The Killing Hands (28 page)

“A walk sounds nice. And I also want to stop off and pick up a few things for dinner.”

I resist the urge to look over Saito's file while they're getting ready. This way Mum will leave the apartment with the image of me lying on the sofa, rather than hard at work. And I know which imagery's better for both of us. It only takes them fifteen minutes to get organized and out the door. Then it's on to Saito.

Jun Saito was born in Tokyo, Japan in 1964. He was the youngest boy in a family of three boys and one girl. All three boys followed in their father's footsteps, joining the Yakuza
as foot soldiers and working their way up. The girl married a dentist in 1990 and seems to have little or no association with her father or the Yakuza. The eldest two boys were both killed—one by a police officer in a 1981 confrontation, and one two years later. His murder remains unsolved.

Saito's first run-in with the law was in 1978, when he was arrested for marijuana possession. After that he was suspected of trafficking cocaine, heroin and running a brothel for westerners in Tokyo's Rapongi district. He was arrested four times but was eventually released, with the charges dropped each time. In 1990, at the age of twenty-six, he was linked to his first murder, that of fellow Yakuza Jiro Fuji. He was placed at the scene of the crime, but no other evidence was found against him and the Tokyo police were unable to build a case. Two years later, a leading witness in a case against one of the Yakuza bosses was killed. Again, Jun Saito was tied to the scene, this time through an informant's tip to police—but no hard evidence linked him to the death. In 1993 Tokyo's second-in-command, Hiroki Kawa, was killed and two days later Saito's girlfriend was found with her throat cut, and Saito disappears, until he's found dead here.

Looking at the crime-scene photos, I notice that all three male victims were shot, whereas Saito's girlfriend died from a knife wound. The crime scenes also look quite different, telling me that the girlfriend's death was a crime of passion, not planned. Her death was much more personal, whereas the first three kills were premeditated murder, killing for business, no doubt under orders from his father or Saito's direct boss at the time. The autopsy report also found the girlfriend was pregnant. Saito was a man brought up in a world of violence, and acted this out in his domestic life. Maybe the girlfriend just got on his nerves that day, or maybe he wasn't thrilled by the news of his impending fatherhood. Still, he did honor his commitment to Mee Kim's mother, someone we know he only met fleetingly while they were both on holidays in Korea. And he did come to L.A. to protect Mee. So there was some decency in him.
Saito would have had a lot of enemies. It's also possible his girlfriend was killed by one of them.

With my parents out and probably gone for a while, I decide to work on inducing a premonition. While I've been rationalizing my lack of waking visions or dreams as the effect of the pain meds, it's also crossed my mind that maybe my brush with death has somehow put that part of my psyche out of commission. And while a few months ago I would have loved that, I've been surprised to find myself sad and concerned by my lack of insight. I've even been more frustrated by its absence than I usually am by its presence.

I turn my phone to silent, sit on the couch and visualize Saito. I go back to the couple of visions I've had of him to date, hoping focusing on his recent movements may help me. I think about him in his car, getting the phone call. I think about his last moments before death. But instead of tuning in to Saito, I fall asleep, only to wake as my parents enter the apartment. A big fat zero, yet again.

“How are you feeling, honey?”

“Fine, Mum.”

“Are you sure? You look tired.”

I'd like to deny it, but it seems futile—my brain is toast, at least for today. “A little,” I admit.

“Go have a lie-down, honey. Use your bedroom so we won't disturb you.”

I nod, giving in to Mum's good sense. Despite my exhaustion, I can't help myself, I go through what I know of Saito in my head before falling asleep.

I wake to a gentle knocking on my open bedroom door.

“Yes?” My voice is weak, disorientated.

“Sorry to wake you, darling, but dinner's up.” Dad stands in my doorway, a silhouette against the darkened door frame. A little light streams into the room from behind him, and a heavenly scent wafts from the kitchen.

“Dinner? What time is it?”

“Six.”

“Wow, I slept for over three hours.”

“Guess you needed it.”

“Guess so.” I take another whiff. “What smells so good?”

“Your mum's made her gnocchi.”

“That's enough to get me out of bed.” I swing my legs onto the ground, but sit for a bit before standing up after I get a sharp, shooting pain in my left shoulder.

“Painful?”

“A little. No more painkillers now.”

“I'm sure a Tylenol or two is fine.”

“Yeah, it is. But I'm sick of the masks—I want to know how painful this thing really is.” I point at my shoulder. Masks…I just had a dream. “I'll be out in a second, Dad.”

Dad takes the hint. “Okay, honey. Take your time.”

I scrummage through my bedside table until I find my dream diary. I put in today's date and write down everything I can remember about the dream: in Tokyo; being followed; goes to get girlfriend; blood—girlfriend dead. So was she already dead when he got there, or did my vision just skip the actual act of murder? No, he was going to run with his girlfriend. With Suki.

Jun Saito did not kill his girlfriend, someone else did.

F
irst thing Monday morning I dial Rodriguez. It's possible she's on leave for Christmas, but her voice mail on Saturday was her standard message. With that, I'm just happy when I get Rodriguez live and in person.

“Hi, Lara, it's Agent Sophie Anderson from the FBI.”

“Hi. How's the injury coming along?”

“Good, thanks. I'm healing well.”

“That's great news. What can I do you for?”

“I've been going through the list of Chinese nationals who entered the country between November 6 and December 6, but we think the same man may have been responsible for previous killings. I'd like to give you quite a few dates to cross-reference and get any names of people who've entered the country during more than one of the date ranges.”

“Sure. I'll get one of our computer guys on it. Sounds like a more complicated search.”

“Yup, it is. I'll e-mail you through the details?”

“I'll look out for it.”

“How long do you think it will take? Given it's Christmas Eve?”

“Good question. We're operating on a skeleton staff most of this week. I'm off tomorrow and Wednesday, but I'll
have to check with our computer analysts. Maybe they're around.”

“Appreciate it. Thanks.”

To get the ball rolling, I write the e-mail as soon as I've hung up. I give Rodriguez a one-month date range prior to each of the ViCAP matches. We should get an extremely tight list back from this search—maybe even only a few names. The list will definitely be small enough to send through to Lee's cousin in Beijing. We're getting closer, and then hopefully we can bring Mee Kim in and get her out of this mess.

I've got lots of things on my to-do list and not much time. I'm on the clock, my dad's clock. Soon the personnel files will arrive from Petrov, but in the meantime I'm also keen to see Lee and find out how he went with his list. While I think we're on the right track by looking for someone who lives in China, rather than a Chinese-American or someone else skilled in kung fu, I don't want to leave such a large investigative route unchecked. If I rely too much on Rodriguez and her list, it could blow up in my face. Better to cover as many bases as possible.

I dial Lee's cell.

He sounds relieved to hear from me. “Sophie. I'm so glad you're okay. You are okay, aren't you?”

“Yes. Back at home now.”

“When I saw the news report…I rang the hospital straight away and a nurse assured me ‘off-the-record' that you'd be okay.”

“You know what the press is like—they always sensationalize stuff.”

“Mmm…well, I'm glad you're okay.” Lee seems a little uncomfortable, like it's awkward for him to tell me he's happy I'm alive. But some people aren't good with death…or near death.

“I'm pretty happy about it, too,” I say, lightening the mood.

He seems relieved by the change in tone. “So, what can I do for you? You're not ready for classes yet, are you?”

“No, not yet.” I even manage a small laugh. “I'm calling about those lists. The people in America you think may be capable of the Killing Hands and
dim mak
strikes. Any progress?”

“Yes, of course. I worked on the lists, even after I saw the news report, but I didn't want to bother you with them…interrupt your recuperation.”

“I understand. So, can I pop in to see you?”

“Sure. Let's meet at the studio. An hour?” he suggests.

“Sounds good to me.”

 

An hour later I'm sitting in Lee's office.

“You're not looking too bad, Sophie.” Lee smiles.

“Gee, thanks.” I know I'm still pale, and my step definitely doesn't have its usual spring to it. But I was shot.

Lee rustles through his desk and plucks out several handwritten pages. Guess he's not into computers. Still, Lee's Kung Fu School has its own Web site, so he can't be a total Luddite.

“Okay, so at the top of the list are the names I know offhand, or that I tracked down through my contacts. I've written as much information about each person as I knew or could find out. The first eight names are people I've trained with over the years who have reached at least fifth dan and who I think are capable of using acupoint applications to cause immediate or delayed death. The next twenty names are students of mine who expressed a keen interest in
dim mak
. I didn't show them the techniques, but they were sufficiently interested to read up on the pressure points and try to teach themselves, or they could have attended seminars or other schools. After that, I rang around all my contacts, including those in the film industry, and got as many names as I could. To be honest, it's still a bit of a work in progress and I've been adding names to the list most days. Like yesterday I got a phone call from a sifu in Miami, who'd heard through one of my old training partners that I was looking for names.”

“Sounds like the network's been working overtime.”

“It's even better than I'd imagined.” He leans back in his chair. “I made sure not to mention specific details, but I did tell them that someone may have been using
dim mak
and the Ten Killing Hands for criminal purposes. We all subscribe to kung fu for defense, fitness and spiritual well-being. The thought that someone is attacking innocent people using these skills…”

“Well, they're not exactly innocent.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. But you of all people would say it's up to the law to judge that, yes?”

“True.” Although part of me can understand the underlying emotion of a vigilante. For years I was angry at the police for not apprehending John's killer. But as a law-enforcement professional, I now know that most of the time it's better handled by us, by the law. Besides, our perp's a hit man, not a vigilante. He's killing for money, not to right a wrong or balance the scales of justice.

“We don't want kung fu associated only with action movies and criminals. Traditionally, a sifu would only teach a select few students
dim mak
, for fear of this very thing.”

“I understand.”

“Responsible practice. That's what most of us stand for, what most of us believe in.”

I nod and after a few moments of silence I tap the list. “I can't thank you enough for this.”

“Yes you can. Catch him.”

 

As soon as I walk in the door Dad says, “You done for the day?”

“Almost.”

I'd like to convert Lee's handwritten list into an Excel document, but even though I touch-type it'll probably take me at least an hour to enter it all up. Instead, I'll set up the bare bones now and put in the rest tomorrow…or maybe the next day. Tomorrow is Christmas Day, after all.

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

“Then we can relax and enjoy Christmas Eve as a family,” Mum says firmly.

There's no point fighting a steam train…sometimes you've just got to go with it. “Why don't we go out for dinner?”

“Now that sounds like a good idea.” Dad brings me in for a hug. “You know anywhere good nearby?”

“Sure. I just hope we can get a reservation.” Several phone calls later, I manage to book us for an early dinner at a French restaurant about a twenty-minute walk from my apartment. The walk may stretch me, but we can always catch a taxi back.

“What's Darren doing for Christmas, darling?” Mum asks.

“I don't know.”

“I hope he won't be alone. You should have invited him up here.”

“Mum, his parents live in Phoenix. I'm sure he's flown out to see them.”

“Well, make sure you call him tomorrow to wish him a happy Christmas.”

“I will, Mum.”

She gives a contented sigh. “Such a lovely, lovely young man, Sophie.”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Well, he is.” She crosses her arms.

“I agree, Mum. And I agreed with you the first hundred times you told me how much you liked him.”

She puffs air forcefully out of her lips. “A hundred times…please.” She turns to Dad. “Bob, I haven't been that bad, have I?” While it's meant to be a question, there's not even the slightest hint of doubt in Mum's voice.

Dad holds both hands up in the air. “I'm not touching this one.”

Mum shakes her head. “Your father and I both like him. We enjoyed spending that day and a half with him when we first got here.”

I resist the urge to give her another
Yes, Mum
.

“Bob?”

Dad hesitates before saying, “He does seem like a real nice guy.”

I give Dad a look, but he just shrugs.

I give in…there's no point pressing the point with Mum any more. Besides, Darren is a nice guy. I change the subject. “So fifteen minutes, then I'm all yours.”

They both nod.

Before I set up my Excel template, I scan the list. There are seventy-two names in total, including Agent Dan Young, under his alias of Marcus Miki, and Mee Kim—tae kwon do may be her favorite, but Mee is obviously very skilled in kung fu, too. Even though she's in the Yakuza safe house, I'm glad she has the skills to protect herself, if necessary. Of course, a roundhouse kick can't stop a bullet, but it can give you time to run, give you a head start.

My initial columns include
Name, Sex, Age, E-mail address, Phone number, State, Kung fu level, Teacher, School
and
Point of contact
, even though I don't have these details for every person. To this skeleton I add in my own columns—
Criminal record
and
Prints on file
. I'm about to close my laptop when the apartment buzzer rings.

“I'll get it,” I say.

Looking at the video screen, I'm surprised to see Agent Hana Kim standing at the front gates, fidgeting. “Hi. Come up.” I buzz her in.

A few minutes later she's navigated her way through the corridors and to my front door.

“Hi, Hana. What brings you here?”

She gives me a tight smile, and her eyes flick over to my parents.

“You remember my folks from the hospital. Bob and Jan Anderson.” Hana paid me a hospital visit on Thursday.

“Yes, of course.” She comes in and gives them a nod. “Is there somewhere we can talk, Sophie? In private?”

“Sure.”

“We'll go for a walk,” Dad volunteers. “It's a nice day out anyway.”

“I'm sorry, I don't mean to disturb you.” Hana shifts from foot to foot.

Dad puts his hand on her shoulder. “It's fine. Just take it easy on my girl, hey?” He smiles.

“I'm so sorry…How are you feeling, Sophie?” Hana's obviously embarrassed that she hasn't asked the question sooner.

“Better, thanks.”

She smiles. “Good.”

My parents leave and Hana's silent for nearly a full minute. Finally, she says, “Sophie, I don't quite know how to approach this….”

“Go on.”

“This is just between you and me, right?”

My curiosity is aroused. Hana is being downright cagey. “I guess so, yes. Within reason, though, Hana.” If she's about to confess she's the mole, I'm hardly going to keep that to myself. “My duty's to the FBI. The law.”

“What? Oh, yes, of course. It's nothing like that.”

I feel my shoulders relax a little. “Shoot.” I take a seat on the sofa and she follows suit.

“I don't like the way Agent Petrov is running the search for Mee. He doesn't seem to be doing anything. I feel like we've abandoned her. At least when you and Ramos were working the case, you were out there actively looking for her. We almost had her.”

“The APB still stands, Hana,” I try to reassure her, despite knowing exactly why Petrov isn't tying himself in knots looking for Mee. We have knowledge that Hana doesn't.

“But the APB's getting us nowhere!” She shakes her head. “It's been over a week since we visited her English students. And what's Petrov done since then?”

“I don't know, Hana. Maybe he's been calling the students, touching base with them.”

She snorts. “No, I checked myself. They haven't heard from anyone except me since we contacted them the day you and Ramos were shot. Nine days and what have we done…nothing.” Hana stands up and starts pacing. “Who knows what's happening to her. Where she is…if she's even still alive.”

I take a deep breath, stalling. What can I say that will calm Hana down? Probably nothing. “Have you spoken to Petrov? Voiced your concerns?”

“No.” Another long silence. “To be honest, Sophie, I'm not crazy about Agent Petrov. He seems so cold. Distant. I don't think he cares about Mee or this case.”