by R. J. Jagger
“Nick Teffinger?”
Right.
Jamaica cocked her head.
“Do you know him?”
“No,” Wing said.
“So what are you going to do?”
64
Day 4—August 16
Thursday Afternoon
PRARIE WATCHED TWO MORE PARIS FLIGHTS deplane without spotting her husband, his henchman or anyone she recognized. On the last arrival, something weird happened. A strikingly beautiful woman walked past who seemed vaguely familiar. Her hair was chic, blond with black highlights and asymmetrical.
Very exotic.
Very unique.
She wasn’t alone. With her was a man who was every bit her equal, both in looks and sophistication, with a bad-boy swagger. He wore a dark blue suit with a green silk tie.
Women turned as he walked.
He paid no attention.
Prarie’s instinct was to catch up to the woman and ask where she knew her from. She even started after her but stopped ten steps short.
Not wanting to intrude.
Too embarrassed to be that person.
She kept pace, in case she changed her mind.
Then she did something she didn’t expect.
When the man and woman got into a cab, she got into the one behind it and said, “Follow that cab.”
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, they ended up at the Banyon Tree, a 5-star luxury hotel located in a sleek wafer of a skyscraper with a stunning architectural hole cut through it. Prarie hung by the foyer fountain while the couple checked in, then pretended to accidentally bump into them.
“I know you from somewhere,” she said in French.
The woman’s eyes were green.
Very hypnotic.
“You’re French?”
“Oui,” Prarie said. “Paris.”
The woman pulled up her blouse to reveal a taut stomach with a pierced naval and a small, black abstract tattoo. “Does this look familiar?”
Actually, it did, vaguely.
“I’ve seen that tattoo somewhere,” she said.
“On the side of a bus, maybe?”
No.
That wasn’t it.
“On one of the posters around town?”
Yes.
That was it.
“I saw it by the Metro,” she said. “It was a lingerie ad.”
“That’s me.”
“You’re a model?”
Yes.
She was.
Lingerie, mostly.
“You’re very pretty,” the woman said. “We were going to have a glass of wine in the Moon Bar, up on the roof. Why don’t you join us?”
Sure.
Why not?
The woman was Emmanuelle Roux and the man was Jean-Didier Thomas, a fashion model. They were in Bangkok to let their hair down.
“Do you know the town?” Emmanuelle asked.
“A little, but not much.”
The woman patted her hand.
“I’ve been coming here forever,” she said. “I’ll show you the haunts.”
65
Day 4—August 16
Thursday Afternoon
MINT’S PHONE RECORDS failed to disclose any new persons that Jinka and Teffinger didn’t already know about. All of the calls to and from her were ordinary and non-suspect.
Another dead end.
They were at a loss what to do next when Jinka’s phone rang and the voice of the liquor store owner came through. “I’m supposed to call you. The guy with the credit card that you said belongs to that American woman just showed back up and tried to buy some more stuff. He just left.”
“Follow him!”
“But there’s no one to watch the store.”
“Lock the door and follow him! This is important! Just stay on the line and tell me where he’s going. Don’t try to stop him yourself.”
Ten minutes later, Jinka screeched to a halt next to a mean-looking man with a crooked nose who gave her a look with wide eyes and took off running. Teffinger chased him into an alley, swung him off the ground with one arm and slammed him into the dirt.
The man pleaded with him in Thai.
Teffinger didn’t understand the words but knew what he was saying.
Don’t kill me.
Don’t kill me.
Don’t kill me.
HIS STORY WAS SIMPLE.
Last Thursday night between ten and eleven he spotted a purse on the ground, up by the sidewalk, in the shadows. After taking the money and credit cards, he threw it into the river, except it might have fallen short—he didn’t remember hearing a splash.
He didn’t hurt anyone.
He didn’t kill anyone.
He didn’t know anything.
His name was Danny Hu, 52-years-old, an ex-boxer, currently unemployed, a chain-smoker.
“Did you see anyone in the area?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
Jinka showed him a picture of Aspen Leigh.
“How about her? Did you see her in the area?”
No.
He didn’t.
Same thing regarding a picture of Mint.
He didn’t see her.
“The only thing I saw was the purse,” he said.
Jinka exhaled.
“Where were you before you found the purse?”
“I went down the street to see if a friend of mine was around.”
“Was he?”
“No.”
“So then what?”
“So then I was heading back.”
Jinka tilted her head.
“So are you telling me that when you found the purse, that was the second time you walked through that area?”
The man nodded.
“How much earlier was that?”
He reflected.
Then shrugged.
“A half hour, maybe.”
“Okay,” she said, “let’s focus on the first time you were there, the half hour before you found the purse. Did you see anyone in the area at that time?”
“Not these two,” he said, tapping a finger on the photos.
“How about anyone else? Did you see anyone else in the area? A man, maybe.”
The man almost said no, but paused to consider it further. Then he said, “I saw one guy, but he was a ways off, walking in the same direction as me.”
“So you only saw his back?”
“Right.”
“Tell me about him,” Jinka said.
“He was smoking,” the man said. “I remember that. He was smaller than me, and thin. I could have taken him without a problem. That’s one of the things you think about at night.”
“What else?”
“That’s all I remember,” he said.
“What about his hair?”
“His hair?”
“Was it long, short, black, brown, was he wearing a hat, what?”
He tilted his head.
“It was dark and close to his head but not fuzzy,” he said. “I don’t remember it all that clearly, but my guess is that it was sort of thin and combed back.”
THEY HEADED TO THE RIVER so the man could show them exactly where he found the purse, then cut him loose. Teffinger got distracted by the activity on the water, then turned to Jinka and said, “The man he saw reminds me a lot of your boss, Petchpon.”
She gave him a sideways glance.
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” Teffinger said. “I think it’s time you told me why you have surveillance photos of Petchpon in your kitchen.”
66
Day 4—August 16
Thursday Afternoon
WING DIDN’T WANT TO KILL TEFFINGER. He didn’t know the man and had nothing against him. More importantly, even if he did kill him, that didn’t guarantee an end. Instead of honoring his word, the man holding the photos might decide he needed more. On the other hand, if Wing didn’t kill Teffinger, his life would turn real ugly real fa
st. The man wasn’t playing around.
Kill him instead.
That was the solution.
It was cleaner.
Tighter.
More permanent.
More justified.
But it was also easier said than done.
The man was a ghost.
How do you flush out a ghost?
Wait, good way to put it—you don’t find a ghost, you flush him out.
He called Sarapong, his attorney, to get an update on whether he had been able to get any more information on the dancer who delivered the envelope to Wing in Nana Plaza.
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to call you,” Sarapong said. “The investigator I hired has been getting pretty aggressive. He managed to get into her purse and snatch her cell phone.”
“That’s pretty impressive.”
“So is his bill, so prepare yourself for it when it comes,” Sarapong said. “Anyway, in addition to finding out everyone she’s been in contact with, he was able to get into her emails. I’m supposed to meet with him this afternoon to get an update.”
Good.
Very good.
“THERE’S BEEN A DEVELOPMENT,” Wing said.
Oh?
“What kind of development?”
Wing told him about the man’s demand that Wing kill a man named Nick Teffinger, in the next twenty-four hours no less. “Don’t mention this to the investigator, just in case I need to go through with it.”
Sarapong exhaled.
Then he said, “This is a big lead. Somehow, the guy we’re looking for is connected to this Teffinger guy. If we can figure out how, we’re halfway to finding him.” He chuckled and added, “Maybe we should just tap on Teffinger’s shoulder and ask him point-blank who wants him dead.”
Wing grinned.
Then thought about it.
“You’re joking, right?”
“I don’t know,” Sarapong said. “Am I?”
“THE OTHER THING I’ve been thinking about is whether there’s a way to flush this guy out,” Wing said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, instead of trying to find him, do something to make him show himself.”
Good idea.
But how?
“I don’t have a clue,” Wing said. “I’m just throwing the idea out for you to chew on.”
67
Day 4—August 16
Thursday Afternoon
EMMANUELLE WAS A BREATH of much-needed fresh air. Being around her made Prarie realize how stressed and complicated her life had become.
Part of her wanted to run.
Get out of Bangkok.
Forget everything.
Forget everyone.
Find a normal life somewhere.
Australia, maybe.
Or London.
Or New York.
Another part of her told her if she did, Kanjana would end up dead. There was also one more thing to factor in.
The treasure.
That and the journal.
She needed to get the journal back.
She called Kanjana from a payphone and said, “What we need to do is go after the treasure, now, today. If it actually exists and we find it, we’ll have enough money to put everything behind us.”
“Where the hell have you been? Do you know what’s been going through my mind all day?”
Prarie told her.
About how Sophie had been murdered yesterday.
About the anonymous call to her cell phone.
About how the killer would be on the first plane to Bangkok.
About how she staked out the airport today.
About how she met the lingerie model, Emmanuelle Roux.
“Let’s get down to the sea, rent a boat and find the treasure,” she said. “No one will know where we are. No one will be able to kill you. Or me, for that matter. If we find it, we’ll never come back.”
Silence.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve made promises.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I have clients,” she said. “I’m supposed to be finding out who killed that hooker, Tookta, for one thing. I’ve already neglected the case longer than I should have. That’s just one of twenty things I should had done yesterday.”
“Pass them on to someone else.”
“That’s not the way it works,” Kanjana said. “Plus there’s more to it than just that. There’s the other woman on Petchpon’s wall, the detective, Jinka.”
“Give her an anonymous call, warn her what’s going on and let her handle it,” Prarie said. “She’s a detective. She has a gun. She can take care of herself.”
A beat.
Then Kanjana said, “Bangkok’s not safe for you any more. I’m going to make arrangements to get you out of town.”
“Kanjana!”
The line went dead.
PRARIE SLAMMED THE PHONE on the receiver so violently that an old man and woman walking past jumped.
Kanjana.
Kanjana.
Kanjana.
The woman wouldn’t leave Bangkok, that was clear.
And Prarie couldn’t leave her alone.
That meant she was stuck.
“Damn it, woman.”
68
Day 4—August 16
Thursday Afternoon
AT THE RIVER, Jinka turned to leave but Teffinger grabbed her by the arm and led her down to where they found Aspen Leigh’s purse. “Remember when I knocked the water bottle off that boat and you said I could have whatever I wanted?”
She remembered.
“Not now, though.”
“Yes, now,” Teffinger said. “What I want is for you to tell me what’s going on between you and Petchpon.”
She hesitated, deciding.
“Stay out of it, Teffinger.”
He picked up a stone and threw it as far as he could, violently, so hard that his arm hurt. Then he locked eyes with Jinka and said, “Petchpon’s the one who killed Aspen Leigh. You’ve known it all along.”
The words shocked her.
“That’s not true.”
“Why are you keeping secrets from me? I thought we had something between us.”
“We do.”
“No we don’t,” Teffinger said. “Not if you’re keeping secrets from me.”
Hair blew into her face.
She left it there.
Then she pushed it aside, looked at Teffinger and said, “Petchpon’s been involved in some cases that never got solved. The cases were all similar, meaning young women brutally murdered. None of the cases were his from day one, but he ended up taking over the role of lead investigator, ostensibly for the reason that they were so important that he wanted to be hands-on. I never quite bought that argument. He doesn’t care about women. They’re second-class citizens.”
“So what are you saying? That he was the murderer and took over the investigations to conceal his own crimes?”
She shrugged.
“It’s a theory,” she said.
“So you’ve been tailing him on the side? Is that what those pictures were in your kitchen?”
She nodded.
“I’ve been hoping to catch him in the act.”
Teffinger threw another rock.
Far.
So far that they couldn’t even hear the splash.
“WHY DIDN’T YOU tell me about this before?”
“Lots of reasons,” she said. “Tookta was the most recent victim. I was actually staking out Petchpon’s house the night she got murdered. He was home, he didn’t kill Tookta. In fact, I’m his alibi. Then Mint’s body showed up. I think we both agree that whoever killed Mint also killed Tookta, meaning it wasn’t Petchpon. And then we found Aspen’s purse by the river, meaning whoever killed Mint is probably the same one who killed Aspen.”
Teffinger kicked a rock.
“Maybe Petchpon’s not doing the actual killing,” he sa
id. “Maybe he’s just covering up for someone else. Or maybe there’s two of them, Petchpon and someone else, they’re splitting them up, taking turns—one of them kills someone when the other one has an alibi, and vice versa.”
Jinka shrugged.
“It’s complicated.”
“Do you know where Petchpon lives?”
She nodded.
Yes.
Obviously.
“Why?” she asked.
“Let’s go.”
“To Petchpon’s?”
“Right.”
“Are you crazy?”
“I’m so far past crazy it’s not even funny,” he said. “If I find the proof there, I’m going to kill him. You may as well know that in advance.”
She halted.
He took two steps before noticing, then turned.
“Don’t even talk like that,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because if you kill him, I’ll have no choice except to do something I really don’t want to do.”
He laughed.
“Chill out.”
“I’m serious Teffinger,” she said. “Don’t test me on this.”
He saw the seriousness in her eyes, walked back and kissed her. “You love me,” he said.
The words took her by surprise.
But she nodded.
“True.”
“And I feel the same about you,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for the right time to say it and I guess this is it.”
“Don’t break my heart, Teffinger.”
“I won’t.”
“I don’t mean like that, I mean by forcing me to do something.”
“You’d really turn me in?”
She looked at the ground.
Then back up.
“Yes. Be clear about it. That way you can avoid making the mistake.”
69
Day 4—August 16
Thursday Afternoon
WING DIDN’T KNOW if the twenty-four hour deadline to kill Teffinger was firm or not, but decided he’d better treat it as such and, with Jamaica at his side, broke into Jinka’s house through an open window shortly after noon to see what they could find on the man.
Someone wanted him dead.
That happens for a reason.
With any luck, evidence of that reason was somewhere inside these four walls. Under the bed was a suitcase and inside that suitcase was a passport. Teffinger’s to be exact. Wing studied the man’s photo, didn’t like what he saw and handed it to Jinka.
