Midnight City (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) Page 4
He needed more money.
Teffinger chewed on it, deciding, then said, “I’ll bring you another check.”
“When?”
He checked his watch.
“In about an hour.”
“I’ll be here.”
When Teffinger got there Wilde was pacing in front of the window with a smoke in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. “I’ve been concentrating on that lawyer here in town, Jamie Parker. If she has anything in her past that’s not supposed to be there, I can’t find it. She’s as clean as a bottle of mineral water.”
Teffinger grunted and set a check on the desk.
“There’s your money.”
Wilde glanced at it, left it where it was and said, “If she and the Tangiers woman were in some kind of conspiracy together, they would have been talking. A lot of that talking would have been by cell. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to get my hands on her records. It sounds like it should be easy but it’s not like the old days. They keep them under seal. You don’t even know who in the company has access to them. It’s almost impossible to find a palm to grease. In fact it’s almost impossible to get a human being to talk to.”
Teffinger nodded.
He knew that.
“However, I finally got them,” Wilde said. “None of the calls panned out to be to or from anyone of interest.” He blew smoke and then opened a file on his computer. “Check out these photos and tell me if any of them are Tangiers.”
The first photo on the screen was a blond woman.
It wasn’t Tangiers.
“Where’d you dig these up from?”
“What I’ve been doing is making a list of every criminal defense firm in the country that I can find on the web,” he said. “Most of those firms have websites. Most of those websites have bios for their attorneys and most of those bios have a head shot. Every time I come to a hot woman in her late twenties, whether she has blond hair or not, I’m downloading the picture. Like I said in the beginning, this whole thing is going to be a long shot. Go ahead and flip through and see if I got lucky.”
Teffinger did.
For 22 pictures there was no luck.
Then there was.
Photo 23 was Tangiers.
“I can’t believe it.”
“That’s her?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“Hold on.” Wilde cross-referenced to a spreadsheet, then pulled up a website for a firm in San Francisco by the name of Steele & Panders, P.C. On the left was a list of lawyers. He clicked on Tianca Vaughn. Tangiers’ face popped up surrounded by a short biography, areas of expertise and links to cases where she had been the attorney of record.
“So her real name’s Tianca Vaughn,” Teffinger said.
“If that’s her, then yes.”
“That’s her all right.”
Wilde lit a cigarette, focused on the check for a moment and said, “I’ve already gone past the first five you gave me, by three or four or five hundred.”
Teffinger left the check where it was.
“Figure out the final bill and mail me whatever you didn’t use.”
Wilde smiled.
That was good.
“Remember, this whole thing is off the books,” Teffinger said.
“I understand.”
“I don’t mean a little off the books, I mean way off the books.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you don’t even exit.”
Teffinger was almost out the door when he turned and said, “Do me a favor. Find out what you can on Tianca Vaughn. I’ll call you tonight sometime tonight.”
Wilde blew smoke and said, “Done.”
Teffinger’s instinct was to dial the woman up and say, “Hi there. Remember me?”
He didn’t though.
Instead he drove to DIA and boarded the first plane to San Francisco.
Touchdown at San Francisco International came just as the lights of the city began to twinkle. He rented a black Camry and checked into the Hotel California, a few blocks out of the center of the financial district.
He called Wilde and learned that the man hadn’t been able to find out much of interest on Tangiers other than she had a solid reputation as one of the better defense attorneys in the city.
Then Teffinger went to bed.
He needed rest.
Tomorrow would be a day that would change his life.
12
Day Ten
August 4
Friday Morning
Friday morning at seven, Teffinger headed into the guts of the financial district and got himself situated in a Starbucks on Market Street. Across the way on the other side of the trolley line was a contemporary seven-story office building. Inside that building, on the fifth floor, were the offices of Tangiers’ firm, Steele & Panders.
Tangiers came into view reporting for work shortly before eight.
The crowd was thick and the time was short but Teffinger fully recognized her. She was wearing two-inch heels, nylons and a gray skirt with a matching jacket. An expensive leather briefcase swung in her right hand. Her face was the face of a lawyer bracing herself for a long workday.
Teffinger finished his drink and then wandered the city until the noon hour, when Tangiers reappeared. He followed her to a seafood restaurant where she dined with a man who looked like a lawyer. The meal was hurried, no more than 25 minutes, after which the woman hoofed it back to her office.
The sway in her step was hypnotic.
When Teffinger focused on the movement he could feel his hand on her heart and could hear the shower spray against her body.
She lived in a contemporary ranch in an exclusive neighborhood five miles up 101 on the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge.
Friday afternoon Teffinger parked near a Eucalyptus grove down the winding lane and headed towards the structure on foot, to all intents and purposes just a guy out for a stroll.
The air was a lot cooler than Denver.
A light wind blew.
It was filled with salt.
The property had a four-foot wall in the front near the road, made of stone and covered with growth. A circular cobblestone driveway entered the property at one side, swept past the front door, and exited at the other side. It also branched over to the garage.
Teffinger headed up the cobblestone.
The front door was oversized, contemporary and made of some type of ornate carved wood that Teffinger wasn’t familiar with. A narrow curtain window to the side offered a good view into an expansive living space with high ceilings, rich textures and colorful handpicked sittings.
He tried the knob.
It was locked.
He headed around to the back, which turned out to be a wall of windows looking over a redwood deck into the horizon line. The woman’s backyard was the ocean. The crashing of the breakers against the crags and cliffs was her music.
The kitchen had a glass door that opened onto the deck.
Right now it was locked.
The master bedroom had a similar door.
It was also locked.
Wooden stairs led from the backyard down to a small beach nested in jagged rocks. Teffinger found a place in the shade and watched the breakers.
Tonight he’d make an unannounced visit to Tangiers.
He’d break through one of the doors if he had to.
He’d find out once and for all what she was up to.
13
Day Ten
August 4
Friday Night
Friday night after dark Teffinger parked at the Eucalyptus grove and approached Tangiers’ house with a beating heart. A heavy fog raked through the night on a stiff breeze. The woman’s white BMW was parked on the cobblestone in front of the entry. No other vehicles were around. The interior lights were on, not more than a watercolor mist from this distance.
He took one step after another after another until he came to the entry.
There he peered through the curtain wi
ndow.
Several light fixtures were on.
A large flat-panel TV was also on.
The screen showed a Frasier rerun.
In front of the TV was a red leather couch.
No one was on that couch.
Next to the couch was an end table.
On that table was a glass of red wine—one glass of wine, not two as if one for her and one for someone else, only one. It was half full.
Frasier and Niles were arguing about something on the screen.
Nothing in the house moved.
Tangiers might be in the bathroom or the kitchen.
That was fine.
Teffinger could wait.
He had nothing but time.
He waited.
Tangiers didn’t appear.
Maybe she got sidetracked in another room by a phone call or an email.
A minute passed and then another.
Teffinger found his feet shifting impatiently.
Then he got a bad feeling in his gut, a feeling that made him look up to see if there was a security camera above the door.
There was.
It was small and hidden but it was definitely there.
Suddenly a noise came from behind him.
He turned just in time to see the shape of a large dark silhouette swinging something at him. He reacted but not fast enough. Something heavy and metal took a solid blow to his shoulder. It knocked him back but not down.
He swung a fist and got face.
Then he swung again and again and again.
The man tried to get away but Teffinger wrestled him to the ground and pounded his face again and again. Then the man landed a blow to Teffinger’s face.
His mind snapped.
His thumbs went to the man’s throat.
He squeezed.
The man flailed under him but couldn’t break his balance. Then the flailing got less and less and finally stopped.
Teffinger got up and hovered over the shape.
It didn’t move.
It didn’t move an inch.
It looked dead.
He tried the door handle and found it locked.
At his feet was a fireplace iron.
He smashed the curtain window, reached through and unlocked the door.
Then he stepped inside.
“Tangiers!”
No one answer.
“Tangiers!”
Not a sound came from anywhere.
He headed into the guts of the structure one step at a time.
14
Day Ten
August 4
Friday Night
He found her in the bedroom tied spread-eagle on the bed with blue rope. Her jaws were jammed open and tape covered her lips. Her eyes were wild with panic and her arms twitched.
“Don’t move,” he said.
Slowly and carefully he pulled the tape off her mouth a quarter of an inch at a time. The woman’s tongue was at the back of her mouth protecting her throat. On that tongue was a small rattlesnake in a calm, laying position.
Teffinger shifted his head to get a better view.
Suddenly the snake curled up and bobbed its head.
“It’s okay,” Teffinger said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The bobbing grew more and more agitated.
Then a rattling noise came.
“Calm down,” Teffinger said.
The rattling grew louder.
Tears rolled out of Tangiers’ eyes but she held every muscle in her body as still as death.
Teffinger put his left hand to the side of the woman’s face in a position as if to slap her. Then he pointed his right index finger at the snake from directly above.
It was six inches up.
“Go on, bite this,” he said.
The snake bobbed.
Teffinger lowered his finger a half-inch at a time, getting closer and closer.
Suddenly the snake sprang.
Its reach wasn’t enough.
The fangs snapped an inch short.
“Good boy,” Teffinger said. “One more time.”
He got his finger back into position and slowly lowered it.
The snake sprang.
When it did Teffinger slapped at it with his left hand and made contact. Half of the reptile came out of Tangiers’ mouth but not all of it.
No one moved.
Tangiers didn’t move.
Teffinger didn’t move.
The snake didn’t move.
A second passed and then another and another.
Then the snake slipped all the way out of the woman’s mouth, down the side of her face and away from her head. Teffinger let it be until it got to the edge of the bed and then swatted it off with the back of his hand.
15
Day Thirteen
August 7
Monday Morning
Monday morning Teffinger woke to find the first rays of dawn working their way around the edges of the window coverings and washing the room in a soft ochre patina. Next to him, Tangiers was asleep and breathing deeply, with the lower half of her body covered by a thin sheet. Teffinger studied the curves of her body as he headed for the bathroom and felt sorry for every guy in the world who wasn’t him.
He got the shower up to temperature and stepped in.
Everything Tangiers had told him back in that stormy night in the Corvette was true, with a few little twists. She really was a criminal defense lawyer, except it was in San Francisco instead of Denver. She really did have a client named John—John Smith to be precise—who told her that he was the one who killed Brittany Asher and the others before her. He told her he’d set up Peyton Rekker. It was all in Tangiers’ notes. She really did hire a private investigator to track down her client, except it wasn’t Charlene Banta in Denver, it was a woman named Patricia Williams in San Francisco.
Those were the little twists.
There was also a big one.
The name of the next victim on John Smith’s calendar wasn’t Tangiers, it was a woman named Jamie Parker in Denver, Colorado. Tangiers came to town and warned the woman what was going on. She also told her that she had a plan to kill him. All that the woman needed to do was be out of the house that night and then return home and find a dead man in her bedroom.
To make the story stick that she lived in the house that actually belonged to Jamie Parker, she had to change everything about her life to Denver instead of San Francisco.
In hindsight, Tangiers took all the risk herself when she didn’t need to.
The man that Teffinger ended up killing that night was in fact the same man who killed Brittany Asher.
As to the attack on Tangiers three days ago, the man didn’t die at Teffinger’s hands and as of this date no one knew who he was. Their best guess was that he wanted Tangiers dead for some reason and knew about her relationship with John Smith. Alternatively, someone else wanted Tangiers dead and hired the man.
Either way it was a copycat murder to set Tangiers’ client up as the killer. He didn’t know that Smith had already been killed.
Why he wanted Tangiers dead was unknown at this point. The plan was for Tangiers to stay in Denver with Teffinger until that part of the puzzle got figured out.
The shower curtain pulled back and Tangiers stepped in.
She slapped Teffinger’s ass and said, “You were pretty rough last night.”
He kissed her.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, it wasn’t a complaint.” She rubbed her chest on his and said, “By the way, I don’t know if I told you this before but the head of the San Francisco homicide unit is on his way out and the position’s going to open up. Maybe you should apply for it.”
Teffinger cocked his head.
“Maybe I will.”
THE END
Copyright (c) R.J. Jagger
All rights reserved
R.J. Jagger is the author of over 20 thrillers and is also a long-standing member of the Inter
national Thriller Writers. He has two series, one featuring Denver homicide detective Nick Teffinger, set in modern times; and a noir series featuring private investigator Bryson Wilde, set in 1952. His books can be read in any order. For complete information on the author and his ebooks, hardcovers, paperbacks and audio books, as well as upcoming titles, news and events, please visit him at:
Rjjagger.blogspot.com
RJJagger@Yahoo.com