Max elbowed his way to the front of the pack and skidded to a stop in front of the registration desk. He held up his ID. “Detective Max Montgomery, accompanied by Liaison Officer Afton Tangler and four of our very capable and heavily armed SWAT officers. Pleased to make your acquaintance. And you are . . . ?”
“Kyle Dalman, hotel manager.”
“General manager?” Afton asked.
“Well . . . day manager.”
“Just the man we need to see,” Max said.
Dalman was a nervous-looking skinny guy with slicked-back hair. He wore a slim-fitting black suit that was probably supposed to be very hipster and European, but Afton thought his pants just looked way too short. A man’s socks shouldn’t show that much, should they?
“We’re looking for two people who are or have been staying at your hotel. One Asian man, one American-looking older woman,” Max said. “We put an alert out on them and your personnel manager, Miss Lucy Ronson, called us?”
“Ms. Ronson’s not here,” Dalman said. “I just tried to ring her office.”
“What about your two hotel guests?” Afton asked. “Are they here?” She was chafing at the bit, ready to bust the asshole who’d killed Odin and slashed her arm last night. He must be one of the guests. Had to be.
“You just missed them,” Dalman said. “They checked out.”
“What!” Max said.
“When?” Afton asked.
“Today. Late morning. The usual.”
“Crap on a cracker.” Max’s hand slammed down hard against the front desk. “Do you know where they went?”
Dalman looked pained. “No, I don’t. Why do you . . . ? I’m sorry, I was just made aware of this issue a few moments ago.”
“We think they masterminded a helicopter crash two nights ago,” Max said. “And murdered someone last night.”
“And possibly kidnapped another man this morning,” Afton added.
Dalman turned pale. “Oh . . . oh my goodness.”
Afton asked Dalman the same question she’d asked Zhang last night: “Do you have a security camera?”
“Just at the front and back doors,” Dalman said. “We’re a high-end hotel and we pride ourselves on being discreet.”
“We’ll need to look at that footage,” Max said.
“And I’ll bet you have their credit cards on file,” Afton said. “If you do, we need to take a look.”
“Let me check.” Dalman hit a few keys on his computer. “Yes, of course. Here it is. We require a credit card on file even though they paid with traveler’s checks.”
“What card did they use?” she asked.
“A Visa card from the Standard Chartered Bank of Thailand.”
“Thailand,” Afton said. She had the odd sense that things might start to fall into place. “Did you get Xerox copies of their passports as well?”
“This is America,” Dalman said. “Guests aren’t required to present their passports when checking in. That’s only when Americans travel to foreign countries.”
“That’s some stupid policy,” Max snarled. “What about IDs?”
“Well, we have their names.”
“Give them to us, please,” Afton said.
Dalman hit more keys and then a sheet spit out of his printer. He pushed it across the counter as if he were handling a dead rat.
Afton grabbed the sheet and read it out loud. “Victoria Achara and Michael Piwat.” She bit her lip and gazed at Max. “You think these are their real names?”
“No,” Max said. “But we’ll run them through the system anyway, just to be sure.”
“Got it. And we need to look at their room.”
Dalman’s brows pinched together. “But the guests have left. Housekeeping has already cleaned the rooms.”
“Nevertheless, we still need to take a look,” Afton said. “It’s very important.”
“Yes. Fine,” Dalman said. He slid a key card across the counter. “Suite Twelve-B. The penthouse. Please don’t disturb anything.”
“Before we go up, is there anything else you can tell us?” Afton asked. “Did they order room service, entertain any guests, anything like that?”
Dalman squinted at his computer screen again. “They were fairly quiet as guests go. Checked in five days ago, checked out this morning. No special requests or anything like that. Oh, they did receive a phone call. Looks like it was long distance.”
“Is it possible to check your log?” Afton asked. “Determine where the call came from?”
Max squinted at Dalman. “Long distance, huh? Like from what part of the country? California? New York?”
Dalman shook his head as he studied the screen. “No. It looks like . . . Thailand.”
“They got a call from Thailand?” Afton asked. She leaned forward and gripped the counter with both hands. “And you have that number?”
“Not offhand, but I think I can locate it if I . . .” Dalman bent over his computer again and hit a few keys. “Maybe if I . . . Okay, I have that number. Do you want it?”
“Please,” Afton said. She wrote down the number carefully and then looked at Max. “Can you get through to a foreign country with your cell phone?”
• • •
TURNED out he could. Not only that, they did a quick calculation and discovered that it was nine o’clock in the morning in Thailand. Then they found the international calling code for Thailand—66—and Max made the call.
Afton stood in the sitting room of Suite 12-B watching the SWAT guys poke through closets and look under furniture, as they waited for Max’s call to go through. One of the SWAT guys was eyeing a bronze statue of a naked woman.
“Can you put your call on speaker?” Afton asked.
Max nodded and pressed a button. There was a hollow, crackling sound and then a polite voice, a woman’s voice, answered with, “Good morning, Kantana Industrial Group.”
“Yes,” Max said. “I’m calling about one of your people.” Max looked at Afton and shrugged. He was winging it all the way. “One of your employees.”
“I’m sorry, what is your inquiry about?” came the receptionist’s precise, clipped voice. She pronounced it in-quire-y.
“Mr. Michael Piwat,” Max said. “The man who’s in Minneapolis, Minnesota, right now. Traveling on business?”
“I’m sorry,” the receptionist replied. “I have no knowledge of that person.”
“Ask for her supervisor,” Afton whispered.
“May I speak with your supervisor?” Max asked. “With your boss?”
“Most certainly,” said the receptionist.
This time a young man came on the phone. English-speaking but with an accent. “May I help you?”
“I’m calling about Michael Piwat. He’s in Minneapolis, Minnesota, right now on business?”
“We have no one by that name in our company.”
“How about a Victoria Achara? I believe she’s traveling with him.”
“I’m sorry, no.”
“Are you sure?” Max asked. “Because I’m standing in the suite the two of them vacated this morning at the Hotel Itasca.” He bobbled his head back and forth, as if trying to come up with a credible cover story.
“They left something behind,” Afton hissed.
“And the problem is,” Max said, “some of their papers were inadvertently left behind. In the hotel room. I’m afraid our cleaning staff just found them. They appear to be important business papers and we’d like to get them back to Mr. Piwat and Miss Achara as soon as possible. So if you could tell me where they are, that would be a great help.”
“Who am I speaking with, please?”
“Uh, this is the concierge at the Hotel Itasca. In Minneapolis. Where are you located?”
“Bangkok, Thailand. But as I just told you, we have no Michael Piwat or Victoria Achara working at Kantana Industrial.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Quite sure.”
“Okay,” Max said. “Thanks.” He
pushed the Off button. “Struck out.”
“No, we didn’t,” Afton said. “Somebody at this Kantana Industrial place called these people, so we know there’s a definite connection.” She glanced around the suite, saw the bed with its sumptuous silk duvet, the side table with a small collection of Chinese cloisonné.
“Problem is, our jurisdiction doesn’t extend to Thailand.” Max hesitated. “Unless . . .”
“What are you thinking?”
“Let me make another call.”
Max called back to headquarters, asked for Jelenick and his Crime Scene team to be sent over, and then had his call routed to Deputy Chief Thacker. He gave Thacker a quick rundown on what they’d learned so far. The names of the two people, the phone call from Thailand, the fabulous hotel suite. Then he listened for a couple of minutes, nodding as if he agreed with everything Thacker was saying.
“What?” Afton asked once Max was off the phone.
“Thacker says he’s going to get in touch with both Interpol and the CIA. See if they have anything on a Michael Piwat or Victoria Achara as well as a Kantana Industrial Group in Bangkok.”
“Did he say if there’s been any sign of Jay Barber yet?”
“He said they still only have the running shoe.” Max shook his head. “A stupid shoe. Not much to go on. Nothing to go on.”
“So that’s it?” Afton felt suddenly deflated. They’d come rushing over to the Hotel Itasca to hopefully make an arrest, only to find they were one step behind yet again.
“Thacker did say one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“He thought we got some pretty decent intel.”
“Let’s just hope we can make something pop,” Afton said. She looked around the suite, at the leather chairs, velvet cushions, crystal chandelier, thick swags of drapery, naked-lady statue, sitting room, bar, and separate bedroom. “So this is how the other half lives.”
“Pretty swanky,” Max agreed. “Wonder if I could rent this joint for Tyler and Jake? They’d go bonkers if they could have a pizza party here and invite all their friends.”
“The hotel would probably ask for a serious damage deposit.”
“Probably because there’d be serious damage,” Max said.
“Did you find anything?” a voice behind them called out.
Afton and Max both turned to find Dalman, the manager, standing in the doorway.
“No,” Max said. “Not much of anything.”
“Told you so,” said Dalman.
“But Crime Scene is still going to come over and check the room,” Afton said.
Dalman bristled. “They’d better not leave a mess.”
“Perhaps you should oversee them,” Afton said. She was sure Jelenick and his team would love that.
“This is a nice suite you have here,” Max said. Afton was pretty sure he was trying to make nice and smooth any ruffled feathers.
“This is basically four-star,” Dalman said. “Although we were given three stars by the Michelin Guide.”
“That’s good?” Max asked.
“That’s the best,” Dalman said.
Afton took in the amenities once again. Better than the last Holiday Inn she’d stayed in, and a whole lot fancier than her own home. And that white velvet chaise lounge looked . . . exquisite.
“Excuse me,” she said to Dalman. “This is where the man, Piwat, stayed?”
Dalman shook his head. “No, the woman stayed here. Miss Achara.”
“The woman stayed here,” Afton repeated.
“Yes,” Dalman said absently, drifting back out the door. “Please do take care, will you? Close the door when you leave?”
“She’s the important one,” Afton said to Max once they were alone.
“You think?”
“Has to be. She’s the one in charge, she’s the one calling the shots.”
“What does that mean?” Max asked.
“I don’t know,” Afton said. She walked to the windows and looked out. The view was magnificent. The Mississippi River made a leisurely S-curve below. Directly across the river were two terra-cotta-colored condominiums. Each one featured a large terrace and each unit was stepped back from the one below it so everyone enjoyed a full view of sun and sky. A little farther upstream, another luxury hotel sat on a small island, like its own unique principality, connected to the east river bank by an old-fashioned ironwork trestle bridge.
Afton drifted back toward the door, trailing her fingers along a black lacquered table that was smooth as polished obsidian.
“Afton?” Max said. “We should get back.”
Afton tilted her head back, almost like a coyote testing the wind. The suite carried the faint mingled aromas of Chanel No. 5 perfume, furniture polish, and . . . something else. Could it be a hint of burnt wood?
24
AFTON and Max went back to headquarters armed with Xerox copies of the two IDs that Dalman had given them.
“They were definitely using fake IDs,” Thacker said. “We already ran those two names and found out they’re both stolen identities that were probably purchased on some black market website.”
“So the names are a dead end,” Afton said. She was still noodling around the idea of the woman being in charge.
“Did you get anything on Kantana Industrial Group?” Max asked.
“No,” Thacker said. “I talked to a friend of a friend who works at Interpol in Singapore and nothing about that particular company had ever come across his desk. In fact, the only thing he knew about Bangkok was that human trafficking is rampant there, and the CIA once set up some sort of black ops site at Don Mueang Airport where they interrogated al-Qaeda suspects.”
“Now what do we do?” Afton asked.
“Keep checking through those names you got from the university hospital,” Thacker said. “Work that angle.”
“Sure,” Max said while Afton just made a face at him from behind Thacker’s back.
• • •
THERE’S got to be some way we can run a check on Kantana Industrial,” Afton said to Max. She’d worked at her own desk for twenty minutes and then, feeling antsy as hell, had come creeping back to talk to Max.
“Short of buying an airline ticket to Bangkok, I don’t know what it would be,” Max said.
“What if they’re still here?” Afton asked. “What if they’re not finished with whatever they came to do?”
“More killing?” Max said.
“I don’t know. Maybe we should stake out the local Thai restaurants.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s the answer.”
Afton noodled some x’s and o’s on a legal pad for a few minutes. “When I worked in Data Entry, there was a guy there who was married to a woman from Thailand.”
“You want to go pester some guy’s wife? About . . . what exactly?”
“The thing is,” Afton said, “I seem to recall that the wife’s brother worked as a cop in Bangkok.”
“Bangkok.”
“I know it might be a long shot, but . . .”
“But you want to try this angle anyway.”
Afton shrugged. “Hey, it’s all I can think of at the moment.”
Max stood up and stretched. “Okay, but if your guy gets all ticked off at us, don’t come crying to me.”
• • •
DON Martin still worked in Data Entry on the third floor. He was a twenty-eight-year-old guy who’d worked at Chulalongkorn University in Bangkok for two years teaching English. It was where he’d met his wife and earned a few credits to put toward his master’s degree. Now he was chipping away at his PhD at Metropolitan State University. Martin remembered Afton and seemed genuinely pleased to see her.
Once Max and Martin were introduced, they moved into a small break room that had a Formica table, chairs, Coke and candy bar machines, and a small refrigerator. The refrigerator had an angry handwritten note stuck on the door that said, Stop stealing my soup—I know who you are and I’m watching you!
> “Afton’s one of our success stories,” Martin said to Max. “She moved upstairs while I’m still here.”
“The difference is,” Afton said, “you’re doing this to earn a living so you can springboard your way into some Fortune 500 company as an executive VP, while I’m trying to be a cop.”
“So how can I help you?” Martin asked.
“You’re still married?” Afton asked.
Martin looked a little startled. “Sure. Sami and I have been married four years now.” He smiled. “In fact, we’re thinking about starting a family.”
“We’ve got a case we’re working on,” Max said. He glanced at Afton. “Why don’t you run through it for him?”
Afton quickly outlined the broad strokes of the Leland Odin case, then told him about chasing the suspect last night, putting together the Identi-Kit, and going to the Hotel Itasca and finding out about the two possible suspects. Then she told him about Max’s phone call to Kantana Industrial Group in Bangkok.
“That’s all rather chilling,” Martin said, looking a little nervous. “But what does it have to do with me?”
“Nothing,” Afton said. “But we were wondering if we could possibly talk to your wife.”
“To Sami?”
“If I recall, her brother is a Bangkok police officer.”
“With the RTP, the Royal Thai Police.” Martin leaned back in his chair and looked thoughtful. “I suppose I see where this is heading.”
• • •
SAMI Martin worked as a paralegal at the Winder and Josten law firm in the IDS Center in downtown Minneapolis. Her husband had phoned ahead and told her that Afton and Max would be stopping by. Sami, a serious-looking woman with dark hair, golden complexion, and beautiful smile, wearing a serious-looking navy blue skirt suit, met them at the front desk. She led them into a wood-paneled conference room and closed the door, and they all sat down at a polished mahogany table. From the looks of things, Sami was doing well.
“Don called me,” Sami said. “He said you were interested in speaking with my brother Kai Pak?”
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