The Killing Hands (12 page)

I
swing by the fifteenth floor to pick up Agent Hana Kim.

“Sorry I had to keep pushing the time back.” I rang her twice to change our meet time while I was going through the ViCAP results.

“That's okay. You're onto something?”

“Maybe.” I play coy, still wanting to confirm my theory with medical backup and someone more knowledgeable about the Ten Killing Hands. In the elevator I glance at my watch. “Hopefully we'll make it before school breaks.” It should take us about forty minutes to get to Montebello High School, but at this time of day an hour is more likely.

“Even if we don't, Ms. Kim and the other teachers will probably hang around for a little while.”

“Did you call them?” I ask Agent Kim.

She shakes her head.

“Good.” The elevator doors open and I lead the way to my car. “How long you been working with the Gang Impact Team, Agent Kim?”

“Two years now. I worked in our San Francisco office for a couple of years before I was assigned to the Safe Streets program and L.A.”

I nod. “You like it?” I unlock my car and slide into the driver's seat.

Once she's in the car she replies, “Yeah. Plus my sister lives in L.A., so it's nice to be around her.”

“You guys close?”

“Uh-huh. We live together and all.”

“That is close.” I drive out of the parking lot and head west on Wilshire Boulevard.

“Yeah.” She pauses. “The people in the Gang Impact Team are real nice, too. Especially Joe. He's awesome.”

“Do you work with him a lot?” I wouldn't mind finding out more about Joe De Luca, including why he and Petrov seem so chummy.

“When I first came to L.A. he was my partner. Then he got promoted and now he only consults to the task force. But I'm still one of his official reports.”

“What's he like?”

“He's good at what he does, but he can have a laugh, too. You need that, especially if you're doing surveillance.”

“I hear you.”

Surveillance is dead boring ninety-nine percent of the time. It's all about sitting on your ass waiting for something to happen. And even if something does happen, you mostly just take a few photos, ready for analysis the next day. I know a lot of cops prefer it to canvassing an area or a building, but I figure even if you're asking the same questions over and over, at least you're out and about. Not sitting in some freezing or boiling car, hoping that if all hell breaks loose your legs aren't asleep from hours of inertia. Give me the door-knock any day. Still, surveillance can be an adrenaline-high if something goes down on your watch.

“So what did you think of the Saito file, Agent Kim?”

“Please, call me Hana. Calling everyone by last names is so macho.”

I shrug. “There are more of them than us.”

“Tell me about it. DEA's only got around twelve percent female agents. And you don't want to know the percentage of Asian females.”

I laugh. “I can imagine. If it makes you feel better, I'm the only Australian in the Bureau.”

Now she laughs. “Not quite the same, but I'll take it. Sophie, isn't it?”

“Yup.” I take a right and merge onto I-405, heading south. The road is rough and in need of a major resurfacing, but how could they close even one lane of such a busy freeway? The interstate comes to a halt during peak hour as it is. “So, Saito?”

“Didn't look like a nice way to go.” Hana tucks her hair behind her ears.

“No. Give me a bullet any day. Well, actually I'd prefer a heart attack at the ripe old age of ninety.”

Hana laughs. “I'm with you on that one.” She stares out the window and doesn't turn back to me until about five minutes later, when I'm taking the I-10 exit. “So you really aren't going to tell me what was so important you had to bump our meeting back?” She smiles.

I guess there's no harm in giving Hana a sneak peek.

“I've still got to confirm a few things, but my theory is that our hit man kills his targets using specific kung fu strikes that make up something called the Ten Killing Hands. And I found a few matches in ViCAP to back it up.”

“Really? How many?”

“There are eight cases that could be related, plus Jun Saito.” I pause, checking the signs. I punched our destination into my GPS before we headed off and remember most of the turns, but I glance down again now to double-check my route. For the moment its speaker is off, but I can easily flick it back on if things get hairy. “I haven't had a chance to thoroughly review each file.” I keep my eyes on the road. “If they're all related, it's nine targets over the past twelve years, and for a professional hit man that figure's quite low. Not even one a year.”

“That we know of.”

Hana's hit the nail on the head. Our hit man may have killed dozens, maybe even hundreds of victims that we just don't know about. Some murders may not be logged in ViCAP. And who's to say he always uses the Ten Killing Hands? Plus, if we are talking about an international, freelance hit man, only some of his jobs would be US-based.

I fill Hana in. “Petrov thinks our hitter may be international. Flying in from overseas for each job.”

She doesn't seem surprised. “Maybe somewhere in Asia? That'd tie in with the martial arts skill.”

I shrug. “Could be. But you don't have to live in China to train in kung fu and to know the Ten Killing Hands. I mean, I know them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I train three times a week. Going for my third-degree black belt later this year. What about you?”

She shakes her head. “I never got into it. My folks sent me for tae kwon do lessons when I was about eight, but it didn't take. I quit after a year.”

“Well, you've got to enjoy it, right?”

“Yup.” She looks in front again. “The ViCAP results sure sound promising.”

“More victims, more crime scenes…more information on our killer.”

 

Finally at 4:00 p.m., I swing into West Cleveland Avenue from Twenty-first Street, hitting the outskirts of Montebello High School. “That's it.” I nod toward the high school and slow down to a crawl, looking for a parking space. We cruise by the main entrance, which features
Home of the Mighty Oilers
in large lettering on the wall. The homage includes the team's mascot, a man with overalls and a paintbrush in hand. I park just around the corner, on Twentieth Street.

“TV parking,” Hana says.

“What?”

She laughs. “We got a parking spot right out front. And in L.A., that usually only happens on TV…TV parking.”

I smile. “I like it.”

We head toward the buildings, following the signs to reception.

“Do you speak Korean?”

“Yeah, but not as well as I should…according to my folks, at least.”

I smile. “It's hard to maintain when you're brought up in an English-speaking country.”

“Yeah. My parents always spoke Korean at home, so at least I could practice.”

I pull a heavy wood-and-glass door open and we're greeted by a matronly woman on the phone. She gives us a nod and puts her forefinger up, letting us know she'll be with us soon.

Within less than a minute she's off the phone, giving us a huge but somewhat labored grin. “Good afternoon, ladies. What can I do for you?”

Hana makes a move for her ID, but I put my hand on her arm and fish out my ID. I want to confront Mee Kim into telling us as much as she knows, but a DEA badge at a school could cause her too many problems for my liking. Hana seems to jump with me on the logic, immediately retracting her hand.

I hold my ID open. “I'm Special Agent Anderson from the FBI, and this is Special Agent Kim.”

The woman eyes the ID, her curiosity instantly aroused. “Yes?”

“We're here to see Ms. Mee Kim.” I put my ID away.

“I'm afraid Mee's not in today. She called in sick this morning.”

“Oh.” That is interesting. I wonder if our visit yesterday afternoon had anything to do with her sudden illness. At least her absence will make it easier for me to speak to those around her. “How about your principal? He or she in?”

“Regarding?” Her voice has a ring of authority, one that would work on most people.

“I'm afraid I'll need to talk to your principal about that.”

She nods reluctantly. “His name's Graeme Merry.” She dials an extension on her phone. “Graeme, you've got two FBI agents to see you. Something about Mee…Okay, will do.” The receptionist looks up. “You can go on through. Second door on your right.” She points down a small corridor.

“Thank you.”

I knock on the designated door, which is also marked Principal, and a deep male voice says, “Come in.” Graeme Merry stands as we enter. His five-ten frame is lanky and everything about him looks weathered—his skin, his posture, his facial expression, his clothes. He looks anything but merry. He moves to us quickly, holding out his hand. I take it and introduce myself, then Hana, again leaving out which agency she works for.

“So, what can I do for you?” He moves behind his desk and motions to the two seats in front.

“We're investigating a murder that took place in Little Tokyo five nights ago and we believe Mee Kim may be able to help us with our investigation.”

“Really? How?”

“We've found a connection between the victim and Ms. Kim.” I decide not to give him any more details at this stage.

“Didn't Phyllis tell you? Mee's not in today.”

“Yes, she did tell us,” Hana says. “But we'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's okay.”

He seems puzzled, but nods.

Hana kicks it off. “Have you noticed anything unusual about Mee Kim's behavior recently?”

“Um…” He considers the question. “No, can't say I have.”

“She hasn't seemed happier or sadder, or preoccupied…or anything like that?” I press.

He shakes his head. “Not that I noticed. But you should talk to Doris Huntova. She and Mee are close. I'll get Phyllis to track her down.” Merry picks up his phone and relays the request.

“How long has Ms. Kim worked here?” I ask, even though I know her police check was five years ago.

“Five years. Straight out of college.”

“And you're happy with her? As an employee?”

Merry seems to think my question is a little strange, but he's emphatic in his response. “Absolutely. She's a very good teacher. Popular with the students and staff alike. And all her kids are doing well in math.” He pauses, rubbing his
fingers across his lips in contemplation. “You don't think she's involved in anything—” he searches for the word “—untoward, do you? I run a tight and clean ship. My teachers must set an example for the students.”

Hana reassures him. “No, not at all. We're just hoping she can help us, that's all.”

He nods, the relief evident.

There's no point sullying her name if she is an innocent bystander. If things change later and we discover she's involved in blackmail, Principal Merry would find out when we indict.

“Anything else, Agents?”

Hana and I both shake our heads.

“Doris will be here soon.”

“Is there somewhere private we can talk to her?”

“There's a small meeting room opposite my office.” He points to the door. “You can use that.”

I nod. “One more thing, Mr. Merry. Do you know what's wrong with Mee today?”

“Phyllis took the call at around seven this morning. Apparently she sounded miserable. Nasty cold.”

There's a knock on the door and a stunning woman in her late twenties comes partially into Merry's office. Huntova has long, glossy brown hair with a slight wave, with two clips keeping it out of her face and eyes. Her face is sculptured, with dark soft eyes and pouty lips. She's dressed conservatively but appropriately for such an attractive woman teaching young boys. She wears loose but well-cut navy blue woolen pants and a matching cream twin-set on top. She glances at us, then at Merry. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes. These are Agents Anderson and Kim from the FBI. They'd like to talk to you about Mee.”

“Mee? Is everything okay? Is she okay?”

I keep my face expressionless, but note with interest Huntova's assumption that Mee's well-being may be in question. “Everything's fine, Ms. Huntova,” I say. “We've just got a couple of questions for you.”

She seems relieved, but also a little confused.

Hana and I stand and both thank Mr. Merry before ushering Huntova into what turns out to be a small meeting room with a table and six chairs crammed neatly into the space.