by R. J. Jagger
A sea lion’s bark came from down the dock.
“I have it on good authority that Condor has files of all the SJK victims in his credenza,” he said.
Neva looked skeptical.
“How would you possibly know that?”
“I have my sources,” he said. “Don’t tell anyone, though. It’s confidential information. No one’s supposed to know. Can you do that for me? Keep quiet about it—”
She nodded.
Of course.
“I’m telling you because I need you fully invested in this,” he said. “I’m going to bring him down. You’re going to help.”
She retreated in thought.
“What else did the birdie tell you, besides the files?”
“Nothing.”
“Did the files contain photographs or anything like that?”
“No, nothing that incriminating,” Teffinger said. “They were newspaper clippings and things like that. My guess is that he colleted them after the fact as sort of a little shrine to himself.”
“Not necessarily.”
Teffinger wrinkled his forehead.
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it,” she said. “We have that witness who said she saw someone on the street near Syling Wu’s house the night she got murdered.”
“Exactly.”
“Hear me out,” she said. “She said he looked a little like Nicholas Cage from his Bangkok Dangerous movie.”
“Correct.”
“You had seen someone like that several times in the Nob Hill area and tracked down Condor. You brought him in for a lineup. The woman said it wasn’t him.”
“She was lying,” Teffinger said. “She was scared and she lied. The files prove it.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Why not?”
“Think it through,” Neva said. “Condor has money and rubs elbows with lawyers. Sooner or later, he’s going to mention that he was actually pulled in for a lineup as a possible suspect in the SJK killings.”
“Okay. So what?”
“The lawyer’s going to give him some advice,” Neva said. “Do you know what it’s going to be?”
No.
He didn’t.
“It’s going to be for Condor to get information on when each of the SJK killings took place and find out which ones he has alibis for—out of town, at a function, whatever,” she said. “That way, if the police ever came snooping around again, he could whip it out and cut things off at the base.”
Teffinger’s chest tightened.
She could be right.
The explanation was potentially real.
“You have a remarkable ability to take something that’s crystal clear and make it muddy,” he said. “Did anyone ever tell you that?”
“SYLING HU WAS THE FIRST VICTIM who wasn’t blond,” he said. “All the others prior to her could have been random choices. I think she was connected to the killer.”
“I thought your theory as to Syling Hu was that SJK was just screwing with the city so no one would feel safe,” she said. “He was looking to make his footprint of fear bigger. He was becoming a publicity hound.”
He shoved cereal in his mouth.
And chewed.
“That was my theory,” he said. “It still is, but only 10 percent. Now I’m more of the theory that she’s connected to the guy.”
Neva wasn’t impressed.
“We ran down every single person in her life,” she said. “Everyone checked out.”
Teffinger nodded.
True.
“I’ve come up with an extension of that theory,” he said. “Here it is. She was connected to the killer but she didn’t know it. She was connected to him because she posed some kind of a threat to him. That’s why he killed her.”
“What kind of a threat?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But that’s what I want you to work on, with an emphasis on whether she had any information, knowledge or possessions that might have been a threat to Condor.”
She frowned.
“This is thin.”
True.
It was.
“I’ll take thick if you have it. Do you?”
She punched him in the arm.
“I have a thick-headed boss,” she said. “Does that count?”
37
Day 2—September 22
Tuesday Evening
MINUTE AFTER MINUTE PASSED, then hour after hour, and still the people from the white sedan who took Tag didn’t call to negotiate her release in exchange for whatever information Jonk or Winter had as to the location of the treasure. Maybe they were busy interrogating Tag to exhaustion first. Maybe they had already killed her. Jonk didn’t know. All he knew is that he was going to hunt them to the ends of the earth and rip their eyes out if they hurt a single hair on her head.
That would be his life mission.
Guaranteed.
End of story.
Winter wasn’t going to leave Jonk’s side, not a chance, not after he snatched her from death’s grip. She’d help him in any way she could. In fact, she’d already answered every question he had.
Her story was simple and believable.
She was Zoogie’s partner in crime, but only to an extent.
Zoogie was the mastermind and the dealmaker.
Winter was the gopher.
She made pickups, sometimes out of state.
She made deliveries.
Zoogie kept everything at the dry dock, in an old sailboat with a fortified interior.
Earlier today, Winter went to the boat and cleaned out everything. One of those things happened to be the ancient gold coin, which she shoved in her pocket. That was the only artifact of ancient Egyptian heritage. All the other things, while interesting and potentially worth a fair dollar, weren’t of interest. Right now they were in the van at the bottom of the bay.
No doubt salvageable.
Jonk could care less.
Winter had no idea who the people in the white sedan were. All she was able to see is that there were two of them. The driver was a man. The passenger was a woman. They had dark complexions and black hair.
“Egyptian?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never been to Egypt.”
THE BIG ISSUE of where Zoogie got the coin still remained. Winter didn’t know anything about that. Zoogie didn’t have a notebook or anything similar where he kept a written record of what he bought and sold.
“He kept it all in his head,” Winter said.
She took the coin out of her pocket, twisted it in her fingers and took a long look at Jonk.
“Do you want this?”
He shook his head.
“No, that’s yours.”
She put it back in her pocket and said, “I think it’s cursed.” A pause, then, “You like her.”
“Who?”
“Tag.”
He retreated in thought.
“The first rule of my job is to not get emotionally involved with anyone,” he said.
She studied him.
Then said, “If you say so.”
WINTER TURNED OUT to be one of those people who was easily underestimated at first, both in looks and intellect. When Jonk first saw her, she struck him as cute. Now she was more than that. Now her smile was slightly crooked, her teeth were whiter and her voice sounded like a song. She wasn’t just a pothead, either. Maybe at night, but not in the day. Her stomach was taut and peeked out every time she raised an arm and her shirt rode up. In another time and place, Jonk would have been interested. He got the feeling she might have been, too.
Right now, however, he could only think of Tag.
They ate supper at Cha Cha Cha on Haight Street, a lively place that served Latin American food in a variety of small dishes.
Jonk showed her the phone numbers and contact information he’d copied from Zoogie’s phone. She studied them and said, “I just thought of something.”
“What?”
&nb
sp; “Zoogie was supposed to sell the coin tonight.”
Right.
Jonk remembered that.
“Maybe the buyer knows where Zoogie got it,” she said. “There must have been some discussion, wouldn’t you think?”
Jonk shook his head in disapproval.
“What, you think I’m wrong?” Winter asked.
“No, I think you’re right,” he said. “I’m just amazed that I didn’t think of it myself.”
“You have an excuse.”
“I do?”
Yes.
He did.
“You got Tag on the brain,” she said.
Jonk heard the words but hardly processed them. “Where would Zoogie meet the buyer?”
“He had a place.”
Jonk stood up, pulled two twenties out of his wallet and slipped them under the water glass on the table.
“Let’s go.”
38
Day 2—September 22
Tuesday Night
TUESDAY NIGHT AFTER DARK, Song watched the alley from behind a slit in the window covering of her apartment. The headlights of a taxi pulled to the edge of the alley and stopped. She bounded down the stairs two at a time with a manila folder in hand and hopped into the back. The driver took off as soon as the door closed.
A light but steady rain fell out of a black sky.
The driver was a heavy-set man with a thick, rippled neck and a crew cut. Rapid gum chewing popped his jaw muscles.
“You’re Song, right?”
Yes.
She was.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“It’s a secret,” he said. “I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you.”
He turned and gave her an evil look to punctuate it.
She smiled.
He zigzagged around the city with one eye in the rearview mirror to be sure they weren’t being followed, then dropped Song off half an hour later in front a powder-blue house on Balboa street, wedged in a long string of connected houses.
“This is it,” he said. “Your friend already paid the fare so you’re good to go.”
Song stepped out, hunched against the rain and ran up the front steps.
The door opened before she knocked.
Nuwa pulled her inside, gave her a quick hug and said, “Welcome to my humble abode.”
The woman was transformed.
Incredible.
Beyond incredible.
SHE WORE MAKEUP, not a lot, but enough to do the trick. Her hair was blond now, long straight and thick. The jeans were gone. In their place was a sexy black dress that showcased firm arms, perfect legs and a touch of cleavage. A cigarette dangled from pink lips.
Song must have had a look on her face because Nuwa blew smoke and said, “I’ll take that as approval.”
Good.
Because that’s what it was.
A definite approval.
“Where have you been hiding all this?”
Nuwa smiled. “Do you think he’ll be interested?”
“Hell, I’m half interested myself.”
Shaden walked into the room from the kitchen, handed a glass of wine to Song and looked at the manila folder in her hand. “Is that our case?”
“It is.”
“Well, let’s see what you came up with.”
“I did the damsel in distress thing.”
“Good, because we obviously have a damsel.”
THEY ENDED UP at the kitchen table where Song explained the fake case she’d come up with. Nuwa—actually, Rain—was driving on the south side of Hong Kong Island with her boyfriend, Kong, on a stormy Saturday night six months ago. Rain was behind the wheel and Kong was in the passenger seat. They were drunk and shouldn’t have been on the road.
Not even close.
Rain was singing and pushing the radio buttons and having a good time when she looked up and saw she was on the wrong side of the road.
Another car was coming right at them.
The other car swerved at the last second and crashed into a telephone pole. Kong wanted to keep going but Rain turned around to see if anyone was still alive.
That was a bad move.
Another car pulled up while they were there.
The driver—a young woman—got a good look at them.
They ran to their car.
Kong had the presence of mind to get the woman’s license plate number as Rain squealed out.
They spent the night in a hotel, went back to Hong Kong the next day and continued their routines as if nothing had happened.
Time passed.
The witness turned out to be a hostess girl from Hong Kong by the name of Tan Kwon. Kong got more and more worried about her randomly bumping into Rain or him on the street and calling the cops.
He wanted her dead.
Eliminated.
Gone.
He started to talk about killing her. Rain wouldn’t hear of it and told him to just let it be. Then things got strange. Unknown to Rain, Kong learned the identity of a man who was killing young women in Hong Kong. He anonymously blackmailed the man into killing the witness one night when he and Rain had public alibis.
Rain didn’t know about it until afterwards.
When Kong told her, she left him and ran away to the United States—San Francisco, to be precise.
That was a month ago.
Three days ago, Rain got a call from Kong’s phone, but the caller wasn’t Kong. It was a mean-sounding man who said, “You’re next.”
Rain called everyone she knew to see if Kong was okay. No one had seen or heard from him for the last four days. The killer must have found out that Kong was the blackmailer and killed him.
Now he was after Rain, no doubt thinking she was in on the whole blackmail scheme with Kong.
“THAT’S THE BARE BONES of the story,” Song said. Tapping the manila folder she added, “A lot of it dovetails with real events. That was the hard part. There really was a family run off the road on the south side of Hong Kong Island. Also, a hostess bar girl named Tan Kwan really was murdered a month ago. Finally, many other women have been murdered in Hong Kong over the past few years. It’s entirely possible that some of those killings may have been done by the same person.” A pause, then, “So what do you think?”
Shaden leaned back and studied the woman. “How the hell did you think this up?”
Song shook her head.
“I don’t know. It just came to me.”
“How much am I paying you an hour?”
“Three fifty.”
“It’s not enough,” Shaden said. “Tell me how Rekker fits into this.”
Song nodded.
Good question.
“Rain meets with Rekker for a number of reasons,” Song said. “Primarily, she wants guidance as to what to do at this point. The killer might very well be headed to the United States right now, as they speak. Hell, he might have even landed and be waiting for her down the street. Should she get fake papers and try to disappear? Should she hire a bodyguard? Should she go to the police? What should she do and what are the legal ramifications of the various choices?”
Shaden chewed on it.
Then said, “The more I think about it, the more perfect it is. Rain’s not squeaky clean because she drove drunk, but that was more in the nature of bad judgment rather than evil intent. After the accident, her actions were pure. At this point she really is a damsel in distress. Rekker will want to protect her. I can already see the drool dripping off his tongue.”
SONG PICTURED IT, then changed gears. “I was thinking of something on the way over. We need to stake out Rekker’s house. The woman might have been a girlfriend or something like that. If we see her coming or going, that will be a pretty good indicator that she’s not overly dead.”
Shaden retreated in thought.
“You and me will do it,” she said. “We’ll need to keep Nuwa—I mean Rain, we better stay in character—as clean as possible. If Rekker spots her
anywhere she shouldn’t be, her cover will be blown.” A beat, then, “We’ll need binoculars. I’ll pick some up in the morning. We’ll start tomorrow night.”
They looked at Nuwa.
Her face was pensive.
“Can you pull it off?” Shaden asked.
Nuwa held up her hands in surrender.
“It’s more complicated than I thought,” she said. “Let’s go over the details. I need to get it etched into my head better.”
39
Day 2—September 22
Tuesday Night
TUESDAY NIGHT Teffinger climbed out of the cabin of Bad Add Vice at exactly eight o’clock and looked down E-Dock to find Chase walking towards him, not a minute too early, not a minute too late. He hadn’t talked to her since the one and only phone call this morning and had no idea what she’d be wearing. He suspected it would be something, but didn’t expect this, namely a short black dress, black high heels and long, loose hair.
Lots of skin.
More than a taste of cleavage.
Her skirt shifted from side to side as her thighs pushed against it.
Nice.
Very nice.
So nice that Teffinger felt his world shift, just a tad.
Every once in a while he came across a woman he could get lost in. It didn’t happen often—in fact, rarely—but Chase was one of those women. He could picture them together in bed tonight. He could also picture them going for a sail on a sunny afternoon five years from now.
Ten steps away, she smiled.
“I didn’t know if you’d come,” Teffinger said.
“How could I not?” she said. “You owe me a handstand, remember?”
Teffinger stepped onto the dock, got his bearings, kicked his legs up and stood on his hands. Then he walked on his arms for two slips, turned around, came back and dropped onto his feet.
Chase smiled.
“Impressive.”
THE SKY WAS THICK with twilight but wouldn’t be dark for another half hour. Chase looked around the marina, saw no one and handed Teffinger her purse. “Hold this a second.” Then she kicked her legs up and got into a handstand. Her dress dropped down, first to her stomach then all the way to the dock, over her face.
She wore a white thong.
