by P Gaseaux
Chapter Ten
“What the-”
JJ Hatfield muttered aloud, he jumped back. The big double doors, they nearly knocked him down. He got out of the way; the speed they burst open would have broken his arm if the handles connected. One of those doors designed to take the battering of heavy trolleys -- trash, linen, and supplies…dead bodies. Trolleys the size small sedan.
The old guy didn’t see her right away but the FBI agents sure did -- tall, female and striking. She stopped in the center of the room, looked around then sat next to the Filipino mother and the uncontrollable child.
Tanaka took a hard look at her and Jackson too. Jackson only saw the shape of her, five-eight and about one-thirty pounds. He was mentally undressing her. Physically the lady -- whoever she was -- reminded him of a Russian tennis player, a Winter Olympian or a long-legged runner, she was draped in some black corporate outfit like it was painted over her. She had a blank and vacant face though, neither pretty nor plain.
“Take a look at that -- holy shit,” whispered Jackson. He leant over and nudged Tanaka. “Nice rack. Check out the curves. Like a race track.”
Tanaka ignored him.
Once she sat her eyes darted around the room, fixing on JJ Hatfield. She stared at him. Her mouth moved; a line of non-stop silver -- maybe she had braces or something.
Something about all these women…braces, for Heaven’s sake, a fashion statement. Back home they can’t wait to get rid of the things. Railway lines.
The unruly three year old child let out a yell and struck the plastic chairs. The woman in black turned and made a single muted hissing noise. Did the trick. The child gave her a fearful look and sat down; the kind of look like a tarantula had crawled out from somewhere.
Hatfield stared back at her; she’d nearly flattened him coming through the doors. He felt like giving her a piece of his mind. He frowned.
“Help you with something, lady?” He barked at the woman. “Git off yer mustang, darlin’…good manners cost nothing. Watch where yer goin’ dammit.”
Her eyes opened wide, like saucers, like she’d seen a ghost. Her face with no expression changed now. She had an incredulous look; total disbelief.
“You’re his father…Will’s father. Will used to say this to me…when he was upset with something…’your mustang’…you mean horse or car?” The woman in black stood and faced JJ Hatfield. “My name is Jaisuwan. You may call me Anna. Everybody calls me that -- my friends; same also. I knew your son…I worked with him.”
Tanaka moved over, flipped open his ID. Jackson did the same.
“Excuse me, ma’am. My name is Special Agent PK Tanaka and this is my associate from the embassy, Special Agent Jackson. We’re with the FBI. Ma’am may I ask what is your business here?”
Pakdee-Chayochaichana didn’t answer. A registrar in a lab coat entered the waiting room. He read from a receipt attached to a clipboard before announcing in a cartoon voice: “Those to see Mister William Robert Hatfield, please.”
They turned to the man in the coat. Tanaka placed his hand on Hatfield’s shoulder. “Ready, sir?” He turned to Jackson: “Stay with her. I’ll be back.”
They followed the Filipino man along a corridor. Hatfield was shuffling along and he slowed down.
“You okay, Mister Hatfield?”
Hatfield stopped briefly, only a second or two. The registrar looked behind and stopped too. Tanaka could see Hatfield, his eyes welling up. The old guy sniffed.
“Shoot,” he whispered. “Only other time I heard anyone call my son ‘Will’ was his first girlfriend. When he was in junior high school.”
“There, there,” said Tanaka. Felt sorry for the old man. Didn’t miss it though, he made a mental note to jot the remark down.
Could be something, maybe a lead…
Pakdee marched straight back to the row of plastic chairs and dropped down next to the lady with the child who was now sleeping blissfully, its head on the lady’s lap. Jackson sat on the other side of the room, now he’d gotten off his cell but he didn’t say anything to her, only watching. She gave Jackson a withering stare, gave him the chills. Then she lifted her right hand and bunched it hard into a fist, her knuckles cracked. Her eyes pierced his, jet-black pupils.
Jackson did not speak; her take on him wasn’t friendly. Crystal clear, he got the message. Not particularly nice. He’d never harmed her; never done this lady wrong. He’d never even met her before and couldn’t figure it out. Jackson had no idea at all.
Wanna piece of me? Take your best shot, lady.
Waiting…twenty minutes; twenty-five. Hatfield came out then Tanaka. They sat next to Jackson. Pakdee hadn’t moved. Hatfield had his head down in his lap. When he straightened up he composed himself, drew a deep breath and muttered one word:
“Bastards.”
“Mister Hatfield, excuse me a moment.” The old guy nodded. Tanaka stood and whispered something to Jackson. He walked to the other side where she was. First time he’d heard the old guy curse.
“Ma’am, may I?”
Pakdee shifted, leaving an empty seat between her and Tanaka who took out his notebook and a pen. He flipped the pages and started to scribble something, wanted her real name but she interrupted.
“I would like to see Will Hatfield.”
“That’s up to his father. I can approach Mister Hatfield but this would be his decision. Perhaps it would help if you tell me your relationship with the deceased.”
“Relationship?” She looked away. “I worked with him.”
This was a game of chess for Tanaka. Except for one thing; he was totally unprepared for the meeting. Investigations had logical steps: one lead would result in another, good or bad, like a real-life flowchart. Interviews, contacts and information. Build up a case and solve it. Her arrival on the scene was a leapfrog move, caught him unawares. His mind worked overtime.
“I’m aware of that,” he lied. “The Federal Bureau has been monitoring trade links from Manila Airport, as well as the harbor-”
“We don’t do sea cargo,” she lied. “Airfreight only.”
“Ma’am, correct me if I’m wrong, but…you’re not from the Philippines. Where are you from?”
She had been answering his questions with an unusual accent, clipped and perhaps with some British influence, certainly not local. Japanese, Taiwanese, Korean?
“I am from the Kingdom of Thailand,” said Pakdee. “But I have lived everywhere. Where do you come from, Tanaka-San? In which soil do your roots lie?”
He recoiled; off guard…she’d pressed a button somewhere.
“Roots? I told you I’m with the FBI. United States Department of Justice.” Glanced in the direction of Hatfield sitting with Jackson, wanted to see how the old guy was doing. Turned back and moved closer to her. Eye-contact, he could read a lot from people’s eyes. All he saw in her was pure black, the pupils, nothing he could see…nothing to tell.
“Anna. Did you kill Billy-Bob Hatfield?”
“No I did not. You have no idea what you’re talking about do you?” She turned to the old guy, then Tanaka. “Please, I must see him.”
Tanaka got up and spoke with Hatfield a moment. Looking back at her, whispering, he was leaning over and negotiating with the old guy. He came back over and nodded. She was on her feet already. She’d been reading their lips the whole time.
“I’ll take you in,” said Tanaka.
“Thank you,” she said. Just want to see him, one last time.
The mortuary worker removed the linen covering the body. Tanaka did not look at the remains, he kept his head down but his eyes firmly trained on Anna, on the other side of the trolley. She handled it well, considering. She gasped. Tanaka couldn’t miss her teeth. All metal, silver; couldn’t call them braces. Same kind of thing as the Hispanic gang-bangers, they’d get all their real dentures removed and replaced with solid silver ones, s
ome of them even had diamond studs planted.
Came from meth abuse…wonder what’s her story?
In her ears, tiny little enameled studs, a black ace on the right and a red heart on the left ear. ‘Creepy’ wasn’t a description for a lady but it suited her. Both hands adorned in thick heavy rings; jewelry that was sharp. She had a tiny bow-tie. No trace of make-up.
“Any ideas then?” asked Tanaka. “You know who’s responsible for this crime?”
The Filipino technician covered up the body. Pakdee turned quickly and walked out of the cold-room. Entered the waiting area and walked directly to JJ Hatfield.
“I am so sorry,” she said. “They will pay the price, I will make certain of that.”
Hatfield didn’t reply.
Pakdee straightened up and headed for the big set of swing-doors, exactly the same way she had entered. As she passed Tanaka, she nodded discretely. He followed her through. She stopped and checked the big doors had closed properly. Through the glass cutaways she could see Jackson standing in there, watching them but he stayed put.
“I cannot say much in there. I need to know right now: are you from the embassy here in Manila?”
“No, I’m not. I came out from Washington; that’s where my HQ is-”
“Don’t patronize me,” said Pakdee. “You’re the immediate supervisor of that other agent, I can tell.”
“Actually, I only met him yesterday. Yes, I do outrank him technically but-”
“Do you have a good heart, Tanaka-San? Can I trust you?”
“If you cut that Tanaka-San; Tanaka-San routine.” He pitched his voice high, mimicking her. Not quite. Her voice was husky, silky. “We’re heading back. Come with us. You can talk there-”
“No chance.” Pakdee tilted her head to the waiting room. “Not with him.”
Tanaka lowered his voice: “Mister Hatfield or Agent Jackson.”
Now she turned and slowly began pacing, toward the entry bay to the road outside. Tanaka followed. They were outside. She checked the place, looking everywhere like a pilot in a dogfight and stopped near a gate pillar, stood behind that.
“Who do you think? Will’s father would never hurt me,” said Pakdee. “He didn’t know about me. He’s sick, you know that? We helped him…sent him money, paid for his drugs.” She held up her hand and counted on her fingers. “He’s dying, Special Agent Tanaka. Has a year at the most. Will Hatfield was amassing money and a lot of it…to pay for everything to cure his father, you know that?”
Tanaka’s cell rang. She watched intently and kept her eyes fixed on the cell.
“Yep, I’m with her now.” He nodded. “Stay with JJ Hatfield. Talk soon.” Dumped it back in his pocket. “Need to make a call?”
She shook her head. “Chinese messages only…I cannot risk being tracked.”
“Speaking of tracking, how’d you know we’d be here today?”
“I have eyes on the street. I have been watching him.” Pakdee jerked her eyes to the left, the reception room where the others waited.
“What’s your beef with Jackson?” Tanaka asked. He had private misgivings about the Manila attaché, now he wanted her side.
“Listen to me,” said Pakdee, changing the subject. “I have a proposal. There is a United States naval vessel from Task Force 40. It is due to arrive in Cebu Harbor in two days’ time. Get me on board. Get me to Guam so I may continue.”
“Thought you didn’t do sea freight,” said Tanaka. The sheer lunacy of the statement made him chuckle. “Why Guam? How about Pearl Harbor? I’m from Hawaii, we could sip cocktails by Waikiki Beach, watch the sunset-”
“Do not mock me,” she said. “If I can make contact with my people they can have this approved. My controller has the contacts. He does the Cobra Gold exercises, logistics. Just get me to the ship. I cannot risk any communications from here.”
“You’re nuts,” sniffed Tanaka. “Come with me to the embassy, sit down and give a statement, you assist with the case and I’ll see what I can do. An arrest and we’ll do more. Conviction and we’re talking rewards. That’s how the government works.”
“If I’m nuts then you’re completely useless. No different to your colleague. I don’t need rewards,” she spat.
Pakdee started walking now; she moved out with Tanaka in pursuit and broke into a fast walk. She didn’t wear normal secretarial shoes; they were flat things…ideal for running in.
“So who killed Billy-Bob Hatfield,” he called out. No answer. “How did you know him? Sleeping with him?”
She stopped. “Do not get personal with me!” she called out. “I employed him. I was his boss, you know that.”
“For a customs agent…get real. Hatfield’s son had a master’s degree in business admin. What were you guys really up to? What were you sending to Egypt? I know all about that too.”
“No you do not -- liar!”
She huffed and stormed off, up the street. Had a gator-skin handbag with a strap, a small thing that hugged her. It looked heavy.
She’s packing. Tooled up. Thought so.
“Anna, what’s in the bag?” asked Tanaka, pointing with his thumb at her.
Pakdee tossed her head over her shoulder. “A present for some people…something…a big surprise.” Turned and kept going, Tanaka caught up and seized her arm. She whirled around in the opposite direction dislodging his grip.
Tanaka was panting, one hundred percent humidity, the sun was out…eighty-five degrees and rising fast.
“Who killed William Robert Hatfield?!”He cried out behind her.
“Go home if you know what’s good for you. Leave me be. You’re useless.”