The Next Best Thing

by Wiley Brooks

The phone on the nightstand next to Mason’s bed rang. The clock said it was 10:15 in the morning. He couldn’t sleep the night before. Yet another flashback to Sam Neua. It had been fourteen years. Would the flashbacks ever end? The last time he looked at the clock it had said 4:10 a.m.

  “Hello,” he mumbled into the receiver.

  “We found Big Willie’s car. It’s parked outside a house in a residential neighborhood on the southeast end of town. I dispatched one of my guys to watch it. I’m going to go knock on the door. Want to come with me?”

  He was instantly awake and swung his legs off the side of the bed. “Like white on rice,” Mason said, already standing. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  Forty-five minutes later they climbed into the back seat of an unmarked car parked down the block from Big Willie’s Mercedes. No movement, Sergeant Aziz reported. Another team of four officers pulled up and parked at the other end of the street. Bo took the radio and gave instructions. Two were to go to the back of the house. The other two were to flank the property on the street out front. Bo, Mason and Sergeant Aziz, the plainclothes officer, would approach the door.

  They waited for the other cops to get into position, then walked up the front steps to the ornate door. Bo knocked loudly. All three men drew their weapons.

  “Willie Chirathivat. This is Detective Jun. The house is surrounded. Open the front door and come out now.”

  They could hear movement inside and a muffled “Coming.”

  The door opened to reveal Big Willie, still in pajamas and a bathrobe.

  “What can I do for you, Detective Jun?”

  “We need to talk with you about the murder of Mary Higgins.”

  Willie glanced over to Mason, who had not seen before. An American. He didn’t know what that might mean.

  “Certainly,” Big Willie said. “Please come in. Would you like some coffee or tea?”

  Mason looked at Bo and shrugged. Bo told Aziz to let the others know to hold their positions and for Aziz to stand sentry outside the front door.

  They followed Big Willie into a grand drawing room that might have been bigger than Mason’s entire apartment in Bangkok. The furnishing looked to be antique French provincial. Several pieces of original art adorned the walls, including one piece that Mason was almost certain was an original Van Gogh. Big Willie led them to a seating area off to one side of the room.

  “I’ve made a pot of coffee,” Big Willie said. Mason said he would take a cup with cream. Bo passed.

  “Rudy,” Big Willie called out. A man, dressed in a crisply ironed white shirt and black slacks, appeared almost instantly in the passage to the room. “Please bring coffee and cream for my American friend and myself.” Rudy nodded and left.

  “Anyone else here?” Bo asked Big Willie.

  “No. Just my assistant and me.”

  “What’s the story with this place? It doesn’t show up on any list of properties you own.”

  “Belongs to a friend who’s away at the moment. London, I believe.”

  Rudy returned with a silver tray with two fine china cups of coffee and a small carafe of cream. He offered the tray to Mason first, who chose one of the cups, then added cream and stirred the mixture. Rudy then did the same with Big Willie.

  “That will be all, Rudy. Thank you.”

  “We tailed you three days ago to Yusof Zaina’s apartment in Batu Ferringhi. We have a photo of you sticking an envelope under his door.” The Thai showed no emotion. “After you left, we entered the apartment, found your note and read it. At the very least, we can charge you with aiding and abetting. I suspect it will be easy to link you to Mary Higgins passport, traveler’s checks and credit cards. Probably Amanda Anderson’s, as well, and perhaps five other murdered young American women over the past three years.”

  Big Willie sat silently, looking away from the men. He chewed subtly on the inside of his left cheek. He inhaled deeply, then sipped his coffee.

  “When we do that,” Bo continued, “you could be charged along with Zaina in the murder of seven women. The penalty for that, as I’m sure you know, is death by hanging.”

  Silence filled the room. But Bo wasn’t done.

  “The evidence against you has not yet been cataloged,” Bo said. Big Willie immediately turned his head to look at the detective. He knew immediately what this meant. The detective might be about to offer him a way out. Finally, he spoke.

  “Detective Jun. Please tell me what you are suggesting.”

  “What I’m suggesting, you fat piece of shit, is that you help us find Zaina. If you do, my friend here and I can make your note disappear. I can limit your exposure to trafficking in stolen items. You might even be able to bribe your way out of jail time. But this is a one-time, right-now offer. Otherwise, I will haul your fat ass down to the station and lock you away.”

  The Thai looked at Bo, then over to Mason. Big Willie led a lonely life. Joey was more like family to him than anyone else. He had taken a young Joey under his wing years before and guided him. Yes, he had profited off Joey. But it was never about the money. Besides, Big Willie could make more on one piece of stolen art than he’d ever made off Joey.

  He mind raced back to the first day he and Joey had met in the restaurant. He liked Joey from the start, but he also had warned him. The number one rule was never to lead the police to Big Willie. The consequences, he had told the young man, would be dire for him. And now, here Big Willie found himself in exactly that predicament. He was sitting across from a homicide detective and an unnamed American whose eyes revealed a willingness to do whatever was needed.

  “How can I help you, detective?”

  It was Mason’s turn to speak.

  “Who is Jessica?”

  Big Willie revealed Joey’s plan. All of it. Jessica – no, he didn’t know her last name – was going to be Joey’s last victim. He was going to woo her romantically and win her trust. The plan was to have her willingly transfer fifty thousand dollars to a company Joey had established in Singapore.

  “Why fifty thousand?” Mason asked.

  The money, Big Willie said, was how much Joey needed to build a bungalow village for backpackers, most likely on Langkawi. He planned to call it Bungalow Paradise. He’d spend the rest of his life as a legitimate businessman. Once he had the money, Big Willie continued, he’d kill her in a way that would look like an accident. Before he did that, though, he’d take the money from the business account and close the bank account.

  Mason asked how Joey would ever convince her to give him that kind of money.

  “Women love him,” Big Willie said. The Thai told the men how Joey had selected her then spent a few days showing her around Penang, gaining more of her trust every day.

  “He won her trust enough to suggest a brief getaway to Langkawi,” Big Willie continued. “His plan was for them to become lovers on that trip. He wanted her to be open to him showing her around Malaysia. I haven’t seen him since before they headed for Langkawi. He told me before he left that if everything went as he hoped, he wouldn’t see me till it was done. He planned for the Langkawi trip to be just a couple days. I imagine they’re back. Maybe at her hotel?”

  “What hotel?” Mason asked.

  “The Holiday Inn. It’s about a kilometer or so from his place. He met her in the beachside café there.”

  Mason asked Big Willie to describe Jessica.

  “I never met her.”

  “I’m sure Joey told you about her. Why did he think she’d have that kind of money to just give him?”

  “She was older. In her thirties. That was part of the plan – an older woman. He said she had a very good job back in the States. I think Joey said she was some kind of nurse.”

  “Nurses don’t make a whole heap of money,” Mason interjected.

  “Apparently, she did. She was a special kind of nurse. What was it? Oh, yes, she was a surgical nurse. Joey said she insisted on paying for her share of everything when they were sightseeing. He told me that she said s
he could afford it.”

  “What did Joey tell you about her how she looked? Describe her.”

  “Again, I never saw her, but he did talk a little about how she looks. She has red hair. Pale complexion. Even some freckles. Joey said she was – how did he put it – easy on the eyes. Knowing Joey, that probably means she’s quite a pretty girl.”

  “How tall?”

  “A little shorter than him.”

  “And that would be. . .”

  “He’s about five-ten.”

  Bo said the information was a good start.

  “Where are they going?” Bo asked.

  “I don’t know, but Joey has been to beaches and islands all over the country over the past few years. They could be heading to any of them. I suspect he’ll let her choose.”

  Bo seemed to be satisfied with what he had heard. He caught Mason’s eye and gave him a shrug and got a nod back. Bo and Mason stood, followed by Big Willie.

  “We’re good for now,” Bo said. “But let me make something very clear.” He took a step toward the Thai and used his finger to tap on the man’s chest to emphasize what he was saying.

  “If you try to run, our deal is off. And my friend here,” he motioned to Mason, “is a former CIA operative who works outside the law.” He paused for effect. “Outside the law,” he repeated.

  “It took him just two weeks to find Joey starting with nothing. If you think you can hide from him, you’re fucking crazy. He will track you down and mete out whatever justice he thinks you deserve. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  “I understand,” Big Willie said, looking back at Mason.

  As they left, Bo told the officer to keep the lookout on Big Willie and to follow him if he left the house.

  Bo and Mason climbed into Bo’s car.

  “You think he’s still there or already high-tailed it out of town?” Mason asked as they headed toward the Holiday Inn.

  “He doesn’t know we’re on to him yet, so maybe,” Bo said. “If they’ve left, though, we have the main ways out of town covered and they haven’t turned up so far. Maybe we’ll be lucky.”

  The drive to Batu Ferringhi took longer than usual because of heavy afternoon traffic. They drove up to the driveway in front of the lobby. A valet rushed out to take the car, but Bo flashed his badge. “Leave it.” The valet bowed his head slightly and backed away.

  Inside, they walked to the front desk. Bo showed his badge again. “We need the manager,” he said.

  One minute later, an older man, wearing an impeccable light grey two-piece suit, a starched white shirt and a blue and gold striped tie, approached them. His posture was ramrod straight and he help his head in a way that he appeared to be looking down at those around him.

  “Hello gentlemen. I’m Arnold Hoffman. I’m the manager of this property. How might I help you?”

  Bo filled him in on why they were there. Hoffman paused briefly to consider the request, then led them back to the front desk.

  “Daniel, do we have a guest, an American woman with red hair, first name is Jessica?”

  “She and her friend checked out yesterday, sir,” Daniel said.

  Bo picked up the interview.

  “Show me her registration.”

  The clerk looked to the manager who nodded yes. A new computer sat on the counter of the registration desk. Daniel stepped to it and entered some information and waited as her reservation appeared on the screen.

  “Yes, here it is. Jessica Stone.”

  Bo asked Daniel if he could print it out for them. Daniel did so.

  “Thank you kindly, Daniel. You said they,” Mason said. “Who was she with?”

  “A young man. He might have been Malaysian, but I don’t think so.”

  Bo pulled out a grainy enlarged copy of Joey’s driver’s license photo and showed it to the clerk.

  “Yes. That’s him.”

  “When did they leave?” Mason asked.

  “About 10 a.m.,” Daniel answered.

  “Damn it! They skidaddled more than a day ago! You catch where they were headin’?”

  “No.”

  “Would your man out front have flagged ‘em a taxi?”

  “I think they had a car.”

  “What?”

  “Hertz. I overheard her arranging it through the concierge.”

  “Does the hotel have record of that?” Bo asked.

  “No. We just connect the guest with Hertz.”

  Hertz had an office nearby to serve the Batu Ferringhi hotels. Bo and Mason took printouts of Jessica Stone’s reservation. It included her passport data and the credit card she charged everything to. They then drove straight to the Hertz office. A man and a young woman were working the counter. Bo moved past two couples waiting in line to the counter. He flashed his badge.

  “I need you to pull up some information for me,” Bo said.

  “I’ll do it as soon as I finish with this customer,” the young woman said with a smile.

  “You’ll do it right now,” Bo said firmly.

  The clerk looked at him as if he were being incredibly rude.

  “Two minutes,” she said, “while I finish up this gentleman’s paperwork.”

  “Now,” Bo insisted.

  The clerk turned to the customer.

  “I’m so sorry. I have to take care of this,” she paused and stared at Bo, “police officer.”

  “What do you need?” she asked Bo.

  “Yesterday morning, this office delivered a car to a Jessica Stone at the Holiday Inn. I need all the details of that rental.”

  The clerk walked over to a stack of papers and thumbed through them. She pulled one from the stack.

  “Here we are.”

  Bo took the form from the clerk and glanced over it.

  “Two months?” he asked incredulously.

  “That’s what it says.”

  “She wants the car for two months. Is that unusual?”

  “Yes, but it happens. Usually means the customer is going to tour the country.”

  “She would have had to put this on a credit card. Do you have her credit card form?” Bo asked.

  The clerk pulled it out and handed it to him.

  “Her driver’s license?”

  “Last page.”

  “Make me a Xerox of all this,” he told her, handing back the reservation form, her license and the credit card receipt.

  She hesitated. “Now,” he insisted.

  Back in the car, Bo radioed in to pull all the officers from the terminals. That had been a waste of manpower. As he drove, Mason read through the info about Jessica Stone.

  “She lookin’ good in her driver’s license photo,” Mason said, holding the black and white photocopy over for Bo to look at. “How often does that happen? Never.”

  Mason summarized the info for Bo. Jessica Stone had a Seattle address, either an apartment or a condo since it listed a unit number. She was five feet seven inches tall and weighed one hundred and thirty pounds. Red hair and green eyes. Date of birth was March 18, 1954 in Seattle. That made her thirty-three years old.

  “She charged the car rental to an American Express gold card,” Mason said. “That tells us she’s probably not hurtin’ for money. She put the hotel bill on a Mastercard.”

  “Drop me at my hotel,” Mason continued. “I’ll fax this stuff to Fitz so he can get to work on it first thing in the mornin’. He’ll be able to get us a better photo from her passport. Maybe he can get American Express to track her charges when he tells them she is unknowingly travelin’ with a serial killer. Same with Mastercard. We’ll be able to chart their movements by her charges.”

  “The problem, my friend, is that you’ll always be a couple days or more behind them.”

  “I know,” Mason said, “but I bet we’ll see a pattern. If she makes a charge in a town with a ferry to an island, we put two and two together and figure out where they’re headin’. Islands are good for several days. Maybe even a week or more. It’
s our best shot at catchin’ up with ‘em.”

  “I just hope there’s time,” Bo said. “He’s going to kill that woman, Mason. It’s only a question of when.”

  Mason was flagged by the front desk when he entered the hotel.

  “There is a fax for you, Mr. Ray,” the desk clerk said, handing Mason an envelope with the fax inside. Mason opened it as he headed to the elevator. It was from Fitz.

  Mason,

  We found the pastor in Bentonville. The address on the driver’s license was indeed bogus, but it seems everyone in Bentonville knows Pastor Johnny. I spoke with him briefly by phone and will interview him in-person tomorrow. I’ll try to call you after I meet with him.

  Fitz

  Back in his room, Mason wrote new faxes to Boonsri and Fitz. He was glad Fitz had found the pastor but now wished Fitz could focus on Jessica Stone and the credit card tracking. He wasn’t sure what, if anything, of value could now be gained from Pastor Johnny.

  Fitz,

  There is new vital info that requires your focus. Maybe you can delay the pastor, if you haven’t already left. I can’t believe I don’t have your home phone number. I don’t even know if you live in the District or one of the adjoining states.

  We know his next victim and his plan. Her name is Jessica Stone. A surgical nurse from Seattle. I need her photo off her passport. We have a Xerox copy of a Xerox copy.

  Joey intends for Jessica Stone to be his last victim, so he’s going big. He plans to charm her over time until she’s willing to invest fifty thousand dollars in a business venture of his. Once the money is moved, he’s going to kill her in a way that looks like an accident.

  Bo and I got these details from his fence, who rolled on him to avoid murder charges. They have the death penalty here and aren’t reluctant to use it. Bo, by the way, hasn’t told anyone about Joey being a serial killer of American girls. I knew we could trust him.

  You might have to get one of your friends at the Bureau to help for what we need next. To catch up with Joey, I need American Express and Mastercard to let us know whenever anything is posted to Jessica’s cards. They’re driving, so there will be gas charges, for sure. Bo and I both think they are likely to stay in hotels that are notches above what Joey is used to. Likely charges there, too.