THE DEAD AMERICAN (The Inspector Samuel Tay Novels Book 3) (15 page)

“WE HAVE AN
interest in your friend Zachery Goodnight-Jones.”

Tay said nothing. He might have, but he was so surprised he was speechless.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Sam, what were you doing in his office?
”

Tay worked hard to keep his face still, but he was sure his astonishment was obvious. What was August’s interest in Goodnight-Jones? And how in God’s name did August know he had gone to Goodnight-Jones’s office?

“And what if I do mind?” Tay asked when he had regained his power of speech.

August shrugged and sipped from his beer, but he didn’t say anything.

“Are you watching—”

“No, we’re not watching you, Sam. We’re watching him. You just walked into the frame.”

“Who’s this
we
you keep talking about?”

“Do you really want me to tell you, Sam?”

Did he want to know who August was working for even if August was willing to tell him? Maybe he didn’t.

“I need to think about this, John.”

“No, you don’t. Just tell me what you were doing meeting with Zachery Goodnight-Jones at his office. How hard is that?”

“I was just helping out a friend.”

“And that would be Emma Lazar, of course.”

Tay cocked his head and stared at August.

August said nothing.

“Okay,” Tay said after a moment, “yes. That would be Emma Lazar.”

“How good a friend is she?”

“What are you really asking me, John?”

“I’m asking if you’re sleeping with her.”

First Goh asked that, and now August. Was sex the only basis on which anyone thought he had relationships with women? If they only knew.

Tay said nothing. He just reached for his cigarettes. He shook one out of the pack, lit it, and blew the smoke directly at August.

“Look, Sam, I’m not interested in your personal life. I’m just trying to understand how involved you are in this.”

“How involved am I in
what
?”

August ignored Tay’s question and asked another of his own.

“Why are you involved with that journalist if you aren’t sleeping with her?”

Tay wasn’t at all certain what the answer to that question actually was. He didn’t know how to answer it for himself, let alone for August. He could always throw out a few platitudes about what a dedicated reporter Emma was and how she deserved to get the truth, of course, but he knew August wouldn’t buy that. So he went with something that was pretty basic.

“She came to me and asked for my help. She’s an interesting woman, and I was bored.”

“There’s more to it than that, Sam.”

There was indeed, Tay knew, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

“How much do you know about the death of Tyler Bartlett, John?”

“That American who hung himself in Singapore?”

“He didn’t hang himself. He was murdered. Emma wants to write a story about the police cover-up.”

“And you’re pissed at your old mates in the Singapore police because they’re trying to hang you out to dry, so you want to help her crap all over them.”

“I wouldn’t put it quite that way.”

“What’s this Wall Street Journal reporter’s story about that kid got to do with Zachery Goodnight-Jones?” August asked.

“Are you jerking me around here, John?”

August looked genuinely puzzled. “You’ve lost me, Sam.”

“You mean you really don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Tyler Bartlett worked for Goodnight-Jones at The Future. At least he did up until a few days before he died.”

“You’re shittin’ me,” August roared so loudly even the stoic bartender looked over to see what was going on.

“I shit thee not, my friend. Tyler Bartlett was hired away from Google by The Future to develop security software for them. Four months later he quit, and three days after that he was found hanging in his apartment.”

“Holy Christ,” August murmured. “How could we not have put that together?”

“There you go with the
we
stuff again.”

August didn’t take the bait. He just raised his hand and called out, “Hey, Freddy! Bring us two more beers!”

“Could I have coffee instead?” Tay asked.

“Coffee?”

“Yeah, you know, that brown stuff that usually comes in a cup.”

August snorted and raised his hand again. “Freddy,” he called, “can you bring a cup of coffee instead for my friend here?”

“Coffee?” the bartender called back in a bemused voice. “He wants coffee?”

“Yeah,” August said. “You know, that brown stuff that usually comes in a cup.”

“You can both go fuck yourselves,” Tay said. Then he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

The bartender served the beer and the coffee and retreated back across the room.

“What’s your interest in Goodnight-Jones?” Tay asked.

“You first,” August said.

“I have no interest in Goodnight-Jones.”

“Yet you went to his office.”

“Emma asked me to help her research her story about the death of Tyler Bartlett. Tyler Bartlett worked for Zachery Goodnight-
Jones. She thinks Tyler’s suicide was faked.”

“Do
you
think the kid was murdered?”

Tay nodded.

“I still don’t see what that’s got to do with Goodnight-Jones.”

“Emma thinks Tyler was killed because of something he knew.”

“About Goodnight-Jones?”

“Not necessarily. But it might have had something to do with his work at The Future.”

“How do you get to that?”

“Tyler quit his job suddenly and told people he was going back to the US. Three days later, he was killed and somebody tried to make it look like he committed suicide. That doesn’t feel like a coincidence to me. Something made him quit. Something got him killed. It might be the same something.”

“Have you found out why he quit?”

Tay shook his head.

August leaned back in his chair and sipped at his beer. Tay played with his pack of Marlboros and waited.

“How much do you know about what they do at The Future?” August asked.

“They claim they’re designing software for driverless cars.”

“They claim? You don’t think that’s what they’re really doing?”

“They probably are, but nobody gets killed over software for driverless cars. Either they’re doing something else, too, or Tyler wasn’t killed because of his work.”

“Can you prove—”

“I can’t prove anything yet, John, but Tyler was killed because of something connected with the work he was doing for The Future. There’s no doubt in my mind. I simply don’t believe it was a coincidence that Tyler quit his job and was murdered three days later.”

“And you’re sure he was murdered?”

“I’m sure.”

The door to Secrets opened and both Tay and August shifted their eyes to the man standing in the doorway. He was short with a Chinese face and a haircut that made you think he knew where Mao’s old barber was hanging out these days.

“I’ll be awhile, Spike,” August called out. “I’ll find you when I’m done.”

The man didn’t say anything, but he raised a hand in acknowledgment and closed the door behind him.

“His name is
Spike?
” Tay asked.

August offered a half shrug and sipped at his beer. Clearly the subject was closed.

“Now it’s your turn,” Tay said. “What’s your interest in Goodnight-Jones?”

August pursed his lips, and his eyes drifted away.

“You don’t have any intention of telling me, do you, John? You wanted to know what I knew, but you’re not going to tell me shit in return.”

“I’ve done a lot more for you than give you information, Sam.”

That was true enough. Without August’s help, he would have been in a lot of trouble a couple of times. August had been a friend. Still was, Tay knew full well, and he wasn’t going to throw a tantrum because August wouldn’t, or couldn’t, tell him something. But he was still disappointed. If August was interested in Goodnight-Jones, something was going on there that might well help him figure out why Tyler Bartlett was killed. Now he wasn’t going to find out what it was.

“You didn’t get me to come all the way to Pattaya just for this, John. What’s really on your mind?”

August’s eyes came back to Tay’s. “Do you know who owns The Future, Sam?”

“Emma asked, but Goodnight-Jones wouldn’t tell her.”

“Well,
I’m
going to tell you. But if you share it with her, you can’t say where you got this.”

“Don’t worry, John. I wouldn’t consider telling anybody we know each other. Just think what that would do to my reputation for integrity.”

August mimed a laugh and cleared his throat.

“It’s the Chinese,” he said.

“Come on, John,” Tay laughed. “Chinese own nearly every company in Singapore.”

“Not Chinese. I said
the
Chinese.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Chinese army controls The Future through a series of anonymous tax haven holding companies.”

“The Chinese
army
?”

“The People’s Liberation Army has a long history of involvement in commercial activities. They’re particularly interested in developing technology companies when that technology has military or intelligence implications.”

Tay couldn’t stop himself from laughing again.

“You think that’s funny, Sam?”

“I think it’s
hilarious
. Are you seriously telling me that the Chinese army is trying to develop software for driverless cars? I can see them now. Invading Southeast Asia in a fleet of Toyota Prius hybrids connected to laptops.”

“I don’t think that’s exactly what they have in mind.”

“Then what
do
they have in mind?”

“I don’t have a fucking clue, Sam. That’s why we’re keeping an eye on Goodnight-Jones.”

Tay thought for a while about what August had just told him. Could
that
be what Tyler Bartlett had found out? That The Future was really controlled by the PLA? But even if he had, why would he have been killed for that? Murdering a man brought with it its own set of risks. All the PLA would have done by killing Tyler Bartlett was bring attention to The Future, and attention was absolutely the last thing they should have wanted. Of course, whoever killed Tyler did try to make it look like a suicide. Maybe they thought that would be enough to protect them. And it was enough, at least for the Singapore police.

Wait… could it have been the PLA that leaned on Singapore CID to overlook the evidence of murder and declare Tyler’s death a suicide? That sounded ridiculous, but Tay couldn’t swear it was impossible, and the more he thought about that the unhappier he got. Tay’s head was starting to hurt.

Tay could see easily enough where August was leading him with all this. He just couldn’t yet see why.

“You think the driverless car thing is just a front, too, don’t you, John? You think The Future is really working on something else.”

“If I did think that, Sam, you know I couldn’t tell you. But I can certainly see how you might come to that conclusion.”

Tay kept waiting for August to wink. He didn’t, but he might as well have.

“Do you know what Tyler Bartlett was doing at The Future?” August asked.

“Emma says Tyler was a security expert. His job was to look for ways to breach the security of the software The Future was designing, then plug the holes he found.”

“Are you telling me, Sam, that Tyler was a hacker, and The Future hired him to try to hack the software they were designing?”

“I don’t know if you could call him a hacker, but his girlfriend says he was running attacks on the automotive control packages the company was developing. If his attacks succeeded, the idea was to find a way to prevent it from happening again.”

August nodded. He looked to Tay like a man who was thinking hard. Tay just couldn’t see what he was thinking
about
. All at once August jumped to his feet.

“I’ve got to go, Sam. I’m sorry to make you come all the way here, but you see now why I didn’t want to talk on the telephone.”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“I had no idea what you’re into or who you’re working for. And I certainly didn’t want to share with whoever’s listening to your phone calls the information that we are looking closely at Goodnight-Jones.”

“What makes you think someone is listening to my phone calls?”

“I work on the assumption that somebody is listening to everybody
’s telephone calls.”

“You’re just too paranoid for your own good, John.”

“No such thing, man. No such thing.”

August stuck out his hand, and they shook.

“You going to keep working with this woman, Sam?”

“I imagine so. I want to see how the story ends.”

August nodded again. “Maybe we can help each other. I’ll be in touch.”

Then, without another word, he turned and left.

Tay pocketed his cigarettes and got to his feet. Before he walked out the door, he gave the bartender a friendly wave. The bartender didn’t wave back. Good thing, Tay thought, he hadn’t tipped the bastard.

Tay walked back to the Marriott along Beach Road. The ocean was on his left, the go-go bars were on his right, and the streetwalkers were directly in front of him.

It had never bothered Tay that some women chose to earn their way in life by selling sex to men. He always figured a decision like that, whatever he personally thought of it, was pretty much up to the woman who made it, and that society ought to mind its own business and stop treating women who had made that choice as objects of scorn.

What did bother him was the vulnerability of the women who made themselves available to any drunken psychopath who happened along with money. He had seen too many dead bodies mutely testifying as to how vulnerable these women really were, and he recalled every one of those bodies with a clarity that verged on the pornographic. He sometimes wondered how any of them survived.

When Tay got back to his room he went out onto his narrow balcony, sat down in one of the two white plastic chairs, and lit a Marlboro. Cigarettes had become part of the furniture of his solitary life. Did he even enjoy them anymore, or did he just smoke them automatically when he had nothing better to do, which was all too often? He was less and less sure which it was.