Inspector Zhang and the Disappearing Drugs by Stephen Leather Read Free Book Online Page A

eye,” said Mrs. Clare, nodding in agreement.
    “How old is he?” I asked.
    “Twenty-one,” said Mr Clare.
    “Twenty-two next month,” added his wife.
    Mr. Clare handed me a sheet of paper. “We have a photocopy of Jon Junior's passport.   We also told him to photocopy all his important documents. You can never be too careful.”
    “Indeed,” I said.
    “We've already got his birthday present,” said Mr. Clare. “A digital camera. State of the art.”
    Mrs. Clare reached over and held her husband's hand. He smiled at her with tight lips.
    “And He's in Thailand?” I asked.
    “He came two months ago,” said Mr. Clare.   “He wanted to take some time off before joining me in the family business. Janitorial supplies. Cleaning equipment. We're one of the biggest in the state. There's barely a hospital or school in Utah that doesn't have our soap in its dispensers.”
    I decided it was time to cut to the chase before I got the complete Clare family history. “And when was the last time you heard from Jon Junior?” I asked.
    “Three weeks ago,” said Mr. Clare. “He phoned us every week. And wrote. Letters. Postcards.”
    “Do you remember when exactly he phoned?”
    Mr. Clare looked over at his wife. “March the seventh,” she said. “It was a Sunday. He always phoned on a Sunday.”
    “And when did he fly in?”
    Mr. Clare looked over at his wife again. “January the sixteenth,” she said.
    “Did he apply for a visa in the States?” I asked.
    “Why does that matter?” asked Mr. Clare.
    “If you apply for a tourist visa overseas then you get sixty days, which can be extended for a further thirty days,” I explained. “If you arrive without a visa, immigration will give you thirty days in which case Jon Junior will have overstayed.”
    “Is that bad?” asked Mrs Clare.
    “It's not too serious,” I said.
    And in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't.
    Mr. Clare was nodding. “He applied to the Thai Consulate in Chicago. He had a visa.”
    I made a note. “And which airline did he use?”
    “Delta,” said Mr. Clare. “He flew through Seattle.”
    I made another note, then looked up, smiling reassuringly. They seemed less worried now that I was asking for specific information. “The letters that Jon Junior sent, do you have them?”
    Mr. Clare nodded and looked across at his wife. She clicked open a small black handbag and handed me half a dozen airmail envelopes. I put them down next to the photograph.
    “And since the phone call, you haven't heard from him?”
    The Clares shook their heads. “Not a word,” said the father. “And we've spoken to our bank in Salt Lake City and he hasn't used his credit card since he spoke to us.”
    “What sort of phone did he have? Did he use a local Sim card? With a Thai number?”
    Mr. Clare nodded. “He bought it soon after he arrived. We've called it several times. The first time it was answered by a Thai man but since then it's been switched off.”
    I pushed a notepad towards him and asked him to write down the number.
    “What about emails?” I asked. “Did he email you?”
    “We're not big fans of emails,” said Mrs. Clare. “I also say that if it's important enough to write, then it's important enough to put down on paper.”
    “He did have an email account, but that was just for friends,” said Mr. Clare. “With his mother and me, he wrote or phoned.”
    I asked him to write down the email address.   “He came here as a tourist, right?   He was just here on vacation?”
    “He was a tourist, but he said he was going to get a job teaching English,” said Mr. Clare.
    I sat back in my chair. “I thought you said he was just taking a break before joining you in the family firm.”
    “He changed his mind. He said he'd fallen in love with the place.”
    “With the place? Or with someone?”
    Mr. Clare frowned. “What are getting at?”
    “He might have met a girl. Or a boy.”
    “Our son is not gay, Mr. Turtledove,” said