Bullet Beach (10 page)

‘I won't,' Shanahan said, interrupting the dissertation. ‘To the best of your knowledge I'm not volunteering to be killed or kidnapped if I go there?'

‘No guarantees.'

‘Maureen is missing,' Shanahan said. He was quick and brief, afraid he might get emotional.

Channarong's pleasant but unexpressive face showed surprise for a moment, then concern.

‘She followed the man who gave me this note,' Shanahan continued. ‘I've heard nothing since.'

Channarong looked at his watch. He took a deep breath.

‘Then you have one more reason to keep the appointment.'

Shanahan nodded his agreement.

‘Should I call the police?'

‘You'd get the tourist police, not what you need right now. And even they would laugh at you. She hasn't been gone that long and the streets are safe,' Channarong said. ‘Was the man Thai?'

Shanahan shook his head ‘no.'

‘How was he dressed?'

‘Well.'

Shanahan went to the balcony, went outside, walking into a hot, stinking wall of air.

Channarong followed.

‘Mr Shanahan. Most of our crimes are what are called “non-confrontational,” mostly purse snatchers and pick pockets. We have less violent crime than almost any large city you can mention. She's been gone two hours. That's not long. It could take her longer than that to get back by taxi considering the traffic.'

‘I hope so.'

‘So do I. What do you want me to do with the tail outside?'

‘I just need to know where one of them lives,' Shanahan said. ‘We've got that. Thanks for your help.'

‘I can hang awhile if you . . .'

It always amazed Shanahan that Channarong had such a flair for casual English.

‘No, that's fine. I'll call you tomorrow.'

‘You need me tonight for the meeting?'

Shanahan thought for a moment.

‘No, I'll take care of it.'

‘I can go as a customer. Have a drink. Admire the girls. I don't know you.'

Shanahan nodded his agreement. Whether Channarong's motives were for profit, it didn't matter. It was a good idea. Shanahan was a stranger. There were things he could not know.

‘By the way, not all girls are girls in Thailand. That's especially true on
Soi
Cowboy. And some are pretty convincing.'

Shanahan nodded. It didn't matter. Shanahan wasn't interested in meeting girls, real or not, and he didn't spend time judging other people. His mother used to tell him not to criticize other people unless he had walked a mile in their shoes. That was a bit of advice he held on to.

But he'd have no trouble judging anyone who brought harm to Maureen.

Time moved slowly, uneasily, afternoon into evening. The small hotel room had become a cage. He couldn't leave for fear she would call. The only recourse he had was to meet the man at the Kitty Club on
Soi
Cowboy at eleven, at the urging of the man she followed.

A key turning in the lock brought him from a light sleep. The sudden light suddenly blinded him and when she came into focus, she looked fuzzy for a few moments.

‘Sitting in the dark?' she asked.

He was glad she was all right, angry that she had done what she did and, and at the same time fearful that he had slept through his appointment on
Soi
Cowboy. He knew he should go embrace her. It was what he wanted to do, but he was frozen by the conflicts in his mind.

‘He went to the police station,' she said, looking exhausted and puzzled.

He stood, walked to her. He held both her hands.

‘You shouldn't have done it,' he said as gently as he could.

‘Why? Because I am a woman and I should let the man of the house do it?'

Usually, there was a lightness in their conversation, often belying deep feeling, but a lightness nevertheless. No lightness here.

‘No. I may be old and very rusty,' Shanahan said, ‘but I was trained to do this. Would you want me to come to your real estate office and take over a big sale?'

‘I wanted to help.'

‘I know. And you do. No one in my life has ever been more help to me. But I am not strong enough to deal with the idea of losing you.'

There was a long, hard silence.

‘I'm not all that delicate, Shanahan.'

He said nothing.

She looked him in the eye. ‘I've followed a man before without him knowing it.'

He saw the evil twinkle in her eye, and the ever-so-slight curve to her lips.

‘He went into the police station, you say?'

‘Yes,' she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. She took off her shoes. ‘I waited outside. I waited for two hours. He didn't come out, so I figured he either worked there or they arrested him. It took me a while to get back.'

‘And he didn't see you?'

‘He didn't.'

‘You hungry?'

‘Have we met?'

He looked at his watch. ‘I think we have time to freshen up and get a nice dinner somewhere close.'

‘What do you mean “we might have time?”'

‘I have to meet a guy at a strip club later.'

‘And who might that be?'

‘I think it's the guy you've been following.'

‘I'll go with you,' she said.

‘What? And blow your cover. No such thing.'

She gave him the look.

Shanahan came out of the bathroom, saw his beloved conked out on the bed. He looked down. An angel. Maureen's auburn hair splayed across the blanket. Dinner and a couple of drinks did her in. He was happy for her – and a little jealous. He too was tired. He had not had so much physical activity in one day, had not had such emotional upheaval since Maureen was taken from him before. He wanted sleep too.

He put a blanket from the closet over her. It may be hot and humid outside. Inside, the rattling air conditioner evened things out. He wrote her a note. He nodded to the guard who stood on the stairs and punched in the elevator button. In the lobby, he stopped at a little stand where he bought a thin, plastic poncho. Last night the rain came with the unexpected suddenness of a home invasion and he wasn't sure how late he would be out.

After bargaining with the driver, they tuk-tuk'd the relatively short distance to
Soi
Cowboy. He had left early enough to ensure he'd get there in plenty of time to keep the appointment and to wander around, get the lay of the land, before the meeting. He wanted to know about back doors and what else was going on in the neighborhood. Were there police around? Were there gangs? There weren't. Mostly tourists. Mostly male tourists.

He went into the bar early as well to see what was going on, get a good sense of the space, upstairs, downstairs, if there were little corridors leading off to who knows where. These kinds of places hadn't changed much since he wandered about Southeast Asia and Indonesia so many years ago. Girls dancing. Girls at the bar. Girls wanting drinks bought for them. Prettier girls than he remembered in his now slip-sliding past. And if they weren't girls, acknowledging the doubt Channarong planted in his brain, they were doing a great job of being girls.

It mattered little to Shanahan. He wasn't in the market for the goods being sold, except for a glass of whiskey with a beer chaser. He went to the bar, squeezed in, tried not to look at the scantily clad women who might take the glance as encouragement. Busy place. Older men, some Asian, some not. The only women were the bar girls, not as scantily clad as those on stage. He thought of Harry's bar. Maybe he should suggest Harry change the ambience. A couple of these lovelies – and all it would take is a couple – would definitely liven the place up.

All right, he said to himself. He noted the door in the back covered in red leather. He noticed a hallway that probably led to rest rooms. He'd check that out. There was a stairway that wound back behind the bar and to a second floor. If there was a downstairs, which he doubted because of the heavy rains, he didn't see the way there from the bar itself.

After finding out the hallway to the lavatories went only to the lavatories, he came back into the main room, watched the girls on stage shed more garments, leaning against a back wall. So young. So young. At eleven twenty-five, he saw Channarong come in the front door. His friend went to the bar as if he knew the place, blended in perfectly.

At eleven thirty precisely, Shanahan went through the red leather door.

TEN

Cross loaded some clothing, a camera, binoculars and tools into the Trooper. With the dog, Casey, as his co-pilot, the two of them set out for Eaton, a few miles north of Muncie and in the general direction of Lake Wawasee. Kowalski had agreed to look in on Einstein, but at his age the elderly cat – as long as he had some water and food – was perfectly happy to be left alone.

The plan was to get to his parents' farm early to pick everyone up for a day at the lake. Once Kowalski learned that Taupin had property at the lake, he used the county land office to locate the parcel. Cross downloaded a Google map of the area and specifically the lake itself, with Taupin's home marked. As they boated the large lake, Cross would take a look at the Taupin home, hopefully identified by the satellite photo Google provided. What he thought he'd find he wasn't sure. But this is how he did his work. Just gather as much information as you can and see where it leads.

The sky was clear and blue. So was the lake. Maya, at six, was happy. Even Cross's father and mother seemed to enjoy the break in their routines. Mom had fixed fried chicken, baked beans, and potato salad. His father had packed another cooler with beer and soda. The rented speedboat cut through the water easily, gliding past homes that opened out and down to the lake. Most of the properties had piers that extended from their back lawns out into the water. Barbeques were fired up and badminton and volleyball games were underway on the shore. There were sailboats and pontoons and fishing boats moving about on a glistening surface that extended for miles.

Cross, who received general directions from the boat rental operator, was heading toward the area where the Taupins had their summer cottage.

‘When can I go swimming?' Maya asked.

‘When we get to the swimming area.'

‘There's water here,' she insisted.

‘It's illegal to swim here. And it's too deep.'

Maya shook her head. The expression on her face asked the question, ‘Why am I surrounded by fools?'

Cross's father laughed. ‘All that time in Hawaii, she's practically a mermaid.'

‘Mermaiden,' Cross corrected.

‘We'll stop by the park, have a little picnic and then after a little wait, we'll go for a dip in the lake,' his mother told Maya. ‘OK?'

Casey, who had been extremely nervous about floating around on the water, eventually found a spot, and clunked his bones down.

Cross worried about his mother. They had applied spf fifty sun block. She nonetheless looked as if she had either just heard a dirty joke or was getting more sun than she should. A few more minutes. No street numbers on the lake, but Cross was pretty sure the three-story home, nearly all windows on this side, was the Taupins. It was the biggest on this part of the lake and it had an extra-long pier in order to accommodate a yacht of ocean-going proportions and a seaplane. Nothing was going on outside but the gentle bobbing of the sea craft. Cross smiled. The multi-millionaire known for his cheap ways had a few luxury items.

The sky was blue. The sunlight bounced off the caps of the gentle waves. The clouds were storybook white and fluffy. It was an American Kodak moment – happy and golden. Cross took his camera from the bag and, while it looked like he was taking a typical family photograph – Dad, the kid, the grandparents and family dog – he was also recording the numbers on the plane and the name of the boat:
Ruby Tuesday
.

Cross didn't know whether any of this mattered, whether in this wholesome scene there was some level of evil or not, but the trip was worthwhile. What did surprise him was the seaplane gently rising and falling on the tiniest of tides. There weren't many of them on the lake, but it made sense. It was more than two or three hours to Indianapolis by car, nearly all of it on slow-going secondary roads. If Cross wasn't mistaken, there was a small airport in Fishers, near the low-profile tycoon's city home. Home to home in what? Half an hour?

‘Who wants fried chicken?' Cross asked happily as he cut left, or port as some more experienced seafarers might say.

The sign on the red leather door said: EMPLOYEES ONLY.

On the other side was a long, dark hallway with double-door wide openings along the way. Each was draped with muslin. Soft light and muffled voices spilled through the pleasantly shrouded doorways. Shanahan walked slowly, waiting to be intercepted or to find a doorway open and inviting.

At the end of the hall was an elevator. One button. Shanahan pushed it. He hesitated for a moment before stepping in. He'd come this far. Inside there were two buttons. One was lit – the floor he was on. He pushed the other. The door closed and Shanahan found himself in a softly lit space that moved smoothly. When the doors opened, he stepped into what appeared to be immaculate space. White walls, pale gray carpeting, a white sofa with matching chairs. There was a sense of style. But the style was sterile. It was a clear contrast to the bar below, where the walls, and tables, and floor had a sensuous, perhaps living patina.

A woman in white clothing appeared and pointed toward Shanahan's shoes. He took them off while she pulled some blue-green paper slippers from a box. He slipped them on and she nodded for him to follow. The air was cool, but there was no sound of air conditioning. The air was clean as well. Filtered.