The Killing Hands (32 page)

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

With all my phone calls out of the way we head off for Santa Monica Pier, which keeps me occupied while I wait to hear back from Lee. We're on our way back in the car when my BlackBerry vibrates, right on time at 5:00 p.m.

“Lee?”

“Yup. I'll just dial-in Chung now.”

I get hold music for about a minute, before Lee's voice comes back on the line. “Okay, we're on.”

“Great,” I say. “First off, can you please thank him for helping us out?”

Lee talks in Mandarin to his cousin and, after a short reply, Lee tells me that Chung is happy to help.

“Thanks. Can you ask him what sort of information he'll be able to get for me, and how long it will take?”

“Sure.”

I wait while Lee asks Chung and he responds. This time, the conversation is much longer. After a couple of minutes, Lee says, “He'll be able to get marital status, driver's license details if applicable, educational background and criminal offences. He said the government keeps a lot more information on its citizens, but he doesn't have the clearance to access most of it.”

“That sounds great. More than we can get on this end. How long will it take?”

“Give him an hour,” Lee says.

“I guess the info will be in Mandarin?” I ask Lee.

“Yes. But I'll translate it for you. Depending on how much we get, that should only take me twenty minutes or so.”

“Great. Did Chung find any similar attacks or deaths in China?” I wait until Lee asks the question in Mandarin and Chung responds.

“No,” Lee says. “But I've been thinking about that—in China the killer would be especially careful to make sure the death looked completely accidental, like a heart attack, because any sign of violence would alert authorities to the possible use of
dim mak
. General knowledge on the topic is quite high.”

“And he'd want to avoid police attention…especially in his homeland.”

“Exactly,” Lee replies.

I can't think of anything else, so I thank Lee and ask him to thank his cousin.

Lee says something in Mandarin before I hear a click as Chung disconnects. “Okay. I'll call you as soon as I have the info and have it translated.”

“You're a star.”

“Happy to help. Speak to you later.” Lee hangs up.

 

When my phone rings at 6:15 p.m., I snatch the handset up eagerly, hoping it's Lee on the other end with some answers. It is.

“How'd it go?” I ask.

“Good. Chung has sent through information on six of the names you e-mailed through and one has a criminal record.”

“I doubt our guy has a record, but can you e-mail the info through?”

“Sure.”

“And what about the other four names? Chung couldn't get anything on them?”

“No. He was a little perplexed by it, actually. There should be records of these men.”

“Unless they're aliases.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” He pauses. “Quon Liao. Now I remember.”

“You recognize the name?”

“Yes. My father once told me a story about Quon Liao, a young warrior boy from thousands of years ago who is said to have fought one hundred soldiers—and won.”

“So perhaps our killer is using the name Quon Liao as homage to this boy warrior?”

“Yes. It's when you said aliases that it made me remember. One boy I competed against in tournaments used to wear the name Quon Liao on his robe. He saw himself as the boy warrior.”

“Do you remember his name?” My voice quickens.

“Park Ling.”

“Would Ling have the skill for these attacks?”

“I haven't seen or heard of him for over twenty years, but if he'd continued studying kung fu, he would certainly know the Ten Killing Hands and
dim mak
.”

“Really?” So, assuming Park Ling still lives in China, we have a Chinese national who has the skills for the murders and uses Quon Liao as an alias. “Thanks, Lee. Can Chung get some recent info on this Park Ling?”

“I'm sure he can. Give me five minutes and I'll call you back.”

I pace on my apartment balcony, BlackBerry in hand.

After a couple of minutes Dad pops his head out. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Great. Just waiting on another call.”

“Ah, you've got something?” Dad says.

“It looks promising, yeah.”

He smiles. “I can see it in your eyes…the fire. It's kinda neat, honey. I'm glad you enjoy your job.” His face crinkles. “If you can call it enjoyment.”

I laugh. “I know what you mean, Dad. It's weird, but the job's horrific and rewarding all at the same time. This part—when the break's about to come—I love.”

My BlackBerry rings.

“You're on,” Dad says, closing the balcony door and going back inside.

“Lee?”

“Chung found him. He's forty-two, no criminal record, spent five years in the military after his compulsory two-year service and he's married with one child. He lives in Beijing now, but originally he's from the same town as Li Chow…the other name you asked about.”

“Really? So they may have known each other.”

“Possibly. It's quite a small town.” He takes a breath. “I'll e-mail the details through now.”

I'm silent, processing the information. It's not much, but it fits with my impression of the killer. It'll be good to draft the full profile and do a direct comparison between it and the six Chinese nationals we've got information on, and Park Ling.

I hang up. Park Ling…is our contract killer within our grasp?

M
um and I are both in tears at the airport, and even Dad's looking emotional.

“Thanks for looking after me…And I'm sorry. Sorry to give you such a terrible scare.”

Mum nods, but the tears fall a little faster.

“Come on, Jan. We have to go through.” Dad's looking at his watch.

“Okay, Bob.” She gives me one last hug, before picking up her carry-on luggage.

Dad grabs me in a tight bear hug. “Bye, sweetie.”

“Bye, Dad. And thanks for everything. Including Mum.”

He nods. “At least the flight back will be better than the one over here.”

I grimace as Dad's grip loosens. “I'm sorry,” I whisper.

His grip tightens again and he wipes a stray tear from my face before taking Mum's hand.

“We love you, honey.” Mum starts walking backward toward the security checkpoint.

“I love you, too. I'll see you in July,” I yell, waving.

They both smile and Dad shouts, “We can't wait, honey.”

I watch as they place their personal items on the security belt and walk through the metal detector. Once they're through the security checkpoint, they turn around and wave
again, before disappearing toward their gate. I wipe the last of the tears away before making my way back to my car.

When I get home at around 6:00 p.m., I heat up some leftover pasta. In another couple of days all Mum's leftovers will be gone and I'll have to start cooking for myself again…and cleaning.

I'm relaxing and trying to find something good on TV when the phone rings.

“Soph, it's Darren.”

“Hi. How are you?”

He laughs. “Asks the woman who took a bullet.”

I smile. “Fair call.”

“So, how are you feeling?”

“Recovering well. Getting organized for work on Monday.”

“Are you ready to go back?”

“Sure.”

“Really?”

“You're as bad as my parents. I'm fine. I'm ready.”

“Sorry. Did they make their flight okay?”

“Uh-huh. They should be somewhere over the Pacific Ocean by now.”

“So how did the visit turn out in the end?”

Darren knows that I usually worry about my parents' disapproval of my profession, that it's a stumbling point for us. We didn't get much of a chance to talk about it during the forty-eight hours he spent in L.A., and my mum and dad have been within earshot during our more recent calls.

“It was good actually. Really good. I found out some stuff about them, and they found out things about me.”

“So not your regular visit?”

“No, definitely not.” Normally I wouldn't reveal something as private about Mum to anyone, but Darren and I have both experienced the loss of a loved one to violent crime, so I know he'll understand. “They had to sedate my mum on the flight over here.”

He makes a wincing noise.

“I know.” I bite down hard on my bottom lip. “I realized
she was worried about me, but I guess I never really thought about how it must be for her…after losing John.”

“People don't bounce back from that, Sophie.”

“Tell me something I don't know.” But despite my flippant response, he's right to emphasize the point with me. There's a difference between knowing and really knowing.

“I guess I never completely put myself in Mum's shoes. I imagined, wondered even. But I didn't think it through. Not properly.”

“You were a kid, Sophie.”

“When it happened, yes. But I'm not a kid now. It's taken me nearly thirty years to realize what it must have done to her. And even then I think only another mother could truly understand what it's like to lose a child.”

Darren's silent. I guess there's not much to say.

“They only told me about the sedatives a couple of days ago.”

“Protecting you.”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“So what are you going to do?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you staying in the Bureau? In law enforcement?”

“Of course. In fact, Mum's proud of me. Despite all the worry, all the digs, she respects what I do for other families, for other victims.”

“Your mother is an amazing woman.”

“I hate to think what you went through staying here with them.”

He pauses. “I actually really enjoyed it, Soph. I liked getting to know your folks.”

I grimace. Mum assured me she didn't question Darren about his feelings for me, or make any hints in that direction, but I don't trust her when it comes to my love life. Her desire for a wedding and a grandchild override what little tact she possesses.

“They told me how proud they are of you. They really do respect what you do, Sophie.”

“Yeah, I know that now.”

“You must have been tempted to tell them about your visions.”

“I nearly did. But I couldn't do it in the end.”

Darren is the only person who knows about my gift, and I want to keep it that way. I was extremely close to telling my parents about it last week, but each time I felt the urge, I chickened out.

“So, what's on for the rest of the night?” he asks.

“TV or reading, then bed.”

“What? Not working?”

“Well, maybe…”

“Have you had many visions about the case?”

“Some. Not much this time. But I think the pain meds put my sixth sense on the fritz.”

He laughs. “It makes sense. I guess they numbed everything.”

“Yeah, that's what I figured.”

“Well, don't work too hard.”

“I won't.”

“I very much doubt that.” I can tell from the tone in his voice that he's smiling, dimples puckering.

“Good night, Darren.”

“Good night.”

 

It's 9:00 a.m. before I start work. I've allocated today for collating everything I need for the profile and Sunday for drafting the profile itself. Over the past few days I've added info to the other vics where possible, but I wanted to have one more look and confirm everything in my head before I put it down on paper. It's not that I need to refresh my memory of the case. Despite my convalescence and the presence of my parents, I've found it difficult to think of much else. This case almost cost me and Ramos our lives—I'm going to find that needle in the haystack somehow.

I'm finished for the day and cooking dinner when my landline rings. I pick up the phone.

“Soph, it's Mum. We're home.”

“Hi, Mum.” I look at my watch. Eight o'clock here, which makes it three o'clock in the afternoon in Melbourne. “How was your flight?”

“The usual. Long and boring.”

“I know what you mean,” I say. I haven't flown home since I've been living in the US, but I remember the feeling—even with screens in the seat in front of you and loads of movies, after about six hours, not even halfway through the seventeen-hour journey, you're over it.

“We had a nap as soon as we arrived. Decided we'd wait and call you afterward.”

“No worries. I was going to call you before I went to bed tonight if I hadn't heard.”

“Are you taking it easy?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“That's great, honey. You need to look after yourself. And remember, the more you take it easy, the faster you'll be back to one hundred percent.”

“I know.” I sigh, still frustrated by my body's healing process.

“Any breaks on the case?”

“Maybe. We might have a list of suspects, but it's early days.” I trust my parents with my life, with anything, but there's no need to go into any more detail. “I should know more soon.”

“That sounds great, darling.” She says it with genuine enthusiasm.

I'll have to get used to this “new” Mum. I'm so used to her showing little or no interest in my work that it feels weird having her suddenly so supportive. I like her change in attitude, but it's still taking me by surprise. “Is Dad around?”

“Still asleep. I couldn't wait to call you, though.”

“I see.” I smile. Some things about Mum will never change…and that's just the way I like it.

“And what about Darren? Spoken to him recently?”

“Mum, how many times do I have to tell you, he's just a friend.”

“He flew up to see you in hospital and rang you just about every day while we were staying with you, honey. You're either lying to me or to yourself.” She pauses. “Besides, I saw the way you two looked at each other.”

I take a breath. “Okay, okay. You've made your point. But he's in Arizona, Mum.”

“That's only a two-hour flight. He said so himself.”

“Mum…” I go for a light-hearted warning.

“Yes, darling?” she responds innocently.

“You know what, Mum.”

“But he's so lovely. And you're lovely…”

“So why can't we be lovely together?”

“Exactly! And you would be perfect for each other. He even understands about your job.”

I sigh. “Where's Dad when I need him?”

“You can't always rely on your father. And don't think I didn't know about your little deal while we were in L.A.”

“Dad told you?”

“I guessed.” She pauses for a quick intake of air. “Anyway, your father knows nothing about how important it is for a woman to find a man…before she's too old.”

“Mum! I'm only thirty-six.”

“I was twenty-five when I married your father. By thirty-six I had two children of school age.”

“Yes, Mum.” I change tack, going for the “yes, Mum, whatever you say, Mum” approach.

“Don't you ‘yes, Mum' me, young lady.”

I hold the mouthpiece away to let out an exaggerated sigh. This could be a long phone call. “Did you get to see any good movies?” Maybe a severe topic change will do the trick.

“I watched two movies, including this heartbreaking piece about a single woman in her forties.”

“Is that even true, Mum? And I'm not in my forties!”

“You will be in three and a half years.”

“I think I liked you better when you were waiting on me hand and foot,” I joke.

“I'm just telling it like it is.”

I decide to try a few home truths myself. “Mum, I'd love to fall in love, to find a good man, but it just hasn't happened for me yet.”

“And Darren isn't a contender?”

I hesitate again, unsure how to field this question. Darren has lots of qualities I admire, that I'm attracted to, but there's always been something in the way. When we first met I was seeing someone else, then I wasn't ready for a relationship. I guess I'm ready now, but it feels like he's so far away. “I'm not sure, Mum.”

“How do you know if you don't give him a chance, Soph?”

I pause. “Mum, you're making way too much sense for my liking.”

“Uh-huh. There is something between you, Sophie. Anyone can see that.”

“Okay, Mum. You've got me. But it's not like it was when you and Dad met. You don't find someone you like and get married.”

“Oh, I know that, darling. What do you take me for, an idiot? I know I may be out of touch, but a date's a start, yes?”

I sigh again. “Yes.”

“It's New Year's Eve in two nights' time. Why don't you pop down to Arizona for a couple of days?”

“I can't, Mum. You know I'm officially on call except during my holidays.” FBI agents are always on call, always have to be fit for duty. It's one of the drawbacks of the job. Not that it bothers me, normally.

“Then invite him up. I'm your mother and I know what's best for you.” There's a hint of humor in her voice, but only a hint. “Ring him. Now!”

“Mum!”

“Seriously, I'm hanging up now, but you ring him and invite him up. And if he's not free for New Year's Eve, there's always his next days off.”

“Inviting him up's pretty serious, Mum.”

“You afraid of rejection?”

“No.” I know what Darren's answer will be. He's made his interest quite clear in the past.

“When people are old they rarely regret the things they did, only the things they didn't do. I'm hanging up now. Call him.”