“We’re here because she wasn’t the first.”
August drew on his cigarette. As he exhaled, he took it out of his mouth, turned it around, and inspected the lighted end. What he might have been looking for mystified Tay completely.
“I didn’t know that,” August said after a moment.
“Last Tuesday, Elizabeth Munson, the wife of Arthur Munson who is-”
“I know who Art Munson is,” August interrupted.
“Elizabeth Munson was found at the Singapore Marriott. She was murdered. It looks very much like both women were killed by the same man.”
August glanced briefly at Tay, then looked back at Cally.
“So that’s what he’s doing here,” he said. “I wondered why you were hanging around with a Singapore cop.”
“But you didn’t want to ask why he was here with me because you thought he was my lover, didn’t you?”
August seemed to shrug with his eyebrows, but the rest of his body remained motionless.
He didn’t say anything of the sort out loud, of course. He just smoked his Camel quietly and watched as the conversation between Cally and August continued.
“I thought Munson’s wife was a suicide,” August said.
“That was a cover story,” Cally replied. “The police in Singapore put it out when they found the body because they wanted to keep the interest down until they had a firm ID. But it was a homicide. There was never any doubt.”
August glanced at Tay again and Tay didn’t like the expression on his face one bit. It was plain August was expressing a measure of contempt for the suicide story, and maybe it was more or less justified, but it was none of August’s goddamned business regardless. Tay was about to say something along exactly those lines, but Cally started talking again before he could make up his mind exactly what it was going to be.
“That doesn’t matter anymore,” Cally said as if she knew exactly what Tay was thinking. “The problem now is that Munson says they may stick to the suicide story.”
“They’ll never get away with it,” August said.
“Not now they won’t.”
Tay finished his cigarette and ground it out in the glass ashtray in the center of the table. He wanted another one, but he wasn’t about to ask August for it.
“Do you have any idea who you’re looking for yet?” August asked Cally.
“The FBI in Singapore is working on the theory Munson was the victim of terrorists and I’m sure they’ll have the same theory with respect to Rooney.”
August snorted.
“Of course they will,” he said. “These days those dickwads think
Cally didn’t react to that, although Tay had the impression August was expecting her to.
“Anyway,” August asked Cally when he got tired of waiting, “what do
“I think they’re wrong.”
“That’s usually a pretty safe bet when you’re talking about the FBI, isn’t it?”
“Don’t be glib, John. You’re good at it, but after a while it gets really boring.”
August nodded very slowly as if Cally’s remark meant something to him. Tay wondered what it was.
A young girl wearing a shapeless green dress and yellow flipflops brought them fresh cups of coffee without being asked. When she left, August took out his Camels again. Tay gratefully accepted another, although he tried to keep his face expressionless when he did. He hated the thought that August might see how much he wanted it.
“You’re here to ask me if I know anything?” August made the comment sound half question and half statement.
Cally nodded.
“Okay, so here is your answer. I don’t know anything.”
“Will you at least look at what I’ve got so far and tell me what you think?”
“Sure.” August took a long drag on his cigarette. “How do I get the case files?”
“I brought you the file on Elizabeth Munson. There’s no file yet on Susan Rooney, but I have some crime scene photos for you to look at.”
August nodded slowly several more times, then smoked in silence for a bit.
“When are you going to give them to me?” he asked when he was good and ready.
“You could walk back to the Marriott with us tonight. I have them in my room and I can give them to you now.”
Tay’s first thought was he hoped that was all Cally was going to give August in her room at the Marriott tonight. Then, as quickly as the thought had come to him, he pushed it away. That was absolutely none of his business. What Cally and August did at the Marriott, or any place else for that matter, was completely up to them, wasn’t it?
August seemed to think the possibility over, then tilted his head back and yawned. The yawn looked phony to Tay and he wondered why August had bothered with it. Tay examined the man curiously. He couldn’t decide if he was more than he seemed to be, or less.
“Okay,” August said after he finished his unnecessary yawn.
It seemed to Tay he was trying hard to infuse the word with a measure of reluctance.
“I’ll look at whatever you’ve got tonight.”
“When do you want-”
“We can have breakfast tomorrow and I’ll tell you then what I think.”
“Where?” Cally asked.
“How about Shenanigan’s? It’s just-”
Now it was Cally’s turn to interrupt. “I know where it is. Seven o’clock?”
August gave Cally an amused look.
“You must still be on Singapore time, kid. We stay up late here. We get up late, too. The place doesn’t even open until nine.”
“Nine then. We’ll be there.”
Cally’s use of the plural must have reminded August that Tay was still around because just then he glanced over at him. Tay resisted the impulse to wave. Instead, he smiled as insincerely as he knew how and gave August a big thumbs-up.
“I’m looking forward to it already,” Tay said.
TWENTY-FIVE
The ringing of Tay’s cell phone pulled him from a deep and dreamless sleep. It was very dark and he couldn’t remember where he was. He sat up and fumbled around until he found the switch for the bedside lamp. When the lamp came on, he blinked and then for a few moments stared in total amazement at the strange room in which he was sleeping.
Then everything about where he was and what he was doing there came back to him in a rush and he picked up his telephone.
“Hello.”
“Is this Samuel Tay?”
It was a man’s voice, someone with an American accent.
