Caribbean Hustle (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) (3 page)

“No, no favors,” she said. “You did something and didn’t tell me about it.”

“What’d I do?”

“Let me give you a hint,” she said. “It’s sitting on the corner of my desk. It has the initials GQ on it.”

“Oh, that.”

He’d almost forgotten about it. GQ was doing a spread called
GQs On The Street
. They snapped his photo one day down on the 16
^th
Street Mall, did a short interview and had him sign a release, with no promises he’d be used. That was over two months ago. He’d never heard from them since.

“I can’t believe you’re on the cover of GQ and don’t even tell me.”

“I’m on the cover?”

“Are you telling me you didn’t know?”

“Not really, but listen, it’s not important. What is important is that I’m trying to find out if there’s anyone out there who slits a woman’s stomach open after he kills her and shoves in a glass vial. There would be a piece of paper in the vial.”

“Like a note or something?”

“A piece of paper, folded and then rolled. It would say,
16 Weeks
.”

“
16 Weeks
?”

“Right.”

“What’s it mean?”

“I have no idea,” he said. “To tell you the truth, I doubt that it even exists.”

She called back two hours later and said, “Alley Savannah.” The words were a two-by-four to the side of Teffinger’s head. “She was stabbed in the back of the neck in Miami almost exactly two years ago. The guy you want to talk to is Lance Black. He’s the detective in charge. Here’s his number. Got a pencil?”

He did; he did indeed.

“Thanks, I owe you one.”

“One? What kind of math are you using?”

He smiled.

“It’s called Teffinger math.”

“Well, you ought to bottle it and sell it. I know I’d buy some.”

“I’ll send you a free six pack.”

Thirty seconds later he was on the phone with Detective Lance Black who confirmed everything with one minor clarification, “There was a bit of a space between the 1 and the 6. It might be 1 space 6 instead of 16.”

“Maybe he had prior victims and number 1, his first one, he kept for 6 weeks.”

“Could be. Whatever it means, we never figured it out.”

“Who knows about the vial and the note?”

“If you mean, was it ever made public, the answer is no.”

“It didn’t get leaked?”

“No. That’s not the question though. The question is how do you know about it?”

Teffinger tightened.

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s complicated?”

“Yes.”

“As in, you’re not going to tell me what’s going on?”

Teffinger exhaled.

“Look, I don’t want to be an asshole, but my gut’s telling me this is going to play out better if it’s not done in pieces. Let me work it. I’ll give you everything you’re looking for when the timing is right.”

“Is that final?”

“I’m sorry. I’m an ass.”

“No one’s ever kept me out before,” Black said. “If it was anyone but you, I’d be upset.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I was one of the three hundred people at your seminar in New York last year.” He paused and added, “Let me ask you one thing, though.”

“Sure.”

“Did you get the information from a female?”

Teffinger cleared his throat.

“Yes.”

“Then you’re talking to the killer,” Black said. “The victim was strictly into girls. She was at a lesbian bar the night she disappeared, a place called Blackbird Ordinary. I’ve expected a female killer from day one.”

Teffinger pictured it.

It wasn’t pretty.

“Can you send me the file?”

“It’s on the way. Give me your email address.” Teffinger did and Black added, “Be careful. I don’t know what kind of game she’s playing but you’re obviously smack dab in it.”

“I’ll be in touch.” He almost powered off and added, “Are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“The seminar, was it any good?”

“Let me put it this way,” Black said. “I was sitting next to Lori Bender, a newbie who isn’t all that hard on the eyes, if you catch my drift. She just about had an orgasm watching you. That’s as close to sex with her as I’ll ever get, so in a way I owe you one. The donuts weren’t bad, either.”

“So, two out of three?”

“Right. And that ain’t bad, at least according to Meat Loaf.”

8

Day Two

June 5

Thursday Afternoon

According to the file, Alley Savannah disappeared exactly two years to the day, on June 5; far too precise to be a coincidence. So what was Kovi-Ke’s game? Was she in town to kill someone else right under a detective’s nose? Was she trying to get Teffinger so lust-drunk that he couldn’t think straight?

One thing was for sure.

Station was the target.

On second thought, wait. Maybe Station was a decoy. Maybe someone else was the target. Maybe it was even Teffinger himself. In a crazy way that actually makes sense. She gets him all caught up in what’s going on with Station and then—wham!—she takes him when his head’s down between her legs.

If that was the case though, how did she pick him out?

Did she see his photo on GQ?

Was that it?

Did she tap her finger on his face and say,
You’re next, baby. Say bye-bye.

A file suddenly plopped on his desk, the Tarzan file, compliments of Sydney who said, “You look like you just ate a ghost.”

He didn’t doubt it.

“Do you have time to do a little project?”

She looked skeptical.

“As in what?”

“Kovi-Ke Gray,” he said. “I need everything you can get on her.” He told her what he knew; she was from Jamaica, ran a dive shop called the Ugly Tuna, was negotiating with the Jamaican government to harvest pirate ships, etcetera. “Go deep. Oh, and pay particular attention to whether she has any ties to Miami or a lesbian bar called Blackbird Ordinary. If she was in Miami in June two years ago, I’d really like to know it. She may have killed someone down there and she might be in Denver to do a repeat.”

He headed downtown on foot, a ten-minute jaunt through buzz and congestion. His heart raced and confusion ricocheted inside his skull. Even with everything he knew about Kovi-Ke, he couldn’t push her out. She was in him, in his blood, in his breath, and in the deep, dark, secret parts of his brain, not to mention the nasty parts.

The sun bounced off his face.

It was a constant, an old friend.

Kovi-Ke.

Kovi-Ke.

Kovi-Ke.

He turned the final corner, hoping to find her where he first saw her this morning, staking out Station.

She was there.

The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as he headed over.

“How’s the hunt going?”

“Not good.”

“Nothing?”

“Not yet.”

Teffinger shifted his feet and said, “Alley Savannah. Does that name ring a bell?”

“No. Should it?”

“I did a little research,” he said. “She’s the stomach girl, the one you told me about.”

“So she’s real?”

“Was,” he said. “You said your vision was a month ago.”

“That’s right.”

“She was killed two years ago, exactly two years ago as a matter of fact, on June fifth. Maybe your friend is on a schedule.”

Kovi-Ke didn’t hesitate.

“He’s going to take Station tonight. We have to do something.”

Teffinger nodded.

“We will,” he said. “What other visions have you had of the guy murdering someone? Any?”

She nodded.

“I think so.”

“Tell me about them.”

A strange expression washed over her face, almost as if she was sinking into a trance.

“Are you okay?”

She said nothing.

He shook her shoulders, “Kovi-Ke.”

She looked at him but it was vague.

Then she focused and locked her eyes on him for several seconds. Her expression pulled back to normal and she said, “This isn’t good.”

“What isn’t?”

“I think he was just in my head. He was looking right at you.”

9

Day Two

June 5

Thursday Afternoon

Deep down Teffinger had to admit that the words—
He was looking right at you
—were unsettling, but not because there was someone behind Kovi-Ke’s eyes looking at him. That wasn’t possible. What was possible, however, is that Kovi-Ke was turning her plan tighter on Teffinger, getting closer to killing him. The so-called vision was nothing more than a ruse to try to shift the blame to someone else now that the act was approaching.

In a way that was good.

Station wasn’t the target.

Teffinger was.

Station was safe.

On second thought, that might not be totally true. Kovi-Ke might kill Station as a way to pretend that there really was a killer in town.

Damn it.

Every time Teffinger thought he had it figured out, it twisted away. He’d wrestled greased strippers that weren’t half as slippery.

His phone rang and a man’s voice came through, “Long time, huh?” Teffinger vaguely recognized the intonation but couldn’t place it. “You don’t know who this is?”

“No.”

“Wow, I’m crushed. I thought I owned a bigger part of your brain than that.”

“So who am I talking to?”

“Time, that’s the thing to be most afraid of. Time makes everything fade. It turns everything to shadows. The secret is to always be replacing the old things with new ones. Keep the colors bright. Keep the sounds crisp. That’s what I’m doing, replacing the old things with new ones.”

“Tarzan?”

“There you go,” the man said. “Now it’s starting to come back. Congratulations on the GQ cover. You’re looking good. It reminded me that we hadn’t talked for a long time. Let’s get a beer sometime. My treat.”

The connection died.

The number was blocked. Teffinger dialed Sydney, explained what just happened and talked to her about seeing if forensics could figure out where the call came from; the number, the geographical location, whatever their magic could get.

“They might need your phone.”

“Let me know.”

He hung up.

“What’s going on?”

The words came from Kovi-Ke.

“That was Tarzan.”

“They same one as this morning?”

“Yes.”

“That’s weird. Is he in Denver?”

“I don’t know.”

“He must be,” she said.

“Why?”

“It’s too much of a coincidence that you go into his place in the morning and then get a call from him in the afternoon. He must have seen you.”

Teffinger chewed on it.

It had no taste.

“There’s no reason for him to be anywhere near his old place,” he said. “We’ve already scoured it. So has the FBI.”

“You missed something,” she said.

“That’s not possible.”

“You missed something important enough for him to come back for it.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.”

Suddenly she gasped.

Her face tensed.

Her body froze.

“I’m in his head!” she said. “I’m seeing out his eyes.”

“Right now?”

“He’s walking. He’s following a blond woman. She’s about thirty steps in front of him,” she said. “I think it’s Station, but how could it be? She never left the building. I’ve been right here all afternoon.”

“What’s she wearing?”

“A black T-shirt and white shorts,” she said.

“That’s not what she was wearing this morning.”

“Wait! Yes, it’s her. It’s definitely her. She just stopped. She’s looking in a window. She’s taking off her sunglasses to see something better. The man has stopped. He’s looking around. The buildings are high. They must be right around here somewhere.”

“Are there shuttle-buses?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the 16
^th
Street Mall.”

“She’s walking again,” she said. “So is he. She’s crossing a street. The sign says California.”

“That’s definitely the mall.”