Bullet Beach (18 page)

‘You tell me what I can do to help you get the . . .' He laughed. ‘No words for it. I'll help you. Now about me coming after you? I slipped or you wouldn't be as pretty as you are now.'

‘I'll take that as a compliment,' Cross said. ‘You stop following me, OK?'

‘OK. And you remember,' he said with a threat back in his voice, ‘I want a shot at this guy.' He nodded as if confirming his own words. He walked out in a way that suggested he had restored at least some of his dignity.

‘They sleep a lot,' Cross said. He was on his third tequila, sipping it straight. He was answering Maureen's inquiry about Casey and Einstein.

‘Did I wake you up?' Maureen asked.

‘Nope. How are you and Shanahan?'

‘We're in Phuket. We're not sure why, but the trail ended in Bangkok. Shanahan deduced his brother might be down here. It's nice down here. I called to ask you to call us at the hotel tomorrow morning . . . that is your tomorrow morning. And you need to ask us if we found Fritz.'

‘OK,' Cross said. ‘Why am I doing that?'

‘Because by then our hotel phone is likely to be bugged. I'm calling from a pay phone in another hotel.'

‘I see. You having fun?'

‘Yes,' Maureen said. Cross thought it seemed an unqualified ‘yes.'

‘Well, like I said, the kids are fine. Very easy. Casey doesn't like boats, I found out.'

‘Four feet on solid ground at all times. If you lift him up he gets this silly expression on his face.'

‘I do too,' Cross said.

‘Everything all right?' Maureen asked.

‘The usual,' Cross said, taking another sip.

SEVENTEEN

The morning in Phuket disrupted Shanahan's morning routine. The coffee, retrieved from the small lobby, was made from a jar of instant powder and not quite steaming water. The English language newspaper, if there was one, would be a long walk down to the beach front. The only good news is that the call from Cross came through and Maureen adroitly provided the intended misinformation.

‘How are the animals?'

‘Happy and sleepy,' Cross said. ‘How are you coming on locating Shanahan's brother?'

‘We had to give it up,' Maureen said. ‘It was just impossible. We lost whatever scent we had in Bangkok. It's unfortunate.'

‘So when are you coming back?'

‘I've talked Shanahan into hanging around for a little while. We spent so much money and took such a long trip, it seemed a waste if we didn't take a few days and just enjoy the trip.'

‘How's Bangkok?'

‘We're down in Phuket now. Beautiful and the air is so clean.'

‘Maybe your pal can get a little color. Tell him he can go surfing.'

‘I'll tell him. I'm sure he'll have something for you to do,' Maureen said to Cross who began to laugh. ‘Everything all right there?' she asked.

‘Don't hurry back. Enjoy yourself. You guys should check out Thai boxing.'

‘I'm not fond of seeing people beating other people up,' she said looking at Shanahan. ‘But some people in this room don't seem to mind.'

‘I'm sure you can find something fun to do,' Cross said.

‘I'm thinking breakfast right now. Probably in Patong.'

Shanahan, standing beside Maureen, was pleased at the improvisation. She had told the possible phone tap listener where they'd be and when they'd be there.

‘Good work about the breakfast,' he said after she said goodbye to Cross. She gave Shanahan a puzzled look. ‘We might be able to pick up our tail while we have our coffee.'

She smiled. ‘All I wanted to do is have breakfast.'

And breakfast she had, out in the open in a café just across a road from the beach. It was already hot and would probably have been unbearable, if it had not been early morning and had they not spent so many days in the suffocating, thick heat of Bangkok. The restaurant was unpretentious, busy and full of tourists. Other than servers, there weren't many Thais. Many of the customers, obviously normally pale, appeared pink in their colorful clothes and seemed to be divided into two distinct groups – those cheerfully starting their days and those waiting for the effects of the previous night to disappear.

A man appeared at the table next to theirs. He stood out not only because he appeared to be Thai, but because his clothing looked European. He wore a handsome straw hat, a silk shirt restrained in its color and design, white linen pants and leather sandals. The man nodded hello when Shanahan first noticed him.

‘What brings you to Phuket?' The man directed his question to Maureen in perfect English.

‘At first business, now just pleasure,' Maureen said.

Shanahan leaned across the table and whispered in her ear: ‘In a few moments, turn away from him, pretend he doesn't exist. Now say something to me about how silly I am.'

Maureen laughed. ‘Maybe tonight. We have a few days, you know.'

‘I hope your business trip was successful,' the man said.

She shrugged, picked up her menu and moved her body, so that he was looking at a shoulder and the back of her head. Shanahan, in sunglasses, pretended to focus on the menu as well. After a few quiet moments had passed, Shanahan picked up the tell-tale movement. The stranger's right hand opened from a fist to fingers splayed outward, then back, then outward. It was the tic that Channarong described.

‘I know what I want,' Shanahan said, putting the menu down and taking a deep breath.

‘Me too,' Maureen said, eyes reengaging with the man at the next table.

‘I hope I was not too nosy,' he said, ‘I travel a lot and I'm just interested in other people's stories.'

‘Don't worry, we just let hunger get the best of us. I was afraid the waiter would come and we wouldn't be ready.'

‘Americans,' he said with kindly amusement.

‘We weren't really here on business in the economic sense,' Shanahan said. ‘I was trying to find my brother. We were separated in our youth and well . . . it's late in our lives. We thought we'd take a vacation where we understood he was living. But it appears he has taken off again.'

‘You don't know where he has gone?'

‘No way to know.'

‘So you came here?'

‘We heard so many lovely things about Phuket.'

‘We spent a good deal of money to get here,' Shanahan said, trying to be more sociable than he was. He was not good at being chatty. ‘We decided to see a little more of your fine country before we leave.'

‘Not my country,' he said, smiling. ‘I am a visitor too.' He looked at his watch and excused himself. ‘I'll have to grab something on the run. So nice to meet you. Enjoy your stay.'

He was gone.

‘He was down to business,' Maureen said. ‘You think he buys the story and is headed back to Bangkok?'

‘I think we wait a day or two anyway before we do some serious hunting. We'll do tourist things. I'm sure there's a boat ride to somewhere and temples and hotels.'

The problem was, though, that even if Fritz were in the area as Shanahan theorized, it still didn't mean they could find him. But with the stranger in Phuket it was too early to be showing photographs around.

As Shanahan faced the day, Cross went out into the night. He had set his alarm for three a.m. Casey came in the bathroom to see what had disturbed the routine and, apparently satisfied, went back the way he came. The drive to the Eastside was quiet. Moisture saturated the air. Having stopped a few blocks from Edelman's used car lot and in dark clothes, Cross walked the rest of the way. By walking, he thought, he reduced the chances of being seen.

The streets, still hot from the August sun, sent steam up from the asphalt and the wet air made the lights from the streetlamps fuzzy. He dodged these soft pools of light.

He jimmied the back door of the office. He hoped it wouldn't be in vain. The police might have taken his financial records to help determine if this was a suicide. In fact, they should have. But it was likely they couldn't find the hidden records. Cross clicked on his two-foot-long flashlight – which could double as a weapon – running the beam across debris. The degree of the mess suggested it wasn't a forensic cop who did the tossing.

Though he wasn't exactly sure what his predecessors were looking for, he figured it was probably the same thing he was after. Because the mess was so comprehensive, it suggested the intruders might not have found what they were looking for. And that probably meant that what Cross wanted wasn't in the wreckage. Or, all of what they needed was on the old computer. The box was gone. The screen remained. But what Cross wanted wasn't something Edelman would keep out in the open. The only difference between himself and the people who made the mess is that Cross knew where Edelman kept the vodka. And putting the beam of light on the sailfish, it appeared it had not been touched.

There it was. Behind three bottles of Absolut was an expandable file and a big checkbook, the kind that businesses use. He pulled out the checkbook, sat it on the desk. The account was a bank in Montana. The folder was thick. Notes had been scribbled on yellow legal pads, napkins, the margins of columns in magazines, the back of envelopes. All informal, and, if Cross was right, incriminating.

Satisfied, he grabbed the folder, the check book and a bottle of unopened Vodka. What he was doing was highly illegal. But compared to the hovering murder charge, it was nothing. He made his way back to the Trooper and back across town, getting off the Interstate Loop at 56th and crossing back to his place via Kessler Boulevard.

It was as if all human life had been sucked from the planet. The late night celebrants were climbing into bed and the early morning workers had yet to stir.

When the light began to seep in through the windows, Cross switched from vodka to coffee. Since you're up, Einstein seemed to say with his nagging meow, feed me. Cross went through the morning routine earlier than usual and sat back down to the papers before him. The pieces were coming together. Edelman did not own the car lot or his house. The business appeared to be making a profit and the house paid off. Both were legally owned by two different Raymond Taupin corporations. Based on the information Kowalski gathered, the name E. V. Lancaster was listed as a shareholder and board member. Judging by the scrambled notes, Taupin's opportunity came during Edelman's divorce. No doubt Taupin stepped in to help Edelman financially during an expensive divorce. And Edelman had no idea just how expensive Taupin's help would be until it was too late.

The problem was, according to Edelman's scribbles, that Taupin was squeezing harder and harder, every bit of blood out of the turnip. And Edelman, feeling the pinch, was doing a little investigating on his own – keeping a separate set of books. Edelman had notes that paralleled Kowalski's, listing all of Taupin's companies and names. Edelman, on the brink of financial ruin, might have challenged Taupin. And the bodies might have been designed to send Edelman a message. But why would Taupin kill his son-in-law and some woman to make a point?

Cross sat back, pulled off his latex gloves. It didn't make sense. The other thing that didn't make a lot of sense was a note with several different phone numbers with country codes that turned out to be Colombia, South America. The girl? If Edelman did commit suicide why didn't he see to it that incriminating evidence got to the police in the event of his death – or before? If he didn't do himself in why was he killed before the killers found what they were looking for?

Cross would call Kowalksi and fill him in, but not until the sun came up a little higher. He took all of Edelman's papers to a copy house and, with latex gloves back on, made a copy of everything.

When he got back, he called Kowalski.

‘Give them the copies,' the lawyer said. ‘I'll find a lock-box for the originals.'

‘You don't trust the DA?'

‘I don't trust Taupin,' Kowalski said. ‘His slimy hands are all over everything. He is well-connected to the city council and has been known to push the mayor around. I think you should get the young-uns out of your house. When you drop off the box, bring Casey and Einstein. They can stay here. You heard from the world travelers?'

‘Something odd going on. They're in Phuket and they believe they've picked up a tail who might have their phone lines tapped.'

‘Sounds like a good time. Wish I was there. Anyway, I've got an extra piece of halibut. So come up around dinner time.'

Kowalski, over grilled halibut, sautéed eggplant and chilled white wine, explained his concerns about the animals. If the DA had a sudden urge to have him arrested, they might arrive with guns drawn and dogs be damned. And if the murderer comes for you, you're all in jeopardy.

‘In other words, I'm inches from the cliff?'

‘You know Taupin is making their lives miserable – the cops, the DA, the mayor.'

They dined outside, Kowalski's bulldog, bored with his furry friends, slept in a little spot of evening sun. Though White River, as it wound through the strange little neighborhood known as Ravenswood, wasn't exactly the kind of river that songs were written about, it looked presentable as the sun prepared to set.

‘I'm puzzled by the Taupins using muscle,' Kowalski said. ‘The murders couldn't have been planned. He is the slimy type, but it's all done financially and the pressure he can bring to a situation with the powerful folks he knows and manipulates. It's all favor for favor or denial of a favor. Mafia-light.'

‘Why do you have it in for Taupin?'