Shadow Kill (Nick Teffinger Thriller) (33 page)

“I thought we were waiting for Dandan.”

He hesitated, then scribbled a note, “Call me,” followed by his cell phone number, and set it on the counter.

“There’s only one right answer,” he said. “We need to get the painting back to this Yoan Boca guy. Otherwise Dandan is dead a hundred times over.”

“I thought you were going to give her a say—”

“I was but now I’m at the point where it doesn’t matter what she says,” he said. “She works at an ad agency. This other world that she’s strayed into is just words and blurred images to her. I don’t think she appreciates just how real it is.”

Del Rey headed for the door.

“Okay, your call,” she said. “But I don’t like putting the target around your neck instead of hers. Call me selfish but that’s the way I feel.”

“Our neck,” he said. “Not my neck.”

“Yeah, thanks for that, by the way.”

“It’s only temporary. Hopefully this will all be wrapped up by the end of the day.”

Del Rey shifted her feet.

“Do you think it’s smart to leave your number? What if Boca’s men show up and find it?”

“That’s fine. That will give me a chance to tell them Dandan doesn’t have the painting any more.”

97

Day Ten

July 17

Thursday Afternoon

Ten minutes,
that’s how short a time it took for Dandan to call Teffinger after he left. “Damn you to hell,” she said. “I told you about that painting in trust. I trusted you, you son-of-a-bitch.”

“Savina Bandini got murdered last night,” he said.

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true,” Teffinger said. “Rail told me and then I verified it on the web. You’re next.”

Silence.

“Who killed her?”

“Who do you think? When you stole the painting you didn’t steal it from Rail, you stole it from his client, who’s a Cuban guy named Yoan Foca.”

“I never heard of him.”

“Good because you don’t want to.”

“Is he the one who killed Savina?”

“Yes, his men, technically, but yes.”

The woman exhaled.

“I don’t have time for this stuff. I have to deliver that painting at three o’clock.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“It’s already been bought,” she said. “Do you know who bought it?”

“No,” Teffinger said. “I’ve actually been wondering about that.”

“Mun Yin. He operates out of Hong Kong,” she said. “Everything nasty that happens in that part of the world, he’s got his hands in. I don’t know who your little Cuban friend is, but there’s one thing I know. I’m not going to screw around with Mun Yin.”

Teffinger exhaled.

“Has he actually paid for the painting?”

“He’s paid ten million of it,” she said. “That was wired to a Cayman account Savina has.”

“How about you? Did she send any to you yet?”

“No.”

“So you don’t have any money in hand to give back to the guy—Mun Yin?”

“No, plus you don’t understand, that’s not the way this works,” she said. “He bought the painting. He’s already paid half. He’s entitled to the painting.” A beat then, “After I deliver it I can tell him what happened to Savina. I’ll have him pay the balance directly to me.”

“He’ll blow you off.”

“I don’t think so.”

“So you’re still looking for money, even after all this—”

“I’m looking to complete a deal that’s already half done,” she said. “He’s not going to be too happy with this Cuban guy who killed Savina. That guy better watch out. I want the painting back and I want it back now. If you don’t give it to me then I’m going to show up at three o’clock and tell them who took it. Then you better watch out.”

Teffinger cocked his head.

“Call me back in an hour,” he said.

Then he hung up.

In the 4Runner
heading east on Market with the Van Gogh in the back, he called Leigh Sandt to see if she could get him a read on Mun Yin. Twenty minutes later she got back to him with pretty much what he expected.

Mun Yin was an even deadlier dog than Yoan Foca.

It was almost noon.

He looked at Del Rey and said, “Are you hungry?”

“Starved.”

“Keep your eyes out for a drive-thru. I don’t want to leave the painting alone.”

She put a hand on his shoulder.

“You can’t save Dandan,” she said.

“So what would you do if you were me?”

“I’d just give her back the painting and let her decide which is the lesser of the two evils. She seems to think it’s the Cuban guy. I tend to agree with her. If she carries through with the Mun Yin sale, maybe he’ll actually pay the balance directly to her. That way at least she’d have a good chunk of cash to help her disappear. Plus, maybe Mun Yin will kill the Cuban guy for killing Savina and trying to hijack the deal. If that happens then Dandan will have the problem solved at both ends.”

He spotted a McDonalds and swung in.

“I can already taste the fries,” he said.

Fifteen minutes later,
back on the road with a cheeseburger in his left hand and fries wedged in the console, Teffinger got the call from Dandan, exactly one hour from when they last spoke.

“You can have the painting back,” he said.

“I can?”

“Yes. Go up to Twin Peaks and pull into the viewing area,” he said. “I’ll be in a white 4Runner. Don’t look at me and don’t park next to me. Get out of your car, take a look at the view for a few minutes, then get back in your car and pull away. Call me while you’re driving. I’ll follow you. When I’m sure no one’s on your tail, I’ll let you know to pull over and you can have the painting.”

“Fine. When?”

“I’ll be up there in half an hour. Tell me something first. We found a porno DVD at your apartment.”

“With Kelly Nine—”

“Right. Where’d you get it?”

“Someone came across it on the Internet,” she said. “He knew Kelly and thought it was her but he wasn’t sure. He downloaded part of it onto a DVD and sent it to me to get my opinion, which was that it was definitely her.”

“You never told me about it,” Teffinger said.

“She was dead,” Dandan said. “I didn’t see a need to tarnish her reputation.”

“It has something to do with why she got marked for murder.”

“Then you know more than me.”

Teffinger exhaled.

“Who’s going to help you deliver the painting this afternoon?”

“No one.”

“Think about whether you want me to come along.”

He hung up.

Del Rey wasn’t impressed.

“You’re a homicide detective, not a stolen arts dealer.”

“True, but I’m also all she has.”

“Nick, listen to yourself. She’s a criminal at this point. Homicide detectives aren’t supposed to spend their days helping criminals commit their crimes. We came here to catch Rail, remember? Why? Because he killed that investigator back in Denver.”

“And he took Susan Smith.”

“Right. So why aren’t we focused on Rail?”

He shoved a fry in his mouth.

“Remember when we were at your house and it was storming out with all the lightning and you danced for me all sexy and everything?”

“Yes.”

“That was nice,” he said.

98

Day Ten

July 17

Thursday Afternoon

At the top
of Twin Peaks, Dandan pulled the Targa into one of the few empty parking spaces unclaimed by tourists, which happened to be four down from Teffinger’s 4Runner. There she got out, slipped on sunglasses and walked to the guardrail to take in the panoramic view of the relentless congestion that stretched in all directions until it got slapped to a stop by water.

Teffinger kept his concentration on the vehicles that arrived after her.

They were few in number.

None looked suspicious.

Dandan was dressed down, in Jeans, a black T and tennis shoes. Up top she wore a black baseball cap turned backwards. A breeze blew her hair, sometimes far enough that she had to brush it out of her face.

After a few minutes she got back in the Targa, fired it up and pulled out.

Teffinger waited ten seconds and then followed.

A car was between them, a black BMW with tinted windows.

“Where’d that come from?”

“I don’t know.”

The road down twisted through grassy slopes that provided unobstructed views in all directions.

Teffinger’s phone rang and Dandan’s voice came through.

“There’s a bimmer behind me.”

“I know. Who’s inside?”

“Two men.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you what, when you get down the hill to Portola put on your right turn signal. We’ll see if they do the same. Then, instead of turning right, head straight across the road into Glen Canyon. Hopefully they won’t follow and we’ll just prove to ourselves that we’re overly paranoid.”

“Okay.”

“Stay on the phone. Don’t disconnect.”

“I am.”

Teffinger dropped back.

The BMW stayed behind Dandan as she cut into a twisty canyon road with a steep incline to her left. As the bottom on the hill she did as instructed.

It had no effect.

Her voice was stressed when she said, “They’re still on my ass.”

“I know. I’m closing the gap.”

“What should I do?”

“Don’t panic. Cut over to Market.”

“Then what?”

“Get into the financial district,” he said. “Pull into the first big hotel you come to. There’ll be security cameras. They won’t try anything there.”

Suddenly something
came out of the BMW’s passenger window, possibly an arm and a head.

A bright flash of orange fired.

Instantly the windshield of the 4Runner shattered with an explosion so deafening and so horrible that Teffinger’s entire body jerked.

Del Rey screamed, “Nick!”

Orange flashed again.

A tire exploded.

The vehicle jerked to the right.

Teffinger fought for control.

Then the vehicle flipped into a death roll.

The violence
of the motion prevented any sense of orientation. Up was down and down was up. Sounds tore through the air, horrific sounds of popping glass and twisting metal and things being ripped to their death. A seatbelt snagged Teffinger’s chest and pelvis time and again as airbags exploded around his head and body.

Then almost as quickly as it began, all motion stopped.

The crash was over.

The vehicle was on its side.

Teffinger wasn’t dead.

How badly he was hurt, he had no idea, but he wasn’t dead.

“Del Rey!”

“Teffinger—”

She was alive.

A pungent odor of gas or oil invaded the air.

“Come on!”

His door wouldn’t open but the glass was busted. He climbed out, ignoring the damage to his body as best he could, then pulled Del Rey through behind him.

No one was around.

He checked his body.

Everything worked.

Blood came from wounds but none of them were profuse.

Del Rey was in equal shape.

Teffinger felt her body.

Nothing seemed broken.

She could stand okay.

She could walk okay.

She could bend to the right and to the left.

There were no obvious injuries to her skull.

Up the road
quite some distance was the Targa, immobile and strangely angled, most likely wrecked. A black BMW was in the same vicinity, not strangely angled, not most-likely wrecked. Two men were carrying something between the two, something that was probably Dandan.

The Van Gogh was still in the back area of the 4Runner.

Teffinger pulled it out through the broken glass and handed it to Del Rey. “Take it. Head down the hill into the trees. Just keep going until you come out the other side.”

“Okay.”

“Grab the first cab you see,” he said. “Take it into Sausalito, get a hotel and stash the painting the best place you can find, behind the curtains or something. Then leave.”

“To where?”

“A coffee shop; I don’t care. Just get away from the painting. I’ll call you.”

She took a step towards the trees then turned and said, “I need my purse.”

It was scattered inside the vehicle.