The Killing Chase (Beach & Riley Book 2) (9 page)

Chapter 9

Beach and Foxx traveled north on Highway 77 in their rented SUV, toward Sherbourne Institute for the Criminally Insane. As usual, Foxx was at the wheel. “We’re making good time, partner. Do you remember the road into the institute?”

Beach had almost fallen asleep to the hypnotic passing of center lines on the road. He cleared his throat. “It’s right off the main road – you can’t miss it.”

“I was expecting some kind of spooky, horror-movie mansion on a back road in a creepy forest setting.”

“This place is definitely like something out of a movie – just not the kind you’re thinking of. It’s set up more like a supermax penitentiary than a hospital. You have to remember, Sherbourne houses some of the most dangerous prisoners in the country. It’s federal, so there are psychotics and serial killers from all over the USA.”

“Great.”

“It’s not called Sherbourne Institute for the Criminally Insane for fun.”

A few minutes later the building’s wide road frontage came into view. The grounds were completely surrounded by three very high chain-mesh fences, each with razor wire at top and bottom. Towering turrets were strategically placed to observe every inch of the compound, each manned by three armed guards. The intricately devised security entrance came into view as Foxx guided their SUV into a vacant spot in the parking lot.

“Damn – you weren’t kidding about high security.”

“They take it very seriously – but if it keeps freaks like Adler safely locked away, I don’t have a problem.”

As the agents made their way toward the outer gate, two exterior guards brought their hands up to caress their sidearms.

“State your business, please,” one of them called.

“Even more strict than last time,” Beach said quietly to Foxx, before addressing the guards. “FBI Agents Foxx and Beach – we have an appointment with Dr. Tinsley.”

The guards leaned in to confer with one another. Then one held his hand up, indicating for the agents to wait where they were, while the other guard went to the first security booth.

“This happen last time?” Foxx whispered.

Alan looked disconcerted. “No – there must be something wrong.”

Less than a minute later the guard returned to his post. An older man followed close behind, continuing to where Beach and Foxx stood.

“Sorry for the extra caution, agents. I’ve checked the log and found your appointment with Dr. Tinsley, but I’m afraid you’ve come a long way for nothing. Dr. Tinsley passed away this morning.”

A chill ran up Alan’s spine, accompanied by an involuntary look of disbelief, as his mind wrestled for control. “Tinsley’s dead? How did he die?”

“Single vehicle collision – about ten miles from the institution. The coroner’s got the body, but initial indications point to him falling asleep at the wheel. They estimate his car was doing about fifty when it left the road and rammed straight into a tree. He died on impact. Protocol requires us to increase security until the coroner declares cause of death, so Sherbourne’s closed to all visitors until then.”

Alan shook his head as though trying to wake from a daydream. Foxx stepped in to cover. “Can you tell us where to find the coroner’s office?”

The guard gave them instructions, and Foxx nudged his partner back toward their car. Alan leaned against the hood for a few seconds before breaking the silence. “This can’t be right – I’ve got a bad feeling.”

“Seems like one hell of a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences. Let’s go see what the coroner has to say.”

Twenty minutes later they’d arrived at a small clinic belonging to the local doctor who doubled as the small county’s coroner. It was a typical small town affair with stark fluorescent lighting, vinyl chairs, a magazine rack, polished linoleum tiled floor, and the pungent reek of antiseptic cleaners. The waiting room was full of townspeople waiting for their turn to see the town’s only medical doctor. Beach and Foxx approached the reception desk where a woman in her late thirties sat, filing her nails.

Foxx produced his badge. “Good afternoon, ma’am. We’re federal agents, here to see the coroner, please.”

The woman looked up from her nails in surprise. “FBI? What’s going on – did someone escape from the nuthouse? I knew something like this would happen someday. Never did want that darned place near our town.”

Beach smiled patiently. “Nothing like that, ma’am. We need to speak with the coroner about the car accident. If you could let him know we’re here, please.”

Her anxiety still obvious, she tentatively picked up the phone and pressed the intercom button. “Dr. Pollock – there are two FBI agents here to see you. They say it’s about the car accident, but I’m not so sure.”

Amused by her paranoia, Foxx suppressed a chuckle. “I can assure you, there’s nothing to be concerned about. We’re just following protocol.”

“Protocol, my patootie! Since when does the FBI investigate a simple car accident?”

“A fair point, ma’am,” Beach offered. “- but when the victim is the head of a major federal correctional institution, we like to be sure there’s no foul play involved. I can absolutely guarantee you no one has escaped from Sherbourne. There’s no need for paranoia. Now, can we see the doctor, please?”

“Just ’cuz you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you,” she said, then turned her attention suddenly back to the phone in her hand. “Oh, I’m sorry, doctor. No, I’m not being silly! Yes, yes, I’ll send them into the examination room.” She glared at the agents. “Well, I guess you’d better follow me then.”

They followed her into a room detached from the doctor’s office. It appeared to be set up for minor medical procedures, but judging by the additional equipment, doubled as an autopsy room. A gurney was positioned in the center, with a white sheet draped over what was obviously the body of Dr. David Tinsley, former director of the Sherbourne Institute.

“The doctor should be with you shortly. Please don’t touch anything. And don’t take too long – we’ve got a lot of patients to get through today.”

Beach was not amused by the woman’s disrespect, but replied politely. “We won’t touch anything – and I promise not to be a second longer than precisely how long it takes.”

She left the room with a glare of mistrust, pulling the door shut behind her. Foxx gave Beach a playful punch on the shoulder. “Lighten up, partner – that was comedy, right there.”

Beach merely shrugged as the door burst open, revealing a middle-aged man with a snowy beard, and warm smile. “I must apologize for Miss Cosban’s demeanor,” he said, extending his hand. “She really isn’t suited to small-town living. I think she’d do much better in an episode of
Criminal Minds
or
Person of Interest.
She’s one heck of an organizer though.”

“I’m sure she has her redeeming features,” Beach conceded.

“Makes a damned good coffee, too. You fellers want one?”

“I don’t think she’d appreciate our staying any longer than we must. Thanks for the offer, but if you don’t mind, we’d like to get straight to business.”

“Yup, she kinda scares me too. So, what can I do for you?”

“Have you examined Dr. Tinsley’s body yet?”

“Yup – dead on impact. Car versus oak, tree wins every time.”

“Was there anything suspicious on the body? Any unusual marks, alcohol, drugs, like that?”

“Well, it was eight o’clock in the morning, agent. David was a wine connoisseur, but I can’t imagine him drinking for breakfast. I’m willing to bet there’s no alcohol in his system. Can’t tell about drugs until I send the tox screen to the lab. As far as marks are concerned, best you have a look for yourselves, I reckon.”

He pulled the sheet away, revealing the brutalized remains. The body was caked with dried blood and dusted with white powder from his car’s airbags. “I haven’t had time to do the full autopsy yet. Figured there was no real rush – and I’ve got plenty of live ones waiting on me out there. I don’t think David will mind waiting. He was a pretty pragmatic guy.”

“You knew him well?”

“Not that well, but we’re – I should say we
were
– the only two doctors for miles, so we got to know each other. Decent feller – for a shrink.”

“He was a good man,” Beach agreed solemnly. “In your opinion, would he have had any kind of involvement with drugs?”

“You knew him too?”

“I met him about a year ago, but it was only one encounter.”

“Well, I reckon that would have been enough to know he wasn’t any kind of drug user. Nope, I reckon he’d been putting in too many hours at work and just nodded off on that long, straight stretch of road. I can wipe off some of that blood, if you need me to.”

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d just like to have a look at the back of his neck.”

“Seems an odd request, but you’re the boss.”

He handed both agents some examination gloves and put some on himself, then motioned to Foxx. “You look like a strong young feller – how about you give me a hand turning him over? Let me get control of his head though. Neck’s busted pretty bad – don’t want anything twisting off.”

The doctor’s practiced hands maneuvered the head as Foxx rolled the corpse. A sickening crunch emanated from the spine, causing Foxx to gag. Dr. Pollock chuckled at the FBI agent’s squeamishness. “First time with a dead one, son?”

“No,” the big man recovered quickly, his Marine pride slightly dented. “first time turning over a bag of broken bones though.”

“You get used to it.”

“Not so sure about that.”

Dr. Pollock positioned the head so the neck was extended upward. Broken vertebrae pushed toward the surface, stretching the bloodied skin.

“Careful,” Beach jumped in. “Don’t damage the skin.”

“Don’t worry – skin’s a lot more resilient than you think. Anyway, what in tarnation’s got you so interested in the back of this man’s neck, agent?”

“Call it a hunch. Can you wipe the skin down, please?” Beach couldn’t help grimacing. “And if I could borrow a magnifying glass?”

The doctor looked incredulous, but complied with Beach’s requests. He wheeled a large, free-standing examination light from a corner of the room and aimed it at Tinsley’s neck. Then he pulled a powerful lens from a drawer, passing it handle first to Beach. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, but if you can’t find it with this, you can’t find it at all.”

Beach put the lens to his eye and bent forward, using his gloved fingers to move the hair out of his view. He carefully combed the area near the base of the skull, until stopping suddenly. He grabbed a clean cloth to wipe the area as clean as possible then double checked what he’d found.

“What have you got, partner?”

Beach straightened and stepped back from the gurney, his pale face staring off into the distance. “This is not good – this is not good at all.”

Chapter 10

His face contorted in anger, Jake pressed the phone hard against his ear to hear Tik’s kidnapper.

“So, Jake Riley - you seem to have me at a disadvantage. It appears you know me, and are intent on destroying my business, yet I don’t know anything about you.”

“Don’t play games, Ugolev – you know exactly who I am.”

“You’re quite mistaken. The only thing I know is that you razed my operation in Thailand. Perhaps my taking your spicy little Laotian friend here evens the odds a little.”

“If you know me like I think you do, then listen carefully, Ugolev. If you let Tik go unharmed, I promise to kill you quickly – painlessly. But if you so much as chip a nail on her finger, you’ll be begging the devil himself for mercy before you meet him face-to-face in hell.”

“You Americans – such violent thoughts and colorful movie clichés. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve your attentions, Mr. Riley, but please calm down. Leave us to complete our business in Cambodia, and I assure you, we will not harm your feisty friend. You certainly cannot say the same for my people in Thailand.”

“A couple of bumps and bruises – they’ll get over it. But if you hurt Tik, I will hunt down everyone who has ever meant anything to you.”

“Bumps and bruises? My men are all dead. If you hadn’t spared Yelena to tell me the story, I would be none the wiser. It seems you have a weakness for the female of the species.”

“What the hell are you talking about? We left your guys battered but breathing.”

“Perhaps, but you should think twice before employing Thai Special Branch in future. I assure you, my men are quite dead.”

Jake shot a glance at Dozer. Now he knew why the Thai cops appeared puzzled when he’d handed the unconscious but still living Russians off to them. Their mission must have included killing all the Russians, to clear out the foreign-owned component of Pattaya’s drug trade. Thai police don’t appreciate competition.

“I had no idea – they acted alone. But I won’t apologize for something I didn’t do. That’s makes three less scumballs in the world.”

“Two scumballs and a cousin, Mr. Riley. Not my favorite cousin, but Grigori was a cousin just the same. Not to worry – I shall take the matter up with your Thai policemen on my next visit. It will take some time and effort to rebuild my network in Pattaya – someone will have to pay for the damage and loss of revenue. If my competitors were to discover I let two lowly policemen get away with such a thing, my reputation would be worth nothing.”

“That’s irrelevant, Ugolev. The only thing you have to worry about is me.”

“I really must find out why you have such distaste toward me – but not today. As I said, do not interfere with me in Cambodia, and I will set your little friend free when I leave. Try to find me, and despite her bravado, she will truly regret your persistence.”

“How do I know you haven’t done something to her already?”

“Ask her yourself.”

A few seconds later Tik’s voice came over the phone. “Mr. Jake?”

“Are you all right, Tik – has he hurt you?”

“No, not hurt Tik. Jake, you listen me now – you find this man. You kill him good! Don’t worry for…” But she was cut off mid-sentence.

“She is a very spirited young woman. I can understand your fondness for her. But make no mistake – follow my instructions or she dies – very simple. You’re being observed, so do not entertain any notion of heroics. Good-bye, Mr. Riley, perhaps we will meet in person one day.”

“Count on it, you piece of –” The call went dead before Jake could finish. The deadly former Delta operative was powerless – frustration and fury welled inside him like a demonic geyser. Mike Lee sensed imminent violence and rushed to grip Jake’s arms before he could lash out.

“Cool it, big guy – we don’t need to attract unnecessary attention. Tell me exactly what he said.”

Listening intently to the relayed conversation, Mike’s analytical mind processed every detail, searching for options. He sighed in resignation. “I’m sorry, Jake, but we can’t risk taking this any further right now. Let’s go talk to Billy D., as planned – maybe he can shed some light.”

Still fuming, Jake reluctantly agreed. Priest hailed two waiting
tuktuks
, giving them instructions to take the group to a popular expat bar in Street 51. The three-wheeled
tuktuks
looked too small to hold Priest and Mike Lee, but Jake and Dozer positively dwarfed the machines.

When Dozer put his full weight on the side step, the driver feigned dread before laughing and jokingly leaning his body out in the opposite direction to balance the vehicle until the big man was in his seat. The small Cambodian driver turned to examine the monster behind him. His eyes bulged comically as he joked about the possibility of tipping the contraption over backward.

Dozer grinned back. “Don’t worry, little bloke – you’ll get your tip. Pun intended.” He laughed at his own joke before bellowing, “Wagon, ho!” and waved his huge arm forward like the leader of a wagon train in an old western movie.

Arriving at the bar, the men paid their drivers then climbed the stairs to the famous local haunt. The place was filled with expats and a smattering of tourists. The stench of stale beer and tobacco smoke flooded their nostrils, accented by the pungent aroma of fresh-made chili and barbecued ribs. A three-piece band played the blues in one corner, and the clientele looked relaxed or half-drunk, or perhaps both.

Mike Lee nodded toward the Australian brothers. “What are you having, boys?”

Their simultaneous response was, “Angkor Beer, mate.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Dozer added. “Make sure they’re bloody cold, mate!”

Mike leaned in to Dozer. “Help me talk Jake down before he kills some random passerby.” Then he turned to Jake. “Jake, my boy, have a beer, try to calm down.”

“I’m calm – I’ll take a Beer Lao. Is Billy D. here?”

“He’ll be in his corner, holding court,” Priest said. “I’ll go suss him out.”

The others sat at a small table, while Mike gave their order to a passing waitress. While they waited for their drinks, Dozer put a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, mate – we’ll get her back, but there’s nothing we can do right now. Let’s have a couple of coldies, and decompress. It’s been a big day.”

Jake knew Dozer was right. He also knew Tik was safe for now, so he forced his fury down. There was no point sticking out like an angry, sore thumb. Better to blend in with the local crowd and glean as much as they could from the infamous Billy D. A couple of minutes later, Priest returned from the far end of the room.

“Billy’s talking to some bloke about one of his shady deals. Should be done in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, and we can go join him.”

Jake nodded. The waitress brought their beers, showing each label to her customers before plopping the bottles into koozies covered with garish advertising for various local businesses. Dozer examined his own koozie, which proclaimed the benefits of a “Special Massage” at a place called the “Pink Puddle.”

“Aah, capitalism at its finest.” He proclaimed. “Shame they didn’t know how to spell poodle. Still, it’s all part of the local charm.”

Jake managed a smile at Dozer’s attempts to lighten the mood. Just then a Khmer man approached their table and whispered into Priest’s ear.

“We’re on.” Priest said, standing up from his stool.

The others got up and followed him to the corner. Billy D’s appearance betrayed his former profession as a bodybuilder. Massive pectorals acted as tent poles, holding his shirt well out from his chest. The tenting effect concealed a slightly expanding midsection, while his short sleeves revealed tiny stretch marks around his loosely hanging biceps. He was book-ended by two little Cambodian lovelies, who continually fawned over him, tending his every need.

“Have a seat, guys,” Billy offered. “What’s on your minds?”

Mike Lee obviously wasn’t comfortable with the girls hearing the conversation. “Can we lose the fluff, Billy?”

The local kingpin chuckled. “You really think I’d keep girls who understand English?” He turned to one of his consorts. “Does Daddy like bus stops? Are you a goat? Can you drive my Ferrari up the stairs in reverse?”

The precious creature smiled, nodding enthusiastically at his soothing tone and clearly not understanding a single word. She stroked his inner thigh, moving toward his crotch, as though that was the answer to his every question.

“Satisfied?”

Mike, embarrassed by his own naivety and the overt display of sexuality, brought a hand up to shield his view, and took a long swig of his beer. His shy behavior brought a bellow of laughter from Billy D. “You’re new in town aren’t you, oldtimer?”

Jake’s patience was thin. “Enough – we need some information. What do you know about a Russian operation run by a guy called Sergei Ugolev?”

“About time someone got to the point. Here’s what I know – information like that costs money. A thousand bucks should cover it.”

Dozer shot a hand out to Billy D’s neck and began to squeeze. “Don’t be an asshole, mate. You owe Priest and me – it’s time to collect.”

Jake interrupted, slapping ten crisp hundred-dollar bills on the table and slowly pulling Dozer’s arm away. “I don’t give a shit about the money – as long as the information is good. If it isn’t, we’ll come back and Dozer will have some fun with you.”

Billy D. rubbed his neck. “Fifteen years ago, you wouldn’t have gotten that arm back, you Aussie prick.”

“All show, no go, fat man,” Dozer said. “This is my world – not a bunch of prissy boys prancing around on a stage in budgie-smugglers. Don’t you forget it, mate.”

“Both of you, shut the hell up!” Jake’s tolerance was gone. “This is no chest-thumping contest. Tik’s life is at stake, and I have unfinished business with Ugolev. Take the money and tell me what I need to know, Billy. No screwing around or playing pat-a-cake with Dozer will be the least of your worries.”

Despite his power, bulk, and pedigree, Dozer sat back in his seat like a scolded child. He’d seen Jake’s formidable skills in action on more than a few occasions, and knew it was unwise to test him. Billy D. also knew Jake, though purely by reputation. He spat out a quick phrase in Khmer, sending the girls scurrying over the seatback and out of the booth. Then the local kingpin pushed the money back toward Jake.

“Dozer’s right, I do owe the boys. Sorry, I didn’t realize the situation was so serious. Can’t blame a guy for trying to make a buck, right?”

“Like I said, I couldn’t care less about the money. Keep it – I won’t hold it against you. But you’d better have something good for me.”

“Wait for it…” Billy D. turned, looking expectantly at the club’s entrance. “Five, four, three, two – and here he comes.”

A tiny Cambodian man, about forty-five years old, cantered toward them. The girls had been sent away not only for privacy, but to summon the little man. He bowed deeply to the group, and stood in silence as Billy D. prattled to him in the staccato Khmer language. When Billy had finished, the man prattled back for a moment, then bowed deeply and scurried away.

“Your man has been building a methamphetamine empire in Phnom Penh for a while now. He’s not the biggest yet, but he will be soon – especially with the connections he’s got on the payroll. Have you heard of General Klot? He’s one of the top guys in the Cambodian police – and this guy, Ugolev has him firmly in his pocket. The general is now the proud owner of a beachfront mansion near Sihanoukville on the south coast – one of several very pricey “gifts” from your Russian. You can bet the general won’t like anyone messing with his honeypot, so you need to be careful. General Klot’s known for what’s loosely translated as the “Wishbone.” It’s a technique the Khmer Rouge used on dissidents during Pol Pot’s rule. They tie your wrists together behind your back, then attach a rope to your bindings, and lift you until your shoulders come out of their sockets. Then, while you’re hanging there like a rag doll, they slit your stomach to let your guts fall out. It can take more than twenty minutes to die.”

“Enough with the bullshit scare tactics,” Jake snapped. ”What’s the lowdown on Ugolev’s operation? Where would he hold a captive?”

“He’s got a compound on the edge of town, and a luxury apartment near the river, where he stays. But there’s no way he’d hold someone hostage in those places. My guy says he also has a couple of safe houses in the city – the question is which one would he use? You don’t have enough guys to breach both at once.”

“You aren’t the only guy in Cambodia who owes us a favor. A certain army general owes his daughter’s life to me – and the military is a lot more powerful than the cops. It might take a little while to organize, but we’ll have enough guys. I need the addresses of the two safe houses.”

The hundred-dollar bills remained where Jake had left them, Billy D’s eyes burning metaphorical holes through the pile. “Are you sure about the money? I don’t want to sour our friendship.”

“Take it.” Jake was still glaring at him. “This is no friendship, so I have no problem paying you for services rendered, but be warned – never bite the hand that feeds you.”

Billy D. scribbled the addresses and handed them to Jake. “I don’t want to leave things like this, man. How about I send my guy with you? He knows the quickest routes, and the lay of the land.”