five-two, 100 pounds, 50-years-old.
His face softened and he said something to Jinka.
They both laughed.
“What’d he say?” Teffinger asked.
“He said next time you do something like that, he’s going to kick your ass.”
“Point taken.”
THEY CAUGHT A LATE LUNCH at a noisy Chinese place called Randa Panda. Teffinger got three large coffees and a double order of rice and chicken. “I keep picturing Aspen’s face underwater,” he said. “I can’t get it out of my mind.”
Jinka said nothing.
“The river area is someone’s hunting ground. Mint and Aspen didn’t know each other. They were two separate incidents. I think they both just innocently strolled into the area and walked right into the guy.”
Jinka shrugged.
“That’s certainly possible.”
“He probably did something to get them off guard,” Teffinger said. “Asked for directions or pretended he was hurt or something like that.”
“Maybe.”
Teffinger took a long sip of coffee.
“I want to stake the river out tonight,” he said. “Maybe the guy will show up.”
Jinka shook her head.
“That’s too remote,” she said. “The chances that he would show up in that same area again after it’s contaminated are almost none. The chances that we’d actually catch him in the act are less than none.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“I suggest we concentrate on Tookta,” she said. “Remember, Tookta and Mint both knew each other and they were both killed violently, up-close and personal. We have more concrete leads with Tookta than we do with Mint.”
“Like what?”
“We need to go back to Soi Cowboy and finish going through the clubs,” she said.
50
Day 3—August 15
Wednesday Night
WING’S LUNGE AT PO SIN was too early. He landed flat on his stomach with a impact so violent and uncontrolled that his face slapped into the ground. Pain exploded from every part of his head and blood filled his mouth. He tried to get to his feet but Po Sin kicked him in the ribs.
“Come on, asshole! Get up!”
Wing couldn’t move.
He had no wind.
The man kicked him again.
“How’s it feel?”
Another kick.
And another.
For a frantic second, Wing wrestled with the terrible reality that he might be beaten to death. He gathered every reserve of strength from every pore in his body and managed to get to a sitting position, but could go no farther. Then the man’s foot landed again, this time on the side of his head, and colors exploded.
He fell forward.
He thought he would pass out but didn’t.
He was conscious enough to hear a cracking sound, followed by a terrible gurgling noise from Po Sin’s mouth. The man fell next to him and didn’t move.
“Wing!”
He recognized the voice.
Jamaica.
She was tugging on his arm, trying to pull him up, “Come on! We got to get out of here!”
51
Day 3—August 15
Wednesday Night
AFTER DARK, PRARIE slipped into the shadows across the road from the canal house and waited for Petchpon to show up. Inside the house, Kanjana was on the couch watching TV in her panties and a short white T. The interior lights were soft. On the end table were two bottles of wine, both empty, one standing upright and the other tipped over.
A light drizzle set in, nothing heavy but constant.
Come on, show up.
The plan was simple.
When Petchpon appeared, Prarie would dial Kanjana’s cell, which was set to vibrate. Kanjana would then lay down on the couch with her eyes closed and an empty glass in her hand, apparently passed out from drinking. Her T would be ridden up to reveal her stomach. Her legs would be spread in abandon. The survival knife would be in her right hand, hidden from view. Petchpon would sneak up but wouldn’t kill her right away. First, he’d have to take in the incredible view of his victim. That’s when Kanjana would strike.
It was important that she get him in the chest or face.
The back wouldn’t work.
The back wouldn’t look like self-defense.
After he was dead, they’d leave him just where he was. Then they’d go to his house, get the safe, take Kanjana’s picture off the bedroom wall and come back home.
The next part would be the hard part.
Kanjana would call the police to report the incident. The problem was that the body might already be an hour or two cold at that point. To account for the time delay, Prarie would smash a wine bottle on Kanjana’s head, hard enough to make it feasible that she had been knocked unconscious but not so hard as to do permanent damage.
That would be tricky.
AN HOUR PASSED. In spite of the continued drizzle, Prarie still had a few parts that weren’t wet and tried to not shift around too much to keep it that way.
Headlights came up the road.
They didn’t slow down.
They kept going and disappeared.
Prarie couldn’t see the driver, other than a dark silhouette which looked more like a man than a woman. The car was about the same size as Petchpon’s.
Maybe it was him.
Maybe it wasn’t.
Her phone rang.
She expected it to be Kanjana, asking if the car that just went by was Petchpon, but the display showed a Paris number, Sophie’s.
She answered.
“Hey, Sophie.”
Silence.
Weird.
A connection had definitely been made.
“Sophie, are you there?”
A beat.
The connection died.
Prarie called the woman back. The phone rang but no one answered. Instead, Prarie got dumped into the voice mail. She hung up without leaving a message.
Something was wrong.
HEADLIGHTS CAME UP THE ROAD, from the opposite direction this time. The car looked like the same one as before. Again, it didn’t slow down and kept going until it disappeared.
Water dripped into Prarie’s eyes.
She rubbed it out with the back of her ha
nd.
Then she called Michelle Lecan, the woman who got her the fake passport and helped her escape from Paris.
“You’re not supposed to call me,” Michelle said. “This better be an emergency.”
“It is,” Prarie said.
She explained about the mysterious call from Sophie’s phone.
“Let me ask you something,” Michelle said. “Have you and her talked since you left Paris?”
“Yes.”
“I told you not to do that,” Michelle said.
“I know, but something came up.”
“This is what always happens,” Michelle said. “I tell people exactly what to do but they never follow instructions. Then all hell breaks loose.”
“Will you check on her?”
Yes.
She would.
“It’s not going to be pretty,” she said. “Obviously they have her cell phone, which means they have her. What they’re doing is dialing every number in the memory until you answer, which you just did.”
“She said someone’s been tailing her.”
“Yeah, well, not any more. Now they have her. I’ll check it out. In the meantime, get rid of that phone. Smash it with a rock until it’s good and dead and then throw it in water somewhere. Where are you staying?”
“With Kanjana.”
“Tell her what’s going on and that you need to disappear again,” Michelle said. “She’ll know what to do.”
Prarie heard the words.
They were clutter.
She didn’t care about herself right not.
“Check on Sophie,” she said. “Do it now, please.”
“I’m already on my way,” she said. “I’ll call Kanjana when I know something.”
“Thank you.”
SUDDENLY THE DARK SILHOUETTE OF A PERSON appeared down the road, walking this way, alone, hunched against the weather.
Petchpon?
The pace was brisk.
Purposeful.
Prarie got Kanjana’s number up on her screen and got ready to punch send.
Her chest pounded.
52
Day 3—August 15
Wednesday Night
JINKA WAS INSISTANT that the best use of time was to head back to Soi Cowboy to see if anyone remembered seeing Tookta the night she got stabbed. So after the sun dropped and the neon turned on, that’s what they did. When they got to Serengeti where they left off before, Teffinger said, “We should split up. I’ll take this side of the street. You take the other side.”
