by R. J. Jagger
“Got a homicide,” she said. “You want to tag along or wait until I get back?”
“I’ll tag.”
THEY GOT INTO A SMALL SILVER VEHICLE and pointed the nose east into thick traffic.
“I ran the prints of your Denver victim and didn’t get any matches,” Fan Rae said. “I also showed her photo around. No one recognizes her and no matches are popping up in the database.”
“So you have no idea who she is?”
“Not yet,” she said. “Tell me again why you think she’s from Hong Kong.”
“We found Hong Kong dollars in her pocket.”
“Oh, right. I forgot.”
“By the way, thanks for all your trouble, I really appreciate it.”
She nodded, understanding.
“You can’t find the killer until you know who the victim is,” she said.
“Still, thanks.”
TWENTY MINUTES LATER they were at a secluded beach. Two uniforms directed them to a body. The victim turned out to be a g-punk woman in her mid-twenties, with black hair, heavy black makeup, multiple piercings and a tongue stud.
She was staked out in the sand.
Naked.
Tight.
Nothing was around her.
No clothes.
No purse.
No nothing.
Only her.
Her throat was slit.
Deep.
But that wasn’t the weird part.
The weird part was her stomach.
Someone had carved markings into her flesh. From the flow of the blood, it was obviously done while she was still alive. Teffinger swallowed and momentarily got distracted by the waves crashing on the sand.
Fan Rae said, “That’s a K’ung chia symbol. It means bad or evil or vicious.”
“Meaning her?”
“No,” she said. “No, not her. It refers to the carver.”
Chapter Twelve
Day Four—August 6
Thursday Afternoon
______________
THE MAN BEHIND THE COUNTER at the gas station gave Prarie a long sideways look as if he’d seen her before, but said nothing. She and Emmanuelle made their way back to the hotel, showered, rented a VW Passat and drove from one art gallery to another. “I want to commission a Monet replica,” Emmanuelle said. “Do you know anyone who does that kind of work?”
“No.”
That was the standard answer.
No.
No, no, no.
Until they stopped at a gallery in the low rent district in northern Kowloon. There, a bald man with thick black glasses named Quon said, “How good of a replica are you looking for?”
“A perfect one.”
“A perfect one?”
“Right, as in identical.”
“That would be difficult with a Monet,” Quon said. “The colors are layered—you’re talking paint on paint on paint. Plus you’d have to age it.”
“I know.”
“Something like that would be pricey.”
“Does that mean you know someone?”
The man laughed.
“Me? No, but there are rumors—,” he said. “I can make some phone calls, if you want. There would be a charge for that, of course, and there aren’t any guarantees.”
She gave him a $1,000 HKD.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said.
Outside, Prarie said, “I don’t trust that guy.”
“Good. That will keep you alive.”
EMMANUELLE FIRED UP THE ENGINE and said, “Let’s get back to the hotel and take a nap. It’s going to be a long night.”
Prarie pictured it and frowned.
She almost said, I’m still not sure I can do it.
Instead she said, “Good idea.”
Chapter Thirteen
Day Four—August 6
Thursday Afternoon
______________
WHEN JACK POON TOLD KONG what he wanted him to do, Kong’s first thought was that it would be scary, but he could handle it, including the parachute jump. His second thought was that Poon was one sick son-of-a-bitch, seriously twisted.
The money had warped him.
He hadn’t been strong enough to handle it.
Worse, if what Poon said was true, there were others like him; several in fact.
Kong kept all emotion off his face and said, “Sounds doable.”
“So you’re in?”
Kong nodded.
“Of course.”
Poon slapped him on the back and said, “I’ll set it up for tomorrow. It goes without saying, of course, that you never mention a word of this to anyone, even ten years from now.”
“Don’t worry.”
Five minutes later, as he was about to leave, Kong said over his shoulder, “Why me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you choose me for this assignment?”
“Maybe it’s a test, to see what you got.”
“I got plenty.”
“We’ll see.”
BY THE TIME KONG GOT BACK to the marina, he had a few things settled in his mind. He needed to do well on this assignment and then cultivate a relationship with Poon. He also needed to get Poon to introduce him to the others. If he could get three or four Poons in his life, he’d be set—not that he wasn’t set already, but there were different degrees of set.
A surprise was waiting for him at the sailboat, namely Kam Lee Yao in a white bikini with the top untied, lying on her stomach in the shade of the canopy. Her body dripped from a fresh swim.
Kong straddled her ass and rubbed her back.
“This is unexpected,” he said. “Business or pleasure?”
She rolled over, pulled the top to the side and stretched her arms up.
“Pleasure.”
Kong teased her nipples.
Then he took her below and screwed her hard, until she made those little sounds that he loved so much.
AFTERWARDS HE SAID, “What do you know about a guy named Jack Poon?”
She studied him, visibly surprised by the question.
“Jack Poon?”
“Right.”
“I know he has money,” she said. “Why? What’s going on?”
“I might have a chance to get in good with him,” Kong said.
“With Jack Poon? Really—”
Kong nodded.
“How?”
“I can’t say,” Kong said. “Has he ever been to your establishment?”
She smiled.
“Establishment? Is that what you called it?”
Kong grinned.
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
“No,” she said. “He’s never been to my establishment. But it’s time for you to. I want you to do a session with me.”
Kong slapped her ass.
“I just did a session with you.”
“You know what I mean.”
Yes.
He did.
He did indeed.
“I’ll think about it.”
She put a serous look on her face and said, “Be careful of Poon.”
“Why?”
“I’ve heard rumors, that’s all.”
“Like what?”
“Like it’s not very healthy to get on his bad side.”
Kong kissed her and said, “I might need your help.”
“How?”
He shrugged.
“I don’t know yet,” he said. “If I do, though, can I count on you?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
Chapter Fourteen
Day Four—August 6
Thursday Afternoon
______________
FAN RAE AND TEFFINGER worked the murder scene without much interference for thirty minutes. Then more and more people showed up, including an older man, well dressed, who threw Teffinger sideways looks and spoke in jagged Cantonese to Fan Rae. She walked over two minutes later and said, “That’s my boss. I just got chewed out for le
tting you on the crime scene.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” she said. “It’s mine.”
Two news helicopters appeared overhead.
Teffinger focused on them, momentarily distracted, and then said, “Did you smell the victim?”
“Smell her? No—”
“Go take a whiff,” he said. “She’s got perfume on her neck and on her thighs. Also, her hair has lots of cigarette smoke in it. I don’t think it’s from her. Her teeth don’t show any nicotine staining. And there’s no smell of smoke on her fingers, like you’d find if she’d been holding cigarettes.”
Fan Rae checked it out, then added it to her report.
“So what do you make of it?” she asked.
“I’ve been to a bar or two in my day,” Teffinger said. “That’s how I smelled the next morning. I’m guessing we’re going to find alcohol in her stomach.”
“So maybe someone saw who she left with,” Fan Rae said.
Teffinger shrugged.
“You never know.”
Fan Rae studied him and said, “You know that guy who just chewed me out? He never comes up with stuff like that.” She leaned in and whispered, “So screw him.”
TEFFINGER’S CELL PHONE RANG. He checked the number since it would be an international call if he answered—Sydney Heatherwood.
“Sydney,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“I just wanted to hear the sound of your voice.”
“Bullshit.”
“Yeah, bullshit,” she said. “Actually there’s been a development involving our dead railroad woman. We got a phone call a half hour ago by a man named Randy Rocco. He owns a bar called the Mile High Dogface. You ever heard of it?”
No.
He hadn’t.
“Everything’s Mile High,” he said.
“Anyway,” Sydney said, “from what he told me, it’s one of little hole in the wall places, close to the tracks. He has a security camera for the parking lot, but it also picks up the road. He heard about the Asian woman’s murder and checked his tapes, just for grins. Apparently they show a white pickup truck going down the road towards the tracks in the middle of the night and then leaving the opposite way about ten minutes later. He was all excited on the phone, saying stuff like, It’s gotta be the killer!”
She paused.
“I’m on my way over there right now to look at the tapes,” she said. “The question is this—what do I do?”
Teffinger knew what she meant, he knew exactly what she meant, but he said, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what if they show your face or license plate number or something—”
Teffinger exhaled and kicked the sand.
“Look,” he said, “what I did is my problem, not yours.”
“I know, but—”
“No buts,” Teffinger said. “I did something stupid. It may end up taking me down. It probably should take me down, if the world works right. But you’re not part of it and the worst thing that could happen to me right now is for you to get dirty on my account. So don’t do it, you hear me? Just don’t do it. I’m serious.”
Silence.
Then Sydney said, “How am I supposed to just sit by and let you go down?”
“I don’t care about going down,” he said. “I don’t even have the right to care about it. I lost that right when I did what I did. But I do care about you going down. So if you’re thinking about burying the tapes or losing them or something like that, then tell me right now, because in that case I’m going to call Double-F as soon as I hang up and tell him what I did.”
Silence.
“So what do I do?”
“Take the guy’s statement, get the tapes, bag ’em as evidence and make ’em part of the file, exactly like you’d do in any other investigation,” he said.
Sydney said nothing.
Neither did Teffinger.
Then Sydney said, “Here’s the thing. You’re the best detective this city has ever had. If it wasn’t for you, there’d be lots of people running around on the streets that shouldn’t be. I’m the only person in the world who has a chance to keep you in your position.”
“Sydney, listen to me,” Teffinger said. “I’ve taught you a lot of stuff over the last year. Now I’m going to teach you one more thing. Don’t get dirty. That’s your next lesson. Don’t get dirty. Period. End of sentence. You’ve never let me down before. Not once. Don’t do it this time.”
Silence.
“I want your promise,” Teffinger said.
Silence.
Then she said, “Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“Okay I promise.”
“Thank you. Now go get those tapes.”
HE MUST HAVE HAD A LOOK on his face as he hung up because Fan Rae walked over and said, “Is everything okay?”
He picked up a handful of sand and let it fall through his fingers, then looked at her—no, not at her, into her eyes, way into her eyes.
“I put someone in a bad position,” he said. “If she’s not strong enough to deal with it, it’s going to end up being the worst thing I ever did.”
“She?”
“Yes.”
“Someone you love?”
He considered it.
“Yes, but not romantically,” he said. “A colleague. I need a drink. You want to go somewhere tonight and get a drink?”
She shrugged.
“Sure, if you want.”
Chapter Fifteen
Day Four—August 6
Thursday Night
______________
THURSDAY NIGHT, Prarie and Emmanuelle bought dresses with designer labels and headed to SoHo, South of Hollywood Boulevard, where the serious clubbing was. The neon streets were mobbed with bar-hopping party animals, dressed to get past the velvet ropes. “I’ve only seen this much buzz at one other place before,” Emmanuelle said. “That was in Bangkok, in the Soi Cowboy district. Have you ever been there?”
“No, Europe and Hong Kong, that’s it,” Prarie said.
“Go there some time.”
“Right.”
They ended up at a club called D-Drop, a dark monolithic warehouse space with high-energy DJ’s and seriously cool lights, already jammed to the walls.
Sex.
Sex.
Sex.
That’s what it was there for.
They ordered screwdrivers, paid a lot, but also got three shots in each glass. Then they muscled through the crowd, looking at the faces.
The plan was simple.
This is where Prarie had been clubbing the night she got taken. The rock star probably slipped something into her drink, meaning he was connected to the people they were looking for.
The hope was that he’d be a regular and Prarie would bump into him by blind luck.
TWENTY MINUTES INTO IT, Emmanuelle said, “I wish I could help.”
“He’s tall and serious hot,” Prarie said.
“I know. You already told me that.”
“Long, straight, black hair.”
“That’s half the guys in here,” Emmanuelle said. “Does he have any tattoos?”
“No.”
Ten minutes passed.
Drunk faces came and went.
No rock star emerged.
Then Prarie said, “When you asked me about the tattoos, something nagged me. I just figured out what.”
“Yeah? What?”
“You asked me before if I got a look at the guy in the car, the guy who passed me after I got released on the road we went to this afternoon. I said I didn’t see him. But now I remember something, he had a tattoo on his neck.”
“A tattoo?”
“Right.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“A tattoo of what?”
“I have no idea,” Prarie said. “All I remember is that it was prominent and colorful.”
Emmanuelle slapped her on the back.
“Way to go, girlfriend. Come on, I owe you a drink for that.”
THEY HUNTED until their legs screamed and then hovered at the bar until they were able to grab chairs. They fought off men for a half hour and then Prarie said, “Oh my God!”
Emmanuelle followed the woman’s eyes.
She followed them to a tall man, a tall muscular man with long straight black hair and a rock star face.
Totally GQ.
Built for sex.
“Is that him?”
Prarie studied the man harder.
“I’m not positive,” she said, “but I think so.”
The man ordered a beer and disappeared into the crowd.
“Okay,” Emmanuelle said, “you get out of here so he doesn’t see you. Take a cab back to the hotel. I’ll meet you there.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to find out who he is.”
PRARIE TOOK A CAB HALFWAY BACK, then got a bad feeling and returned to the club. She walked around for an hour and couldn’t find Emmanuelle or the rock star.
There wasn’t a sign of either of them.
She was just about to leave when an attractive man in a crisp white shirt grabbed her hand and led her to a roped-off area with four or five men and an equal number of women.
Pretty people.
Big jewelry.
White smiles.
One of the women kissed her on the cheek, handed her a drink and said, “Well aren’t you the sexy one?”
Chapter Sixteen
Day Four—August 6
Thursday Evening
______________
THURSDAY EVENING the shadows got long but the air stayed tropical. Teffinger jogged for two sweaty miles, showered, slipped into his best clothes and took the Metro to Fan Rae’s apartment, which was on the near west side in a nice but not over-the-top area He bypassed the elevators, walked up five flights of stairs and knocked on 506.
Then he held his breath.
Fan Rae opened the door.
Gone was her professional daytime look. She now had a short white dress, cleavage, high heels, makeup, lots of golden skin and a tiny tattoo of a flower on her shoulder. Her hair hung long and loose and freshly washed. She dangled a wineglass in her left hand, half empty.