The Killing Hands (37 page)

“Flew in early this morning. His digital entry pic was sent to us with a lunchtime batch from State.”

“This morning…” I wonder where he's staying. I feel a slight hint of dizziness, accompanied by a rush of nausea.

It's a replay of the dream I had on Monday night with one key difference. This time I remembered the target's image…it's Dan Young.

W
e hover around Damien Rider's computer screen on the sixteenth floor as he takes us through the photos.

“So, we've got a facial match here, here and here.” Rider points to the eye shape, the cheekbones and mouth of one Lok Hung who entered the US at Los Angeles International Airport exactly five hours and six minutes ago. “And if we overlay the photos of An Kwan, Lok Ng and Park Ling, we can see the similarities,” Rider continues, as his computer screen merges all four photos together. “We're talking about a ninety-two percent match.” The jawline is different in one, the brow line different in another, the cheekbones slightly more pronounced, and even the hairline is farther back for Park Ling…but there are more similarities than differences.

“We need to find him. Now.” I try to keep my voice as calm as possible, despite my panic. Agent Dan Young's days are numbered.

“He listed the Kyoto Grand Hotel and Gardens in Little Tokyo as his address,” Hana says.

“The chances of that being legit are zero.” I shake my head. “Our guy's smarter than that.”

“So how can we find him?”

Silence.

“We have to find who put the hit on Saito. He or she will know how to contact our hit man.”

De Luca is right—especially given the source of the hit on Saito is probably the same person pulling Park Ling's strings now. Find him, and hopefully we find Ling before the next contract is fulfilled.

“I'll still check out the hotel, just in case.”

“Good idea,” De Luca says to Hana before turning on his heel and heading for the meeting room. De Luca is keyed up enough as it is; if he knew Young was next on our hit man's list…Although I'm still not sure
why
. If his cover was blown and the Yakuza wanted him dead, wouldn't they just kill him themselves? I can only assume that whoever's contracted the hit on Dan Young wants it to look like an accident, maybe even a heart attack. And Ling can deliver that.

“Where were we?” I say, looking at the photos on the table. “Yes, the surveillance shots and this one that looks like Jo Hoshi, standing with Saito's third suspected victim, Hiroki Kawa.”

De Luca and I both look at the photo again.

“It's not Hoshi, but I guess it could be a relative. Older brother, uncle maybe,” De Luca says.

“Let's check out everything we've got on Hoshi and see if we can link him back to the Tokyo victim,” I suggest.

De Luca shuffles files and brings Jo Hoshi to the top. “Here we go.” He flips it open to a recent photo of Hoshi, blown up as an eight-by-ten color picture.

“Was he born in the US?” I ask.

De Luca flicks through the papers. “No. Came here in eighty-five at the age of fifteen.”

“And this man, Hiroki Kawa, was murdered in Tokyo in 1993.” I pause. “So Hoshi wasn't even in Tokyo during the murder.”

De Luca looks up Hoshi's immigration paperwork. “No. Hoshi immigrated here with his mother. The father is listed as deceased, one Naoko Hoshi.”

“The man in this picture isn't old enough to be Hoshi's father.”

“No.”

“What about brothers or sisters?”

De Luca shakes his head. “He doesn't have any, according to the immigration paperwork they filled out.”

That rules Hoshi out.

“What if one of Saito's victims was a good friend or a cousin of someone in the L.A. Yakuza?”

“I doubt those records will be here.” He points to the pile of paperwork in front of us. “We'd probably have to make a special request to Japan. Ask them.”

I shrug. “Well, let's do that then.”

“It might not even be someone in the L.A. Yakuza,” De Luca says.

“You know how you've got a hunch that Agent Young's in trouble?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, I've got a hunch that someone in the Yakuza has a connection with one of Saito's victims.”

De Luca isn't entirely convinced, but he gives me the benefit of the doubt. “I guess it can't do any harm.”

“Leave it with me.”

I go back to my desk and prepare all the photos and names we've got on the L.A. Yakuza to send through to Japan. If we can get someone who worked organized crime back in the nineties to look at the file, we might have a shot. I e-mail Burges and explain the urgency of the case—that we think an undercover operative has been compromised and might be in danger, but that it's extremely confidential. I hope to give her and a Japanese cop enough incentive to make them work fast, but not so much that I'm blowing the confidential nature of the case and potentially Dan's cover—if it isn't already blown. I follow up the e-mail with a call.

“Hey, Latoya. Me again.”

“What's up?”

“I've got another request…this one's urgent. Really urgent. I've just e-mailed the details through.”

A slight pause before she says, “Yup, got it. Give me a sec.”

I wait while she reads through the e-mail.

“Undercover operative?”

“It's a long story. And I can't go into details.”

“Damn, girl. How'd you get someone into the Yakuza?”

“Like I said, I can't talk about it. We're very worried about him but you have to keep this one hundred percent confidential. Just you and your Japanese contact.”

“Sure.” She pauses. “It's three in the morning there at the moment. Hopefully our guy will understand the 3:00 a.m. call when I tell him what's at stake.”

“Thanks, Latoya. Appreciate it.”

“No problemo. I'll get him to call you directly.”

I go back to De Luca and update him.

After a few moments of silence he says, “Let's get back to the surveillance shots while we're waiting.”

We flip through the next set of surveillance photos from Japan. They're classic organized-crime surveillance shots—men coming out of buildings, two men talking, guys at coffee shops and on street corners. Not many shots feature women, although by flicking through the images I discover that most of the major players had wives…and mistresses.

“This woman was reported missing,” I say, tapping my finger at a shot that shows her kissing Jun Saito's victim number three, Hiroki Kawa. I hand De Luca the police report.

“The date…” He scans the document, looking for a date. “Seventeenth of October, 1993.”

“That's two days after the man she was having an affair with was shot dead outside her apartment building.”

De Luca skims through the report. “The police thought she may have seen something or known something about the murder, and that she took off.”

“But according to this—” I motion at the paperwork “—she was never found, either.”

“Dead?”

“Could be. What's her name?”

De Luca checks the document. “Ima Yamada.”

“Ring a bell?”

He shakes his head.

My BlackBerry rings and I answer it eagerly.

“Is that Agent Sophie Anderson of the FBI?” There's a delay in the phone line and the male speaker has a thick Japanese accent.

“Yes, speaking.”

“Agent Anderson, my name's Akio Endo. I used to work for the Tokyo police.”

“Ah, Mr. Endo. Thank you for calling.”

“You're welcome. I understand Jun Saito is dead. That you're investigating his death.”

“That's right. He was killed by a Chinese hit man and we're trying to find out who ordered the hit. We're looking at the Yakuza here in L.A.”

“Yes. I understand,” he says formally, briefly.

“You're not surprised we're looking at the Yakuza?”

“You must understand, Agent Anderson, we thought he was already dead. At the hands of the Yakuza.”

“Of course.”

“I worked on a Yakuza-dedicated team in the nineties and was in charge of all three murder investigations in which Saito was a suspect. And that of his girlfriend.”

“You believe he was the killer?” I ask.

He pauses. “I was not so sure about his girlfriend. He was a young man in love and his father had trained him too well to leave a bloodied knife with his fingerprints at the crime scene.”

My thoughts exactly. “One of the angles we're working over here is revenge. Perhaps Saito's girlfriend was killed as an act of revenge.”

“It's possible.”

De Luca weighs in to the conversation. “Mr. Endo, we sent you the names of our active Yakuza members here in L.A.”

“Yes. I have the information.”

For us it's like finding a needle in a haystack, but Endo still probably knows this stuff backward.

De Luca reads out the names. “Tomi Moto…Jo Hoshi—”

“I saw one name—Takeshi Suzuki.”

“You know him? We have nothing on him from the Tokyo files.”

“We don't think he was part of the Tokyo Yakuza, but he operated on the periphery. However, that's not why his name concerns me.”

“Go on.”

“Takeshi Suzuki is the brother of Ima Yamada, the mistress of Hiroki Kawa. She went missing two days after he was murdered.”

De Luca stands up forcefully. “That's it. Suzuki must be behind the hit on Saito.”

I'm as excited as De Luca, but I want to confirm a few facts first. “So she was never found? Dead or alive?”

“No. Although legally she has been declared dead.”

“And why the different last name to Takeshi Suzuki?”

“She was divorced. Her maiden name was Suzuki.”

“What if she witnessed Saito killing her lover? Saito goes after her and kills her but someone finds out and Suzuki takes revenge on Saito's woman.” I voice the theory.

“An eye for an eye.” De Luca paces.

“Saito must have disposed of the body very carefully,” Endo says. “All these years later and she still hasn't been found.”

“Perhaps he knew what would happen if Takeshi Suzuki ever found out that his little sister was dead,” I say.

“Suzuki must have known,” Endo says. “We thought perhaps the family had hidden her, to protect her. But if she wasn't with them, Suzuki would have known the fate that had befallen his sister.”

De Luca nods. “All the more reason to kill Saito's girlfriend.”

There's momentary silence.

“Thanks for your help, Mr. Endo. And for calling us back so quickly.”

“You're welcome, agents. Good luck with the case.”

“Thanks. Okay if we call you if we have any more questions?” I ask.

“Certainly.”

We say goodbye and I've barely hit the disconnect button on my BlackBerry when De Luca is off. He leads the way
through the open-plan office, beckoning Williams and Hana excitedly on the way to Petrov's office.

Petrov looks up. “What's up?”

“It looks like we know who put the hit out on Jun Saito,” De Luca says.

“Really?” Petrov stands up. “Who?”

“Our
fuku-honbucho
, Takeshi Suzuki. Turns out his sister was the mistress of Hiroki Kawa, Saito's 1993 victim. The mistress was reported missing a couple of days after the murder, but maybe Saito killed her the night he killed Kawa.”

“Maybe?” Petrov's initial enthusiasm is waning.

“We just spoke to one of the cops in Tokyo. The woman's still missing, been declared dead.” De Luca starts pacing again.

“It all fits,” I say. “Suzuki finds out Saito's alive and has a daughter living in L.A.—”

“How?” Williams interrupts me.

I shrug. “That's a question for Suzuki.” I pause, before continuing. “Then he decides to exact revenge for his sister's murder. He lures Saito here, gives Park Ling a couple of weeks to plan the hit, and voilà. His sister's death is finally avenged. The only thing that doesn't fit with personal revenge is that Suzuki didn't pull the trigger himself. But I imagine he was there on the night Saito met his end—he would have had to watch to satisfy his anger.”

“Well, let's prove this hypothesis one way or the other.” Petrov rubs his chin. “It also means Suzuki might want Mee dead, as the final act of his revenge. Although why he'd fly Ling in just for that—”

“I was thinking about that, sir. Ling has a unique gift in his ability to kill someone and make it look like they had a heart attack. And that's something Suzuki desperately needs if he's doing all this behind his boss's back.” I know Ling's here for Young, but the logic applies to Mee, too.

Petrov nods. “Joe and Anderson, can you stick around and take me through Suzuki's past life in Tokyo? Williams and Kim, I want you shaking down your contacts for information on Suzuki's current whereabouts.”