The River Killings (35 page)

“Which means it’ll go nowhere just like the others.”

“Maybe not. This one was different.” The detective named Al lowered his voice. “Between us, right?” He paused. “This time, there was a witness.”

A witness? I held my breath, straining to hear.

“No shit.”

“Terrell’s girlfriend was hiding in the bathroom. She says she saw the whole thing.”

“So who did it?”

“An Asian woman. So small, in fact, she thought it was a kid at first.”

Oh, God. No question. The killer was Shu Li. I pictured her tiny form unlocking my handcuffs in the van, freeing me. And the lifeless eyes of Harry and Tony, the carvings on their faces. Shu Li was executing cartel members one at a time.

The men were still talking. “I’ll be damned,” somebody said.

“It’s got to be the missing slave, what’s her name—”

“Shu Li was the name on her passport.” Al was way ahead of them. “So we put the passport photo in a book, and guess what. The girlfriend ID’d her. Shu Li’s our doer.”

I bit my lip. Now not just the slave cartel, but the cops and the FBI would be hunting for Shu Li.

One of the detectives sighed. “Well, try to convict. Eyewitness identification is shabby.”

“Kiss my ass, Pete. She picked her out of three dozen faces.” Al was miffed.

“Still. It’s shabby.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s a hell of a lot more than we’ve had so far.”

“Not necessarily,” Pete insisted. “What about the vigilantes? It could be one of them; there might be a hundred of them who are small, female and Asian—”

“That’s just a theory,” Nick interrupted. “The FBI didn’t say anything definite.”

“Whatever,” Al growled. “Whether it’s just Shu Li alone or an entire vigilante group of escaped slaves, somebody’s having a lot better luck catching the traffickers than law enforcement—Local or federal.”

“Of course they are,” Nick reasoned. “They’re not held to the same standards. They don’t need to follow procedure. Forget about warrants or evidence or law—”

“So that’s the future of law enforcement? Police are so bound up in legalities and bureaucratic paperwork that effective justice is
left to vigilantes? That’s what we’re coming to. Soon cops’ll be ineffective and obsolete.”

“In that case, Al, you’re ahead of the game—you’re already ineffective and obsolete.”

More jabs almost drowned out Al’s “Fuck you.”

There was a silence then. I imagined heads shaking, sighs. Then one of them must have stood up.

“Anyone want another brew? Nick? Anyone else?”

He was looking back at the others, so he didn’t see me standing in the hall until he’d almost stumbled into me. “Jeepers!”

Jeepers? “Oops, sorry.” I fumbled for an explanation. “I—I was just coming in to see what you guys want. More beer? Something to eat?”

“Thanks. A couple more beers would be great.” He was fair-skinned, reddening. Feeling oafish.

I hurried to the kitchen, trying to piece together what I’d just heard. Was there a vigilante group fighting back against the slave cartel? Did that mean Shu Li wasn’t acting alone? I hoped so. I didn’t like to think of her all by herself. But what was I thinking? Shu Li was a killer. She’d murdered repeatedly, methodically Would her crimes be less serious if she was part of a whole group of murderers? I got the beers and put them on a tray with a bunch of crackers and a lump of cheddar, so engrossed in my thoughts that I almost didn’t hear the soft, persistent knocking at the door. And when I did, I assumed it was more cops, so I opened the door with beers in my hands, ready to hand them out. But the person knocking wasn’t a policeman. It was Shu Li.

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face. She scampered inside before I could react, and looking out into the street, clutched my arm.

“Yo hep,” she whispered. “Shu Li know. Yo hep.”

I rushed her into the kitchen. Oh, Lord. How had she found out where I lived? The newspapers, I thought. They’d shown my residence, mentioned where I lived. Or the phone book. But Shu Li didn’t read English, did she? Had someone helped her? What did she want? Why was she here? The police and the FBI were looking for her. And at the moment a large portion of the police force was sitting in my living room.

“Peepow.” She pointed to the street. “Come fo Shu Li.”

“What people?”

“Yo hide Shu Li.”

“Wait, no. You can’t stay here,” I whispered. “The police are here.” I pointed to the living room. “They know who you are. They’re looking for you—”

“Shu Li wait heeh.” She was adamant. “Peepow come heeh soohn.”

What people? Who? The cartel? Were they coming after her? At my house? I spoke slowly, softly. “Who is coming? The cartel?” She blinked at me. “The slave traffickers?”

She shook her head. No. “Ma peepow. Yo hep Shu Li.”

“Shu Li,” I began again. “You killed a man. Gordon Terrell.” I
mimed a big man with a ponytail. “Somebody—a woman—saw you. The police know who did it. They want to arrest you.”

“No. Poreese no fine Shu Li. I wait heeh. Okay. Ma peepow come fo Shu Li. Soohn.”

Her people? Who were they? Was she talking about vigilantes?

“Who’s coming for you? How do they know where you are?”

She shook her head and looked up, as if trying to form words I could understand. “Some peepow… hep Shu Li. Like seestahs. Wook togeddah.”

vigilantes.

“Yo, Zoe—What’s with the brews?”

Oh, God. The beers. Any second, Al or Pete or that other one would come into the kitchen and find Shu Li.

“On the way,” I yelled. “Just a second.” Then, grabbing the tray, telling Shu Li to wait there, I went into the living room and served Nick’s guests, trying to smile as if I had not a single care. As if no one, certainly not a fugitive multiple murderer, were hiding in my kitchen.

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a banana, raiding the refrigerator.

“You’re hungry.” I reached for a package of turkey breast I’d bought for Molly’s lunch. “I’ll fix you a sandwich—”

But Shu Li had found a blackberry yogurt. She poured it down her throat and grabbed an orange, began peeling it.

“Okay,” she assured me. “Yo no woolly. Shu Li okay.” She found a slice of wheat bread, wadded it up and stuffed it into her mouth.

“But there are police here, Shu Li. You can’t stay. They’ll find you.”

She shook her head. “No. Yo hep. I know yo hep. Yo Shu Li seestah.” She touched her heart, met my gaze, and instantly I was back in the van, chained, half-dead, beyond hope, looking up to see those same dark, glowing eyes. Shu Li had rescued me. She’d saved my life. We were connected, and I couldn’t turn her away.

“Shu Li,” I tried to explain. “You killed people. Agent Ellis. And a man dressed like a priest—”

She nodded. “I kiw, yes. I kiw aw dem. Find dem. Kiw dem.”

She seemed to be bragging about it. I thought of Harry and Tony. “But you didn’t kill the men in the truck?”

“Shu Li save yo, but men dead awready. I cut faces.”

The Gordo had gotten to them first.

Shu Li grabbed my arm. “See. Ma seestah. Ma peepow kiwd. Yo know. Yo ahmost kiwd, too. Shu Li hep yo. Now, yo hep Shu Li.”

“But there are laws. You can’t just kill people, even if they’re bad.” Why was I even trying to reason with her? She barely under
stood what I was saying, and besides, the subject was moot. She’d already killed half a dozen people. Nothing could change that.

“Shu Li stay heeh.” She swallowed a chunk of orange. “Ma peepow come by in tomow mownee.” She looked at me without a trace of doubt, completely confident that I would help her until the morning. Oblivious to the untenable position she was putting me in.

But I was acutely aware of it. I was on the line. I had to choose between aiding and abetting a killer and informing on her. Shu Li had put herself above the law, and in doing so had become as much a criminal as those in the cartel. Hadn’t she? And, oh, Lord, if I hid her, wasn’t I condoning her crimes? Participating in vigilante justice? Becoming part of it? Legally, I could be prosecuted for helping her. Sent to jail. I pictured bars, a narrow cot, a tiny window. Oh, God.

I watched her finish off the orange and dig into a pint of Chubby Hubby ice cream, amazed that this petite creature could pack away so much food so quickly. I wondered when she’d last eaten. And what I was going to do with her. Hiding her from the police was bad enough. But I’d also have to hide her from Molly and Nick. And I was the one always pressing for openness and honesty. Stressing the importance of trust. How hypocritical it would be to keep Shu Li secret. But I couldn’t tell Nick about her; Shu Li would be arrested, found guilty of multiple murders, maybe sentenced to death. What was more important, upholding the law and being honest with Nick or protecting someone who’d saved my life?

Male laughter rumbled in the living room, barreled along the hall, past the office where Shu Li was hiding. It sounded like the men were wrapping up their visit. I listened closely, heard the one named Pete promise to buy Nick a cheese steak when he came back to work. Then Al told Nick not to count on it; Pete would never pay for a cheese steak. He was too cheap even to put an occasional dollar in the office coffee pool. The guys bantered, insulting one another as partners do. And on their way out they stopped to thank me for my hospitality.

“You’re doing a great job looking after this son of a bitch.” Al grinned, pointing at Nick. “Pardon my French.” His breath smelled of Budweiser.

“Yeah, he’s almost back to his old obnoxious self,” Pete ribbed. “And we have you to thank for that.”

Nick smiled. “Yes, you do. Zoe takes good care of me.”

“What do you see in this guy?” The third one—I still didn’t know his name—frowned and put a boozy arm around me. “You’re way too good for him, sugar. When you figure that out, give me a call. I’m still available.”

“Back off, Walt.” Nick stepped in. “Zoe’ll never be that desperate.”

Walking them to the door, I laughed at their sorry barbs and hugged each good-bye, thanking them for dropping by. Then, as soon as Nick went up to bed, I hurried to my office and opened the door. Shu Li was huddled on my old reclining chair, already sound asleep.

I LAY AWAKE ALL NIGHT WORRYING. IMAGINING WHAT-IFS. WHAT

if Molly were to see her? What if Nick were to find her? What if her vigilante friends were seen coming into the house? What if they didn’t show up? What if the cartel came looking for her? Or the FBI?

I thought of calling Susan, but couldn’t involve her. She was a lawyer, could lose her license if she helped hide a criminal. Besides, Susan had no ties to Shu Li. I was the one who owed her. The problem was mine alone.

All night, images haunted me. Countless dead women floated past me in the river. Slave chains cut into my ankles and wrists. The faces of Shu Li’s victims stared vacantly into the beyond. And Nick turned his back as prison bars slammed in my face. But by seven, when Molly’s clock radio blared the morning traffic report, I’d figured out what I had to do.

I got up quietly, letting Nick sleep. I looked in on Molly, gave her a good-morning kiss, helped her pick out which shorts to wear. I packed her camp bag with a bathing suit and towel, made her lunch, put out cereal and milk for her breakfast. Waited with her for the camp bus.

“What’s in my lunch?” she wanted to know.

“Turkey sandwich.”

“What else?”

“Granola bar and an apple.” “But I want an orange.”

“We don’t have any oranges.” Shu Li had eaten them.

“Yes, we do—”

“No. Sorry. I ate the last one last night.” Now I was lying not just to the cops and Nick, but also to Molly.

“Mom, why? You know I like oranges in my lunch.” “Sorry. I had a craving.” Another lie. “A what?”

“I was just hungry for an orange.”

Molly complained tirelessly, unable to accept our fruit situation. When the bus finally came, I was relieved to hug her goodbye; for a while anyway, I could stop lying. I brought in the newspaper, and listening to make sure Nick was still asleep, prepared a breakfast tray of coffee, eggs, juice and toast. Silently, I carried the tray to my office and opened the door, ready to talk to Shu Li.

Except that I couldn’t talk to her. Shu Li was gone. The reclining chair was empty, the window opened wide. Her people, whoever they were, had already come for her. I stood at the door holding the tray, feeling oddly lost. Then, fighting tears, I carried the food upstairs to Nick, letting him believe that I’d fixed him breakfast in bed. Another lie.

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in the blue car until I saw her twice in one day. Once, on Saturday morning, she was walking slowly along our street. She looked familiar, and I thought she must be a new neighbor. But then, when I dropped Molly off at Nicholas’s birthday party, I saw her again.

She sat in her blue car pretending not to watch Molly kiss me good-bye. I pretended not to notice her. But as soon as Molly was safely inside, I looped around to the back of her car, ready to confront her. This was the stranger, had to be the woman who’d been following Molly for weeks. I was sure now that Molly hadn’t made her up. The woman gazed at Nicholas’s front door, didn’t see me storming up to her window from the rear, my blood surging, poised to attack. Whatever she was—a kidnapper, a child molester—I’d have her arrested and jailed. After I tore her hair out. She’d be sorry she’d ever laid eyes on Molly Hayes.