The Killing Hands (31 page)

“You normally return separately?” I ask Petrov, wondering if their paranoia extends that far.

“Yeah.” He stands up. “But this time I think De Luca is just avoiding the tab.” He gives me a salute and a grin. “Me, too,” he says and walks out of the diner.

I can't help but chuckle. What is it with these guys and juggling the coffee tabs? I finish my coffee and pay the bill.

Walking back to my apartment slowly, I try to convince myself I'm soaking up the winter sun, but in reality this is close to my top pain-free speed at the moment, especially now that I'm not even on the garden-variety painkillers. I'm tender, no doubt because I've moved more in the past couple of days than the previous two weeks. The tenderness in my shoulder and chest makes me feel weak, vulnerable. At least it's my left side—Dan really did do me a favor. I could still draw down on a suspect, quickly, if need be. It'd just hurt.

This vulnerable sensation makes me think of AmericanPsycho. He stopped using his real initials with his monthly flower delivery two months ago, indicating that his old name and identity are gone forever. Now he only sees himself as AmericanPsycho, the president of The Murderers' Club. I'm sure he's in France somewhere, maybe even forming a new club. Certainly he'll be up to his old tricks. But I can't exactly hop on a plane and hang out in Paris looking for him. I could spend my whole life doing that and still not run in to him.

A
s soon as I get home and get my breath back, I dial Rodriguez's direct line.

“Rodriguez.” Her voice doesn't sound as refreshed as I'd expect after a couple of days off.

“Hey, it's Anderson.”

“Sophie…sorry. I'll have your list in one hour.”

“Sounds good. Thanks.”

“You have a good Christmas?” she asks.

“Yeah. My folks are still here from Australia. What about you?”

“You know…the turkey was overdone and my uncle drank too much…the usual.”

I smile, knowing that Rodriguez may well have described at least half of the population's normal Christmas Day.

“I'll e-mail it through as soon as I get it. Need me to call, too?”

“No, I'll keep my BlackBerry handy.”

“Cool. Adios.”

Sounds like she's having a busy day already.

“Coffee, darling?”

I look up to see Mum setting up the filtered coffee.

“That'd be great.”

“How's it going?” Dad asks from behind his paper.

“Good.”

They're being so well behaved that I feel guilty. They didn't even comment on how pale and tired I looked when I got back from the diner. And I know I did, because I checked myself out in the bathroom mirror. We haven't done any touristy stuff, not much together outside my apartment really.

“Do you want to go to Santa Monica Pier in a couple of hours?” I suggest.

Mum and Dad exchange a surprised glance.

“That sounds terrific, darling.” Dad gives me a smile. “You up to it?”

“Sure. We'll be driving anyway.”

“I thought you wanted to visit Detective Ramos,” Mum says.

“You were right, Mum. Ramos can wait another day. You guys leave tomorrow.”

She gives me a broad smile.

But before I do touristy stuff with Mum and Dad, I need to work on the mole for at least a bit. I take the file from my locked briefcase and go into the bedroom. I've only just laid the twenty-four files out on the bed when Mum comes in, coffee in hand.

“Here you go, darling.”

I jump up from the bed, not wanting her to get any closer and see what I'm working on. “Thanks, Mum.”

She glances over my shoulder briefly at the bed, but then leaves me to it.

I've got the files laid out in alphabetical order and that's how I start—with Agent Acorn. I read through the files, looking over each person's service record, family situation, psych reports, personality tests, everything. As I go, I take notes, marking down anything of interest, such as undercover work, strange cases they were involved in. I also spend a few minutes looking at each person's photo and trying to induce a vision. I get a few flashes into people's lives, but nothing particularly incriminating or interesting.

I save Williams and Hana for last and slow the process down. I want to eliminate both of them as suspects. The
thought that they're somehow involved disturbs me so much that at times I have to block it out. Otherwise I don't think my acting skills would cover me.

I look at Williams's official service photo. It looks like it was taken a few years ago now; there's definitely less gray in his hair and maybe fewer lines around the eyes, too.

The insight into Williams's life is fleeting, but the emotional hangover is strong. Williams was frightened, and that fear and adrenaline pump through me now. I look up his file for any recorded discharge of his weapon and find one instance. It was seven years ago, armed robbery. He was off duty at the time, and during an exchange of shots, one of Williams's four bullets hit the perp. Williams escaped unscathed. The robber, an eighteen-year-old male, was shot in the stomach but the wound wasn't fatal. The perp had no ties to any gang that we know of, so it's probably not relevant to Williams's work in the L.A. Gang Impact Team. I look through the rest of Williams's file carefully, but nothing stands out.

I spend a few minutes looking at Hana's photo, waiting to see something, but when nothing comes I move on to her records. Given she's younger than Williams, her file is much thinner. Again, nothing stands out in her arrests, jobs or family. I go back to her photo. This time I'm rewarded.

The scene is over quickly, just as with my insight into Williams's life. I replay the images, dwelling on the obvious: What was in the envelope? It could be innocent, although the nature of the meeting suggested something more sinister. The woman's head was down and I didn't see her face, so it could also be anyone. I blow out a sigh, frustrated.

 

At almost exactly noon, the e-mail comes in from Lara Rodriguez. In total, there are only ten names with two or more entries that match our dates. We'd have even less if I didn't allow a full month before each attack. It's most likely he flies in two to three weeks before the kill, but I don't want to risk narrowing the dates down that much. I immediately e-mail a list to Lee's cousin in the Beijing Police, typing out the subjects' full names and passport numbers. I pick up the phone and dial Lee. Given his cousin doesn't speak English, all contact will have to be routed through him. Probably not as expedient as talking directly to him myself, but beggars can't be choosers.

Lee picks up after three rings.

“Hi, Lee, it's Sophie Anderson.”

“Hey. What can I do for you?”

“I've e-mailed ten names to your cousin and I was hoping you could call him in a few hours and ask him to look them up in their system.”

“It's early there…Four in the morning, actually.”

“So we have to wait…four hours? Five?”

“Five will give him time to check his e-mails. Do you wanna do a three-way chat? That way I could interpret as you go.”

“That'd be great.” It'll also give me a chance to ask questions as we go along.

“Okay. I've got a conference facility on my office phone.”

“You don't have to do that,” I say. “I'll initiate the call so the Bureau picks up the tab.”

“Don't forget Chung wants to keep this unofficial. Can the call be traced to the Bureau?”

“All our outgoing calls are unlisted numbers, but maybe it's better if he just gets a call from his cousin in L.A., huh?” On Lee's request, I'd already used Chung's Hotmail address rather than his work e-mail.

“Yeah, let's keep it casual.”

I hang up and print out all the details for each of the ten
Chinese men who matched our criteria. We don't have much on them at this stage—just their names, dates and places of birth, passport numbers and the information from their entry cards. For the visits after 2004 we also have fingerprints, digital photos and iris scans. Although I haven't actually drafted the profile of our hit man yet, I feel as though I have a good handle on his personality. One thing that may help us narrow the list down even further is the airline. I see our guy as being a nationalist, proud of his country, and so I'm thinking he's more likely to fly Air China than any of the other carriers that fly from Beijing into the States. I use this as a point of difference, and go through the names again to see which men flew Air China. That leaves me with three names—An Kwan, Lok Ng and Quon Liao. It's possible the three people are really one using aliases.

I ring up Sifu Lee. “Sorry to bug you again, but I was hoping to run three names by you. See if you recognize them as kung fu practitioners back in China.”

“Shoot.”

“An Kwan, Lok Ng and Quon Liao.”

“Quon Liao sounds familiar. Can you leave it with me?”

“Sure. Thanks. Bye.”

We have photos of An Kwan and Lok Ng from their most recent visits, so I look at the images more closely. Certainly they look alike, maybe enough alike to be the one person using disguises. They are of similar build and while Kwan has close-cut hair almost military in style, Ng has longer hair—but nothing an expensive and well-fitted wig couldn't achieve. Kwan also has puffier eyes and a bigger, squarer jaw line. Again, someone expert in this field could easily make these adjustments to their appearance, and the two men do look different enough in the photos if you don't compare them directly. But this time I am looking at their pictures side by side. I'll need to send the digital images for a review with facial recognition software to verify my hypothesis.

In addition to their facial similarities, both men are roughly the same height according to their passports, Kwan
at six feet and Ng at six-two. Quon Liao is also in the same ballpark at six-one. The fingerprints and iris scans we have for Kwan and Ng are different, and while it's extremely hard to fool these biometric scans, we are talking about a high-end professional hit man, someone with the resources for multiple identities and disguises, potentially down to fingerprint pads and contact lenses to give a faulty iris scan.

Next I look more closely at the movements of my three top targets. An Kwan entered the country for the first time on March 22, 1998, flying into L.A. Hop Fu was murdered on April 4 in San Francisco, and An Kwan flew from L.A. to Beijing on April 10. I'd expect a faster exit strategy, but maybe he thought leaving too soon after the murder might look suspicious—or maybe he just wanted to be a tourist for a few days. Four years later, in August 2002, An Kwan flew into San Francisco and fifteen days later Bao Tran was killed in L.A. And Kwan made his return trip three days after the death.

Lok Ng has also made two visits to the US. One that ties in with the 1996 New York victim who survived, and one that coincides with the 2007 murder of Russian Mafia man, Alexander Ivanovich.

Last is Quon Liao. His first visit fits for the 2000 Chicago slaying of Yakuza member Shiro Matsu, but the 2008 one doesn't line up with anything we have on the system. But given what we now know about the killer's expertise in
dim mak
, you can be sure that someone had a heart attack during Liao's visit. It's looking pretty good, but it's too early to jump to any conclusions. Let's see what Lee's cousin finds on these men, and the other seven first, see if facial recognition software identifies An Kwan and Lok Ng as the same person.

It's time to check in with Petrov, but before I do I look through the other seven names. One man is too young, so I discount him. Of the remaining six men we only have digital photos of two, but my quick visual comparison indicated they could all be the same man. I dial Petrov's number.

“Anderson, what's up? You got something?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Shoot.”

I tell him my findings and follow-up plans.

“Excellent. So how long until your man has something for you?”

“It's five in the morning there at the moment so I'm going to call him in a few hours.”

“Okay. Let's keep it quiet for the moment.”

“What if we use one of the Bureau's people for the recognition software? Someone not involved in the Gang Impact Team.” Mercedes Diaz immediately comes to mind, but this isn't her area of expertise. Petrov will know someone from Ed Garcia's team.

Petrov hesitates. “Should be safe enough. E-mail me through the photos and I'll set that one up. How did you go with the personnel files?”

“Okay, but not great. I've got a list of eight people I'd put at the top of our list, including Hana.”

Petrov nods. “Her name's come up a lot. She did undercover work in San Francisco for a couple of years. But Joe's sure she's clean. Who else?”

I rattle off the other seven names. I can tell by Petrov's reactions that most of them gel with his thoughts, until I get to the ATF's Rory Parsons.

“Parsons? Really?”

“So he wasn't on your list?”

“No. No undercover work that could have potentially exposed him to corruption, and all the checks on his immediate family and friends came back okay. Plus we couldn't find any skeletons in his closet worthy of blackmail. What made you add him to the list?”

“His arrest record. He was put up for a promotion eighteen months ago and I wondered why. Turns out it was because his arrests had skyrocketed.”

“So you think some of the arrests were set up?”

“Could have been. Plus, fourteen months ago he arrested a guy called Aran Sarit and had previously arrested Sarit's brother-in-law, who's part of the Asian Boyz. Both of them had their charges significantly reduced and I wondered if Parsons played a hand in that.”

Petrov whistles. “That does sound suspicious. I better tell the others about this. But I still think we should go ahead with our plan to test Agents Williams and Kim. When you get info from Beijing call me. But sit on it. We'll present it to the team on Monday.”