by P. D. Martin
“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.
&nbs
p; “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.”
“Yes, sir,” Hana says, and Williams gives a nod.
Once they’re out of sight, Petrov nods at the door and I close it.
“Mee’s not as safe as I thought,” Petrov admits.
“No.” De Luca manages to sit down. “She may have been while Agent Young was looking out for her, but now….”
“We still can’t confirm that Young’s cover has been blown.” Petrov clasps his hands together. “And without word from Young we can’t confirm if Mee’s alive or dead.”
We sit in silence.
“Maybe Young found out Suzuki was behind the contract, and Suzuki intercepted him before he got to Tomi Moto.”
De Luca adds his voice to the theory. “Suzuki might not realize Young’s an undercover agent. He might just think he’s someone who can jeopardize his standing with Moto.”
“Either way,” I say, “Young’s in trouble.”
Quiet again.
The conversation’s path is such that I feel I can add in the next part without it sounding too left field. “What if Park Ling’s in town to kill Agent Young?”
Petrov slowly nods his head. “It’s possible that Suzuki would bring Ling in again to tie off all the loose ends…including Mee Kim. It’d give him distance from the hits and like you said, Anderson, he’s probably hoping that if they look like natural deaths Moto will never suspect his involvement.”
De Luca stands up again. “We’ve got to get Young and Mee Kim out now. They’re both in danger.”
“Agreed,” I say.
Petrov is silent on the matter, and both De Luca and I look at him expectantly.
He puts his hands in the air. “It’s just that we don’t know for sure that this mistress, Ima, isn’t alive and well in Tokyo or somewhere else. Jun Saito disappeared for fifteen years, why can’t she? Her brother may have been the one who organized for her to disappear.” He sighs. “We’ll put Takeshi Suzuki under surveillance for the next twenty-four hours.”
“But what about Park Ling?” I ask. “He might take the hit on Young in the next few hours.”
“Anderson, you think that’s likely?” Petrov says with some disbelief. “You profiled the guy.”
Petrov’s right. I’m letting my emotions run away without thinking about our hit man’s behavior. Each hit is planned, and well planned, and he’s only been in the country for six hours. Our hit man isn’t going to be rushed by anyone. And if Suzuki needs it to look like Young died of natural causes, they’ll need to find a location for the attack to occur.
“No, you’re right. He normally plans the hit for days or weeks. I don’t think he’ll wait that long this time, but we’ve probably got twelve to twenty-four hours.”
Petrov nods. “Good.” He looks at De Luca. “What was the latest report from Young on Mee’s location?”
“An address in Carson. But she’d been moved once already.”
“Okay, let’s check out the Carson address and the earlier one, too. Put them on twenty-four hour watch and see if anyone’s coming or going. If Park Ling enters either premises, or if anything else looks potentially threatening, we go in.”
“I’ll take first watch on the last address Young gave me,” De Luca says, “the house in Carson.”
“Okay. I presume you’ll take Agent Kim?”
“Uh-huh.” He looks down. “I’d like to keep her close at the moment.”
Hana can’t report in to the Yakuza if she’s with De Luca.
“And I’ll take the other location, with Williams.”
“No way, Anderson. You’re desk-bound.”
“Come on, sir. It’s only surveillance. What’s the difference between sitting in a chair here or in a car seat?”
“You know the difference, Anderson. Here you won’t have to draw down on a suspect, you won’t have to watch Williams’s back.”
“But, sir, Suzuki’s probably moved Mee and Young to a new location. One that Moto doesn’t know about.”
“Where is the other address, Joe?”
“California Heights. Another private house.”
Petrov’s silent for some time. “You can ride out there with Williams, but I’ll be sending someone to relieve you.”
“But, sir—”
“No buts, Anderson.” He looks down at his computer, not even returning my stare…or should I say glare. “I’ll organize people from the Gang Impact Team to work on shifts with you guys.”
“But what about the leak?” I ask. “What if it’s not Hana or Williams? If it’s someone in the wider Gang Impact Team, we’ll be letting them know we’re on to Mee’s past locations. Then Agent Young’s cover will definitely be blown.”
“It has to be Kim or Williams, Anderson. It’s the only thing that adds up.” Despite his words, after a few seconds Petrov lets out a sigh. “Okay. I’ll talk to Brady, get a few of our regular field agents assigned to this for twenty-four to forty-eight hours. But I might only be able to get four, which would mean twelve-hour surveillance shifts.”
“Fine by me.” De Luca is quick to respond. He’s got an agent inside.
“Me, too.”
Petrov catches me out. “You’ll be on about a one-hour shift, Anderson.”
I keep silent, resisting the temptation to argue—it’s futile.
“Okay, Joe, you give the assignments to Agents Kim and Williams and e-mail me through the addresses. At least this way we can keep them close to us.” Petrov looks at his watch. “Someone will relieve you guys at 11:00 p.m. and you’ll be on again at eleven tomorrow morning.”
Petrov’s made it nearly nine hours from now, which will make for an extremely long day for De Luca, Hana and Williams. I wish I could say the same for me—it wouldn’t be the first time I’d have to work around the clock.
I follow De Luca back to his desk and write down the California Heights address. Then we pull Williams and Hana off their task of trying to find Takeshi Suzuki’s current whereabouts and split up to start our surveillance work.
On the way to Cerritos Avenue in California Heights, Williams calls his wife to let her know he won’t be home until late.
“Petrov must be real worried about Mee Kim,” he says, “to order round-the-clock surveillance on two locations. Espe
cially given they’re only addresses of interest.”
Williams still doesn’t have the benefit of our extra knowledge—that two lives are in the mix and that these locations are confirmed Yakuza hiding spots for Mee. I’d like to tell him all this so he’s not operating in the dark, but I could be sitting next to the very person who’s been feeding the Yakuza information.
“Yeah,” I say, “well, I guess with Park Ling back in town it’s possible he’s here to take out Mee Kim this visit. Any lead is better than nothing.”
Williams shrugs. “I guess so.”
The house on Cerritos Avenue is two stories, bagged and painted white on the outside with dark blue window frames and door frames. It looks well kept, not something I was expecting of a gangster hideout. But maybe the Yakuza has high standards. We drive by, U-turn and park six doors down so we have a good line of sight of the house and its front door.
We’d stopped for some food and drinks and take-out coffees on the drive over. We both finish our coffees before Williams says, “So, what do you want first? Your cashew nuts or fruit?” Williams motions to the stash in the backseat.
I smile. “I’ll hold off for a little while, thanks.”
“I’m going to start with my donut.”
Our food choices at 7-Eleven were quite different. I went for a bag of unsalted cashews, a sandwich and my treat food of a chocolate bar. I also got a couple of Diet Pepsis for extra caffeine. Williams, on the other hand, went for pure refined carbs and sugar, and lots of it—donuts, bags of chips, several chocolate bars and lots of Coke, the nondiet variety. And that’s what will be his body’s fuel until 11:00 p.m.
As he munches into his donut I try to think of a way to convince Petrov that I’m okay for surveillance. Yes, it’s active duty, but we all know that nine times out of ten surveillance is anything but active. We don’t even know if this house has any occupants at all, let alone Mee and Agent Young.
An hour later I’m still trying to think of a work-around when another car pulls up. I recognize the occupant as FBI agent Rob Black who works under Rosen in our Criminal Division.
I sigh. “This must be my replacement.”
Williams gives me a sideways glance. “Don’t look so down, Anderson. You’re going to be sitting on your sofa tonight.”