Kang threw his hands up in the air and was about to open his mouth but knew better. The narrowed eyes on Cavanaugh’s rotund face showed that he was dead serious about the suspension. That’s when Kang and Sokolov exited Captain Cavanaugh’s office.
“Leslie, you remember my partner, Detective Pete Sokolov.”
Sokolov extended his hand and Leslie thought she might need two hands to shake it.
“Yes. Sorry about last time.”
Sokolov waved it off. “I’m sorry about your niece. Can I get you a coffee?”
Leslie smiled at Sokolov, touched by the big man’s kindness. “Thank you. I’m okay.”
“I’m sure you’re wondering what that was about.” Kang said.
“I am, but it’s none of my business.”
“Normally I would agree with you, but today is your lucky day. There have been some recent developments in the case.”
Leslie perked up. “You guys have a lead?”
Kang looked over at Sokolov and then back to Leslie. “More like a hunch. But a good one.”
“I don’t understand. That huge blow up was over a hunch?”
“Let’s take a walk,” Kang said as he motioned toward an interrogation office. “We’ll have privacy.”
Hunches. Suspensions. Private talks. Kang and Sokolov certainly had Leslie’s full attention. She was starting to think her niece’s death was part of something bigger. Something way bigger.
“Lately there’s been a rash of murders in and around Chinatown. Most wouldn’t even think to connect the first two.”
“Why is that?”
“For starters, they were completely different on so many levels. The first victim was an old lady. Poor. Handed out menus for a living, most likely a Chinese immigrant. The second victim was a teenager from a well-to-do family, definitely second or third generation American.”
“I see. So what makes you guys think this is a thing?”
“Both victims had their necks slit with a similar weapon. However, the stumper that prevented us from connecting the two immediately was that the killer chopped off the thumbs on our second victim. Nothing was chopped off our first victim. You still with us?”
“I’m still in the car riding along, but I’m not seeing the connection. Keep going.” Leslie was curious to see what a Kyle Kang hunch was like. She looked at the big Russian sitting quietly in the corner, observing. She liked his intensity.
“A few days later, two more bodies showed up in Chinatown in an alleyway. The victims were a teenage couple. Both of them had their throats slit. Both had parts of their body chopped off. The boy lost his feet. The girl lost her hands. Both were from wealthy families.”
“The other kid, the one with the missing thumbs, and the teens in the alleyway, would you characterize them as spoiled brats?”
“From what we can tell, yes. Why?”
“I loved her like she was my own daughter, but Sulyn was a spoiled brat.”
“I’m guessing your sister and her husband have money right?”
“More than they need. Andy is a litigator and a senior partner at his law firm.”
“It’s all starting to add up.”
“We have one sick guy who gets off killing spoiled Chinese teenagers,” Sokolov said.
“There’s something about the dismemberment that’s off, though,” Kang said. The crinkles in his forehead deepened as he leaned back and stared at the ceiling, not at all bothered by the florescent lighting in his eyes.
Sokolov leaned over toward Leslie. “I’ve seen this look many, many times. He’s formulating. Putting pieces together.” Sokolov leaned back. “What is it, Kyle? What makes you all analytical right now?”
“These type of killers, they’re creatures of habit. There’s ritual in what they do. Could be the weapon or what they do to their victims or even how they dispose of the body.
These traits or ticks often become their calling card. Kang looked away from the ceiling and toward Sokolov and Leslie, the road map on his forehead receding.
“We know each victim in this case, with the exception of the first has had a body part chopped off right?”
Leslie and Sokolov nodded.
“But none of them are exactly the same.”
“He’s chopping them up. That’s MO, no?” Sokolov said.
“Not necessarily. Each one is different. If it were his thing, it would be exactly the same.”
“Okay but we’re still sure it’s the same guy doing this right? We’re not moving away from that, are we?” Leslie said looking back and forth between Kang and Sokolov. She was searching for a sign.
Both men nodded.
“Kyle, your experience in dealing with psychopaths runs pretty deep, right?” Leslie said.
“I’ve caught a few in my time.”
“Few? I remember the Widow Maker. If I recall correctly, wasn’t she the high priced call girl who castrated married men and then stuffed their genitals down their throats?”
Sokolov chuckled. “She has you nailed, Kang.”
Leslie turned to Sokolov. “Don’t think I don’t know about your background and your fascination with a certain hitman.”
Sokolov looked at Leslie with concentrated frown. “How did you know?”
“I’m a detective. But enough about us. Kyle, what’s the story with this guy? Why isn’t there structure to how he kills?”
“I think he’s progressing with each kill.”
“What do you mean progressing? Like warming up?”
“Exactly. This isn’t the first time this person has killed. It can’t be––not with this sort of handiwork. He enjoys killing. It’s possible he killed a lot in the past, maybe took a break, or cooled it down because things were getting hot. Whatever the reason, he stopped for a period of time.”
“And now he’s started again?” Leslie said.
“Right. I think the old lady was a warm-up. An easy way back in. With each kill, the killer slowly gets his slash ’em and hack ’em groove back––”
“––So he could figured out what kind of victim he wanted or go back to what he did in the past,” Leslie added.
“That’s right.”
Warms up. What kind of killer warms up? This isn’t a sport. Or is it? Leslie wanted this bastard. “Has your team been able to pin the time of death for Sulyn?”
“Early reports from toxicology say she was probably underwater for one or two days.”
Hearing this put Leslie into her own little world. Her eyes drifted off of Kang and to the floor. She was powerless when it came to blocking visuals of her niece underwater from popping up in her head. One after another they showed themselves. Sulyn had been gone for almost seven days before they found the body. And then it dawned on her.
“He kept her,” she mumbled.
Kang looked up from his pad, “What?”
“He kept her,” Leslie said as she snapped out of her daze. “Sulyn went missing six days ago, that means he had her for four days, maybe even five. He most likely killed her and then dumped the body. He certainly didn’t kill her and hang onto the body. He kept her. He kept her alive. Probably even fed her. Why her and not the others?”
“He’s still getting up to speed,” Kang said.
Chapter 63
I stood up in my cubicle and looked around the floor. Same old, same old. Grey walls, forming gray squares, housing gray computers and gray filing cabinets. The gray in this place was sucking the color out of me.
“I tell you, Tav, I’ll miss you but I ain’t missing this floor.”
Tav laughed and offered up a high five.
Today was the day I begin the move back up to the twelfth floor. While I wasn’t officially promoted to heavy hitter just yet, I was one step closer. With this initial order going through I would immediately be put up for consideration. Another big order from the same company would seal the deal.
I felt excited and a little guilty for leaving Tav down here. But he was in accounting. It was differen
t for him.
“We’re going to miss you down here, Darby.”
Lois Burkhardt peeked over the wall. Her smile beamed with motherly love. I liked it. “I’m gonna miss you when you make the jump, Darby,” she said.
“We’ll still see each other. I’ll be back down to visit,” I said.
“Promise?” She raised her eyebrows.
“I promise.”
She lifted a brown paper bag up and over the wall. “I baked you two some cookies. A little reminder to Darby of what he’ll be missing out on down here. I’m sure no one is baking cookies up there for a welcoming party.”
“Thanks, Lois. This is nice of you.” Little did she know, I had no plans to befriend those jackasses up there. I was in it for the perks.
Lois waved goodbye and sank back down into her cubicle. So did I.
“You think those guys will be waiting with open arms? Treat you like one of them?” Tav asked.
“I dunno. I don’t care,” I said with an exaggerated shoulder shrug, my bottom lip pushed up like a Robert Di Nero wise guy. “Fuck’em.”
My only regret was not being around when Harold went ballistic. Yesterday, Tav and I were out for an extended lunch, because we could, when my order crossed Harold’s desk. From what we heard, he damn near did have that aneurysm. Could you imagine what would happen when I get called up? He’d probably implode or something.
Freddy Davenport, a long-time bottom feeder, saw the entire meltdown. Said Harold flipped out in his office like a fat man in desperate need of a cheap, all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. To quote Freddy, “The vein bulging on his forehead made John Holmes’ bulge look puny.” While I got the analogy, it raised more questions about Freddy then it did Harold, but that’s a completely different conversation. Anyway, he said Harold was convinced there was a mistake and I was messing with him. Freddy then said he watched Harold pace back and forth in his office like a caged animal, muttering to himself until he fainted. I guess the pressure was too much. He did a face plant right in the middle of the hall. Broke his nose too. Security took him to the hospital and then he was told by Gerald Thorn to take some time off.
Like I said, I wish I was there. I would have laughed my ass off.
“I gotta hand it to you; you’re pulling it off, man.”
“I told you this idea was Darbytastic. I’m set. All I gotta do is bring in one, maybe two more orders. Easy, I’ll take care of that during my next trip.”
“I know you’re having a sunshiny day here, but you do realize you need Sing and his crew of merry men to still pay you?”
“Yeah I know. Even though I got my Teleco commission checks coming my way, the real action will be this stuff on the side. Tax free, baby. I’m not about to let that detail fall through the cracks. I’ll get it.”
“How much longer do you think you’ll need over there?”
“One or two more trips I’m guessing. I have to see it through until the gang’s successful, or on their way more or less. I also need the case study. With that, I’ll be able to target others.”
“That’s right. You plan on becoming the telecommunications consultant to the underworld.”
I winked at my oldest friend. Once again, he got it right.
Chapter 64
After leaving the station, Leslie headed over to Jackson and Grant in Chinatown, where Sulyn was last reported to be seen alive. Nothing about the area stood out to Leslie. A couple of banks sat on two of the corners, and souvenir shops occupied the other two.
Both are one-way streets, Jackson heading East toward the bay and Grant heading North toward North Beach. Where did you go? Which way?
Leslie knew Sulyn was heading home, so she had to go west on Jackson or south on Grant. Eventually she would have to head west to get to Pacific Heights, so Leslie started walking west on Jackson. It was uphill. Shit.
Hills were the big inside joke for the city. No matter what direction you needed to head, there’s one to climb. Leslie didn’t get very far. The smell of toasted caramel and vanilla stopped her in her tracks. Mmmmm, fortune cookies.
Ross Alley was home to the Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Company, the oldest fortune cookie factory, or so it claims. Leslie could not resist, and let her nose lead the way. It was hard to ignore the fresh-out-of-the-oven smell.
Inside the tiny door were eight or nine elderly women sitting at individual tables in the twenty-by-fifty-foot room, all folding paper fortunes into the secret dough. “Only a dollar to take a picture,” read the sign. Leslie squeaked her way in and bought a bag.
When she got back outside she looked up and down the alleyway. Usually alleys didn’t get a lot of foot traffic but the ones in Chinatown got their fair share of use, mostly from the locals. Did you cut through the alley, Sulyn? Is this where he took you? It was hard to imagine with all the activity going on. A visit at night would paint a better picture.
Leslie walked to the other end of Ross Alley. Nothing grabbed her immediately. There were a few businesses in the alley: a print shop, a grocer, even a small storefront church. None of these would be open at night, especially not at midnight. She scanned the sides of the buildings. Of the few windows facing into the alley, most were shut and dark, probably windows along stairways. Any residential windows would have laundry hanging from them. That was the Chinese way.
If Sulyn was kept alive for four days, then the killer had to have a car to transport her or keep her right here in Chinatown, perhaps even in that alley. Again Leslie walked its length. There were two mahjong parlors, but they were most likely under control of the local Triad and she highly doubted this was their doing. However there were two entrances, one on either side of the alley that led into the buildings. They were identical. Both had steep, narrow stairwells that curved out of sight at the very top. The killer either forced her up the stairs or knocked her out and carried her. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. If the killer abducted Sulyn, he kept her somewhere nearby. All of the murders were done in and around Chinatown; the killer obviously knew the area well. It was worth having Kang’s men comb the buildings’ residents to see if anyone saw or heard anything.
But why keep Sulyn for a week? It’s problematic. It increased the odds of getting caught. The victim could escape. Food and water must be given to them to keep them alive. What about bathroom facilities? All of this had to be considered unless of course the killer had a pit in the ground. Not likely around here. Kidnappers usually kept their victims alive because they wanted something in return. But this guy wasn’t a kidnapper. He was a killer. What was the reason here if any? Sulyn was killed and then chopped to pieces, and for whatever the reason, the killer kept her. Why? Was he second-guessing killing her? What if the killer did have a change of heart? What if the only reason she was kept alive all those days was because the killer was second-guessing himself?
Kang had already established that the guy might be warming up, getting back to his old ways. So what if on this journey back to his old ways, he started having second thoughts? What if he didn’t want to kill but someone else forced him? Were their two killers? A mastermind and an executioner? It was possible. It hadn’t been ruled out because it was never considered. Could the killer be both? Could he be fighting himself? She’d seen similar cases where the killers had multiple personality disorders. The Soneji case out of D.C. came to mind.
Leslie pulled out her cell and called Kang.
“This is Detective Kang.”
“Kyle. It’s Leslie Choi. I think you’re wrong.”
“Leslie? What are you talking about?”
“Our killer, he’s already up to speed. Keeping Sulyn alive wasn’t progression.”
“Where’s this coming from?”
“Kang, our guy is a splitter.”
“A what?”
“I’m on way to the station. I explain it all to you then.”
Chapter 65
“Taxi! Taxi!” the woman called out near the corner of California and Grant.
/> That voice. I know it. I instantly swung around in a circle searching for the source.
“Taxi!” she called again.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was Leslie Choi, standing on the corner opposite me. What was she doing in San Francisco?
“Leslie! Leslie!” I shouted.
Leslie spotted me as she was about to step into a cab. How could she miss this madman waving his arms widely in the air?
“Leslie, is that really you?”
“Yes Darby. It’s me. Give me a hug, silly.”
I threw my arms around her tiny frame. She was soft and smelled wonderful. I took a deep breath. “What are you doing here?”
“I had a family emergency.”
“Family? You never mentioned you had family here. That’s great. Oh, wait. You said emergency. I’m sorry. I hope it isn’t bad. But you said emergency so I guess it is.” I blabbered like an idiot with no intention of stopping.
Thankfully Leslie stepped in. “Darby, I’m happy to see you. I really am and I can explain everything to you later, but I must go now. I have something important to take care of. Do you still have my number?”
“Yeah.”
“Call me in about an hour and we can meet up, okay?”
“Definitely. I’ll do that. In an hour right?”
“Yes, an hour. But I must leave now. I’m sorry.” She slid gracefully into the cab.
I couldn’t believe Leslie was in San Francisco. Things kept getting better.
“Darb!” Tav was hollering at me from across the street. We were on our way over to the Golden Flower for lunch when I spotted Leslie.
“Tav, you’ll never guess who I ran into.”
“The Pope?”
“No, Leslie, the girl I was telling you about…the one I hooked up with in Hong Kong.”
“Here? Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“What’s she doing here?”
“She has family here. I didn’t know that, and now she’s here for a family emergency… Anyway, that doesn’t matter. She’s here and I’m going to call her in an hour and set up a time to meet.”
Darby Stansfield Thriller Series (Books 1-3 & Bonus Novella) Page 15