Black Karma

by Thatcher Robinson

  Chapter 7

  Lee and Bai took an elevator up to the sixth floor of Barrows Hall. They stepped out into an empty corridor and walked down the hall to Room 623. A nameplate read, “Daniel Chen Ph.D.” She rapped on the hard metal of the door with bare knuckles. No one answered. She pounded a couple of times with the flat of her hand, but there was still no response.

  Lee grabbed the door handle and twisted. Surprisingly, the knob turned. He queried Bai with raised eyebrows. She nodded, and he pushed the door open.

  A desk rested on its side. Papers covered the floor. Upended chairs littered the room. Two bodies lay sprawled, face up, amid the jumbled mess. The smell of feces and urine choked the air.

  “This couldn’t be good,” she observed.

  In a tentative manner, Lee asked, “Do we run, or do we report?”

  She turned her head to gaze down the empty hallway then looked up at blinking red lights encased in black plastic domes. “There are closed-circuit cameras on the ceiling. Plus, there’s no way that clerk in administration is going to conveniently forget us. Why don’t you check these guys for a pulse while I call the police?”

  “I make it a rule not to touch dead people,” he informed her. “Dead people fit into the same category as horses. But you needn’t worry. See the way that guy’s neck is bent the wrong way? He’s definitely dead.”

  She looked at him soberly and shook her head. “Fine. Be that way. You call it in, and I’ll check for signs of life.”

  Stepping into the office, she walked around the papers and books strewn across the floor, trying not to disturb anything. She dropped to one knee next to the first victim, the one with the crooked neck, and pressed two fingers against the hollow of his throat. “He’s cold. This one’s been dead for a while. No blood I can see. I’m not a medical examiner, but from the looks of him, I’d guess he died from a broken neck.” She leaned over to look at his hands. “His knuckles are scraped.”

  “He’s a big man,” Lee observed. “I don’t suppose he went down without a fight.”

  Lee’s assessment matched hers. The stiff appeared to be Latino, over six feet tall, and probably weighing more than 250 pounds. Muscle wrapped his arms as if he’d been a weight lifter. His clothes didn’t tell them anything. He wore jeans and a black sweatshirt with the sleeves torn off.

  She stood to walk over and check the second body. Not as large as the first victim, he too looked to be Latino—skinny, wearing a wife-beater T-shirt and a red bandana wrapped around his head like a sweatband. His arms were also ropy with muscle. The stiff rested on his back with his hands around his neck where his nails had raked the flesh raw. She reached down and checked for a pulse. Cold skin met her fingertips. She could tell he’d died long before they’d arrived.

  “This guy’s blue underneath his tan,” she said. “His eyes are red. It looks like the little blood vessels burst from lack of oxygen. From the way he’s scratched his throat, I’m guessing he suffered a crushed windpipe.”

  “Both of them are tatted up pretty heavily,” Lee said, referring to the numerous tattoos on their exposed arms.

  “I noticed the tattoos, but I can only guess what most of them mean. You can see they’re both flying the number fourteen on their shoulders.”

  “The fourteenth letter . . . ‘N,’” Lee stated, “for Norteño.”

  She nodded and stood to carefully retrace her steps out of the room.

  Lee spoke into his phone. “I’d like to report two bodies discovered in Barrows Hall on the UC Berkeley campus, Room 623. Yes, that’s correct. They’re definitely dead. Take your time. They’re not going anywhere.”

  After closing his phone, Lee turned to Bai as she expressed a theory. “I’m guessing they came here looking for Professor Chen, just the way we did. Do you think they found him? If so, do you think he killed them?”

  Lee shrugged. “If that’s the case, maybe we’re lucky we didn’t find him.”

  “Something about this doesn’t feel right. Whoever killed those two had to be a professional. A neck on a man that big doesn’t snap easily. My gut’s telling me something is all wrong about this.”

  Lee shook his head. “You’re making too many assumptions.”

  “You’re right. I’m getting ahead of myself.”

  They didn’t hear the approaching sirens. The concrete walls in the interior corridor acted as sound barriers. It wasn’t until officers skulked down the hall with weapons drawn that Bai and Lee realized the police had responded to their call in record time.

  “Put your hands up and face the wall,” the first officer ordered in a loud voice.

  Startled, they both stared at the officers. They slowly raised their arms to put their hands against the wall, spreading their feet in anticipation of the requisite pat-down.

  Lee spoke before the officers reached them. “I have a revolver in a holster under my left arm. The concealed carry permit is in my wallet inside my jacket pocket.”

  As one officer roughly jammed a gun barrel into the back of Lee’s neck, a second reached around to yank the gun from his holster. Bai could smell their fear as the officers hurriedly frisked Lee then more gently patted her down. They failed to find her knife in the sleeve of her jacket.

  The first officer spoke into a communication device clipped to his shoulder as he peered into Daniel Chen’s office. “The scene is secure. Send up the paramedics.” When he’d finished, he turned his attention back to them. “You can put your arms down and relax. I’m sorry if we scared you. We have to take precautions when we respond to a potential murder scene.”

  Neither Bai nor Lee replied.

  The officer looked at them expectantly then frowned. “Why don’t we step down the hallway, someplace out of the way, where we can talk?”

  They followed the officer down the hall to a cross corridor. The second officer held a gun at his side and followed them. As they turned into the side corridor, two paramedics carrying field kits and accompanied by more officers raced past in the direction of Chen’s office.

  The leading officer turned to face them. “My name is Sergeant Meadows, Berkeley Campus Police. May I see your identification, please?”

  Lee handed the officer his wallet. Bai produced a driver’s license from the breast pocket of her jacket. The sergeant looked at her information then at Lee’s license and gun permit before handing Lee back his wallet. The officer held their identification up for them to see. “You’ll get these back before you leave. What can you tell me about the bodies you found?”

  “They’re dead,” Bai offered.

  “That’s not very helpful,” the sergeant replied with a deepening frown.

  “They’re cold,” she added.

  “So you entered the office and made contact with the victims?”

  “How else could I determine they were dead?”

  “You don’t seem very upset. Most people would be visibly shaken at discovering a couple of cold stiffs,” Sergeant Meadows observed.

  “I didn’t know them,” she responded.

  “Nor did I,” Lee added.

  The sergeant crossed his arms and stared at them. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not being completely forthright with me?”

  Bai looked to Lee, who shrugged.

  “Fine,” Meadows relented. “Can you tell me what you were doing here in Barrows Hall?”

  “We’re looking for Professor Chen,” Lee said.

  Bai nodded her assent.

  “Why were you looking for Professor Chen?”

  “Because he teaches Asian Studies,” she replied.

  Lee nodded.

  “And you’re looking for him because . . . ?” the sergeant urged.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” she asked.

  The sergeant looked at her blankly.

  “I’m Asian.”

  Lee nodded enthusiastically. “Me, too.”

  The sergeant looked at them as his lips drew into a thin line. “Officer Randle,” he said, addressing the policema
n still holding a gun at his side. “Take these witnesses down to a squad car and make them comfortable in the backseat until we can make inquiries and get statements.”

  Officer Randle motioned with his free hand for them to precede him. He didn’t point his gun at them, but he didn’t put it away, either.

  The squad car proved to be reasonably hospitable, except for the locked doors and windows and the metal screen separating them from the front seat. They settled in to wait while remaining silent, aware the dash camera might have been left running to record their conversation.

  More than an hour later, Sergeant Meadows approached the car and opened the rear door. He ushered them out with a sweep of his arm. “We’ve reviewed the digital evidence from the hall cameras and run your licenses. Your story checks out. We got a call from SFPD vouching for you.” The officer paused to nod at them in acknowledgment, his demeanor more deferential. “I don’t have any reason to hold you, but if there’s anything you want to tell me about the two stiffs in Professor Chen’s office, now would be a good time.”

  “Have you talked to Professor Chen?” she asked.

  “We haven’t been able to contact him. I don’t suppose you know where we can find him?”

  “We’d hoped to find him here,” Lee answered. “Have you checked his home address?”

  “Officers have done a safety check at his residence, but there was no response. We’re pursuing a warrant, but that takes time.” Giving them a meaningful look, he handed them back their identification and Lee’s gun as he spoke. “Here’s my contact information, in case you remember anything,” he said as he handed Bai a business card. Before she could grasp the card, the sergeant flipped it. An address had been scrawled across the back. “Inspector Kelly at SFPD asked that I assist you in any way possible. I’m sure you’ll keep me informed if you find anything.”

  She nodded as she tucked the card into the pocket of her jacket along with her driver’s license. “Have you been able to identify the victims?”

  “They were carrying identification. We have names and addresses, but we don’t know why they were in Chen’s office or why they were killed. When the medical examiner works up a time of death, we’ll have a better idea of when they died. We’re still looking at video from the cameras.”

  She patted her pocket holding the sergeant’s card. “Thanks for the card.”

  Sergeant Meadows frowned before speaking. “When a brother asks for a solid, you do what you can. Kelly vouched for you. That address is the best I can do.”

  Lee exchanged a questioning look with Bai. She had her own misgivings. They were obviously being maneuvered into investigating Chen’s whereabouts. The police had literally invited them to break into a private residence. Her gut instinct told her to walk away, but she couldn’t do that. Giving up wasn’t in her nature.

  Chapter 8

  Daniel Chen lived in a cottage in the Berkeley Hills. The neighborhood behind the campus featured scenic walking trails and picturesque parks. Narrow streets wound through wooded hillsides. Houses blended into the natural landscape by using organic materials like shingles and stone. Many of the homes were architecturally stunning, if you could find them.

  Lee pulled off the road at a widening of the street allocated for parking. The Coupe de Ville barely squeezed into the shallow set-aside. Bai followed him in exiting the car via the driver’s door.

  “Are you sure this is it?” she asked.

  He looked around at the surrounding woods. “According to my GPS, this is the address Sergeant Meadows provided.”

  Trees and bushes screened the hillside to obscure whatever lay on the other side of the foliage. A path, paved with stones, wound through shrubbery to disappear into lush greenery.

  Bai nodded at the trail, the only visible access through the verdant growth. “I think it’s the yellow brick road for us, Dorothy.”

  Lee didn’t look happy. “I don’t like anything about this. I don’t like the fact we’re here at the behest of the police. I don’t like that we’re on our own in an isolated neighborhood. And, I don’t like all these trees. They make me nervous.”

  “Wasn’t there a poem about how wonderful trees are?”

  “You’re probably referring to the poem by Joyce Kilmer. I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree, A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast, et cetera, et cetera,” Lee recited. “With all due respect, it’s pretty obvious Joyce Kilmer wasn’t worried about snipers. Do you realize the word ‘ambush’ contains the word ‘bush’? Coincidence? I don’t think so.”

  She nodded sympathetically. “If the trees scare you, you can always wait for me in the car. Of course, you might miss out on the chance to finally meet the mysterious Daniel Chen. I have to admit, I find myself more than a little curious.”

  He scowled. “I said I was nervous, not scared.”

  He turned to lead the way. As he stepped onto the path, he reached into his jacket and pulled out his gun, which he kept at his side pointed at the ground. Bai’s eyes scanned the dense foliage as they walked in a generally upward direction. About thirty paces up the hillside, the path opened into a large clearing surrounded by evergreen trees. In the center of the clearing sat a very large stone cottage. An asphalt drive meandered down the hill from the other side of the residence.

  “The road must loop around,” Lee observed. “I think we’ve managed to come in the back way.”

  “That’s the problem with GPS. It can’t tell the back door from the front.”

  The house looked like a storybook dwelling made of gray stone and rough-hewn timber with a red slate roof. A second story boasted gabled, leaded windows looking out over a green expanse of lawn. A cloudless day allowed the sun to bathe the clearing in light. Serene and secluded, the house was set apart from the world, a secret hideaway in the forest.

  “Being a professor at Cal must pay well,” she said distractedly. “Let’s take a look around before deciding whether or not to announce ourselves.”

  They walked to the side of the house where the black asphalt driveway ended. A late-model Lexus sedan sat in the drive next to the entrance of the home.

  Bai looked from the car to the house. “The reasonable thing to do is knock on the front door and see if anyone’s home.”

  “I agree,” he replied.

  Lee slipped his gun into the holster inside his jacket as they walked yet another stone path leading to the front entrance. They stepped up onto a porch covered in gray slate, where he pressed his finger against a doorbell set into the wood trim of an arched doorway. They waited, but no one answered. He pushed the bell again. When no one responded, he put his hand on the wrought iron handle of the door and pushed. A bolt clicked and the door opened.

  He turned to her. “Haven’t we been here before?”

  “This does have a certain sense of déjà vu all over again.”

  He retrieved his gun from its holster, this time bringing the pistol up to his waist. He let the barrel of the gun lead the way as he stepped through the doorway. She slipped her knife out of the sheath in her sleeve and palmed the blade at her side as she followed.

  They stepped into an entry hall of sculpted hardwood walls and granite flooring. To the right, a large formal living room touted overstuffed furniture facing a fireplace massive enough to stand up in. Lamps, appearing to be real Tiffany, sat on end tables. The place smelled of money.

  Lee gestured with his head toward the back of the house to let her know the direction he intended to go. She jerked her head up to indicate she’d take the top story. Separating wordlessly, they moved quickly and silently to search the home.

  She stepped on the edges of the treads to avoid squeaking boards as she carefully worked her way up the stairs on the balls of her feet. When she reached the top of the stairwell, she opened the first closed door to discover a guest room with a bare closet and empty shelves.

  Two more empty bedrooms and an unoccupied bath led her to th
e one remaining door at the end of the hall. She entered a large master suite that looked to be three or four times the size of the other chambers. A big four-poster bed with heavy red curtains anchored the center of the room. Curiosity drew her in as she pulled a curtain aside to reveal rumpled quilts and red satin sheets.

  A click . . . the safety catch releasing on an automatic weapon froze Bai where she stood. A woman’s voice from behind queried, “Can you think of a good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you?”

  Bai thought for a moment. “I can think of a lot of reasons you shouldn’t shoot me. Where would you like me to start?”

  “You can start by turning around,” the voice ordered.

  She turned to face a very pretty woman, probably in her early- to mid-twenties, Chinese, and naked. Being naked didn’t seem to bother her.

  “Who are you?” the woman demanded.

  “Bai Jiang. I’m looking for Daniel Chen. The door was open.”

  The hammer ratcheted back on the small automatic pistol in her hand. “None of those is a good reason.”

  Bai hastily replied. “If you want a really good reason, how about a man standing behind you with a gun?”

  The woman grinned. “Nice try.”

  The sound of Lee’s cocking his pistol managed to get her attention. Bai smiled and shrugged. The naked woman frowned as the barrel of her gun dipped before coming up again indecisively.

  She gestured with the gun in Bai’s direction. “He shoots me. I shoot you.”

  “Works for me,” Lee stated flatly.

  Bai frowned. “I have a better idea. How about nobody shoots anybody? This is all just a big misunderstanding. We’re here to make sure Daniel Chen is all right. Two men were found dead in his office this morning. People are concerned for his well-being.”

  The woman looked torn. She stepped away from Bai but kept the gun trained on her. “How do I know I can trust you? If I lower the gun, you could kill me, or worse.”

  The comment struck Bai as odd. “What could be worse than being killed?”