Deep Black 06 - Conspiracy by Stephen Coonts & Jim Defelice

Author:Stephen Coonts & Jim Defelice [Coonts, Stephen & Defelice, Jim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

224

S T E P H E N C O O N T S AND J I M D e F E L I C E

“Tommy, what are you doing?” asked Rockman.

“We can always find the bike,” explained Karr.

He pulled his bike up on the curb, and cruised slowly down the sidewalk to the front of the building. Though un-even, the cement was in far better shape than the nearby structures. Karr stopped next to a telephone pole, casually steadying himself there with his left hand—and planting two video bugs at the same time.

A fireplug of a man came out of the building, yelling at Karr in Viet nam ese. Karr waved at the man, then gunned the bike away.

“Are you interested in knowing what he said?” asked the translator in the Art Room.

“I’m thinking it had something to do with my ancestry,” laughed Karr.

“Good guess.”

“Thao Duong’s bike is back at his apartment,” said Rockman. “It was him—he’s inside. OK, we’re listening to him.”

“You have any information on that building?” Karr asked.

“Negative.”

“See what you can dig up for me. I’ll check it out later, once the genealogist goes to sleep.” By the time Karr got to Thao Duong’s apartment, Thao Duong had already gone upstairs and was watching a Vietnam ese soap opera. Karr cruised the neighborhood, making sure he hadn’t been followed, then found a restaurant several blocks away where he could get something to eat while waiting for Thao Duong to go to bed.

Three plates of Viet nam ese barbecue ribs, two dishes of steamy noodles with shrimp, and a

whole chicken later,

Thao Duong was still awake and watching tele vi sion.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell him that stuff rots your mind?” Karr told Rockman when he gave him the update.

“Guess you’ll just have to chill.”

“Yeah. Good thing I saved room for dessert.” 6 9

the doctor who had examined Forester was one of three part- time coroners, all paid a modest retainer by the county to be on call. Full- time, he was a general practitioner, and his days were very full—or at least his office was when Lia went to see him. Even so, he squeezed her in between two appointments without her having to read more than one of the issues of Glamour magazine piled in the waiting room.

“Do you get a lot of gunshot wounds up here?” Lia asked, after the doctor had reviewed the basics of the autopsy report.

“I know what you’re getting at.” He smiled, but there was an edge to his voice. “Small- town guy, looks at a hom i cide maybe once or twice a year, if that. Right? Part- time guy.

How’s he supposed to know what he’s looking at, right?”

“It crossed my mind.”

“Admittedly, we don’t have many hom i cides here. Which is why the coroners are part- time.” He reached down and pulled a file from the bottom drawer of his desk, opened it, and slid a photo forward. It showed what the bullet had done to the back of Forester’s head. Lia had seen a black- and- white copy; it looked more gruesome in color.

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