Mortal Crimes 1

by Various Authors

Logan nodded and smiled grimly in return, but kept his mouth shut, waiting for the person who’d called him to identify herself. But no one spoke up.

  For nearly two minutes, they all sat in silence. Then Logan heard a faint noise behind him, followed by the sound of footsteps on the tiled floor. Before he could turn to look, the same voice he’d heard on the phone called out, “You must be Mr. Harper.”

  Entering the room through a doorway in the far corner were two men and a woman. One of the men was wearing a gray suit, white shirt, and dark tie. The other was in a pair of jeans, black button shirt, and cowboy boots. Where the first had short hair and was clean-shaven, the second had hair that fell almost to his shoulders and was sporting a goatee. The suited guy reminded Logan of an accountant, while the other one he would have pegged as a musician straight in from a club.

  But the woman was even more surprising, and it had nothing to do with her impressive height or striking blonde hair, or the electric blue dress she wore. Unlike everyone else present except for Logan, she was Caucasian.

  Logan stood as she swept across the room.

  “You look exactly like your picture,” she said. “A few years older, perhaps, but you’ve aged well.”

  He was suddenly wary. “What picture?”

  She looked at one of the men sitting nearby, then rattled off something in what Logan assumed was Thai.

  The man immediately grabbed a piece of paper off an orange end table, and handed it to her. She examined it for a moment, then turned it so Logan could see. “This one.”

  He tensed. The picture was his Forbus employee photo. In this case, it was part of the newspaper article that had raised questions about his conduct in Carl’s death and other matters concerning Forbus. Two days after the article came out, his status had switched from suspended with pay to terminated.

  “Where did you get that?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

  She gave him a pitiful, are-you-serious look. “The Internet, of course. Oh, don’t worry. I don’t care if you were guilty or not. I just wanted to have a way to identify you when you arrived.”

  “I wasn’t guilty.”

  “I said I don’t care. Dev Martin vouched for you, and that’s all that matters to me.”

  “You talked to Dev?”

  “Of course, this morning. He gave me the details about why you’re here. Thought it might assist me in figuring out what kind of help I could provide.”

  “This morning? You mean before the jet arrived?”

  “The private plane? Yes…” she said, drawing the last word out.

  “Were you able to follow them from the airport? Do you know where they are?”

  She smiled. “Why don’t you sit down?”

  “Please. We don’t have time to waste.”

  “We do have time to sit.”

  One of the people who had been sitting on a fur cube near Logan moved so that the woman could take it. Reluctantly, Logan sat back down, too.

  “All right. We’re sitting,” he said.

  “First, no one asked us to go to the airport to follow them,” she told him.

  He felt the sinking sensation of lost opportunity.

  “Second, even if they had, there wouldn’t have been enough time to get there before they were gone.”

  This revelation didn’t help much. If he’d been thinking correctly before he left Los Angeles, he would have had Dev call her right away. As it was, Logan hadn’t even asked him to call at all. Doing so had apparently been Dev’s own idea. Logan owed that man a beer or three when he got back.

  “So there’s no way to know where they went,” he said, feeling like he was back at square one.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He looked at her. “Are you saying you do know?”

  “I didn’t say that, either.”

  He could feel frustration bubbling just below his skin, but he took a breath and reined it in. He couldn’t afford to lose focus now. “You haven’t told me your name.”

  “That’s true,” she said. She was silent for a moment, then laughed. “You can call me Christina. They all do.” She swept her hand out, taking in the others.

  “Can I ask where you’re from?” Logan said. Her accent was a mix—a little American with a hint of British, and a few pronunciations that sounded almost Australian.

  “Sorry,” she said, shaking her head, but giving no further explanation. “Now, about those who arrived on this jet. I may not know where they went, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find out.”

  “Please,” Logan said. “That would be a huge help.” He took the silence that followed for hesitation, so he added, “I don’t have unlimited resources, but I can pay you if that would make a difference.”

  Her mouth twisted in an ugly sneer. “I wouldn’t do this for money.” She looked past him at the others. “Everyone out.”

  Without a word, they all rose and started for the door. Everyone, that was, except the two men who’d come in the room with her.

  Once the four of them were alone, Christina said, “Any help I give you is because of an old friend I owe a debt to that I can never repay. He’s the one who gave Dev my number. He’s the one who asked me to help you if I felt I could.”

  “Please, thank him for me when you speak to him again.”

  She gazed at Logan, then said with a nod, “I’ll do that.” She paused. “I haven’t been entirely inactive since I talked to Dev this morning.” She motioned at the nervous-looking, suited man behind her. “Mr. Prem has…contacts in the government. More specifically, within Immigration and Customs.” She looked back. “Mr. Prem? Can you tell our new friend what you reported to me earlier?”

  Mr. Prem cleared his throat as he stepped forward. When he spoke his accent was thick, but understandable. “Van waiting at private hangar when plane arrive. Seven men get off plane. All farang.”

  Christina held up a hand, stopping him, then looked at Logan. “Are you familiar with this term? Farang?”

  He shook his head.

  “It’s the word Thais use for foreigner,” she explained, then she nodded at Mr. Prem to continue.

  “Six men white. One man black.”

  If you didn’t count the flight crew, or any other airline employee who might have been on board, that worked out to the same seven men Logan had seen get on. “Was there a girl?”

  Mr. Prem hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. One girl. Asian. Young woman. One man carry her out in arms, like she asleep.”

  Unless the girl was a decoy for some reason, Elyse was here.

  “At 12:23, van leave airport.” He took a step back, indicating he was finished.

  Logan wasn’t, though. “What about Immigration? They just let them through with an unconscious girl?”

  Mr. Prem looked nervously at Christina. She gave him a nod, so he stepped forward again. “Girl have Thai passport. Men with her say she got ill on plane.”

  “And the officials believed that?”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” Christina asked. “There was nothing suspicious. There are plenty of rich businessmen in Thailand who hire farang to keep tabs on their children traveling aboard. One of them arrives home sick? It’s probably something Immigration sees at least once a month. And you need to remember, Mr. Harper, this is Thailand, not the States. Government officials are keenly aware of where the money is in this country, and the only attention they want to bring to themselves is that they’ve been very helpful.”

  “What about tracking down the van?” Logan asked. “Is that something you can do?”

  She didn’t answer, but instead looked like she was contemplating how she wanted to respond.

  Finally, Logan shook his head and said, “I don’t understand why you seem reluctant to help me.”

  “I want to help you. I’m just not sure whether I should or not.”

  “Why is that even a question? Dev must have made it clear what was going on. The girl they have, she’s being used as a pawn by the Burmese government to
keep her mother from speaking out against them. She’s just a kid. A college student. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Do you have actual proof that the Myanmar government’s responsible for taking her?” she asked.

  The expression on the face of the man in the black shirt soured for a moment, then returned to neutral.

  “I don’t,” Logan admitted. “But her grandfather is convinced that’s what happened, and the fact that she was brought here, within a hundred miles of the border, is enough to convince me he’s probably right. What’s going to happen to her if they take her over there?”

  Again, he sensed something in the longer-haired man. A tension. But if Christina noticed, she made no mention of it.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I’m not a fan of the generals. They’re oppressors and killers, we all know that. But things are delicate over here. A wrong move could affect many other things that are also important.”

  Logan stood up. “I’ve obviously come to the wrong place. Thank you for your time.”

  He turned for the door, but Christina reached out and touched his hand. “Mr. Harper, please. Sit back down.”

  He hesitated for a moment, then did as she asked.

  She leaned toward him. “I’ve been lucky to have had a certain amount of success here. But to do that, I’ve had to create a reliable information network that stretches beyond the borders of Thailand. I have people in Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos, Malaysia, Indonesia, China, and Myanmar…Burma. I have been told there is no chance the generals in Myanmar, no matter how crazy they are, would have sent people to the United States to kidnap anyone.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Logan told her, shaking his head. “I don’t have the proof, but, honestly, I don’t care if it’s them or not. I just want to get the girl back. I promised her grandfather, and I’m not going to let him down. So, please, I’m asking you for your help.”

  He locked eyes with her, daring her to tell him no.

  After several seconds, she frowned, and stood up. “The truth is, Mr. Harper, I can’t help you.”

  His shoulders sagged. He was about to ask her why she bothered bringing him here, when she motioned to the man in the black shirt.

  “But I think my friend Daeng here can.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “WE’LL LEAVE YOU two alone,” Christina said, then motioned for Mr. Prem to follow her back to the door they entered through.

  As soon as they were gone, Daeng held out his hand. “Don’t expect me to call you Mr. Harper.”

  Logan was surprised. He had assumed Daeng was Thai, but the man’s accent was pure American. They shook hands. “You can call me Logan.”

  Daeng must have sensed the confusion in Logan’s voice, because he smiled and said, “Hollywood High, class of ’99.”

  “You’re not from Thailand?”

  “I am. But that’s not what you’re asking, is it? I was born here, but went to live with an aunt in Thai Town in Los Angeles when I was just a kid. I’m Thai on my dad’s side. My mom?” He held Logan’s gaze for a moment. “She was Burmese.”

  Logan realized that explained Daeng’s reactions earlier while Christina had been talking about Burma. Hopefully, it would make Daeng more motivated to lend a hand. “So can you help me track down the van?”

  Daeng smiled. “And here I thought you were going to give me a challenge.”

  As they stepped onto the sidewalk in front of Christina’s place, a car that had been parked down the street drove over and stopped at the curb. The driver jumped out, and opened the back door. He had the same tough look as Daeng, only with much shorter hair.

  Daeng let Logan enter first, then he slid in after him. Before the driver had even climbed back behind the wheel, Daeng was unbuttoning his shirt. “She likes us to dress up when we talk business. I refuse to wear a suit, but I figure I can at least wear one of these.”

  As Daeng pulled off his shirt, Logan noticed that his upper body was covered in colorful tattoos—a tiger on his shoulder, a serpent wrapped around one arm, and, taking up much of his back, the Buddha.

  The driver handed back a T-shirt, and Daeng pulled it on. On the front was a picture of Einstein sticking out his tongue.

  “So where are we going?” Logan asked as they sped down the street.

  “I don’t really have as much use for Mr. Prem as Christina does, but sometimes he’s helpful. He did get us the van’s license number after all. Thought maybe we’d pay the owner a visit.”

  “You know where he lives?”

  “I will soon enough.”

  Logan allowed himself to relax a little. He wasn’t at a dead end. This was exactly the kind of help he needed.

  The streets were now much easier to get around than when Logan had taken his little suicide ride through the city on the back of the motorcycle. In fact, Daeng’s driver seldom had to slow at all, except at lights. Logan was even getting used to the feel of riding on the opposite side of the road from the one back home. Thailand, like several Asian nations, drove British style.

  They were on the road for a little more than five minutes when Daeng received a call. When he finished, he said, “The van’s owner lives way out on Sukhumvit. It’s going to take us a little while to get there, so if you want to nap, this would be a good time.”

  Any lingering effects Logan had been feeling from the sleeping pill had been completely negated by the evening’s events. He was wide awake. “I’m fine.”

  Daeng shrugged. “Your call.”

  Logan stared out the window, watching the city go by. It appeared most people had finally packed it in for the night, but every once in a while he’d see a couple of street vendors still set up along a sidewalk, surrounded by customers enjoying a late-night meal.

  After a little while, he glanced at Daeng. “You, uh, work for Christina?”

  Daeng grunted a laugh. “No. Sometimes our paths cross, that’s all.”

  “What is it she does?”

  “A little bit of everything, I think. She’s been here forever. Knows everyone, knows what buttons to push and which asses to kiss.” Daeng smiled. “How old do you think she is?”

  “I don’t know. Forty-seven, forty-eight. Something like that.”

  “Sixty-one.”

  “You’re kidding.” Not that Logan thought sixty-one was particularly old anymore, but she hadn’t looked even close to that.

  “Not kidding. I think she has a plastic surgeon on retainer, but don’t quote me on that. She’s been here since the war.”

  “The Vietnam War?” Logan asked, surprised again.

  Daeng nodded.

  “She couldn’t have been much out of high school,” Logan said.

  “The way I heard it, that would be about right.”

  “What, exactly, did you hear?”

  Daeng hesitated for a moment, then said, “Apparently she had a brother in the Army who’d gone MIA. She came here because it was the closest she could get to the war. She used to hang out in places where soldiers took R&R, trying to find someone who might have heard something about her brother. She even paid a few of them to try and find him. One guy did it for free. He was the one who found him. But by that point her brother was only dog tags and bones. After that, instead of going back to the States, she just stayed.”

  “I wonder why she stayed.”

  Daeng shrugged. “I heard this story from someone else. Christina never talks about her past, at least not to me. Maybe none of it’s true.”

  A little further on, the driver slowed, then said something to Daeng. They talked back and forth for several seconds, then the driver moved into the right lane and made a U-turn at the next break. Keeping his speed low, he moved all the way over to the left.

  Daeng said something, pointed ahead, then said to Logan, “It’s just down that soi.”

  At first Logan wasn’t sure what he meant, then the car turned on a small road—a soi, he guessed—and drove half a block down before stopping at the curb
.

  Daeng looked past him out the window. “That’s it.” He nodded at the building across the street.

  All three of them got out and crossed over to it.

  The apartment they were looking for was on the third floor. Logan was surprised when they got there to find three men waiting in the hallway outside the apartment’s door. There were several hushed greetings, and he quickly realized these men were with Daeng.

  One of them rushed ahead, and instead of knocking on the door, he just opened it.

  Daeng went in first with Logan right behind. They passed through a small entryway and into a living room. On a couch was a short, doughy man who couldn’t have been more than forty. He was dressed in a white T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. He looked nervous.

  There were two more of Daeng’s men in the room. One was standing near the couch, while the other was in a doorway that led to the rest of the apartment.

  Daeng spoke in Thai, and the man in the doorway answered. Seemingly satisfied, Daeng led Logan over to where the pudgy man was sitting.

  “You speak English?” he asked the man.

  “Nitnoy,” the man said nervously. “A little.”

  “Okay, then we’ll talk in English.”

  The man eyed Logan for a moment, then looked back at Daeng. “Please no hurt me. Me, my family, we do nothing.”

  “No one’s planning on hurting you.” The guy looked like he didn’t understand, so Daeng spoke in Thai, translating what he’d already said, Logan assumed. The man responded in kind, but Daeng shook his head. “English, remember?”

  Logan leaned over to Daeng and whispered, “His family’s here?”

  “Wife and son in back.”

  Suddenly Logan didn’t feel so comfortable about the situation.

  “You have a van you rent?” Daeng asked the man.

  “Have two van.”

  “Okay, two then. You drive one of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the other?”

  “My wife brother.”

  “Which one of you picked up the group at the airport today?”

  “We both at airport today.”

  “I’m talking about the people who came in on the small plane. With the girl who was sick.”