“Of course. You guys having any luck on your end?”
“If luck means the guy we came to meet is dead – then yeah, a whole bunch of crappy luck.”
“That’s some coincidence.”
“That’s what I thought, but it’s not looking that way. I can’t go into details. Keep us posted on the tracker. Later.”
Foxx tapped the control button on his headset to end the call. They got into the vehicle and headed off, following the GPS directions. Tinsley’s home was less than fifteen minutes away. A sprawling expanse of manicured lawn surrounded the impressive Georgian-style house. They entered the neatly cobbled horseshoe driveway leading to an arrival area near the front entrance. The property was grand, but tastefully understated. As they walked to the entrance, Beach said. “Seems too big for one man.”
“Looks like a family home to me,” Foxx added. “Was he married?”
“I honestly don’t know. We didn’t discuss his personal life – just Adler. We’ll find out soon enough.”
He reached out for the bell, but the door opened first. A petite, elegant, middle-aged woman attempted a smile but failed. “Thank you for coming, but I really prefer to be alone,” She said softly.
“I’m sorry ma’am, but you might have us confused with someone else. I’m Alan Beach, and this is my partner, James Foxx. We’re special agents with the FBI.”
She brought her hand partway up to her mouth. “Oh, I thought you were from the church. They mean well, but I don’t want strangers in the house now. My daughter is on her way from Baltimore –” then she raised her eyebrows in realization. “FBI, you say? What does the FBI want with us?”
“My deepest condolences for your loss, ma’am. I assume you’re Mrs. Tinsley?”
“Oh, heavens, where are my manners? Yes, I’m David’s wife.”
“Perfectly understandable, Mrs. Tinsley. Do you mind if we come in, and I’ll explain?” Beach showed his badge.
“Of course, please, come in.” She led them into the front sitting room then offered tea.
“No, but thank you, ma’am,” Foxx said quietly.
Beach shook his head. “Mrs. Tinsley, did Dr. Tinsley ever mention my name?”
“Not that I recall. Why do you ask?”
“We were supposed to meet him at lunchtime today. I thought he might have said something.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and her voice faltered slightly. “I’m ashamed to say, David and I have been having some problems for a while now. We weren’t talking much. And now he’s gone.” She began to weep. “Remorse is a bitter emotion. If only I’d been kinder to him through his illness.”
“Illness? I wasn’t aware he was ill. I mean he didn’t mention it to me.”
“I’m not surprised. Doctors always make the worst patients. My husband had become depressed, and was taking medication. He was withdrawn and uncommunicative. Shut himself away in his office most of the time – when he wasn’t at work or tending to his precious lawn, that is. Seemed like that darned grass was the only thing gave him any relief lately. He’d been that way almost a year, but it got suddenly worse a couple of days ago.”
“You say “suddenly.” Could you see any particular reason for that?”
“Nothing I could tell. And he wouldn’t talk to me about it. That’s why I was angry with him. We used to talk all the time, until nine or ten months ago. Then everything changed. He was such a bright man – a wonderful man and a wonderful husband. But that man just faded away.” She patted her eyes with a handkerchief. "Eventually, I demanded he see a doctor. They ran all kinds of tests, and in the end they diagnosed clinical depression. I knew there was something behind it, but he just wouldn’t tell me. Said it was for my own protection.” She became stern, adding, “Now you tell me, agent, how can an eminent psychiatrist suddenly become so depressed and withdrawn?”
“I would certainly like to find out, Mrs. Tinsley. Would you allow us to look at his office? Perhaps we can find something to shed light on the situation.”
“You’re welcome to look, but I don’t see how that can help. I clean the room every day, and I’ve never found anything helpful. I’m sorry, but I can’t face going in there now – everything in that room reminds me of David. Do you mind showing yourselves in? It’s the first door on your left, down the hall.”
“Of course not. And thank you.”
Foxx entered the room first, while Beach pulled the door closed behind them. He looked at Foxx quizzically. “You were very quiet out there, partner.”
“I don’t do so well with grieving widows. Better if I leave it to you. You’ve got that whole soft-touch thing going on – perfect for such delicate matters.”
Beach shrugged and turned his attention toward the desk while Foxx checked some filing cabinets against the wall. The senior agent searched Tinsley’s desk drawers, carefully sifting through documents and personal effects so as not to disturb things. Satisfied there was nothing untoward inside the desk, he glanced at the bookshelves before turning his attention to the desktop. Something struck him as unusual. He strained to recall as much detail as he could from his visit with the doctor a year earlier.
“Foxx, you notice anything in particular about this desktop?”
“Besides the mess?”
“Exactly. I remember Dr. Tinsley as almost fanatically neat. His office at Sherbourne was impeccable. Other than a computer keyboard and monitor, his desktop was completely clear. His wife wasn’t exaggerating – the man was seriously depressed.”
“Because he had a messy desk?”
“As you know, my wife is a psychologist. I find the subject quite interesting, so she teaches me a bit here and there. Holly says a dramatic change in personal habits is one sign of clinical depression.”
Foxx’s brow creased. “I hear what you’re saying, but what’s your point? I mean the woman already told us that.”
“I know, but I didn’t put it together until just now. The time that she said it started – nine or ten months ago – that’s when Bryan Adler died.”
“So now you think he had something to do with Adler’s death?”
Beach didn’t answer. He was looking at a folded newspaper, partly covered by other documents on a corner of the desk. He carefully pulled the paper out and unfolded it.
“Look here.” He called Foxx over.
“It’s the paper from the morning after the Poughkeepsie murders. So what?”
“Look at the paper beneath the headline. Not the printing, but the paper itself.”
Foxx bent to examine the paper. “Looks like dried raindrops to me.”
Beach brought the paper up to his mouth, sticking his tongue out to meet the watermarks. “Not raindrops – tears.”
Foxx gave his partner a look of distaste. “Whatever you say.”
“Raindrops aren’t salty. These are teardrops.”
“Okay, so aside from showing me you lick other people’s teardrops, what does that tell us?”
“Hey, it’s a heck of a lot quicker than sending the paper away for a lab test. These stains indicate to me that Tinsley read this story and apparently cried over it. The reporter describes details, so I’m thinking these copycat murders triggered some powerful emotions. I can’t see a psychiatrist – depressed or not – crying over a double homicide in Poughkeepsie, no matter how gruesome and similar to one of his patient’s M.O. What if Tinsley covered something up and felt guilty about it?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. But in the absence of hard evidence, I think trying to come up with a theory could be helpful.”
“Sounds pretty shaky to me, partner.”
“Maybe,” Beach said, getting up from the chair. “You got something better?”
“Nope…uh, wait – maybe?”
Foxx had been running his fingers along the bookshelves, when one volume pushed back further than the others. He hooked a finger over the spine, pulling it out to reveal a small notebook concealed within a false cover.
“What is it?” Beach asked.
“Not sure yet – looks like some kind of personal journal,” Foxx said, flicking through the pages until he came to its final entry. He read it before handing the diary to Beach, then sat heavily in one of the two guest chairs. “You were right.”
Beach shot his partner a quick glance before reading the passage. When he finished, his arm and the book both dropped to his side. “Dear God.” was all he could muster.
Chapter 14
“Priest, is your arm up to this?”
“No worries, Jakey, she’ll be right. A bit o’ skin glue and some butterfly strips, no need for stitches.”
“Good — grab your weapons, boys.”
The three soldiers went quickly to retrieve the Glocks from their rooms. The Thai Special Branch policemen had loaned them the handguns for their Pattaya operation. They hadn’t used them at the time, but Jake wanted to keep them. So a cash deal had been struck.
Back in the hotel lobby, Mike Lee greeted the others. “I sure wish you had silencers for those things. That’s a busy nightclub with plenty of witnesses, and the cops are bound to be nearby.”
“Don’t worry about it, Mike,” Jake said. “Three special forces operators armed with knives, in a club full of drunken expats and tourists – it’s a cakewalk. The guns are just an insurance policy. We don’t know what we’re walking into, so it’s better to be packing. Let’s move.”
As their tuktuks approached the street in which the club was located, Jake told the driver to pull over. He and Mike Lee would walk the final hundred-and-fifty yards, while Dozer and Priest continued fifty yards past to scout the entrance then double back. In this way, the two teams could survey the sidewalks and entrance to avoid surprises.
As the Aussie brothers neared the door, Billy D’s knife-wielding minion came into view. He sat noisily aggrandizing his role in the night’s events. Pride had pushed him to tell his cronies how he’d taken out the big Australian who’d caught up to him on his way back to base. Priest’s minor arm wound magically metamorphosed into a gaping slash to the throat with the Cambodian complaining of blood-spray on his favorite T-shirt and having to carry the much larger man’s body into an abandoned shack to hide his skilful misdeed.
For no reason apparent to his audience, the phony raconteur halted mid-bullshit. Blood drained from his head with such suddenness, he felt he might swoon. His friends took a step back in confusion. What could have befallen their fearless comrade? Priest waded suddenly into the group, giving the fraudulent storyteller a wink and a hard pinch on the cheek. He then turned to the others and let out a loud, “Booh!”
Surprise and fear turned the small men on their heels. But on completion of the about-face, their shock doubled with the sight of quite possibly the largest man they’d ever seen. The second they’d faced him, Dozer let out his own bellowing “Booh!” inducing a schoolgirl shriek from one man before the whole terrified group, including Billy D’s underling, sprinted off down the street.
Priest spoke into his comms: “Clear at this end.”
“Same here, move in.” Jake replied.
The four met at the entrance, checking their path before proceeding up the stairway. Bass notes thumping from the band’s subwoofers grew more imposing with each step. A different band had taken the stage, pounding out a set of AC/DC anthems. The team wouldn’t have to worry about being overheard, but Jake maintained silence anyway. He got the brothers’ attention, hand signaling them to take the left side of the room. He would take the right, while Mike stayed at the entrance. Three sharp taps on his Bluetooth headset would warn the others of criminal reinforcements or police intervention.
Dozer and Priest threaded their way through tables of drinkers and wandering waitresses until they reached the bar at the far end of the room. Over two hundred patrons now filled the venue; virtually all focused on the popular hard rock cover band near the entrance. Jake had passed behind their open stage, emerging near the street-front windows. He looked across to his companions, who signaled their readiness.
Jake moved along the windows toward Billy D’s booth. The former bodybuilder was too engrossed in what was going on between his thighs to notice the three dangerous men heading his way. One of his precious playthings obscured Jake’s approach, while the other had bobbed down beneath the table to pleasure her boss. By the time he raised his gaze, Billy D. was faced with two lethal former SAS operators. Before he could make a sound, the cold steel of Jake’s blade was at his throat. The brothers blocked the scene from stray glances, while Jake hunched his large frame over the back of Billy’s seat at the booth, so his weapon went unnoticed by the band’s enthralled audience.
As the Angus Young pretender quick-stepped across the stage, his guitar screaming out the solo to “You Shook Me All Night Long,” Jake leaned in close to the kingpin’s ear. “Make a sound, and I’ll bleed you like a pig. Nod if you understand.”
Billy nodded assent.
“I’m going to take my knife away. You’re going to zip up your pants, and slide out of this booth toward my friends. Before you move, know this – I know you lied to save yourself, but that doesn’t mean shit to me. If you try anything other than sliding out of the booth to follow Dozer and Priest, I think you can guess what’ll happen. Nod if you can guess.”
Again, he nodded.
“Not a whisper. Smile at your little concubines like everything’s rosy, and slide out now.” Jake said, withdrawing his blade.
Billy D. zipped up his pants, giving the lovely creature under the table a reassuring smile, and waving off the second girl’s concern. The young ladies were both high on one of their boss’s oblivion-inducing drug cocktails, so they smiled back happily. Billy slid down the left side of the booth toward the waiting brothers. Certain that absolute compliance with Jake’s command was the only thing preventing his body from being aerated by sharp objects, Billy didn’t make a sound or a sign that he was under duress. He followed Priest toward the stairway, with Jake and Dozer tailing immediately behind.
The foursome descended the stairs, turning left into the street, and walking fifty paces before Jake grabbed their victim’s shoulder, spinning him around. “You’ve got one chance to give us Tik. And she’d better be alive and well.”
Billy D. was confused. He knew the consequences of not replying immediately to Jake’s threat, but he had no idea where the Laotian woman was being held. Bewilderment obvious on his face, Billy hesitated less than three seconds. It was long enough to earn a jolting open-handed slap to his face. Aside from jarring the man’s neck out of place, the effects of Jake’s expert technique were threefold: A violent, lingering sting on the skin, a terrible piercing ring in his ear, and a pulsing, grinding ache from the bones in his jaw smashing against each other. Jake’s blow was at once disorienting and disheartening. If he could achieve such damage from a simple slap; what diabolical method of extraction would he employ next?
“That’s one.” Jake said calmly.
Billy tried to bring his hand up to rub his aching face, but the second his bicep flexed for the movement, Jake’s other hand struck the opposite side so hard, it felt as though his entire head had been squeezed in a vise for an hour.
“That’s two. You only get one more.”
Tears involuntarily streamed from Billy’s eyes. The pain was beyond description – he was sure his jaw was shattered – but he still couldn’t answer his tormentor’s question. He tried to plead for mercy, but his mouth wouldn’t open. Jake grabbed his chin, pulled his jaw open, and dug his index finger in the soft space behind his left temporomandibular joint, below the ear. He pressed hard into the vulnerable nerve bundle, radiating electrical shocks through the man’s neck and jaw.
“Twenty bucks says he passes out,” Dozer offered a bet to his brother and Mike Lee. “No takers? Come on – I’ll give you three to one.”
Lee shook his head in disgust, but Priest stuck his hand out to shake on it. “You’re on mate.”
&
nbsp; Jake ignored the brothers. “Your jaw is not broken – the shock will wear off in a few seconds. If you don’t speak by then, you won’t speak again – ever.”
Billy struggled against his temporary lockjaw. At first, just a primal grunt was all he could manage, but despite their intense pain, the burning electric shocks Jake was creating, quickly restored muscle control. Billy attempted to speak. It was incomprehensible, so Jake told him to take another couple of seconds.
“Now, try again - where is she?”
The kingpin began to sob uncontrollably.
“Speak up, man – you really don’t want to know what comes next.” Jake’s impatience frightened his victim just enough to bring him back from the brink.
He managed to slur, “Please don’t – I, I have no idea where she is.”
Jake took a deep breath. Dozer whispered to his brother, “Here it comes…”
Visible terror flashed across Billy D’s face, but the expected blow didn’t come. Instead, his smart-phone began playing the ridiculous Khmer pop song he used as an SMS text alert. Jake wrenched the device from his pocket, and peered at the display. He released his left-handed grip from Billy’s jaw, and the former steroid-monster dropped like a stone.
“He’s out like a light, mate – pay up.” Dozer laughed.
“No way, the bet was only for while Jake was still working on him. You know he wouldn’t let the bloke pass out before he got what he wanted.”
“Bullshit! The bet was…” But Dozer stopped mid-sentence.
Jake glared at the brothers like a school principal would at naughty children. They muttered apologies in unison, drawing a disdainful shake of Jake’s head.
“It’s from Ugolev. Tik is at Billy D’s home. Get him up.”
Dozer reached down, grabbing Billy’s wrist then lifted and slung his unconscious body over his massive shoulder. Mike Lee hailed some tuktuks, and Priest prattled off the address in fluent Khmer.
“Looks like this bloke’s had a little too much to drink.” Dozer chuckled to one of the drivers, as he stuffed Billy D into the back. The driver had no idea what the big Aussie said, but laughed along just the same. Priest jumped in to hold Billy’s frame in place but before the driver took off, Dozer leaned into his older brother. “This ain’t over, mate – you owe me twenty.”
The Killing Chase (Beach & Riley Book 2) Page 11