Breeders (13 page)

Alexa nodded. “I guess.”

“Look, I need you to set up a lookout at the cave. She’s bound to return.”

Alexa nodded then kissed his cheek. “I love you, Dad.”

Bruce smiled. “I love you too, my baby.” He held her face in his hands. “Look, Alexa, don’t get too emotional about this case. I know how difficult it was retrieving the bodies.”

“I won’t,” she whispered. She tried to swallow away the lump in her throat. She didn’t believe her own words.

A gale-force wind swept up a fine spray from the ocean, soaking to the bone those unfortunate enough to be exposed to the elements. Water trickled in everywhere, and it was futile carrying an umbrella as the wind simply scooped it up or flipped it over.
 

Neil opened the door to the pub, struggling against the wind, and ushered Alexa inside. She slipped out of her leather jacket and hung it on a peg in the entrance hall.
 

The place was warm and cozy and empty. The panoramic view over the ocean was blurred by the onslaught of water against the glass panes.
 

They were shown to an empty booth by a blonde waiter wearing Bermudas and a T-shirt, looking ready to tackle the monstrous waves with his board at a moment’s notice. “May I take your drinks order, guys?”

Alexa nodded, rubbing her arms. “Two glasses of red wine, please.” She was starving. “And two fillets and potatoes. The largest you have. Rare.”

The guy nodded. “Coming right up. Anything else?”

“Are you called Freddie?” Alexa asked the kid.

“Who?”

“Freddie, one of the waiters?”

The guy shook his head. “No one called Freddie working here. I’d know, I’m the only waiter and I’ve been here for five years. Sometimes Alida de Vos helped out. You know, the dead girl?” The guy flashed a smile.

Alexa shrugged. “Sorry, probably a misunderstanding then.”

The guy nodded then sauntered back to the bar and flamboyantly punched something onto a computer screen. A girl behind the bar winked and smiled at him.

Neil removed a notepad from his breast pocket. “Got a call from your right hand-man.

“Who?”

“Your Lieutenant who’s in love with you.”

Alexa waved a hand. “Latorre’s not in love with me. What did he say?”Bruce chuckled. “He followed up about Dr. Thak Wattana with the Royal College of Surgeons.”

Alexa sighed. “I thought we were off that case. Let the CDC deal with it.”

“Just tying up the loose ends.”

“Tell me.”

“Wattana checks out.”

“He does?”

“Yep. Very well, as a matter of fact. He’s a well-respected surgeon leading a research project on medicinal uses of stem cells at the Asian University in Pattaya.”

“OK. So he’s a respected doctor.”

“Renowned, actually. He figured out a way to create stem cells from normal tissue cells. They call it iPS cells or induced pluripotent stem cells.”

“So what?”

“So what? It’s huge. The guy could win a Nobel Prize. He’s discovered the fountain of youth. “

“The fountain of youth? Isn’t that taking it a bit too far?”

Neil grinned. “OK, listen. He’s managed to change normal cells, like skin or fat cells, into cells that could morph into anything.” Neil held up a hand when Alexa wanted to interject. “Let me finish. These pluripotent stem cells are able to become any kind of cell. Blood cells, brain cells, kidney cells. He could treat any kind of disease.”

“He discovered that?”

“Yep. And more. He’s managed to grow brain cells infected with multiple sclerosis in a petri dish and then treat the disease with his iPS cells.”

Alexa sat up. “He has a cure for multiple sclerosis?”

Neil chuckled. “Not yet. I guess it’s probably a decade or two away. But yes, he’s doing brilliant work.”

“OK, Watson, now let’s get back to the current case. Should we chat with the innkeeper? What’s his name?”

“Henry Theron.”

The waiter arrived with the wine. “Food’s on the way.”

Alexa nodded. “Thanks. Is Mr. Theron around?”

The waiter brushed a hand through his sun-bleached blonde hair. “He’s in the office doing the books or something.”

“Could you call him?”

Surfer boy looked alarmed. “Is everything OK?”

Alexa gave him a reassuring smile. “Everything is perfect. We simply want to ask him a couple of questions regarding a case we’re working on. You know, the dead girl?” She showed him her badge.

His lost some color in his tanned face. “Well, OK then,” the guy said apprehensively, then he hurried away to fetch Theron.

A minute later Henry Theron arrived, wringing his hands. “How may I help you folks? Is there a problem?”

“No, not at all. Please sit down, we’d like to ask you a couple of questions that could help us in our investigation.

Theron nodded then slid in next to Neil. “Shoot.” He seemed nervous, brushing the top of his nose with the back of his hand.

“How well did you know Alida de Vos?”

Theron frowned. “I thought this was about the bodies you found.”

Alexa sighed. “It is. How well did you know her?”

Theron shrugged. “You know. She drifted in and out. Sometimes came to grab a bite to eat.”

“Did you supply her with drugs?” Neil asked.

Theron’s eyebrows shot up. “Why would you ask that?” He brushed his nose. His irises were dilated and he seemed agitated.

“Because you’re a drug dealer. As a matter of fact, you’re high right now,” Alexa said.

The man squirmed, his head hunched between his shoulders. “You can’t prove that. And if I am, which I most certainly am not, what does that have to do with anything?”

“I could get a warrant to search this place.”

“OK, lady. Jeez I had a snort or two.” He leaned forward. “Look, I don’t need this . . .” he looked around uncertainly, “. . . this information to come out. This is a small town.”

“Did you supply Alida with drugs?”

He pursed his lips. “Off the record?”

Who did he think she was, a damn reporter? “Of course.”

He nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“Did you have a sexual relationship with Alida?” Neil asked.

The corner of Theron’s mouth lifted into a smile. “There was no other way that she was going to pay me. Daddy’s pocket money wasn’t going to buy her a gram of anything.”

“What type of drugs?” Neil asked.

Theron shrugged. “Whatever she wanted.”

“Cocaine?”

Theron nodded.

“She had expensive taste. And she didn’t need to pay for anything?”

Theron shrugged. “She paid some. She was very pretty, you know?” He looked around. “Look, I have a business to run. Will that be all?”

Alexa stood up and slid in next to Theron. She grabbed Theron’s wrist and pulled it beneath the table then pushed his pinky back until she felt it snap. Theron’s eyes widened in shock then his face went red. He bit his lower lip until Alexa thought he was going to chew it off. His eyes darted around the room then settled on Alexa. “What the hell?” he hissed.

She started leveraging his ring finger back. “I’m going to do this until you promise me one thing,” she whispered, leaning closer to him.

“OK, anything,” he said, his voice cracking as he spoke. A drop of snot formed on the tip of his nose.

“Promise me you won’t be selling any more drugs.”

Theron closed his eyes and nodded fervently. “Anything, anything.”

“Pinky promise?” she asked with a smile.

He nodded again.

She let go of his hand. “I’ll be checking back often. If you break your promise, I break your fingers. And I tell Moolman.” She slid out and took her seat.

Theron sobbed, clutching his injured hand to his chest. He shuffled out of the booth uncomfortably then stood up and hurried away.

She turned to Neil, who was staring at her incredulously. “What?”

“Wasn’t that a bit extreme?”

“Only way to make sure he won’t harm anyone in the future.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Damn, I’m hungry. Where’s the food?”

Neil shook his head. “Amazing.”

“You know, I think we should pay Mitsu a visit after we’ve eaten.”

“De Vos’s wife?”

Surfer boy arrived, placed their plates on the table, and scurried away.

“Yep. Could you call her and set it up?”

Neil dug in his pocket, still shaking his head. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

Alexa flashed him a sweet smile then attacked her meat like a ravenous steppenwolf.

Yumi opened her eyes and sat bolt upright on the large bed. She blinked, trying to adjust to her new surroundings. She was in the cleanest room she had ever seen. And the strangest—like the photos in the magazines Ally used to bring.
 

Beautiful pictures adorned the patterned walls, and the place was filled with wooden objects polished to a sheen. Chairs and tables and other objects she didn’t know the use of were arranged around without any apparent pattern or reason. A large picture with people mouthing silent words hung against a wall, and a cool breeze wafted in from a window covered with a fine gauzy material.
 

She heard noises outside the window: jangling sounds like breaking glass, a sound like somebody hitting a tin plate with a spoon, and the soft crash of waves against rocks somewhere far away.

She sniffed the air. It smelled of flowers and grass and the salty ocean. No sweaty bodies or the stench of pee. None of the overwhelmingly starchy smells of the rice porridge that usually drifted in from the kitchen. Everything smelled foreign.

She sucked in a sharp breath as she heard a chair scrape behind her. She tried to push herself deeper into the cushions as she noticed an older man stand up from his chair and saunter toward her. He smiled. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust any man. They hurt girls. The only good man was a dead man, Ally used to say. Except her dad. And Jake.

He walked back to the table and fiddled with something, then he muttered something unintelligible, like he was speaking to himself. He turned around and watched her with a slight smile, like an old, crazed man. Like Dr. Wattana would do before he called one of the girls to his chamber. Before they would ultimately finish up on the altar.
 

He looked nothing like the doctor, though. He had silver hair and cold blue eyes. His face was brown, but she noticed that his chest was untanned above his V-necked T-shirt. He looked wiry, like he had been starved for years. But she noticed the thick veins on his muscular arms, and she knew he was strong.
 

He simply stood there, hands behind his back, looking amused. He didn’t move. It felt like forever.

Yumi jumped as she heard a loud banging noise. The man casually spun on his heel and walked to the door. He cracked it open and she heard a whispered conversation, then he came back carrying a steaming white bowl and a plate of bread. He placed it on the table then turned back toward her. Boy, it smelled good. She was starving.

He said something, the intonation of his voice making her guess that he was asking her a question. She swallowed hard. Questions meant trouble. Questions always needed to be answered. Questions like “Who’s next?” always had an answer.

He repeated the question. She shrugged. He smiled. Then he shifted his feet apart slightly, folded his arms behind his back, and smiled. He looked amused. An old, crazed, amused man.

She was trapped.

General Alain Laiveaux watched the child as she stuck her thumb in her mouth and started sucking. He had washed her with a washcloth as best he could then went to the local supermarket and bought her a frilly pink dress and a pink headband encrusted with costume jewelry. She held this in her hand, her eyes darting between him and the headband. She was a pretty young girl with large brown eyes and long black hair.
 

He didn’t know much about kids, Alexa being the closest person he had ever come to feeling a fatherly love for. He knew kids had to eat and sleep often, and when they were younger they shat themselves. He hoped this one was past that stage. If she did shit herself, he guessed he would probably have to dump her in the shower and rinse her off. He wasn’t going to change any diapers, that was for sure. He guessed he could probably ask Latorre to do it.

The girl obediently followed him around when he led her by the hand, but she didn’t speak and never responded to any of his questions. He didn’t know how to deal with kids, but one thing he did have was patience. She needed to eat soon, and he would wait patiently until the time came when she opened up to him.
 

He had asked Interpol to send him an interpreter, and the efficient busybody at Geneva had wanted to know which language. Damned if he knew. He said, “Asian,” and she responded that there were more than two thousand languages spoken in Asia and probably hundreds of thousands of dialects. He told her that he was the commander of investigations of Interpol, outranked only by one person and He lived in heaven, and she should send him somebody who knew which language the little girl spoke, even if it was the president of the USA. Damn smart-assed kids these days, no respect. Alexa would never be that cheeky with him. Not that he would mind. She was different. She had been through a lot in her short life. She had earned the right to be cheeky.