Rules of Honour (21 page)

Feeling very uneasy about the way his story was heading, I didn’t ask. Tyler had already made his mind up to lay all his cards on the table. ‘All the women on the list have one thing in common. As youngsters, they were relocated under Executive Order nine-zero-six-six to an internment camp in Arkansas during the Second World War.’

‘Wasn’t everyone of Japanese descent shipped from here to POW camps? It’s a pretty tenuous link.’

Tyler ignored me. ‘It’s a link all the same. When you take account of the fact that these women were friends, who remained in contact after the war, then you have to consider that it must have some bearing on the current situation. As you said earlier, you went to check on Mr Yoshida at Yukiko Rington’s behest. We did a little checking of our own. It appears that Yukiko contacted a number of the men on our list. Frankly it was what brought us to discover that Daniel Lansdale was murdered over in South Dakota. He was stabbed to death a couple of evenings ago. It was a different MO to the previous murders, but that isn’t so unusual now that the perp has changed his method. He injected Yoshida with an overdose of insulin, then set fire to his house, so it appears to us he’s not particular about how he kills his victims, rather he’s only interested in killing them. Period. It’s the reason
why
we can’t figure out. We know it’s because of the women, we just can’t decide how.’

‘We think you know more about that,’ Jones put in. ‘There’s something we’re missing here. All it takes is one hint, and we’ll be able to put it all together. Come on, Joe. Work on this with us.’

Guilt assailed me. I wished I could say, and help these cops to do their jobs. It mattered most that the killer was stopped from hurting anyone else – but there was no denying it: I owed
giri
to Yukiko and to her murdered husband. More than anything I owed Rink an opportunity to take revenge.

‘Sorry, guys,’ I said. ‘But I’m at a loss for any idea.’

Chapter 24

Melissa Yoshida was sitting opposite the sergeant’s desk as Detective Jones ushered me out of our meeting. I wouldn’t have noticed her had Jones not given her a slight wave, and told her he’d be ready to speak with her in a few minutes.

‘Thank you, Detective,’ Melissa responded. ‘I’m fine here.’

She wasn’t fine; she looked distraught and little wonder. I hadn’t anticipated that she would be called in for questioning, but it was obvious when I thought about it. Jones and Tyler were trying to piece together the killer’s motive and Melissa could possibly tell them something important. I doubted it. If Takumi had been anything like Yukiko then he had kept his secret to himself.

I felt guilty for some reason, as if I should apologise to her for not doing more to save her grandfather, and the shame hit me like a punch to the gut. I averted my face, doing my best to avoid notice. Maybe I’d have got away clean if Detective Jones hadn’t said: ‘Stay in touch, Mr Hunter. Anything you learn, I’d like to hear about it.’ He handed me a card with his telephone number on it.

The gregarious desk sergeant unlatched the flap to let me out, smiling and nodding, and as I moved into the public area I felt Melissa’s gaze on me. I couldn’t help glancing over at her, and our eyes met and stuck.

She was already getting up off the public bench, approaching me. She was dressed in a black trouser suit over a purple blouse, with her dark hair pulled back and barely a trace of make-up. Though I knew her to be in her early twenties, she appeared more mature, and – dare I say it – very pretty, despite her sadness. She was clutching a small purse against her abdomen, her head to one side as she studied me. It was as if she recognised my face, but how was a mystery to me. I’d only seen her that one time when she’d leaped from the taxi and run towards the burning house and she hadn’t looked at me then. I pulled up, casting a glance behind me to check Gar Jones had gone: he wouldn’t appreciate his key witnesses talking. Then again, that could have been his intention. Maybe he’d engineered that we meet. Perhaps he thought I’d share what I knew with the woman and he’d be able to tease the information from her. The best thing I could have done was smile, turn away and walk directly out of the police station.

Her gaze caught mine again though, and I waited for her to speak.

‘Excuse me,’ she said timidly. ‘Are you Joe Hunter? Only I just heard the detective say your name and thought . . .’

There was no getting away now, not without appearing rude. ‘I’m Joe Hunter, yeah.’

She nodded, holding her bag even tighter to her body. Her face tipped down, and briefly I expected it to rise with a look of recrimination. It didn’t; when she looked at my face her dark eyes shone. She traced the lines of my forehead and nose, settled briefly on my mouth, then her scrutiny returned to my eyes and stayed there. I was aware I was a tad unkempt, but it didn’t seem to faze the young woman. In fact, my appearance seemed to satisfy her. As if I fitted an image she’d conjured in her mind.

‘You’re the one who saved my grandfather from the fire.’

Her words were more statement than anything else. They surprised me, and I partly expected her to finish by saying I had not done enough. She didn’t.

‘I’m glad that I bumped into you,’ she said. ‘I wanted to say thank you. If it weren’t for you . . .’

I didn’t have the words to answer. I still wasn’t sure where this was leading. Maybe she misread my reticence as humility instead of shame. It was an awkward moment, and I tried to say something. ‘I . . . I only wish I could have done more.’

Melissa shook her head; a smile flickered at the corner of her mouth.

‘You risked your own life to save him.’

‘Yeah, but . . .’

Melissa surprised me again by reaching out and touching me on my chest. It was an intimate gesture, the delicate touch of her fingertips over my heart conveying more than any number of words could.

‘It was an incredibly brave and selfless act. If my grandfather was still around he would’ve said thank you, but, well, that’s my responsibility now.’

‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I don’t deserve your thanks. I only did what anyone else would’ve done. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.’

‘You know that isn’t true. The detectives told me what you did – all of it – trying to save my grandfather. Most people would’ve given up long before you did.’

I shook my head softly.

Melissa smiled again, but it was laden with sadness.

‘Please, Mr Hunter. Accept my thanks, even if it’s only on behalf of my grandfather. He would have it no other way.’

‘OK.’ I nodded, only barely. I put out my hand to accept hers and she held on.

Then I received surprise number three as she leaned in and kissed me on my cheek.

Melissa smiled again, this time more openly. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘I, uh, thank you,’ I said, the memory of her lips tingling on my skin, as I held her hand.She blinked, as if realising how forward she’d been. Detective Jones saved her any further embarrassment, poking his head out of the back office door.

‘Miss Yoshida, are you ready to come through?’

We both looked at him, releasing our handshake.

‘I’d best go,’ Melissa said.

I caught a frown from Jones and understood he’d had no part in our meeting. It was a simple act of fortune.

‘Nice meeting you,’ I said.

‘It was.’ She smiled shyly again.

Melissa walked away and I caught myself watching her. I waited for her to glance back, and when she did I was glad everything about my trip to San Francisco wasn’t all doom and gloom. I left the station feeling lighter than I had in days.

Once back out on Vallejo Street I flagged a taxi. I asked to go to Fisherman’s Wharf, which, as the crow flies, wasn’t far distant. The area is a famous tourist attraction with a plethora of themed restaurants, wacky museums and a huge aquarium. Even in the off-season it still teems with visitors – therefore it was a good place to lose any tail my newly found detective buddies might send after me. I wandered among the crowds of jostling tourists, checking for a surveillance team, and saw nothing suspicious. I joined a queue for another taxi, fending off guys offering to carry me in their carts that they pulled along behind bicycles. Finally I made it into a cab and gave the driver directions back to the lodge at Lake Chabot.

I was surprised that Jones and Tyler had allowed me to leave so soon. Part of me had been expecting to be hauled down to the cells: it was always a good way of getting someone to talk, locking them in a cell for a few hours with no other company than the bare walls to stare at. But they seemed deflated at my failure to cave in, and after only a few more questions had allowed me to leave. Jones didn’t even offer a veiled threat when he saw me out of the office. What was apparent to me was that they were under pressure from the higher-ups and – apart from that half-arsed attempt at coercing me into their way of thinking by threatening me with an assault charge – they’d decided I was of better use to them as an ally than as an enemy. As I’d been led from the office I believed their friendly approach was all a sham, and I was under no illusion that they might not haul me in again, maybe going for the thumbscrews or rubber hose method next time. But then I’d met Melissa Yoshida, and from her reaction the detectives must have told her only good things about my part in her grandfather’s brief rescue. The cops’ attitude seemed to have changed. Nevertheless, I had expected a tail to be put on me so they could keep tabs on my whereabouts for when they decided to up the pressure. But I was confident now that the tail wasn’t there.

It made me think once again about the sand-coloured car and its two occupants who’d followed us from Hayes Tower. We had assumed they were cops. Now I wasn’t as certain. To be honest, I always thought that we had given them the slip far too easily, and had to consider now that it wasn’t a police surveillance team watching us but someone else. Who could it be? My first assumption was that if it was the killer, then he had help. That was something none of us had anticipated. Yet I didn’t think that was the case. Someone else was interested in Parnell or Faulks, then? No, that wasn’t it either. They’d been after Rink and me. We were the obvious targets of scrutiny, and I could only think of one other person in San Francisco who had any interest in us.

Some guys, it seemed, would never take good advice. You’d think that having been shot in the thigh, it would have taught him he was punching above his weight, but Sean Chaney hadn’t yet got the message. Chaney was a distraction we could do without, but also a complication that could get in the way of finishing this with the killer. We couldn’t take the war to him without bringing the cops down on us, but neither could we ignore Chaney. For a second or two I thought about employing McTeer and Velasquez as more than chaperones for Parnell and Faulks; perhaps they could visit Chaney on our behalf. But I discarded the idea immediately. The situation was bad enough without getting our friends involved.

I pushed the issue to the back of my mind. First and foremost we had to identify and deal with the murderer. Concentrating on the local thug didn’t help me do that. So I focused instead on what I’d learned during my time with my detective buddies. I have an ability to snapshoot scenes, for full recall later. I’d memorised the list of names they had shown me, and the one that stood out most of all was Mitchell Forbeck. Who was he? What connection did he have to everything that had gone on to date? One thing I was sure of was that Yukiko had never mentioned his name to me. Was he a suspect? No, because he was on the list of victims. I was confident that he was connected somehow, otherwise the cops wouldn’t have included him, I just couldn’t fathom how. That was a mystery for later.

I figured out how Parnell and Faulks were excluded from the list. Tyler had said they’d checked on Yukiko, and saw from her telephone log that she had been in communication with the other victims shortly before their deaths – except in Lansdale’s case where she was too late. She had told me that she had tried to warn them of her suspicions and had telephoned the other members of Peterson’s lynch party. Well, there’d been no need to phone Parnell or Faulks when both men were already aware that they were in danger. Ergo, the cops didn’t know about them yet.

The killer did know about them, though, so it was imperative we keep them safely tucked out the way. My mind went back to that sand-coloured car. How the hell had Chaney learned about the old men, and sent his guys to Parnell’s place after us? The answer was obvious enough: I’d been standing with the old boys at the cemetery during Andrew’s funeral when that odd incident with the man in the car occurred. If he was one of Chaney’s men then he must have noted them, and the cars they drove, and found them through their licence plate numbers. But that was crediting Chaney with connections in law enforcement and that I didn’t believe. More simply Chaney’s man could have been lying in wait and had followed Parnell or Faulks home after the ceremony was over.

Without the need for diversionary tactics, my taxi took the more direct route to Lake Chabot by the Bay Bridge, then down the MacArthur Freeway. I was still mulling everything over when it drew up outside the reception building. I gave the driver a decent tip on top of the fare, and he pulled away, possibly heading out towards Oakland International Airport to pick up a return fare to the city.

Rink was waiting for me at the front porch. He’d set himself up on a bench where he had a great view of the lake and forested hills beyond. The afternoon sun was slanting through the nearby treetops, and Rink had found himself a warm spot. I sat down next to him, crossing my heels and folding my hands at my waist. It was the first time I’d relaxed in days.