The Killing Hands (13 page)

“So Mee's okay?” Huntova sits down, but chews on the fingernail of her middle finger. I love it when people are easy to read—it makes my job so much easier.

“Yes,” Hana replies. “As far as we know. We're going to see her at her house after this, but we thought we might as well talk to you while we're here.”

“Is there any particular reason why you thought something might be wrong with Mee?” I ask.

Huntova stops biting her nail and rests both hands on the table. “I rang her last night for a chat and she sounded strange. Kinda nervous. And then she started telling me what a great friend I was.”

“Go on,” I prompt.

“I asked her if anything was wrong, but she kept telling me she was fine.”

“But you don't think she was,” Hana says.

“No.” She sighs. “I've known Mee for four years now, since I started working here, and we've become real close. We often talk on the phone, but last night she was definitely not herself.”

Hana and I both nod.

So maybe Mee did know Saito. Maybe he is her father and she knows it.

“Any ideas what might be wrong?” Hana asks.

Huntova shrugs. “Last night all I could think of was her boyfriend, Paul. You know, maybe they'd had a fight and she was upset. But I'm sure she'd tell me about that.”

“Was she usually open with you about her relationship?”

“Yes. I mean, she's not a kiss-and-tell sort of girl, but I'm sure if she and Paul had had a fight she would have confided in me. Especially given I pressed her about it a couple of times.”

“Is it serious? Her relationship?” I ask.

“She hopes they'll get married.”

I nod, taking notes. “Do you know Paul very well?”

“Not really. They've been together for a couple of years, but Mee and I tended to do things just the two of us. Maybe because I'm single, I don't know.”

“Have you spoken to her today?” I ask.

“No, and that's when I got really worried. I called her during our first break, but the phone rang out. I've been trying her cell ever since, whenever I could.”

“No answer?”

“No.”

While part of me is surprised, the other part of me suspected the sick day was too coincidental. Especially given she seemed healthy less than twenty-four hours ago.

Huntova shrugs. “She gets migraines sometimes and she usually turns her phone off or to silent, so she can sleep. Maybe that's it?” She's trying to convince herself.

I change the subject. “Did Mee ever talk about her father?”

Huntova shakes her head. “It wasn't a subject she liked to discuss. She said her father died in a car accident and that she didn't remember him at all. But she also said he and her mum weren't married. And that her mum didn't like to talk about him.”

That gels with what we know, and what Mee told us yesterday.

“Did she ever mention her father's name?” I ask.

Huntova pauses, thinking. “No. Don't think so.” After a beat of silence, Huntova asks, “So you're going over there now?”

“That's right.” I glance at my watch—4:30 p.m. “One more thing, Ms. Huntova. Have you ever heard of someone called Jun Saito?”

She gives it only a few seconds' thought. “No.”

I study her reaction closely—she certainly seems to be telling the truth.

“So Mee never mentioned that name?”

She shakes her head. “No, I don't think so.”

“What about Jo Kume?”

Again, she shakes her head. “Is one of those men her father?”

“We're not sure at this stage,” I admit, without bothering to tell her they're one and the same person. “Anything else you think we should know?”

Huntova shakes her head and I take down her contact details before we head back to the car.

“What do you think?” Hana asks once we reach the car and some privacy.

“I think she's telling the truth.”

Hana nods. “Yup. Seemed straight-up to me, too.”

Fifteen minutes later we pull up outside Mee Kim's house.

“Her car's not there.” I motion to the driveway. “So much for being sick.”

We both get out of the car.

“Let's take a look.” Hana crosses the sidewalk and heads toward the front door. She's already rung the front doorbell by the time I catch up.

We wait, but no one answers. Hana moves toward the left-hand front window, the living room, and I go to the other front window, the dining room. It looks just like it did last night. I move down the right-hand side of the house, to what must be a bedroom. The curtains are drawn, but don't quite meet in the middle. I cup my hands around my face and lean in.

“Damn!” Although I can only see a small portion of the room, the bed has several items of clothing strewn around it and the floor's the same.

“What have you got?” Hana comes up directly behind me.

“See for yourself. Clothes everywhere.” I move back and Hana leans in for a look. I bite my lip. “So either Mee's made a hasty exit or someone's been in and ransacked the place.”

Hana takes another look. “If she did know Saito, chances are she's been pulled into this mess, one way or another.”

“Or maybe
she
pulled
him
back into the Yakuza.”

Hana raises one eyebrow. “I haven't met her…did she seem like the organized-crime type?”

I shrug. “Not on the surface, no.” I pause. “No, you're right. If she's involved, it's more likely Saito pulled her in.”

Hana nods. “Unless it's the boyfriend. Maybe he's the one with underworld ties or ties to Saito, the Yakuza or the Asian Boyz.”

“Only one way to find out….”

“You got his details?”

“Uh-huh.”

Hana leans on the window ledge. “Mee could be in danger.”

“Could be.” I pause. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

Hana nods.

If we feel Mee's in danger right now, we don't need a warrant. The fact that her car's not here makes it more probable that she's out and left of her own accord, but Hana's right…Mee could be in danger. And if our bosses or some judge gives us a slap on the hand down the track, so be it.

I suddenly remember my dream of someone being shot—could it be Mee? The situation takes a sudden turn for the worse. I draw my gun and Hana follows suit. “Both in the front?” I confirm our strategy.

“Yup, let's stick together.” She flashes me a grin. “We both want to live to see ninety, remember?”

“Let's go.”

I open the screen door with my left hand and lean on it, keeping it back. Hana tries the door but it's locked. No surprises there. I flash back to last night, when we were leaving, and try to recall the lock system. No use even trying to break it down if Mee uses more than one lock. She had one dead bolt, a lock on the door handle and a chain.

“She's got a dead bolt. Sorry, just remembered.” I move away from the door. “Let's try out back.”

We hurry down the left side of the house, looking in
windows as we go. The living room looks relatively normal, as does the kitchen, which we can see clearly from a side door. The door has glass in the top half, and from the far right angle I can see she's got a dead bolt on the back door, too.

“Looks like we're breaking some glass.” I sigh.

“You go. This is a new sweater.” Hana smiles and cocks her head to one side.

“Gee, thanks.” I look at my suit jacket—I don't particularly want to rip it, so I use my gun's butt to smash one of the glass panels in the door. Way noisier, but we are on the right side of the law.

“Well, I could have done that,” Hana jokes, but then her face becomes serious and she raises her gun. “Let's go.”

Moving my arm through the broken glass, I push the handle down. The door swings open, and I lead with my gun, taking the left while Hana follows me in and takes the right-hand side of the room.

The draining board on the kitchen sink has a bowl, spoon and cup on it. “Looks like she had breakfast.”

Hana's eyes dart my way for a second and she gives a nod.

My side of the kitchen's a dead end—the kitchen wall—but Hana's side is the open-plan portion that leads to the living room. A quick visual check tells us that no one's there, but we still keep our guns drawn as we move out. The living room is clear, and we move into the hallway. Again, I stay to the left, and the hall, while Hana moves toward the dining room. I leave her to that room and make my way down the hallway. The next room on the right is a bedroom, the one we could see from the outside. The room's a mess, but no Mee. I head down to the next room, a second bedroom that Mee's turned into a minimalist study. It's bare except for a bookshelf, large desk and an office-style chair. Hana meets me in the hallway and we both shake our heads. The last door at the end of the hallway is the bathroom and, like the rest of the house, it's empty.

With the house checked, we can now have a closer look, maybe get an idea of what we're dealing with. Did Mee run?
And if so, from us, the Yakuza or the Asian Boyz? Or has someone nabbed her? I need to find out if she's the subject of my dreams.

After I've pulled on some gloves, I open the medicine cabinet in the bathroom while Hana moves back into the hallway. Mee's cabinet contains standard stuff—moisturizer, toner, extra soap, tampons, deodorant, painkillers—but nothing prescription, nothing unusual. I also notice that the cabinet is neat and orderly, without any old boxes or crusty medicine.

Moving down the hallway, I pass Hana in the study. “Anything?” I ask her.

“No. But I don't want to switch the computer on.”

I nod. We'll need to get a full crime-scene unit in here, and they'll deal with the computer. They certainly won't be happy if two gung-ho field agents switch it on.

“The file's only got bills.” She points to a small expandable file on the desk. Again, it's neat—no bits of paper peeking out over the top. Mee certainly does work hard not to accrue excess stuff.

“Nothing unusual in the bathroom.”

We move into Mee's bedroom together and the room's a stark contrast to the rest of the house. While her chest of drawers still looks orderly from the outside—the drawers are closed and photos and ornaments sit neatly on top—when you pull out the drawers the few clothes that are left inside are unfolded and jumbled, as though they've been shoved back in or rifled through.

“Someone's been through this room,” Hana comments.

“Yes, but who?” I stand at the door surveying the room and chewing on my lip. “This doesn't seem like Mee, from my read on her. If she did this, it's because she felt threatened or panicked in some way.”

“It does look very different to the rest of the house. If I didn't see this room, I'd say Mee was a neat freak.” She shakes her head. “It's not looking good.”

“No.” I move us back into the living room and move around. “Two photos are missing.”

“Really? What of?”

“A photo of her mum and one of the two of them together.” I smile, relieved.

“That makes it look like Mee was the one who decided to clear out.” Hana jumps to the same conclusion as me.

I nod. “If someone grabbed her, they might throw together some clothes for her, or look for something in her bedroom, but they're not going to take photos. Mee wanted those with her.” I pause, looking around the room again. “And the dishes on the sink. She had time to clean those, she was herself at breakfast.”

“So something happened after breakfast that made her run.”

“Looks that way.” I take out my phone. “Let's get a search warrant and some crime-scene techs down here anyway. I'll call Petrov first, let him know what's going on.”

Hana nods, and takes a closer look at the photos while I catch Petrov up.

“Well?” Hana asks when I hang up.

“Petrov's on his way over. Says he'll have a search warrant and a crew together by the time he gets here.”

“Great.” Hana looks around again. “And we should get in contact with the boyfriend. See what he knows about all this.”

“I'll call him now.” Paul hadn't been a priority before Mee's disappearance, but now…

P
aul Bailey stands out in front of the house with Agent Kim, Petrov and me, while the crime-scene techs sweep the house. We've got guys dusting for fingerprints and vacuuming for trace evidence, and a computer forensic technician is working on the computer. Bailey's Caucasian, in his thirties, and well dressed in a casual but trendy style—black jeans, print T-shirt and leather jacket. He shifts uncomfortably from side to side, hands in his pockets, looking anything but gangster-hip. The guy's nervous and worried—and wearing his emotions on his sleeve. His demeanor confirms that he and Mee are probably innocent bystanders in this, but then why did Mee run?

“And you think Mee knows this dead guy?” It's the third time he's asked us the same question.

“Jun Saito. Yes. He made regular deposits into her bank account.”

He shakes his head. “You're talking about her mom's life-insurance payments. Not some payments this Saito guy made.”

“The payments were made by one of Saito's front companies.”

“No, you got it wrong. And why would this guy pay Mee anyway?”

I shrug. “Could be he's her father?”

He shakes his head again. “No. Not possible.”

“What do you know about her father?” Hana asks.

He sighs. “Not much.”

We all stare at him.

“Okay, okay, nothing. She never talked about him, other than telling me that he died in a car accident before she was born.”

“You didn't ask about him?” I suggest. As a relationship progresses, it's natural to ask questions. “Did you ask her his name? What he did for a living?”

“Yeah. She told me his name, but it wasn't Jun Saito. I can't even remember what it was. This is like nine months ago.”

“What about Jo Kume? Does that name ring a bell?”

He shakes his head. “No, that wasn't it.” He pauses. “She said he was a salesman. Does that help?”

“Salesman?” Petrov gives a snort. “Jun Saito was a member of the Yakuza.” Petrov's obviously decided to drop the bomb, see what sort of a mess it makes.

“Yakuza?” Bailey puts his hands up and backs away. “No way, man. Mee's not mixed up in anything like that. The guy's not her dad.”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “What if she didn't know herself?”

He considers my hypothesis. “I guess that's possible. Like her mom lied to her about her dad?”

“Maybe. We're trying to link Saito and Mee, and so far this is the most logical connection. Unless she was doing something for him here in L.A. and the bank transfers were payments, a salary, or she was blackmailing him.”

“Mee wouldn't be involved in anything illegal, and no way could she blackmail someone.”

That ties in with what we know about her to date, and my impression of her. Although the fact that she ran caught me by surprise.

Bailey rubs his face. “I can't believe she's missing.”

“You said she called you this morning. What time?”

“It was around eight.” He pulls his cell phone out of his leather jacket and flips through the call log. “To be precise, 8:02 a.m. And the phone call lasted one minute and four seconds.”

“From her cell?” Hana confirms.

“Yeah.”

“Did she say where she was?”

“No. But there was music in the background, like she was in the car. I already told you all this.”

I nod. “And she said she was on her way to San Diego?”

“Uh-huh. Her cousin is sick and she was flying down there. She sounded upset.” He wrings his hands together. “But I still can't get her on her cell.”

Petrov puts his hands in his pockets. “She ever mention this cousin before?”

Bailey hesitates and looks as if he's been caught. “No.” He sighs. “I asked her what was wrong with her cousin, and she said she had a lump in her breast. That they were doing tests.”

“And her mum died of breast cancer?” I say.

“That's right. I think that's why Mee was flying down immediately. It would have touched a nerve, you know?”

“Or it was the easiest lie that came to hand, given she'd been through that with her mother.” Petrov's not sparing Bailey's feelings.

He shakes his head. “Mee? Lie? She doesn't have it in her.”

“Come on, Mr. Bailey,” Petrov says. “It's obvious your girlfriend lied to you.”

It's a while before he says, “Mee isn't unpredictable like this. She just isn't. If she did lie, why? You think she's gone on the run? From the Yakuza?”

“That's one possibility.” Petrov keeps his voice even.

“Man.” Bailey blows out a long, slow breath. “This is not good. But I still don't get why she wouldn't tell me if she was in trouble.”

“Maybe she didn't want to involve you?” I suggest.

He rubs his face again. “Maybe. That's more like Mee
than just taking off for no reason. So you think she's in danger?” Bailey looks behind me and I follow his gaze. The computer guy's carrying Mee's computer out, ready to load it into his van.

Bailey pushes his hands into his pockets and hunches his shoulders. “I hope she's okay. You don't think…you don't think whoever killed this Saito guy is after Mee, do you?”

“It's too early to speculate,” Petrov answers honestly. “We'll let you know as soon as any new information comes to hand. And please, if Ms. Kim contacts you, call us immediately.” Petrov hands him a business card. “I can't stress the importance of this. If your girlfriend's in trouble, we can help her.”

Bailey's brow is furrowed and he gives us small, multiple nods. But it's still not sinking in, not yet. “Thanks…thanks.”

“I've put out an APB on both Ms. Kim and her car, so hopefully we'll get something that way.” Petrov gives Bailey a nod.

We still don't know why Saito suddenly came out of hiding and why he'd been working with the Asian Boyz. And maybe if we knew the answers to those questions, we'd know what Mee's running from. It would also help us to know whether Mee and Saito were, in fact, related. We can't get DNA directly from Mee to check against Saito's, but we can swab her house and hopefully get her DNA that way to make the comparison.

Petrov, Hana and I move away from the front lawn over to Petrov's car.

“You need a hand with those ViCAP files, Anderson?”

“Nah, I'll be fine. It'll be easier if one person does the initial sort.”

“I can help out if you like,” Hana offers.

“Thanks, but I don't think it will take me very long.”

“You sure? It's just dinner and a DVD with little sis, tonight. I don't mind.”

I smile. “No, I'll be fine.” The real reason I want to be by myself is to try to induce a premonition, and, as soon as everyone leaves I'll be going back into Mee's house.

Hana nods. “Okay. You going back to the office?”

“No. I'm going to take another look around inside, once the crime-scene guys are finished, and then head home to sort through the ViCAP files.”

“Can I get a lift back to the office with you then, sir?” Hana asks Petrov.

“Sure. Um…guess we may as well head off now. Anderson, I've organized a few agents to keep an eye on the place for the next forty-eight hours or so. Maybe Mee, or someone else, will come back here. The agents will be here by six.”

“Okay. I'll hand over to them when I leave.”

Petrov gives me a nod. “See you tomorrow morning.”

 

Two hours later, I finally get my privacy inside Mee Kim's house. The forensic computer technician left shortly after Petrov and Hana, but the others only left five minutes ago. The two FBI agents are ensconced in their lookout position a few doors down.

Ducking underneath the crime-scene tape, I take in the atmosphere and layout of the house, as if it's the first time I've seen it. I can't truly bring fresh eyes to the scene, but I can try to be as objective as possible. The front door has been extensively printed, and I can clearly see about ten prints around the handle area. Of course, they could all be Mee's, or they could belong to ten different people. Most likely we'll find Mee's prints, Mr. Bailey's and maybe one or two others. The hallway is free of print dust, but Mee's bedroom is a different story. Most of the work has been concentrated on her chest of drawers, with print dust covering the top and each drawer. If someone else went through her clothes, we should find their print there, unless they wore gloves. I move into the living room, literally trying to breathe in all that is Mee Kim. I pick up one of the photos of her, focusing on her face. I picture her, in this room, talking to us, then relaxing by herself, then watching TV. Next I sit down, blank out all thoughts and focus on my breath…in and out…in and out…

The vision ends abruptly, so abruptly that my body jolts. Mee did run, but she was being chased. My vision seems to tie in with our case to date, clearing Mee of any wrongdoing—unless she crossed Saito and the Yakuza in some way. But it's more likely that she found herself in this mess and did everything she could to escape—including fighting two men. But why didn't she call us for help?

I go out the kitchen door and around the corner of the house into the backyard to take a look around. Her yard is a large grassed area, with garden beds running along the three fences bordering it. On first glance it looks untouched, but then I see a few tufts of grass that have been recently upturned. I slowly move around the garden beds, and notice
one camellia with a few branches snapped off, perhaps where someone fell on it. Mee did well, damn well. She fought off two attackers and gave herself enough time to throw some clothes in her bag and run. And, given the men are not still lying in her garden, she did so without killing them. I don't find any other evidence of the scuffle outside, so I go back in and sit on Mee's bed. I slow my breathing again and try to induce another vision of the confrontation, but I'm unsuccessful.

It's 8:30 p.m. by the time I turn the lights off in Mee's house and make my way back to the car. I give the agents a small nod before getting behind the wheel. On the drive home I go through the vision in my head again. At the door, Mee was focused on the man's hand. Why? I visualize that moment over and over again…the two men at the door, Mee looking down…the two men at the door, Mee looking down…the two men at the door, Mee looking down…Finally I see what she saw—part of his pinky finger was missing. He was Yakuza. A Yakuza member cuts off part of his pinky as an offering of penance to his boss, or sometimes the boss takes it as punishment. The guys were Yakuza and Mee knew it.

I decide to call Sifu Lee before making myself a quick dinner. Even though I'm starving, if I wait much later to call, it'll be downright rude. I scroll through to his cell number and hit the dial button.

It only rings three times before he answers. He seems a little surprised to hear from me at nine on a weeknight…fair enough.

“Sorry to bother you, but I'd like to ask your professional opinion on a case I'm working. I think the perpetrator might be trained in kung fu. Highly trained.”

“Really?” Now he seems interested. “Go on.”

Ideally I'd like to be sitting across from Lee with my eight ViCAP files and Saito's file, so we could more easily discuss the injuries and details, but a phone call will have to do for the moment—I want to speak to him before I brief the team tomorrow and make this more formal.

“There have been eight deaths and one attack over the
past twelve years that I think may be related. And I believe they all involve the Ten Killing Hands.”

“What?” I have Lee's full attention. “Tell me more.”

I take Lee through an overview of the cases, focusing on the victims' injuries and causes of death. For the moment, I leave off the two cases I'm not sure about—the 1996 New York victim and the guy in San Francisco whose elbow was broken but who died from a cardiac arrest.