The Killing Hands (34 page)

I'
ve barely sat down after the meeting when Petrov's at my desk.

“Feel like a coffee, Anderson?”

I don't know whether Petrov really wants a coffee or if he needs to talk to me in private. Either way, caffeine never goes astray. My system definitely needs a shot of something, and sugar and caffeine are my drugs of choice. It helps that they're both legal. We walk across to Westwood Village and the nearest Starbucks.

“What can I get you?”

“Caramel macchiato. Soy milk.”

Petrov nods and orders my macchiato and a cappuccino for himself. He looks around and comes a little closer. “Let's release the State Department information on our suspects to Williams and Kim at—” he looks at his watch “—eleven.”

A little less than half an hour away.

“Sure thing. I also want to check with Lee's cousin on the car stuff. Given not many people drive in China, it might confirm one of the five men or Park Ling as our prime suspect.” I'd called Petrov on Thursday night and told him everything I knew about Park Ling, including the fact that Lee knew him when he was growing up in China and that he had used the name Quon Liao as a child. Like me, Petrov
thinks it's a strong lead, that Park Ling might be our hit man. No doubt he passed the information on to De Luca and Brady, but Williams and Hana are in the dark.

“Good idea. What time is it there now?”

“About two-thirty in the morning.”

Petrov whistles. “It's not a showstopper. It can wait until this afternoon.”

“Yes, sir.”

Our orders are called out and Petrov grabs both cups, passing the caramel macchiato to me. “How do your suspects compare with the profile?”

“Chung wasn't able to give us a lot of information—date of birth, marital status, army service—so five names fit,” I say, heading out the door. “Park Ling is the best fit, with extra military service coupled with Lee's knowledge of him, but the car may be the clincher. Anything from the facial recognition software?”

“You betcha. You were right, An Kwan and Lok Ng are one and the same person. And the other two photos are also very similar. Our man was positive with An Kwan and Lok Ng, but felt the matches with the other two photos were probable rather than definite.”

“Wow. So four out of our original ten names could be one person anyway.” That reduces our suspect pool. “Pity we don't have a pic of Quon Liao from customs.” If Quon Liao is another alias, it'd reduce the suspect list even more.

“What about Park Ling? Can your Beijing contact get a photo of him?”

“I'll find out and get it e-mailed across ASAP.” We're getting closer to the office and I slow down. “Have you had another look at Agent Rory Parsons?” I speak quietly, sensitive to our location—only a block away from the Bureau and the Gang Impact Team's headquarters.

“Yes.” Petrov moves closer. “De Luca and I went over his file again early this morning. He's a definite contender. But let's see how our test pans out with Agents Williams and Kim. Hopefully that will cross Agent Kim's name off our list once and for all.”

I nod. I can't add the extra piece of knowledge that my vision showed a woman sitting on a park bench who received something in an envelope from an apparent stranger. It may not even be related to the case or the mole.

Petrov grimaces. “If it turns out to be Agent Kim, Joe will be pissed.”

I nod. “He trusts her.”

“Yup.”

We walk the rest of the way in silence.

Back at my desk, I e-mail Chung, via Lee for translation, asking for a photo of Park Ling and the other men from our list who entered the US before we started capturing photo images at entry points. I also attach my profile of the killer to the e-mail. We have a good suspect list, but maybe something else will ring a bell for Chung in my profile.

I'm just hitting Send on the e-mail when I sense someone hovering over me. I look up to see Hana leaning on the partition of my desk.

“Hi. How's your first day back treating you so far?”

“Good.”

Her eyes narrow. “You look a little tired.”

“I'm fine.”

She's silent, assessing. Her concern seems genuine—and I remind myself again that before I knew we had a mole in the task force, I liked Hana.

“Really. I'm fine.” It's only a half lie. For the most part I do feel okay, but I know I'm still below par physically. Normally I don't mind being a desk jockey—and lots of my work is deskbound—but now that I'm forced into it I feel like a caged animal, desperate to escape.

“Two weeks isn't much time off.” Hana speaks slowly and softly. “Especially after a gunshot wound.”

I can see where this conversation is going—she's offering herself as my confidant.

“If you ever want to talk…you know, about the shooting…” Her voice is still soft. “Well, you know where I am. And I know how hard it can be for a woman in this world.” She gestures around at the open-plan office full of
mostly male law-enforcement officers. “You feel like you have to act tough, tougher than the guys. But you don't have to do that with me.”

I nod. She's making sense and my gut instinct is that Hana is one of the good guys. But even with this gift of mine, my gut can be wrong. I can't control what I see. And while I can do things to help induce a vision, it's not like I can touch Hana and instantly know her deepest and darkest secrets. It simply doesn't work like that. And as much as I might try to replay the vision of the woman on the park bench, I can't see her face. Can't be sure one way or another if it's Hana or some complete stranger.

The mole issue aside, I really don't know her well enough to open up to her, to let her know that it's not just bravado, that I really am fine. And I certainly don't want to tell her that taking a bullet in the shoulder is nothing compared to what's happened to me in the past. So instead I just say, “Thanks, Hana. I appreciate that.” I keep my voice open and friendly, but the small nod and smile she gives me tell me that she knows I won't be taking her up on the offer.

“Well, you know where to find me,” she says, giving it one last shot before changing the topic. “You doing anything exciting tonight?”

Tonight! It suddenly hits me—Darren. Darren will be arriving in L.A. later today. Yikes. Part of me actually considers calling up and canceling, making an excuse. But I know I'd be avoiding him because I'm just plain scared, not because I'm not ready for a relationship. And how does that saying go: Feel the fear and do it anyway. Mind you, I'd rather not feel the fear at all.

“I've got a friend coming up from Arizona. You?”

“Party. Feel free to drop in with your friend if you like.” Hana writes an address down on a Post-it note.

“Your party?”

“Yeah, my and Jae's. Except I was supposed to invite people weeks ago, but I got so caught up in this case…”

“I know what you mean.”

 

Right at 11:00 a.m., my phone rings.

“You ready?” It's Petrov.

“Yup.”

“See you in meeting room two in five minutes.”

I watch the others head toward the meeting room one by one, obviously as Petrov calls them. I'm the last person to arrive.

“Okay, people,” Petrov starts, “Anderson's got some great news for us.” Petrov's excitement is convincing. I hope mine will be, too.

“I just heard back from the US State Department and we've finally got our list of multiple entrants from China. And it's a small list, ten names, one too young to fit our profile.”

“That's great!” Hana's enthusiastic.

Williams and De Luca echo her thoughts.

“It gets even better….” Petrov prompts.

“I've had a quick look at the names, and three stick out because they flew Air China, which would fit with my profile.”

“Have we got anything on these three individuals?” Williams asks.

“Not yet,” I lie. “But I've sent the list through to my contact in Beijing and I'm just waiting for it to hit a reasonable hour over there before I call him.”

“What time is it there now?” De Luca asks.

“Three in the morning.”

“Anderson also noted that some of the individuals looked similar,” Petrov says.

“How similar?” Williams is keen.

“At least two of them look like they might be the same person.” Again, I rewind to where we were a couple of days ago. “The different names could simply be aliases for the one person.”

Williams raises his eyebrows. “How can we confirm it?”

Petrov responds, “I've suggested facial recognition software. We'll be running it soon.”

“What about Mee, sir? Any news from your agents?” Hana asks Petrov.

“They're following up a reported sighting of her from two days ago. It's a little cold, but it's something.”

Hana nods. “Her students are calling me. Asking for information.”

“I understand, Agent Kim. I'll let you know as soon as we have something concrete.”

She manages a small smile. “Thanks.”

With the meeting dismissed, we all return to our desks. I'm only back at mine for a couple of minutes when I get a text message from Petrov. It simply says:
Now we wait
.

With the list through and the profile done, my only other task before speaking to Chung Lee in China is to go over the personnel files…again. Maybe I can induce a more useful vision. I send around a quick e-mail to let the others know I'll be working from home for the rest of the day and will e-mail them as soon as I've heard from my Beijing contact. I also decide to phone the homicide cop investigating Santorini's video-game-arcade murder before I head off. It's been over two weeks since I profiled the boy's killer, and hopefully by now the police have been able to use the profile to help them narrow down their suspects—or find a new one.

“It's Agent Sophie Anderson here from the FBI. Just wanted to quickly check on your progress on the Santorini file?”

“Hey, Agent Anderson. I've been meaning to give you a call.”

“Yes?” Hopefully he's got good news.

“We found our guy and got a confession last week.”

“That's fantastic! Who?”

“A boy from Santorini's school called Alex Tower.”

The name doesn't ring a bell from the case file.

“Turns out Tower had a crush on Santorini's cousin. The feeling wasn't mutual so Santorini warned him off.”

“Really? And this didn't come up before?”

“The incident happened three months ago. The family had forgotten about it, until we questioned them again asking about any boys in Santorini's life who had lost their temper in the past. Tower's name came up.” He clears his throat. “Even
tually Tower admitted he'd run into Santorini in the arcade and asked how his cousin was. Santorini warned him off in no uncertain terms, so our perp followed him into the bathroom.”

“And released three months of pent-up anger in one short burst.”

“Yup.”

I thank the detective and hang up. It's nice when the requesting agency or cop passes the information on straightaway, but experience has shown me they don't always think to call the profiler. Sometimes because they don't want to give any of the credit to someone else, and sometimes it's purely an oversight due to a heavy workload. Either way, I've got the outcome I wanted—resolution and justice for the Santorini family.

 

I've only been home for a couple of hours when my cell rings—Darren.

“Hey. I'm in a cab on the way to your place now.”

“Okay,” I squeak. “See you soon.” I take a deep breath. Who needs caffeine and sugar? The thought of Darren arriving on my doorstep has done the job of a triple espresso and two hundred grams of chocolate…dark chocolate.

I try to keep my mind off his imminent arrival by tidying the house. I clean the kitchen first, putting away this morning's breakfast dishes and wiping down the benches. I then have the crazy notion of vacuuming, even though Mum only vacuumed a few days ago. But within a couple of strokes I realize that's way too painful on my shoulder, even though it's the opposite arm, so I put it away and move on to the bathroom and toilet. Once they're done I get a towel and washcloth out for Darren. I'm about to get one of my spare sets of sheets out for the sofa bed when it hits me—Where will Darren be sleeping tonight?

Just as that thought makes me go into panic mode, the security buzzer sounds. Maybe I can hide? Not answer the door? Another deep breath.

I don't say anything into the intercom, frightened my voice will give away my emotional state. Instead, I just release the security door.