The Killing Hands

by P. D. Martin

  “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 o
ur 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. “Eventually 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.

  By the time my front doorbell rings, I’m close to hyperventilating. How can I answer the door like this? Pull yourself together, woman. I try to bring some of my professional calm into the equation. I can act, just like I often have to when questioning a suspect. I take a deep breath in, then out, then swing the door open.

  “Hi, Darren.”

  “Hi.” He grins.

  I’m immobile.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure. Sorry.” I aim for breezy, but I don’t think I pull it off. I move out of the doorway, down the hall and into the kitchen. “So how was your flight?” I turn around. He’s grinning way too much. He’s enjoying this. Enjoying my nervousness.

  “Good. The flight was good.” He walks straight into the living room and puts his overnight bag on the floor next to the sofa bed. At least he didn’t put it in the bedroom.

  “Thirsty?” My voice cracks a little. Man, this is torture. I’m so out of practice it’s not funny. Well, maybe it’s funny for Darren. “Beer?”

  “Sure.”

  I open a beer for Darren and hand it to him across the kitchen counter, trying to hide the slight shake in my hand.

  “You’re not having one?”

  “I’ve got an important call coming in.”

  “Oh…” Disappointment. He takes a few steps back, moving across my small dining area until he’s leaning on the back of the sofa. “When?”

  “Five.”

  “So you need to work now? I can disappear for a couple of hours.”

  “No, it’s okay. We’re kinda waiting on this call…for the case. Not much more to do until it comes in.” I don’t tell him about the personnel files now locked away in my briefcase.

  He takes a swig of beer. “I see.”

  Silence.

  I’m still standing in the kitchen, the kitchen counter and dining room table between me and Darren. And that’s just fine by me for the moment.

  “So you’re getting close? To finding the killer?”

  “Yeah, we are actually. We’ve even got a couple of names. The call I’m waiting for is from China. Checking a few details.”

  “Sounds promising.” Darren pushes himself off the sofa back and starts heading my way. I hold his gaze until he’s at the kitchen bench, then I turn around to the fridge.

  “Think I might have a juice.”

  I hear Darren’s footsteps, getting closer, then a clunk as he puts his beer on the counter. He comes in behind me, close, and his hand reaches over my shoulder to close the fridge. He leans down slightly, and I can feel his breath on my neck. His arms close around my waist as he kisses the side of my neck, ever so gently. My body takes over and I instinctively lean back into him, letting the back of my head rest against his face. His kisses run the length of my shoulder, my good shoulder, before his right hand comes up to my face and he slowly spins me around. Our faces are touching and I open my eyes. It takes a moment of adjustment as my eyes focus and I see Darren up close and personal. He keeps his eyes shut, but his breathing is fast.

  I run my hand along his jaw and bring him closer, shutting my eyes at the same time. My nerves are gone, replaced by desire. Our lips meet, fast, hot kisses, the sort you only get when sexual tension has been building…and building…and building.

  I bring him in closer to me, my left leg encircling his waist. He moves us back until we hit the kitchen bench on my side. He lifts me up onto the bench, but it’s the side with the cupboards and I forget to duck. My head hits the cupboard with a clunk.

  “Ouch!” I break the silence but don’t stop kissing him.

  “Sorry,” he mumbles into me, also unwilling to break the contact between our lips. He grabs hold of me, taking my full weight, and spins us around before backing us onto the other kitchen bench—the one that borders my kitchen and dining room.

  I try to get closer to him, but our bodies are already flush against each other. I move on to his clothes, pulling his sweater up. As it comes up over his shoulders, we have to stop kissing for it to pass over his head. But as soon as it’s clear, Darren brings me in close again so we can kiss. I run my hands over his chest, back, arms and stomach, reveling in the sensation of smooth, hot skin under my fingers.

  He starts unbuttoning my shirt and then pushes it gently over my shoulders. His fingers run over the small plaster patch there and he stops kissing me, but keeps our foreheads pressed together.

  “Oh, Soph…”

  “I know.” When Darren was shot I was with someone else. I was attracted to Darren and I cared about him, but we’d only known each other for a few days. Now, even before today, it would be completely different. If it had been Darren who had been shot two weeks ago I would have been going out of my mind. He tried to express it in the hospital but I brushed him aside.

  I tilt my head back and bring his lips to mine again, eager to pick up where we left off. After a couple of minutes he undoes my bra and starts kissing and caressing my breasts in between kissing my lips.

  As each second goes by I want him more and more, more than I’ve ever wanted any man before. I can feel him against me, but it’s not enough. I undo his belt and jeans, pushing them over his slender hips, and then I pull him closer again. I can feel him step out of his jeans, one leg at a time. My pencil-line skirt has already ridden up my thighs and onto my hips, but I pull it up more. The sensation of his skin on mine, so close to me, makes me go even wilder.

  I pull him closer and then inside m
e. We both let out a deep breath.

  “Oh, Sophie,” he says into my ear.

  It’s Darren who comes to his senses first. “Condom.” The word rushes out of his lips on an uncontrolled exhale.

  “Uh-huh,” I murmur, not wanting to stop for anything.

  He lifts me up and carries me to the living room, and then lowers me down onto the floor, using one hand to hunt around in his bag. Soon he comes out with a condom.

  I’m usually sensible, but this time the few seconds seem unbearable. “No,” I gasp as he unlinks us, tears the condom wrapper and rolls it on. He’s fast, and the whole procedure takes less than ten seconds. We both let out a sigh of relief, or maybe just of lust, as we reposition ourselves. It feels different, not as good, but the seconds helped me come to my senses a little more. At least Darren was thinking.

  I flip us over, my knees on either side of him, and we hold each other close as I writhe on top of him. After a while, his breathing becomes heavier, and the thought that he’s about to orgasm topples me over the edge, too. His groans are followed closely by mine, before our bodies are still.

  We caress each other, silent for a little while, before Darren says, “I’m sorry. I’d wanted it to be a little more romantic…tender.”

  I push off the ground and let my face hover above his. “Darren, that was perfect.” I smile. “We can do tender later.”

  He laughs and I watch as his beautiful dimples form.

  “Man, your dimples are sexy.”

  “Really? I always thought they were too boyish to be sexy.”

  “No.” There is a boyishness about Darren, and I remember thinking when I first met him that he looked like a boy who’d grown too fast for his body, but now that boyishness has become sexy. I like his long limbs, and today I’ve unearthed good muscle tone on his naturally slender frame.

  He runs his hand along my face. “You’re so beautiful.” He sighs. “I’ve wanted this from the moment I first saw you.” He laughs. “You certainly put an end to my wicked ways. I haven’t been able to think about another woman since I met you.”