Dead in Hong Kong (Nick Teffinger Thriller) (30 page)

“I’ve already been shouting for ten minutes,” Fan Rae said. “It’s no use. I’m sorry I got you into this. I really am. This is my fault. I need to tell you something, while we still have time.”

“Tell me what?”

HER WORDS WERE JUMBLED and her brain wasn’t moving in a straight line, but she answered questions when
Teffinger
asked them and, by the time she was finished, he understood what she wanted to tell him.

D’Asia was a hit woman.

She murdered people for a living.

All of her assignments came through a woman named Kam Lee, who owned a dungeon. Kam Lee wasn’t the one who hired her, though. She was just the conduit. Someone else was the boss. But he or she would never disclose themselves, for security purposes.

D’Asia wanted to know who the boss was, so she’d have some leverage if she ever outlived her usefulness. She hired a private investigator by the name of Tanna Fan to find out who he was.

“Tanna Fan?”

“Right, she’s my sister,” Fan Rae said.

Tanna started the investigation by going after Kam Lee, who was the most direct link to the boss. She broke into Kam Lee’s house. She broke into Kam Lee’s dungeon. She took los of Kam Lee’s papers and got lots on information but didn’t come up with the link. Unfortunately, in the process, she got captured on a security tape. Kam Lee didn’t know who was breaking into her stuff, or why, but told the boss about it.

“He then, in turn, hired d’Asia, through Kam Lee, to find the woman and bring her to the dungeon for an interrogation, after which she would be killed.”

D’Asia had developed a fondness for Tanna by this point
, s
o they had a discussion and made a deal.

D’Asia would capture Tanna and bring her to the dungeon. Tanna would be interrogated but wouldn’t say who she was working for or why. Afterwards, d’Asia would take Tanna somewhere to kill her.

“The deal was, though, that d’Asia wouldn’t really kill her,” Fan Rae said. “She would really let her go and then report back that the job had been done and that the body had been disposed of.”

They then executed that plan to perfection.

Obviously, Tanna couldn’t be in Hong Kong any longer so she changed her name and moved to Rome. She didn’t tell anyone that she was still alive, except for Fan Rae. That was absolutely necessary because if the boss ever found out that d’Asia deceived him, she would be killed herself.

So Tanna disappeared.

Her body never showed up.

Everyone thought she was dead.

End of story.

EXCEPT THAT THE STORY DIDN’T EXACTLY END THERE.

“I knew that d’Asia was a hit woman because she had confided in Tanna who in turn confided in me,” Fan Rae said. “I also owed d’Asia a favor, for letting Tanna live. It turned out that I drew one of the murders that d’Asia subsequently committed. I misdirected the investigation so she wouldn’t be discovered. That’s something I’m not proud of.”

Time went on.

Nothing happened.

Everything was status quo.

The problem was that Tanna had a P.I partner by the name of Lily Yip, who actually thought Tanna had been murdered when she disappeared. Lily Yip got obsessed with finding Tanna’s killer. She theorized that it was the hit woman who Tanna had for a client. Lily’s theory was that the hit woman killed Tanna because Tanna knew her identity and posed a threat. Lily set out to find this hit woman.

Somehow she got some information that the woman had been assigned to hit a man in Denver
, a
man by the name of
Nick
Teffinger
.

“That’s right,” Fan Rae said. “D’Asia didn’t go there to get your help. She went there to murder you.”

Lily Yip followed her to Denver.

She hung outside
Teffinger
’s house.

She waited for d’Asia to show up.

She went in, in the middle of the night, and tried to kill her. “That’s when you interceded,” Fan Rae said. “D’Asia got the upper hand and managed to kill her.”

“So the person who got killed in my bedroom is Lily Yip?”

“Correct.”

It was.

“I don’t know exactly why d’Asia didn’t finish the job when she was in Denver,” Fan Rae said. “As best as I can figure, she was going to kill you in your sleep. Then the attack happened. Then you wanted to call the local police department to report it. D’Asia didn’t want her name and fingerprints and photograph in a police report so she left and came back to Hong Kong to bide her time.”

THEN
TEFFINGER
CAME TO HONG KONG and told the whole story to Fan Rae.

“I recognized Lily Yip from the photos of her,” Fan Rae said. “But I couldn’t tell you anything because she was a direct link to Tanna, and if you started uncovering everything it would come to light that Tanna was still alive. So I had to deflect you from moment one.”

“So you also knew who d’Asia was the whole time?”

“I did,” Fan Rae said. “But I also knew she was a killer and tried to steer you away from her.”

Then something bad happened.

When Fan Rae told Tanna that Lily Yip had been killed by d’Asia in Denver, Tanna went nuts. She never liked d’Asia in the first place, since she was a hit woman. But when Lily got killed, that was it.

“Tanna came to Hong Kong to kill d’Asia,” Fan Rae said. “I tried to talk her out of it but she was hell bent. She was going to do it tonight. She hooked up with some stranger named Kong who was going to help her. I came here tonight to keep Tanna safe from Kong, not to help her kill d’Asia.”

THE BOAT WAS DANGEROUSLY LOW IN THE WATER.

“Some of the windows will go under pretty soon,”
Teffinger
said. “When that happens, it’ll just be a mater of minutes.”

Silence.

“I love you,” Fan Rae said. “I want you to know that before we die.”

“Me too,” he said. “I love you too. So know that, back.”

SUDDENLY A VOICE CAME FROM BEHIND THEM.

“Well, isn’t this cute.”

The words came from d’Asia.

“That’s right,” she said. “I’ve been sitting back there the whole time and I have to tell you,
Teffinger
, that Fan Rae got it all figured out correctly. I’m thoroughly impressed.”

“D’Asia?”

“Shut up,” she said. “Did you think I’d be dumb enough to just put you in a sinking boat and leave? Someone might notice it and come by to save you. So I just decided to let you sweat it out for a while. But
Teffinger
, you’re right, the water’s going to start coming in the windows pretty soon, meaning it’s time for me to leave.”

She turned a flashlight on and
pointed it into
Teffinger
’s eyes.

He must have squinted because she said, “Bright, isn’t it?”

She walked over.

A long knife was in her right hand.

“Before I leave, I want to make absolutely sure that you’re both dead,” she said. “I’m sure you understand my position. So here’s your choice. I’ll either slit your throat or stab you in the back of the skull. You have five seconds to decide.”

Teffinger
pulled at the ropes with all his might.

They didn’t budge, not an inch, n
ot half an inch.

Day Eight—August 10

Monday Night

______________

PRARIE AND SEBASTIAN ended up at a house he was renting at the east end of the island, a short distance from where the Island Eastern Corridor ended. Sebastian had a computer and encouraged Prarie to log onto the net. She searched for the insurance company that Emmanuelle said she was working for. There was no such insurance company. Sebastian put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a comfort hug.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this mess.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, I know, but still—”

Prarie’s phone rang repeatedly all evening.

It was
Emmanuelle calling.

Prarie didn’t answer, n
ot once.

They were letting the woman cool her heels.

Then, after dark, Sebastian used Prarie’s phone to call Emmanuelle. “Surprise, he said, it’s me. Prarie’s with me. She’s safe. She knows about your whole fake insurance company scam. She knows you’re just trying to get the paintings for yourself. She knows you killed her father. Get a pencil, because I’m going to tell you where we’re at.”

He gave her directions.

“Come over, right now,” he said. “We need to chat. It’s time to stop all this insanity before it gets even worse.”

HE HUNG UP a
nd put his arm around Prarie.
“You need to go somewhere safe before she get’s here,” he said. “You’ve outlived your usefulness to her at this point. Does she have a gun?”

No, s
he didn’t.

“We had one and she wanted to keep it, but I threw it away,” Prarie said.

“Smart move.”

“Into the harbour,” she added.

“Good place.”

He cocked his head in thought.

“You should probably wait somewhere down the street,” he said. “Take your cell phone with you. Don’t come back until and unless I call and say the coast is clear. Does that sound like a good plan?”

It did.

“I need to use the facilities first,” she said.

She used them
, t
hen left.

Day Eight—August 10

Monday Night

______________

PRARIE WOKE UP and realized she had been unconscious. She was on a bed. Her arms were stretched tight above her head, with her hands near the headboard. When she went to sit up, she realized she was tied. Next to her was another woman, stretched out and tied in the same position—Emmanuelle.

“Are you conscious?” Emmanuelle said.

Her voice was quiet
, b
arely a whisper.

“Yes.”

“Talk quietly,” Emmanuelle said. “We need to come up with a plan.”

“You killed my father,” Prarie said.

“No I didn’t, he did,” Emmanuelle said.

“Sebastian?”

“His name’s not Sebastian,” she said. “It’s Jacques Girard.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Understand this,” Emmanuelle said. “He’s going to find out everything we know about the paintings and then he’s going to kill us.”

“I don’t get it.”

“He took you in the alley to draw me in,” Emmanuelle said. “I should have picked up some death stars before I came over.”

TIME PASSED, t
hen more time.

“Where is he?” Prarie asked.

“He’s making us sweat,” Emmanuelle said. “That way we’ll talk better. Let me tell you a few things.”

Emmanuelle told Prarie that she had been romantically involved with Jacques Girard for two years. He was rich and nice when they met, but later got intense and irritable. He learned that Van Gogh’s “Self Portrait” was for sale on the black market. He had two reputable people authenticate it and then bought it for an insane amount of money. He later learned that he actually bought a fake. The two men who authenticated it said that what he had now wasn’t the same painting they were shown. He came to the conclusion that the original painting had been switched out at the last second by the broker, Vance Wu.

Vance Wu, in turn, had dropped off the face of the earth.

Girard then hired a P.I. by the name of Quinton Benabent to find Wu and figure out what was going on.

Girard wanted the painting back.

It wasn’t just the money.

It was the fact that someone had played him for a fool.

BENABENT WAS BEING PAID WELL.

He dug deep and hard.

He came up with a theory that Prarie’s father, Jean-Didier Dubois, had been involved in the initial theft of the paintings from Musee d’Orsay. Jean-Didier had since left the museum to become a cab driver. Benabent tried to get information out of Jean-Didier, who confessed that five paintings had been stolen, but wouldn’t cooperate in giving up any information on the people involved—probably, because if he did, it would put Prarie in jeopardy.

Benabent was a smart man.

But he wasn’t violent.

When Jean-Didier wouldn’t talk, that’s when Jacques Girard lost it.

He went to interrogate Jean-Didier himself.

When the man wouldn’t cooperate, Girard shot him in the back of the head in his own taxi and made it look like a robbery.