by Tyan Wyss
Fox fiddled restlessly with the adjustment for the Mustang’s bucket seats. Much too self-conscious, Nick immediately suspected she’d been going through his glove compartment.
“Watch out for the Glock .45. It’s loaded and dangerous,” he scolded, flicking an undisguised rebuke.
“Nice pistol, but I prefer the Glock .40. The large double-stacks on the .45 are just too big for my hand. I need the versatility and comfort of a sub-compact.” She pulled a small pistol out of her oversized handbag. It fit like a glove in her hand, and she held absolutely no feminine remorse about toting so lethal a weapon.
“Should have guessed. Just promise me you’ll leave my firearms alone. You have a permit for that thing, I take it?”
“Of course. I’m by-the-book Fox, you know.”
“Right.” He started the engine.
“While we’re waiting for Steven’s results, why don’t we return to my house and fiddle around with the Internet. I want to find out more about the owner of the Collins house. Have you discovered anything about the Montanari’s?”
“I asked Randy to work on it, but I have to say he’s much better in the field than on the computer.”
“And what about Roger? Have you heard from him?”
“I spoke to Susan this morning. He’s recovering nicely. We need him, Fox, if we’re going to be allowed to solve this case. He has credibility and a working relationship with the chief. Plus, Susan is Steven Koh’s brother.”
“Of course. You can see the family resemblance.”
“He’s worried about you.”
“Steven is always worried about something. That’s why he has all those attractive stress lines in the middle of his forehead.”
“He cares about you and believes this is a serial killer.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks! He just thinks I’m going to meet my father’s fate and will have to unzip me from a black bag.”
“Aren’t you a morbid one. And you’re wrong. This person is one you’d least expect to be a killer.”
“Hmm. Steven’s advice is never to be ignored, and because of that, I’ll research everything I know about trophy collector serial killers tonight. But I’d have to disagree with him. We’re missing something, Thayne, something smack-dab front of our noses.”
Nick glanced at his steel watch.
“Am I keeping you from something?” she asked.
“Just a phone call that is a sight more pleasant than all this skullduggery.”
“A serious girlfriend for once?”
“Nope. And I absolutely refuse to take women seriously; that’s what gets a man in trouble every time. I suspect our poor mayor would echo my sentiments, if only he could.”
Fox seemed uncomfortable with the banter. “You interviewed Luke Cambridge?”
“Yeah, I did. He reached into the console and handed her a small micro-cassette. “I recorded the conversation so you could hear it verbatim and use the F & H to record your findings. Take your time enjoying it. He’s made some interesting points.”
“You saw Philemon?”
“Just for a few minutes. He seems in good spirits. Was reading the Bible with his wife when I arrived. I asked him about the smell coming from the Collins house, and he stated a mild stench has surrounded that house as long as he’s worked there. It’s rarely noticeable, and usually only on hot, breezeless days like we’ve been having recently. Mrs. Simms indicted she’d actually called the city regarding the odor. They speculated it was probably a septic tank too close to the surface or a faulty sewer pipe. I didn’t inform him about the dung pile.”
“And his status?”
“He’s been charged with both murders, and apparently, Mrs. Fisher was called to the station to give a statement. Not sure what turn that’s going to take. Also, met Connie’s cousin on my way out. There certainly wasn’t much of a family resemblance. He’s tall, thin, and balding; rather nondescript, actually. It’s been verified he was in Florida with several other officers all last week. Presidio Boy was planning to have dinner with Connie on Saturday and learned of her death instead. He’s arranging the services for next Friday and will go through her things as soon as the chief releases the premises. Rollins had Officer Steele there bagging up a ton of stuff this afternoon.”
“He’s barking up the wrong tree. Connie was killed because of the company she was keeping. I doubt if it was premeditated. I’ll be sure to buy the Times tomorrow for the next update.”
They pulled up in front of her pretty little yard. A couple sparrows dove from her feeder, which hung off a mulberry branch, disturbed by Thayne’s bright red car.
“I’ll meet you inside. I have to place my call,” Nick stated.
Ten minutes passed before Thayne entered the house, an expression suggesting only guilt upon his lean face. Lea suspected he had given his mother his ritualistic Sunday evening call. It prompted her to ask.
“So, why do you hate your dad so much?”
She was seated by her computer in the small neat office. The abruptness of the question and tone startled him. And he’d thought he was getting used to her by now.
“None of your business,” Nick growled.
“Oh, come now, I need to know why you have such volatile moods and have lost yourself in Girard instead of flaunting your wares in San Francisco where they would be much more appreciated. Besides, no one would understand domestic problems better than I.”
She’d powered up the computer and waited patiently as Windows loaded.
“Ah, shit,” he murmured finally. “Knowing you, you probably have a complete dossier on me as well.”
She actually did, but was not about to admit it. Besides, it was filled with way too many holes and speculations.
“My dad is a first rate bastard, and I only found out his true nature about four years ago.” He sank down upon the comfortable window seat and watched her small hands type in a password and wait for Internet access.
“I’m quite familiar with men who are bastards,” she said softly.
He was certain she was.
Her home phone jangled and he politely picked it up and handed it to her. It was Roger Chung.
“Hello, Roger,” she said as sweetly as her gruff voice would allow. Fox listened for a moment before raising a finger at Nick. “Roger needs to have you call Chief Rollins right away. Could you use your cell outside—this is the only line I have.”
“Is he gone?” asked Roger a minute later.
“Yes. How you doing?”
“I feel like some fool doctor’s been messing with my insides, but other than that, I’m just hunky dory.”
Lea gave a hoarse laugh. “So, I guess I have you to thank for Nick Thayne showing up on my doorstep.” It was half-accusation.
“You could do worse.”
“Perhaps. You’re his friend, right?”
Roger gave a short laugh. “If that means I put up with his shit, then yes.”
“What can you tell me about him? He’s like a clam.”
“Look who’s talking. So, what do you want to know?”
“Just two little things. Why does he hate his father and why was he kicked off the force?”
“So, you want to know everything do ya?”
“You bet. Thayne has shared with me sketches relating to our crime scenes. Tell me all you know.”
After a long pause Roger said. “Alright, but I’m warning you Lea. You need him. No matter what his methods, he’s the best there is, and you’ve got to trust him.”
“Prove it.”
“A real doubting Thomas, aren’t ya. Okay. Here’s one story the dailies won’t ever know. Nick was born just outside of Subic Bay in the Philippines. It was the usual story of a seventeen-year-old girl getting involved with a young naval officer. In most Asian countries, half-breed children, especially the offspring of US troops, are particularly scorned by the native populous.”
“That happened in Vietnam and Korea,” stated Lea. “So. the grand protector America isn’t as beloved as Ge
orge W. would like us to believe?”
“Please don’t get me started on politics,” Roger snorted before continuing. “Thayne’s mother was tiny and had difficulty delivering her oversized half-Caucasian baby. She bled severely after a long labor at a Catholic home for unmarried girls before finally succumbing to infection. The orphanage was run by the Dominican Sisters of Mercy, who immediately took in another blessing America had bestowed upon one of their unfortunate daughters. His mother Constance is buried in a small graveyard behind the orphanage.”
“Does he have a photo of her or anything?” Lea asked.
“Well, kinda. I’ll get to that. Nick remained in the orphanage until age three, when one day, a man and his wife showed up at the orphanage. The childless couple took one look at Nick and started the wheels in motion for adoption.
“Charming even then, I take it. His mother must have been thrilled to finally have a child.”
“Oh, she was, believe it or not.” He chuckled to himself. “Nick was quiet and well-mannered even then. The sisters, you see, were quite generous with the switch when passing on their concept of perfect obedience.”
The Montanari birth records popped up and she pressed the print button. Roger paused his narrative, and she could hear him ingesting some fluids nosily. He wasn’t the type of man who took being laid up well, and she grinned to herself.
“So, what happened between him and his dad?”
“Impatient little broad, aren’t you. I’m getting to that. Martin Thayne is a powerful man, and as you probably know, holds a seat on the State Water Commission.”
Lea understood only too well the power of that particular committee in this water-strained state. “I managed to dig that up.”
“I’m not surprised, you little ferret. From what Nick has told me, it appeared Martin Thayne’s sole goal in life was to please his father. Thus, Martin joined the naval academy, served as an ensign, and married his high school sweetheart at age twenty-two, who of course, is Thayne’s adopted mother.
“After giving back his time to the Navy, Martin took over as top engineer for the California Aqueduct Project and finally ran for office, serving as the Water Commissioner in the Sacramento Valley while Nick was sent off to Stanford. Thayne wanted to be a lawyer, but Martin insisted he pursue engineering or business administration.” He chuckled, and Lea wondered what was so funny.
“Unbeknownst to Martin, Nick, who was always ornery, studied for the law school entrance exam and passed.” He paused significantly.
“And . . . ?” she prompted.
“At law school, he met a young Filipino woman who’d also been adopted by an American family. She’d managed, with the help of the military of all organizations, to locate her natural parents and urged Nick to do the same. So, Nick took some of that Thayne wealth and made a trip to his homeland.” Roger hesitated and Lea heard a small dog barking in the background and the rattle of something falling near the phone.
While she waited for Roger to continue, she began scanning what she’d pulled up on Connie Judson. The thirty-four-year-old woman had been married twice and pursued careers in modeling, retail, and telephone marketing. That was before she’d struck it rich by becoming Thad Fisher’s squeeze. Her cousin, Mark, was her only living relative and Lea felt momentarily sad, knowing few would grieve the voluptuous redhead’s demise.
“Sorry, Lea, that damn dog came in here and broke a plate. Thank God it wasn’t one from Susan’s treasured wedding set. Where was I?”
“Thayne visited his homeland.”
As he returned to his recital, Lea typed in Edith Simms’ name, address, and phone number and hoped that her search engine would discover facts regarding the elderly woman’s family. Roger’s voice took on a strange quality, and Lea realized that what came next was very important if she was to understand Nick Thayne.
“After Thayne traveled to the orphanage, the nuns informed him that his grandmother was still alive and living in Manila. In disbelief, he journeyed to the crowded dirty city to enter a small apartment resembling more a shack than a flat with its dirt-packed floor and swarming flies.
Nick told me that he expected her to reject him outright. After all, he was living evidence of her teenage daughter’s fall from grace. Instead, the old woman welcomed him with open arms and cried her eyes out, hugging Nick and repeating over and over how he was the exact image of his mother, yet resembled his father as well in size and build. Nick discovered his biological father had been a constant guest to her tiny home. He’d made her great promises including the biggest, vowing to wed Constance.
“Grandma Silva was a bit of a legend in her neighborhood, supposedly having the gift of sight.” He paused again.
“Oh,” said Lea a cold shiver stiffening her spine.
“Yeah. Well, she indicated she’d always known Nick would be a successful man and began thrusting photos of Constance, his deceased grandfather, and other countless relatives into his hands. And then she handed him one last photo. It was of his father.”
Lea hunched her shoulders in anticipation of what was coming.
“It was his adopted father, Martin Thayne. You have to hand it to him. Though in acute shock, Nick managed to keep his shock and despair from the fragile old woman, who died a few months later. She never knew that Nick’s biological father had adopted his own bastard son; that he had lied to his wife, the orphanage, everyone, because of some warped concept obtained from his grandfather regarding his own natural superiority.
“You see, fortunately or unfortunately, Martin Thayne believed blood is thicker than water, and it was his own overwhelming curiosity that finally overcame his guilt. The moment he laid eyes upon Nick, he saw the suggestion of his own face and thus allowed his childless wife, who he was married to even while promising the world to a naïve Filipino girl, adopt his bastard son.
“Are his parents aware that he knows?” ventured Lea.
“His father, yes. Nick stated his father slapped him on the back and said, ‘Boys will be boys, you know. Besides, how can you resist a woman who offers you anything?’”
Lea swallowed heavily, feeling half sorry for Thayne.
“You’ve heard of his temper?” queried Roger.
“Yeah. He lost his job with the SFPD because of it.” Her concise little dossier referred to his problem temper, which always blasted at the wrong time. That and his drinking.
“It’s still a little vague if he quit the force or was asked him to leave. I don’t think I want to know. As far is his father is concerned, Nick’s completely severed ties. Has contact with his mom though.” Roger sighed. “Does that give you a better picture?”
“It does indeed. Thanks, Roger. I appreciate your honesty.”
The information on Edith Simms had printed out, and Lea moved on to Philemon Jenkins. This was no means the end of the story, and she wasn’t one to give up on any unsolved mystery, even Nick Thayne’s. Thayne rattled the front door on returning, his eyes narrowing.
“You’ve sure been on the phone a long time.”
“So have you. I think Roger wants to talk to you.”
Thayne grabbed the phone while Fox made a pretense of scanning the file on Edith Simms, who had retired as a librarian nearly five years earlier.
“What’s up Roger? So, it will be another week before you can officially come back. How am I holding up?” He snorted. “I’m working with a gentle goddess, and I just spent the last ten minutes placating your boss. Believe me; I count my blessings every night before I go to bed.” He rolled his eyes at Fox, who glared back.
“Swine,” mumbled Lea, returning her eyes to the screen.
“I’ll be in contact.” Nick dropped the receiver into its cradle and watched her.
“What were you talking with Roger about?”
“Your temper, your drinking, and your unspecified methods.”
Nick narrowed his dark eyes at her. “I drink how I want to drink. We all have our crutches, Fox. Mine just isn’t as obvious as
yours.”
His beautifully slanted eyes focused on the metal half-crutch leaning against the wall. She had gone without it recently but suspected she’d need it again soon. Nick would not apologize for any weakness, just as he knew Fox wouldn’t make excuses for her lameness. The pages on Philemon printed out, and Nick grabbed them.
“Shit,” he summarized.
“I believe men who swear have low vocabularies. I’m convinced Eddie Murphy and Eminem are barbarians, regardless of their money. And yes, this provides ample fodder for our Chief Rollins.”
He growled, appearing ready to take her head off. She ignored him.
“And look at this,” She pointed her finger at the lighted screen. “Believe it or not, it looks like a nutrition company has ownership of the house. Collins is the name of their manager.”
Nick squinted, “Leroy Collins of Mother Earth Industries. He gives his address as Sacramento, California.”
“Here’s his number, as well. Let’s give him a ring,” she said, handing the number to him. “Men usually deal better with other men on the phone. Let’s hear some of that famous Thayne charm now. I’ll put on the speaker phone and maybe some will rub off on me.”
Thayne grabbed the receiver. Charm, his eye. If she’d just learn some goddamned manners, she’d get a lot further. Leroy Collins was amazingly pleasant.
“Oh yes,” he said, “sometimes we have officials that work with the Agrit-Empire visit Monroe, and we put them up in the house.”
“You’re owned by the Agrit-Empire?” Thayne saw Fox stifle a gasp.
“We’re actually an affiliate, but yes, you could say that we’re under the umbrella of the mother company. Many of their products go into our food supplements as well as a natural line of produce where we take the wheat, lettuce, and potatoes and sell them to the public indicating they are not chemically altered in anyway.”
“The Agrit-Empire has an entire section of their fields that uses no pesticides?”
“That’s right, and we’re mighty proud of it.”
“So, the house on Chester Street is actually used only to house executives from your company?”
“Not just my company, though my name’s on the purchase form. We bought it for all three companies: Agrit Empire, Mother Earth, and Corporal Building Products.”