Hand-painted signs in Thai, Burmese, and English advertised everything from money exchange to international phone calls.
“Next left,” she said, checking the GPS on Skeet’s phone. She’d have to buy a new one at the airport.
Elena Thanakit’s house sat at the end of a dusty street lined with mango trees. Modest but well-maintained. Blue wooden walls, corrugated metal roof, a small garden where vegetables grew in neat rows. A simple house for a renowned doctor and researcher.Interesting.
“You ready for this?” Skeet asked, cutting the engine.
“Defineready.” She grabbed her backpack, checked that her recorder was accessible. “I’m about to tell a woman her husband was murdered, then ask her to help us stop the people who killed him. There’s no amount of ready that covers that conversation.”
“If she already knows he’s dead?—”
“She’ll want to know why. And when I tell her, she’ll either help us or she’ll run.” She opened the car door, the humidity pouring over her. “Either way, we’ll know where we stand.”
The front door opened before they’d even reached the porch steps. The woman who appeared could have been anywhere from thirty-five to fifty. Smooth skin and dark hair pulled back in a practical bun. Simple blue dress and sandals.
Her eyes were red-rimmed with grief.
“Dr. Thanakit?” Chloe said softly. “I’m Chloe Silver. This is Skeet Blackwood. We’re journalists and we’re here about your husband.”
“I know.” Elena’s English carried only the faintest accent, voice steady despite the tears that threatened to spill over. “The authorities called me last night.”
Chloe looked at Skeet, then went to the woman, put her arms around her. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Elena nodded but backed away. “Come inside. Quickly.”
Chloe followed her in, and Skeet closed the door behind them. A pretty home with a European touch—photos of family on the walls, a small family room that adjoined the kitchen. Medical journals were stacked on side tables, children’s drawings stuck to the refrigerator with magnets.
“How?” Elena asked, gesturing them toward a small sofa.
Oh.Chloe shot a look at Skeet.
“He was... it was quick,” he said quietly.
Elena sank into a chair across from them. Hands folded in her lap with forced composure. “Marko called me yesterday, after his talk. He was scared. Said the supplements were killing children instead of helping them.” She wiped her eyes. “Said that if he didn’t call me by this morning...”
This wasn’t an interview. This was a conversation between women who’d both lost someone to Leonid Volkov’s operation.
“He told me he’d figured out what Volkov was doing,” Elena continued. “The plant compounds—nightshade alkaloids—they weren’t being concentrated to provide nutrition. They were being concentrated to cause neurological damage. Slow at first, so it would look like natural illness. Then faster as the dosage increased.”
“Testing different concentrations,” Skeet said quietly.
“To find the most effective dose.” Elena’s voice broke on the last words. “My husband was a good man. He wanted to helppeople. And Leonid Volkov used that—used Marko’s compassion—to develop something that could kill people.”
Children.But Chloe didn’t correct her.
“Elena,” Chloe said gently, “we’re trying to stop Volkov before he can deploy whatever he’s developed. But we need proof. Evidence that shows what the research was about.”
“Marko keeps a copy of his files.” Elena stood up, moved to a small desk in the corner. “Research notes, correspondence with Volkov’s organization, even audio recordings of their conversations when he started getting suspicious. He said if anything happened to him, I should give them to someone who could expose the truth.”
She pulled out a laptop and set it on the coffee table between them. “I’ve been waiting for the right people to come asking. People who will use this to stop Volkov.” She met Chloe’s eyes, a sort of accusation in them. “Not just write another article that disappears after a week.”
“We’re not just writing articles,” Chloe said. “Skeet works for an organization that handles situations like this. We’re going to stop Volkov.”
“How?”
“We don’t know,” Skeet said. “But he’s holding a meeting at a resort in Phuket this weekend. A meeting with pharmaceutical executives and investors. We’ll find out.”
“What do you think he could be doing?” Elena started to move files onto a flash drive then opened a file. “Marko was thorough. Everything is here—chemical formulas, test results, financial records showing where the money came from.”