Russian Hill (Abby Kane FBI Thriller - Chasing Chinatown Trilogy Book 1)

by Ty Hutchinson

  He stood up quickly and adjusted his jacket. “It’s nice to properly meet you, Abby. I hope to see you around,” he said, smiling, completely oblivious to the barb he had thrown my way earlier. I hoped it wasn’t intentional.

  I politely said goodbye and headed back to my car. It was time to pay my friend, Dr. Timothy Green, a visit.

  Chapter 6

  Detective Pete Sokolov sat at his desk with butcher paper spread out. He was busy picking pieces of flesh off an entire dried mackerel.

  Kang waved his hand in front of his nose. “I should have known you were the source of that smell.”

  “I’m Russian. This is my people’s food. And anyhow, you eat that fermented fish sauce. It’s worse smelling than this.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t eat it every day.” Kang leaned back in his chair and watched his partner and best friend since high school tear away at the fish like a lone piranha. “Hey, remember that lady from the other day? The short Asian one?”

  “The one that took our guy out? Yeah. She’s a looker, that one. Why?”

  “I ran into her again at the dim sum shop.”

  “Maybe she’s following you to make sure you don’t need help,” Sokolov said before letting out a low laugh.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Kang waited for the big man sitting across from him to calm down. “I’m serious here. Something’s been bothering me since that day, and I finally figured it out after bumping into her again. She reminds me of someone we know.”

  “You talking about that inspector from a few years ago?”

  “That’s exactly who I’m talking about. What was her name?”

  Sokolov scrunched his eyebrows. “Chu, Chee—”

  “Choi! That’s her name. Inspector Choi.”

  “What about her?”

  Kang shook his head from side to side. “She just really reminds me of her. I don’t know why.”

  “Maybe it’s because she’s short, female and Asian.”

  Kang rolled his eyes. “It’s more than that.”

  Sokolov gripped both flaps along the gut of the fish and tore it open, revealing more of the flesh. “You’ve seen this woman twice, and you think you know her.”

  “Eh, it’s a hunch. Forget about it. What’s new?”

  “Cavanaugh wants to know where we’re at on those two bodies that popped up last week.”

  “I think we have to tell him what we’re thinking.”

  “You remember what happened the last time we went that route?” Sokolov spit a bone between his two fingers before brushing his hands together.

  “Yeah, and we were right.”

  “I’m not so sure he remembers it that way, regardless of what ended up happening.”

  <><><>

  “Are the two of you trying to blow my diet? You know damn well that food is my go-to in stressful situations.” Captain Richard Cavanaugh stood there behind his desk with both hands on his hips, his belly hanging over the front of his belt buckle and his face projecting a look of disbelief.

  “I’m just saying that findings are pointing this direction and we think we need to start looking at one guy here,” Kang answered evenly, not wanting to worsen the situation any further.

  “I’m not seeing it. Make it clear for me.”

  Words sputtered out of Kang’s mouth as he sat perched on the edge of the chair, waving his arms like a conductor who was desperate to keep his symphony from straying. “This isn’t random,” Kang continued. “The killer knows what he’s doing.” He held up a hand and began a count. “Our male vic had almost all of his gold teeth removed. His other jewelry and money was left untouched. He wasn’t beaten. There were no witnesses. He died quickly from a knife across the neck. Our second vic, she had her finger removed—”

  “She was robbed. According to her husband, there was a diamond ring on her finger,” Cavanaugh blurted.

  “Hold on. If that’s all the person wanted, why kill her? Why leave a body that could come back to bite them in the butt? A true robber doesn’t want that headache.”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to be identified.”

  “Nah, it’s too easy to steal and get away with it. An older white woman like that probably thinks all brown people look alike.”

  “I’m not buying it, but please, continue,” Cavanaugh said.

  Kang brought his hand back up and continued to rattle off his reasons. “She had other jewelry on her, all of it left untouched. She was also killed quickly and efficiently with a knife to the neck. I’m telling you, this person knows how to kill. The mutilation of the body is part of the ritual.”

  “So you’re saying this killer is randomly targeting people and mutilating their body afterward in some weird way?”

  Kang nodded his head. “Yeah, I am.”

  “And what about you?” Cavanaugh looked at Sokolov. “You got anything you wanna add, or are you going to sit there and transfer your thoughts to me telepathically?”

  Sokolov gritted his teeth. “I agree with everything my partner says.”

  “Right. Of course.”

  Cavanaugh couldn’t argue with Kang’s assessment. It was textbook profiling, and the facts actually made a case for it. He sat down behind his desk, pissed at the idea of another possible serial killer in his neck of the woods.

  Kang gave his partner that I-told-you-so look. Right before they entered Cavanaugh’s office, he mentioned, “This will piss him off, but not because innocent people are in danger. He doesn’t want the attention the word ‘serial’ would bring to the case.”

  He was right. Having a serial killer brought the scrutiny of the higher-ups. Plus they were harder to catch.

  “The last time I suggested Chinatown had a serial killer, I was right,” Kang said, breaking the silence.

  “I remember,” Cavanaugh spat. “I also remember that you had help closing the case.”

  “It would have been easier if you hadn’t forced me to work the cases separately for so long,” Kang fired back. He held Cavanaugh’s gaze.

  Sokolov saw that the situation was at a standstill. He stood up and clasped his hands together. “Okay. We continue working the case on our assumption, and you get us some help.”

  With that said, he turned and walked out of the office.

  Chapter 7

  Traffic that afternoon wasn’t much of a problem. I used Polk Street to cut across town, and it rewarded me with traffic light jackpot. I smiled at the green signals until I reached Market Street. The medical examiner’s office was located on Bryant, only a couple stops farther.

  I hadn’t seen Timothy Green since my last visit regarding a dead DEA agent. I received a couple of follow-up emails from him, and that was it. He was a nice man, however eccentric at times, and I did look forward to seeing him again. On my way over, I called his office to let them know I would be there shortly, hoping to avoid a long stay in their dull waiting room.

  When I entered the office, Green was waiting for me with a smile. “Hello, Agent. I’m happy to see you again,” he said, a hair above a whisper. He waited until I got closer before extending his hand.

  “Good to see you, too, Doctor.” His hand was soft but cold.

  He looked like I remembered. Shaggy brown hair, Ben Franklin specs, earring in the left ear, and a height that I was fond of: about even with mine. His lab coat still looked two sizes too big—his hand disappeared like a turtle’s head when he lowered his arm.

  “So you’re here about the hiker?”

  “I am.”

  We stood there a bit longer—him smiling, me wondering. “Can I see the body?” I finally asked. Quirky doesn’t even begin to describe this guy.

  “Yes. Follow me, please.”

  Green led me down the same corridor I remembered from my last visit. As our footsteps echoed in the sterile hallway, he was more interested in hearing about my morning than in talking about the body.

  “My day’s been okay so far,” I said pleasantly. “I have no complaints.”

  “W
ell, I hope it stays that way.” He stopped and pushed open a door, allowing me to enter first. Before I could even react to the smell, he handed me a bottle of lemon oil.

  “I remembered,” he said, grinning at me like a golden retriever that had just brought the ball back.

  “Thanks.” I smiled and dabbed a bit under my nose. He pointed to the first autopsy table, sparing me the walk by the other five tables, each with a corpse.

  “Busy day, huh?”

  He looked down the row of bodies. “Yes, it’s that time of the year.”

  “What time of the year?”

  “Dying time.” He smiled at me. “Medical examiner joke,” he said as he chuckled to himself.

  I chuckled. “What can you tell me about the girl?”

  He pulled back the green sheet, revealing a nude woman with a large gash in her chest. “I’ve only just begun my investigation, so forgive me if I can’t yet answer every one of your questions. Now, as you can see, the victim received direct, sharp force trauma to the chest area by a small axe.” He looked up at me over his glasses. “You’ve seen the picture of the weapon?”

  “I have.”

  He pointed at the gaping wound in Piper’s chest. “The opening is clean, and I don’t mean hygienically. Well, it is clean, because I cleaned it but that’s not what I mean. What I’m trying to say is the victim received one blow. You see, repeated blows don’t always follow the same course of trajectory; some are off to the left while others are a little off to the right. That can leave a jagged edge around the wound.” He took a large forceps and ran it along the edge of the opening. “You see how straight that is?”

  “Yeah. So the attacker killed her with one chop?”

  “Well, yes. But the amount of damage caused by this one-time blow needed to be enough to kill the victim quickly. Now, it is possible to survive a blow to the chest with an axe. And that reason is because most people don’t understand how hard it is to drive an axe this far into the body.” He waved his index finger at me. “Don’t believe what you see in the movies.”

  Green picked up a chest spreader, which basically looked like a pair of large, stainless steel, salad tongs, and stuck it into the wound, prying it open.

  “Come closer. See how deep it is?”

  I leaned over for a better look, my face now inches from Green’s. When I didn’t hear more observational notes coming from the doctor, I turned my attention to him and found him looking directly into my eyes.

  “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way,” he started, “but you have a most unique green hue to your eyes.”

  Green had caught me off guard, even more so since we were clearly deep into each other’s personal space. I expected an observation about the body, not my eye color. “And the victim? What do you think about her?”

  Green smiled sheepishly. “Oh, yes, the entry point. The depth of the trauma is what I find interesting. Here, the axe not only penetrated the sternum, which is no small feat, but it then severed the superior vena cava and the inferior vena cava, the two large veins that move blood into the heart. It continued right through the lower two ventricles of the heart and even cut into the primary bronchus of the right lung. With this sort of damage, the victim died within seconds.”

  I leaned back, having seen enough. “So what does that mean? That our killer is a guy? A big strong one?”

  “No, not necessarily,” he said, removing the tongs and allowing the gap to close. “When I said it’s possible to survive an axe wound to the chest, I said that because the sternum, or breastbone, normally would have served its purpose and prevented the blade from entering the chest very far. Unlike a pointy object, an axe, even though the blade is quite thin, has a larger surface mass. The larger the object, the more force needed to penetrate.”

  “I’m not sure I’m getting the point you’re trying to make, except that a strong person did this.”

  “What I’m saying is yes, you need a lot of force, but not a lot of strength. If you, Agent Kane, took an axe, wound up and swung as hard as you could, you would probably do the same damage we see here. The key is knowing you need to wind up.”

  I smiled at Green, realizing what he was trying to tell me in his puzzling way. “This isn’t the first time our killer has swung an axe into a person’s chest.”

  “It’s the only way he would know to wind up. A first-timer wouldn’t think to.”

  Green’s observation told me one thing: I had a possible serial killer on my hands and my one-off homicide just blew up into a big deal. I thanked Green for his time, and he promised to update me on his findings but said he’d already told me “the juicy stuff, no pun intended.”

  Before I exited the autopsy room, he stopped me. “Excuse me, Agent Kane.”

  I looked back. “Yes?”

  “Would you mind having dinner with me?”

  With a question like that, I sort of expected him to stutter, or look away, or fidget with his pockets or pen, but he didn’t. He just stood there, totally relaxed with his eyes holding still on me.

  For the second time in one day, Dr. Timothy Green had caught me off guard. He was a nice person but not the type of guy I normally found myself attracted to. Not that my track record with men is anything to brag about. I had to admit, though, his boldness impressed me. “Would you accept a cup of coffee instead?”

  If I had disappointed him with that answer, he certainly didn’t show it. He only smiled and nodded before saying he would be in touch.

  Chapter 8

  While I had made decent progress that first day, I hadn’t anticipated that my victim might be connected to others. I had a lot of work ahead of me but I knew the drill. Boy, did I know the drill.

  Initially, I had thought about calling it a day and heading home but decided otherwise after my visit with Green and dropping the laptop off at the bureau. It was nearing four in the afternoon. If I hurried, I could get a jump on the Golden Gate Bridge traffic. With sunset nearing eight, I would still have plenty of daylight to survey the crime scene.

  One of the park rangers at Muir Woods had left a detailed map of where the body was found, but I wasn’t in the mood to play find-the-location. I put a call in to the ranger, and he said he would meet me at the park office near the entrance.

  Forty minutes later, I was removing a duffel bag from the trunk of my vehicle when I heard a voice call out. “Agent!”

  My head turned to the left, and a bearded man in a uniform about thirty yards away waved at me. He wore the standard, gray shirt and dark green pants with that all too familiar Smokey hat. He also had a smile that projected a good distance. I waved back and headed toward him. He waited with both hands on his hips.

  “Thanks for meeting me.” I extended my hand. “I’m Agent Abby Kane.”

  “It’s not a problem,” he said, giving me two prompt shakes. “I’m happy to help. I’m Elijah Finch, but you can call me Finch. Everyone around here does.”

  “How did you know I was the agent?”

  “You’re the only one wearing a suit. I have to say,” he motioned to my feet with his eyes, “I’m a little concerned about your lack of proper foot gear.”

  I held up my duffel bag. “I always keep a change of clothes in the trunk in case something like this happens. If you have a place I could change quickly, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Sure thing. You can change at the office and leave your belongings there.”

  Finch let a couple of eager tourists slip by us on their way to see the tallest living things on earth before moving forward.

  “How late is the park open?” I asked as I followed.

  “Well, daylight savings just went into effect, so we’re open until eight every night.”

  “Do people normally stay so late?”

  “Oh, yeah. The park is very popular. I’d say right now there are about a hundred people hiking along the main trail and thirty or so still on the outer trails.” He looked down at his watch. “They have three hours to get out, or they’
re spending the night.”

  “Is that allowed?”

  “Camping and picnicking in the park aren’t allowed, but there are trails that go in and out of the park and lead to a few camping areas. Have you been here before?”

  “I have, actually. I’ve brought my kids a few times, but we’ve always visited in the morning and only for a few hours.”

  “That’s very typical for most visitors.”

  He led me into the park’s office and pointed out the bathroom. There, I made my quick change into a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, cross trainers, and a hoodie.

  “Be sure you use the bathroom while you’re in there,” I heard him call through the door. “It’ll take us about forty-five minutes to get to the location.”

  Finch wasn’t kidding when he said forty-five minutes. The hike wasn’t hard, and it was scenic; I can’t say I didn’t enjoy looking at the tall redwoods. The woods smelled fresh and seemed untouched by mankind. I almost forgot why I was there. We approached a sign stating the trail was unsafe and hikers needed to turn around.

  “What’s wrong with the trail?” I asked.

  “Nothing. We were instructed to keep people from trampling through or near the crime scene during the investigation. We didn’t think draping the area with yellow tape was a great idea. An unsafe trail works better as a deterrent; people won’t think there’s something exciting to look at and sneak in for a peek. The location is up ahead and off to the left.”

  We walked another thirty feet, and then Finch led me off the trail and around a large boulder. We traversed the uneven ground for about fifteen feet before we spilled into an open area. It was beautiful, perfect for a private picnic.

  “I take it this isn’t part of the trail.”

  “It’s not. She must have noticed it during her hike.”

  “I wonder how many people know about this spot.”

  “Not many. There is virtually no wear and tear on the ground.”

  How on earth did Agent House stumble upon this place? I knew at some point I would need to hear the story straight from her. I scanned for anything unusual as I walked the area. I stopped when I came upon the area where the victim had died. The leaves on the ground were still stained with her blood. I noticed a few boot prints. There was no mention of them in House’s report, so I figured trampling law enforcement had left them.