Bullet Beach (23 page)

‘The bar wasn't open yet,' he said.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Bar wasn't supposed to open until noon. That's what the sign said, that's what the bartender told me when I stopped back.'

‘So?'

‘We were there a little before ten,' Shanahan said.

‘Maybe the kid had an agreement with the owner.'

‘The Germans were there before we were. Again, that may be nothing. But it's not necessarily a coincidence. And why are four Germans hanging around with each other night and day? They might be obnoxious tourists, but they're not expat-riates, drunk day and night and sticking together like that. If they were expats, they'd have at least some semblance of a life.'

Back in their room, while Maureen poured some orange juice and doused it with a shot of rum, Shanahan took the ‘Peacemaker' apart. It was rusty and corroded. There was every likelihood that if he fired the damned thing, it would explode and kill him rather than the person he wanted dead.

He knew enough about weapons, especially old, simply engineered revolvers, to make sure all the pieces were there and once they were cleaned and oiled, put back where they belonged. The hotel's resident handyman was able to supply him with some fine sandpaper and oil.

By the time he was done it was afternoon and Maureen was pleasantly buzzed, a condition that normally produced a cute silliness he enjoyed. However, he was concerned for her. Things seemed to be getting more serious. He didn't understand it himself. He had nothing to base it on. However, his awareness was heightened, his focus tighter, narrower. This usually preceded a real threat.

They were in the chairs, looking out over the ocean.

‘Maureen?' He tried to sound casual. However, he knew he wasn't good at nonchalant. She turned toward him. She was in a pleasant space, it seemed. Good, he thought. ‘I was thinking. I have a few loose ends to tie up, but we've pretty much done all we can do. Don't you think?'

Her look went from curious to suspicious.

‘And?'

‘And,' Shanahan continued, ‘I was thinking that maybe . . . you might want to go back, check in on the animals . . . I mean both of us being away . . .' He struggled. She knew it.

‘What loose ends do you need to tie up?' she asked.

He continued his struggle for words.

‘Out with it,' she said and he wasn't exactly sure what kind of smile she had on her face.

‘I want you to go home. I think it could get dangerous.'

‘Why do you think that?' she asked.

‘I can't explain it. I have this sense that . . .'

‘Intuition?'

‘Well, not exactly intuition.'

‘Not like women's intuition?'

‘Exactly, not at all like women's intuition. More like a hunch.'

‘I see,' she said. ‘Men have hunches.'

‘Your right eyebrow is raised.'

‘I suspect it is.'

‘Why is that, Maureen?'

‘It does that when people are disingenuous.'

‘Well, put it down and we'll talk about it.'

‘You'll be your usual candid self from now on?'

‘Yes.'

‘OK, as long as we're being up front about this, I'm not sure I should leave.'

‘Why?'

‘You're not thirty-five anymore.'

‘Not for awhile now. But you did say I had a few good years left.'

He knew what she was driving at. He couldn't be trusted on his own in a difficult situation. That was why she came along in the first place.

‘And how is it, that after all these years you've suddenly become your brother's keeper?'

‘I can't explain any of this. None of it. Maybe I've lost my last marbles.'

Neither would say, at least out loud, that maybe what he was doing was only a show of his independence, a statement to her and to himself, that he could still make a difference.

‘Me too. And I'm being selfish. If I'm here with you and can keep an eye on you, then I'm not worried. If I'm home, I would be worrying all the time.'

‘So, no matter what we do, one of us is going to worry?'

‘We could both go home,' she said.

‘I can't do that. Not again.'

‘Again?'

‘It's complicated.'

‘Feelings are complicated things, aren't they?' she asked.

‘Yeah, and it's your fault. Before you none . . .'

‘Sssshhhh,' she said, putting her finger to his lips.

‘I'll go.' There was no self-pity in her comment, nor was it guilt-laden. She had come to that conclusion.

Even so, Shanahan felt like the heavy.

‘It's something I
have
to do.'

‘I know.'

‘I've put you in too much danger already.' She looked at him in a way that he didn't understand. ‘Listen,' he said. ‘I couldn't live without you. No point.'

‘And me?' she asked. ‘It's the same.'

‘Let me do this,' he said.

‘I can't stop you.'

‘You could, but . . .'

‘I understand,' she said. She kissed him.

Shanahan didn't want her going back through Bangkok. He didn't trust anyone at the moment and who knew what would happen at the airport? They, whoever they were, could use her to get to Shanahan and to Fritz. Maureen found a flight leaving that afternoon leaving Phuket, headed to Singapore, where she would change planes for the U.S.

The goodbye was awkward. For the first time neither knew what to say and for the first time they were frightened by the silence.

‘It will work out,' Shanahan finally said.

‘We'll be fine?'

‘We will. Call me when you get home.'

She nodded.

Shanahan waited at the airport until he was sure the plane had taken off. He looked around, saw no one especially suspicious. He knew that didn't mean there wasn't someone there to be wary of. He took a taxi back to the hotel, carrying with him a sense of loss. In his desire to keep Maureen out of danger, had he smothered the unnamable spirit they shared? It was something
he
had to do.

He was about to enter his room, when the maid hurriedly interceded. She carried a pail with bottles of cleaners inside, a mop and a small vacuum cleaner. She spoke apologetically in broken English – something about not getting to the room yet. Shanahan turned to walk away, maybe down into Patong for something to eat. He needed a distraction to lead him away from depressing introspection. He had gone a few feet when he felt immense heat and his body lifting off the ground. Then came the sound . . . the world was ending, had to be the world was coming to an end.

TWENTY-THREE

The room held several people whose physical presence seemed larger than life. Lieutenant Collins sat on the corner of the conference table, his expensive pants sharply creased and shirt starched. He appeared to be in charge. This, despite the fact that Lauren Saddler was an assistant DA and looking both highly professional and very formidable. Cross's friend and attorney James Fenimore Kowalski was no slouch in the intimidation department either. He was a big man, bearded. His black, swept back hair had a streak of silver, as did his beard. He could have been cast as Zeus in a Greek drama.

Also in the room, seated at the far end of the table, was Raymond Taupin who seemed to possess none of the materiality of the others. He was almost a minus presence, yet it was Taupin who had been the powerful destructive force. His attorney, Anthony Zarga, sat next to him. He looked competent, smart, comfortable. There were two uniformed IMPD officers and the police chief from the jurisdiction that oversaw residents of Lake Wawasee. They had, at Saddler's request, allowed Cross and Taupin to be taken to Indianapolis as part of an investigation of the crime that seemed to have originated in Indianapolis. The crimes were obviously related.

‘Ms Saddler and I are here this late not because we get overtime,' Collins said, ‘We don't. We're here because it seems most likely that the truth about these deaths is knowable and that the truth is in this room.'

Cross was impressed with Collins. He didn't dress like a cop and he didn't talk like one.

‘As should be clear,' Anthony Zarga said, ‘I represent Raymond Taupin and I question the notion that a sleazy private eye, who has been involved in other highly questionable deaths would be put on the same level as a man who has earned his place as a respected businessman and as a generous contributor to the community.'

‘At the moment,' Saddler said, ‘we're going with the idea that everyone is equal under the law. It's a bizarre idea, I know. But for now, let's give justice the benefit of the doubt.'

‘Sleazy private eye, sleazy business man . . .' Kowalski finished the sentence visually, with a shrug.

Collins continued: ‘Mr Taupin says that days ago Mr Cross broke into his home and was confronted by his son-in-law, Marshall Talbot. And that somewhere, perhaps outside, Cross shot him, taking his body and an unidentified woman, perhaps an innocent witness, and put them in the trunk of his car. He switched the bodies from his car to that of a repo for transport later. Mr Taupin says he believes that Cross returned to the lake house to take revenge for the pressure Mr Taupin put on Mr Cross. When he didn't find Mr Taupin at home, he shot Mrs Taupin and the security person. And had not Mr Taupin fled the scene, he would have been killed himself. Is that about it, Mr Taupin?'

Taupin nodded. Said nothing.

‘Mr Cross has a different story,' Collins said. ‘He was picking up a repo as directed by the owner of the car lot and financier of the car to be repo'd. He did not know, he says, there were bodies in the trunk. He and his associate, Chester Thurman, disarmed a man who threatened them with a shotgun and the man later broke into Cross's home, threatened Mr Cross and was subsequently shot. Cross, feeling as if he was about to go down for the murders, visited Mr Taupin's lake home, where he was taken hostage. Cross said that he was restrained by being taped to a chair, a situation verified by his attorney, who freed him. But earlier, while being restrained, Mr Cross said he witnessed Taupin shoot his security man and then his wife. He did so, Mr Cross said, using Mr Cross's weapon. How'd I do, Mr Cross?'

‘Good. The condensed version, but good.'

The darkness outside and fluorescence inside turned the window glass into a mirror. It was after ten in the evening, having taken an entire day of negotiations to move the crux of the investigation from Kosciusko County to Indianapolis. It was a good thing, Cross thought. In Taupin's backyard and with the circumstances appearing as they did, he would likely be in jail.

‘We're here in good faith,' Anthony Zarga said, ‘to move this investigation forward. But to give equal status to Mr Cross doesn't serve justice nor does it serve my client. Your Mr Cross has been associated with other suspicious deaths. You, Mr Cross were seriously involved with a prostitute who had ties to the sex slave industry. You, Mr Cross were fired from the police department and make your living by stealing automobiles in the middle of the night. And now we have the criminal's lawyer colluding with his client, providing false evidence to support his client's ludicrous claims.'

‘There is no jury here, counselor,' Kowalski said. ‘Save the rhetoric.'

During the silence Zarga jumped back in. ‘The most ridiculous accusation of all is that Mr Taupin killed the two victims found in the trunk. Mr Taupin was in Mexico City at the time of the first two deaths. His whereabouts can be tracked through passports, phone calls, and witnesses if need be. He wasn't anywhere near Indianapolis the day before and the day after the incident. The same can't be said for the sleazy Mr Cross who was taking the victims for a ride.'

Taupin, allowing a smidgeon of disgust to cross his face, glanced dismissively at Cross.

‘And Mr Taupin is the top vampire in the business world,' Kowalski said, ‘buying businesses on the cheap and killing them off by slowly draining them of their assets. He tears down historic landmarks and . . .' Kowalksi paused. He looked around the room, smiling broadly. ‘. . . and seems to have questionable ties to Colombia.'

Cross was pretty sure he saw Taupin's eyes widen, an expressive a gesture as he had seen, even while the man was killing his wife. Cross looked at Kowalski, wondering what his attorney was up to. If it was a bluff, it worked.

‘This isn't a business deal that went wrong, Mr Kowalski. Four people were killed. Mr Taupin had no motive to kill any of them.'

‘We're jumping ahead,' Collins said. ‘We appreciate everyone's voluntary participation in this unusual meeting. But rarely do we have a situation like this. Because you each accuse the other and claim to be an eyewitness to some of the deaths, at least one of you is a liar and a murderer. Down to two. We should be able to sort this out before the press does a number on both of you.'

Taupin looked at Collins without expression.

What followed were two hours of accusations and denials, character sanctifications and character slurs as well as the silence of the two who were being accused. Cross was determined to appear as calm and unconcerned as the praying mantis, Taupin himself.

‘His wife was murdered!' Anthony Zarga shouted in the midst of the fray. ‘At what has to be the worst time in his life, Raymond Taupin has agreed to come down here and help the police, but the police seem determined to allow this criminal to debase the victim.' He looked to Taupin, who seemed more bored than torn up, ‘If he were on some mad murderous binge, why on earth would he kill his wife and let this cretin live?'