by Reece Hirsch
Tao weighed the usefulness of the information contained in the file in tracking Bruen and Doucet. Doucet’s past movements might not be that helpful. If she and Bruen had any sense, they would go someplace outside their ordinary sphere. But even someone trying to break from their patterns might need the help of a friend. And friends can be linked to the places that you’ve worked in the past. Zoey was still relatively new to her law firm job, so it was likely that her best friends would be associated with her recent job history.
He had already scoured his file on Bruen and thus far had not found any promising leads. Bruen seemed to be a bit of a loner and did not have a large network of friends, so there were not many obvious angles for tracking him down. Tao didn’t judge Bruen for it. He lived that way himself.
Prior to the law firm job, Doucet worked at a music club called the Bottom of the Hill. She appeared to have worked there as a bartender intermittently over three years. The club was only a short drive away, so that seemed like a good place to start.
The Bottom of the Hill club was quiet as he pushed through the door in the late afternoon, a quiet that seemed all the more intense because it was clearly not the place’s natural state. Dusty shafts of sunlight crisscrossed the dark room from a high window like support beams.
The walls were covered with photos of rock bands and scrawled band logos. Such a place would be considered a hotbed of political insurrection in his homeland. In China, a club that featured rock music seven nights a week could not exist, partly due to government censorship (Chinese rock, or yáogǔn, tended to be political) and partly due to apathy. With the exception of a brief, shining moment after Tiananmen Square, most Chinese young people were not particularly interested in rock and roll. They were far more interested in commerce and finding their place in the Chinese economic renaissance.
Bottles clinked behind the bar.
Tao walked through the gloomy pool room, approached the bar, and leaned down to find a young man wearing a black T-shirt and a two-day stubble.
“Excuse me,” Tao said.
The man jumped, and bottles clanked. “Whoa. I didn’t see you there.”
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The bartender stood. He was tall, at least six foot three, and thin. He wasn’t physically imposing, but it was a bar, and you never knew what might be tucked under the counter—anything from a baseball bat to a shotgun.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for someone who used to work here. Zoey Doucet. Do you know her?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
“I have a package for her.”
“What sort of package?”
“It’s personal.”
“If you’re talking drugs, Zoey doesn’t do them. So if that’s what you’re suggesting, it’s a lie.”
“Did I say that? Zoey will want to see me. You can call her and ask if you like.”
It was a calculated gamble. If the bartender actually had Zoey’s number, then he couldn’t allow him to alert her that he was on her trail. On the other hand, if he didn’t have Zoey’s number, then it was a way of winning his confidence.
“What’s your name?”
“Ken Ma. What’s yours?”
“Justin.” Justin stared at him for a long moment, then said, “Well, I don’t have her cell number anyway, so I can’t help you.”
A pudgy young girl with a nose ring and red tights under a skirt stepped behind the bar, having overhead a snippet of the conversation.
“Are you looking for Zoey Doucet? She was just here. Krissa must know where she’s at.” She said this looking at Justin for confirmation, anxious to show that she was part of their clique, which clearly included the much-revered Zoey.
Justin scowled at her.
“Is Krissa here?” Tao asked, trying to make the question as bland as possible.
Justin started to speak, but the girl interrupted, anxious to help. “She’s right upstairs. I can go get her.”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Tao said. “Thanks. I’ll go myself.”
“I’ll go with you,” Justin said, suspicious, but not suspicious enough to try to stop him.
Justin led Tao up the stairs to a small apartment above the club. The girl who must be Krissa was sprawled on a dingy couch, reading a paperback. She sat up when the two of them entered, looking a bit foggy after being immersed in her book.
“Who are you?” Krissa asked. She stood and seemed to snap into focus quickly.
“Ken Ma,” Tao said. “A friend of Zoey’s.”
“She never mentioned you to me.”
Krissa was lean and tattooed, and she had an alertness about her that made Tao think he shouldn’t drop his guard. If the situation called for it, this was someone who might know what to do with a broken beer bottle.
“Well, I’ve never heard of you before either. I’m looking for Zoey.”
“Why?”
“It’s personal. I have something that I need to deliver to her.”
“What is this personal thing that you need to deliver?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be personal, would it?”
“I’m a good friend of Zoey, and I don’t think she would mind.”
“But I don’t know that, do I?”
Krissa put her hands on her knees, ready to wrap up the conversation and get him out of there. “How about this? You give me your message, and I’ll see if I can get it to her. You can seal it in an envelope if you like. I won’t open it.”
“That doesn’t work for me.”
“Then I guess we have nothing more to say.”
Justin stared at Tao with what he probably hoped was a menacing glare. Tao considered escalating the situation right there in the room, but he recognized that would be far too messy. And the pudgy girl downstairs would also have to be dealt with, or she would call the police.
“Okay,” Tao said. “But Zoey won’t like it when she hears how uncooperative you’ve been.”
“I’ll live with that,” Krissa said.
Tao descended the stairs and left the club. He took up a seat in his car, parked down the street, and watched the entrance to the club for an hour, waiting for Krissa to emerge. They would continue their conversation one-on-one, and he knew that she would be more forthcoming this time. He opened his bag and checked the power drill, making sure that the battery was charged. He would need plenty of battery life for what he had in mind.
After an hour of sitting in the warm car, Tao saw Krissa exit the bar. He picked up the bag with the power drill and climbed out of the car to follow her.
She walked for three blocks past several Potrero Hill bars and then disappeared into an old, brown-brick apartment building. A few minutes later, the curtains in a window were pulled open.
Now they could continue their conversation. His heart beating faster, Tao swung his bag over his shoulder and crossed the street.
On the sidewalk outside the apartment building, his burner phone pinged, and he stopped.
There was a text from Ms. Wan that read, “Bruen used his debit card at Dallesandro’s Market in Stinson Beach. Lots of groceries. They’re clearly staying somewhere nearby.”
Tao debated whether to proceed upstairs and continue his conversation with Krissa or get in the car and drive to Stinson Beach. She seemed to know something about Zoey’s location. Krissa seemed like a strong person, so it might take some time to get the information out of her.
He checked his map and saw that Stinson Beach was at least an hour’s drive from where he was. In the time it took to finish with Krissa, Bruen and Doucet might be able to move on to a new hiding place. For all he knew, Krissa might have already called Zoey to tell her about the strange man who had been asking about her. And he already had a good lead on their whereabouts—Dallesandro�
�s Market.
It was a close call, and he stood for a long moment on the sidewalk, weighing his options.
Tao decided that interrogating Krissa was probably not worth the time it would consume. He would drive directly to Stinson Beach.
Krissa would never know just how close she had come. He regretted the missed opportunity, but he was confident that he would soon have another chance to practice his craft.
34
The winding road out to Stinson Beach was treacherous in the hard rain, and Tao had to be careful not be lulled into drowsiness by the metronomic ticking of the windshield wipers. The narrow stretch of road in front of him blurred, then the wiper passed and it snapped back into focus. Blur and focus. Blur and focus. Like an eye exam. Perhaps the weather would ultimately work to his advantage. Bruen and Doucet would be more likely to stay put and hunker down in their hiding place.
The scenery was probably beautiful in different weather, but that was irrelevant. He had a job to do.
Tao tried listening to the radio to maintain his alertness—some sort of classic rock station—but eventually all of the stations faded to static as he got farther into the wild terrain.
When he reached the flats, the tension in his hands and back eased. He rolled slowly through the town of Stinson Beach, which was no more than a two-block stretch of stores. Dallesandro’s was not hard to find.
He opened the door to the grocery, and a bell jingled. The shop appeared empty, but the Western-style music of a soundtrack swelled. He took a step or two into the store, and the old wooden floorboards creaked.
Then a gray-haired man popped up from behind the counter. “Hello there.”
“Hello.”
“Nasty out there, isn’t it?”
“It sure is.”
“Hardly anyone comes in on days like this, so I just sit down behind the counter here and watch a movie. Easier on the arches.” The man pointed at a small television set on a stool with a VHS VCR resting on top. He clicked a remote and froze the movie. “What can I do for you?”
“I was looking for someone who’s visiting here.”
“Well, if someone’s staying out here, they usually end up in my place sooner or later. We’re the only grocery for about ten miles in either direction.”
“His name is Chris Bruen.”
“Don’t recognize it.”
“Tall man about six foot three. Dark hair. He’s with a girl.”
“Good for him.”
“Her name is Zoey Doucet. She’s a little bit younger.”
“Once again, good for him.”
“The girl has brown hair.”
The old man shook his head. “Still not ringing any bells.”
Tao’s hand started to move toward the gun tucked in his belt under his navy-blue rain parka.
“Wait a second,” the shopkeeper said. “I might have seen the man. They didn’t come in as a couple. Dark hair? Kinda wild on top?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, I think I did see him then.”
“When was he here?”
“Just yesterday.”
“Do you know where he’s staying?”
The old man hesitated. “Well, you know, some people come out here for a little privacy. I know that you’re probably a friend and all, but I don’t like to share personal information about my customers.”
“I understand, but I really need to see them.”
“I don’t get many customers to begin with, so I don’t need to be alienating anyone.”
“They won’t mind, believe me.”
“I think it’s best if you just give them a call. You have their phone number, right?”
“Actually, I don’t,” Tao said, his impatience welling. “See, he changed his cell number recently, and I haven’t spoken to him since then.”
“If you haven’t spoken with him lately, how did you know he was here?”
“A friend told me.”
“Couldn’t that friend give you his new cell number?”
Tao looked back at the front door of the store. It was closed. There was no one on the sidewalk outside, and the rain was pouring in a sheet off the awning, providing a sense of privacy as if a curtain had been drawn across the doorway.
The shopkeeper caught the look and what it meant, and his eyes widened.
Tao glanced at the back of the store and saw that there was a door next to a restroom that must lead to the alley behind the shop. If he left through the front door, someone might spot him.
“I won’t say anything,” the man said.
“I know.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You’d warn them.”
“How do you know that? Maybe I don’t give a damn what business you have with them.”
“No, I can tell. You’re a good person. You’d want to warn them.”
“And you’re not? A good person, I mean.”
“No.”
Tao drew his gun and put a bullet in the middle of the old man’s forehead. He collapsed on the spot, eyes wide, and the look of surprise still there on his face.
Tao peered over the counter. Above the crumpled body, the television set was still frozen on a street scene from the Wild West, a gunslinger walking down a dusty town’s main street, glowering from under a hat drawn low.
Tao exited by the rear door, careful not to leave prints on the knob. He pulled up the hood of his parka, the hard rain popping and spattering against it, and walked down an alleyway lined with Dumpsters.
He’d parked his rental car down the road, knowing that any unfamiliar cars on the short stretch of the main drag might be noticed. He sat and watched the front of the shop through the rain-streaked windshield.
There was a time when he would have felt an irresistible urge to flee after killing a person, put as much distance as possible between himself and the crime scene. Now, though, he felt a calm that came with the confidence that he was the deadliest living thing in this small rain-soaked town.
He was the apex predator.
35
Zoey saw the police car parked in front of Dallesandro’s from far down the street. She thought about turning back right then, but she felt compelled to see. She put one foot in front of the other until she reached the crime scene tape strung from the posts in front of the grocery store and around the entrance.
It was hard to tell what was going on from the sidewalk as a couple of police officers crowded in, along with someone from the coroner’s office. But she saw a brand-new Nike running shoe extended beyond the edge of the shop counter, along with an argyle sock and aged ankle, the skin stretched taut and dry like canvas over the bone.
A deputy came out of the shop and addressed the locals who were gathered on the sidewalk. “Please, they need room to do their work. I know you all knew Henry, but the best thing you can do now is go home. You’re not going to learn anything here, and you can read about it in the Beachcomber tomorrow. Please.”
Zoey stood with the crowd of locals for a few moments more and then turned and walked quickly back toward the house. As she climbed the winding dirt path, Zoey had the distinct sense that she was being followed. It took all of the discipline she could muster not to turn and scan behind her.
The dirt driveway was slippery with mud, and she nearly fell a couple of times as she trudged up the rutted path. She pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt against the rain. There was no point in showing her face now. He had either seen her or not. He was either coming or he wasn’t.
She had made this walk the past two days, waiting for the killer to come calling. But this time it was hard to keep her terror under control because she knew he had arrived in Stinson Beach. This was the day when their plan would work, or they would die.
> When Zoey reached the porch, she fumbled with the keys and got inside quickly, locking the door behind her. Her racing pulse began to slow a bit.
Zoey felt sick with the knowledge that the shopkeeper would not be dead if she and Chris had not brought the killer to Stinson Beach. When this was all over, she was going to have to reckon with that death, as well the death of Matt Geist. Death was following them wherever they went now, and that was not a figure of speech. This had to end, and she hoped Chris would be able to spring their trap soon.
Chris crouched in the bushes about ten yards back from the path up to the house. He had hated to send Zoey into town to draw the killer back here, but this was a two-person job, and Zoey did not want to be the one to pull the trigger. Chris figured that the man would follow Zoey rather than shoot her on the spot because he would want to make sure he found Chris, his primary target.
He heard wet sounds in the distance as someone advanced up the muddy path. Chris was relieved when he saw that it was Zoey, taking short steps to avoid slipping. Zoey glanced his way but didn’t make a show of it. She didn’t seem to see him hidden in the woods, though she knew he hid somewhere in that direction.
From his vantage point, Chris could see all the way back down the path to the main road. He saw no one.
Maybe the killer wasn’t coming. Maybe he didn’t have access to their credit card activity and had no idea they were in Stinson Beach. Perhaps Chris had given him too much credit.
Then Chris heard a rustling in the bushes below.
It might just be a squirrel, a cat, or some other animal looking for shelter from the storm. Then he heard the sound again, a little closer this time. If it was an animal, it was a large one. Adrenaline shot through him like a lightning strike.
Chris already had his gun at his side, but now he slipped the safety off and raised it in the direction from which the sounds were emanating. His hands were trembling, and it was hard to keep the gun steady. Hunters called it “buck fever.”
The killer would recognize that this might be a trap, so of course he wasn’t going to skip up the path to the house. The problem was that the man had instead chosen to sneak through the bushes, following a path that would lead him directly to Chris’s hiding place. Chris was not going to have the clean shot he had hoped for.