by Keene, Susan
“I think someone is serious about killing you two and anyone who gets in the way. Your truck had a pipe bomb attached to the muffler, and Kate’s car had some sort of device under the driver’s seat. This is not a good situation, and I am placing you under my protection until it’s over.”
“Until what’s over?” Ryan asked. “We don’t have a clue what this is all about.”
“Well then, we had best figure it out. I want the two of you out of St. Louis, out of the country would be best. And for good measure, take that one with you.” He nodded toward Amy.
“Okay, let’s just talk this over,” Ryan said. “I, for one, am not going anywhere, and I think the ladies feel the same. I have many resources, Roger, and I will surround the three of us with men if I have to.”
Roger looked worried. “Does that include a sweep of all the cars and homes until we find out what we are up against?”
“Sure, why not?” Ryan was clearly agitated. I could hear it in his voice. “Amy, I have a new plan. Instead of involving your mother in this, we’ll go by your house, get your things so you can move in with Kate. Okay, Kate?”
I was having trouble following the conversation. My ears were still ringing and the parts of my body that had hit the building were throbbing. “Sure, but what about you? You’re not safe either.”
“Okay, Roger.” Ryan turned his attention back to the cop. “We’re all three going to move into the apartment. From there, we’re going to figure this out and put an end to it once and for all.”
I didn’t remember anything after that. I must have passed out. When I opened my eyes, I was lying in my own bed. Noises drifted in from the living room. I didn’t bother to get up. Never in my life had I ever been as exhausted, confused, and sore as I was then. I wish I hadn’t heard them. I didn’t want to think about death and bombings and finding Lizzy Smith today. I wanted to sleep, so I turned over, put my pillow over my head, and blocked everything out.
I don’t know how long I slept, and I couldn’t remember what happened at the hospital. When I did drag myself out, I went straight to the shower and stood there, letting the hot water run over my bruised and battered body until it ran cold.
Neither Amy or Ryan looked up when I finally made it to the living room. Ryan had his head buried in my laptop, and Amy was at the kitchen table with Digger in her lap and a stack of papers in front of her. I shuffled over to the coffee pot and poured a cup before either realized I was there.
“Hi,” Amy said.
“Hi.” I pulled the chair out across the table from her and sat down. “What are you working on?”
“I’m looking at the reports from the fire. Ryan called one of his friends and, viola, these babies showed up about an hour later.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “It’s gruesome reading. How does it feel to sleep around the clock?”
“Did I? I had no idea.”
“Almost.” Ryan came over and sat with us. “It’s almost three. You fainted at about eight last evening so you have several more hours if you need them.” He grinned at me. “Are you feeling better?”
I yawned. “Yes. I heard you both talking out here earlier and I felt disloyal, for a moment, for not coming out, but I just couldn’t.”
Ryan smiled at Amy. “I understand.”
“So do. I,” she added.
Ryan rubbed his head. “I just called Louis Pizza and a couple of the men went over to pick it up. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starved.” I nodded toward the laptop on the coffee table. “What are you working on?”
“Trying to find some information about Jasmine Wu. I don’t know if we’re going in the right direction because I can’t find a record of her death. It’s as if she dropped out of sight. ‘Poof,’” he breathed, barely audible.
I shook my head, hoping to clear the fog. It only made it hurt worse. “How long ago?”
Ryan put both hands on the counter and leaned forward. “That’s the strange thing. No credit card charges or cell phone records, but, also, no death notice or death certificate. I can, however, pin it down to within four months of Michael’s murder.”
“So we think it has something to do with her,” Amy said.
I needed to lie down again. “Do you think something happened, and she got worse?”
“It was six months before the first killing that the last Wu painting sold.” Ryan seemed excited. “We’ve got our first solid lead.”
“This is all very strange,” I said.
About then the buzzer sounded, and we all looked toward the elevator.
“That would be Doug with the pizzas and beer. I’ll get it.” Ryan walked toward the elevator, and I got up to get plates and napkins.
Amy followed along to help, and Digger lapped up water they had put down for him in the kitchen.
“I need to take the dog out.”
“No.” Ryan said flatly. “Doug will be up in a minute. He’ll do it. I don’t want you out.”
Amy rose. “Okay, let me get his lead,” she said, heading for the guest room.
I could hear Ryan chatting with his security man, asking him to walk the dog. I noticed early on in my friendship with Ryan that he never told anyone who worked for him to do anything. He always asked politely and said thank you. Another mark in the plus column for him. I ran into many rich people during my years in the public service and I knew this was not the norm.
We must have been hungry. The three of us polished off two large pizzas and several beers. I felt renewed from the food and mellowed from the beer.
After Doug brought the dog back upstairs and gave a quick report on the dog’s business and the business of the day, he left. We all sat in the living room and discussed the evening before and what they had learned. I just listened.
The four people from the restaurant had been treated and released. They had all given carbon copy reports to the police about what they had seen and heard. Ryan and Amy assured me that I was awake for the entire event. I didn’t remember any of it.
According to them, the hospital checked me over and dispensed some medicine for my ears. The ER doctor said it could take weeks before the ringing completely went away. He must have been wrong because it was barely noticeable now.
The young man who threw the canister was in lock-up, while they did a background check and found out if his story was true. No one knew who was actually behind the bombs--another dead end.
Lizzy’s car was processed. The only fingerprints in it were hers. The police had a surveillance unit at her apartment. There was no other news, good or bad, about her. The Illinois State Police went door to door in the neighborhood where they found her car. No one saw anything. If they did, they weren’t telling.
Amy groaned as she got up from the couch.
“Does it hurt pretty bad?” I asked.
“No. Luckily, the glass didn’t go in very far. It’s just hard to rest, and if I forget and lean back, I rub the stitches.” She walked like the glass might still be in her.
“Ouch.” I said.
“I’ll live. My biggest concern was my mom. They released our names to the media a few hours after the bombing. I was afraid she would hear about it before I had a chance to tell her I was all right. I would imagine our cell phones are in a million tiny pieces.”
“I took the liberty of ordering you both new phones,” Ryan said. “Doug will bring them as soon as he can. Worst thing is not having the numbers and names you need.”
“I have mine backed up on the office computer. You do too, don’t you, Amy?” I asked.
“Sure do, but I sure feel lost without it,” she said.
“What do you think happened to the Wu woman?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, “but I think our next step is to find out who her relatives are, find out why no one has seen or heard from her in over three years.”
“Odd,” I said.
Amy tried to get comfortable. “Down right creepy.”
“When I Goo
gle her, her relatives come up as Stanley Wu, Martha Wu, Daniel Wu, Sammy Johnson, and Donald Rain.”
I looked at Amy. “Don’t you think it odd that you went to see a Sterling Woo? Too close for comfort for me. Maybe he was trying to get information, or thought we would all come together and he could kill us.”
“Don’t let your imagination run wild,” Amy warned. “Why wouldn’t he just say his name was Stanley Wu? We wouldn’t know about his daughter. It’s all too vague to put together.”
Ryan was listening but his hands were flying over the keyboard on my laptop. “There’s no listing for a Sterling Woo in St. Louis or on the East side.”
“Try JasWoo Imports,” Amy said.
Ryan looked up from the computer. “No, nothing. There is, however, a Stanley Wu Enterprises in Granite City.”
I moved over next to Ryan. “What do they do? Can you pull up a business profile?”
“I’m sure I can,” he answered.
While we waited, Amy played with Digger, I got up, cleaned up our pizza mess, and wiped off the counters in the kitchen. I wasn’t all that neat but, after all, I had company.
“I have it.” He beckoned us over to him. “Stanley Wu Enterprises, Importers of fine Chinese products. Paintings by modern Chinese masters, Wang Zhen, Wu Guanzhong, Chen Shizehg, and American-born Chinese painter Jasmine Wu. Sculptures by detained Chinese artist Ai Wei Wei.
“‘We also offer the Hongqi Fifteen luxury sedan, Beluga Caviar, and the Prolly grille. We have also added Panda Tea and Kou Chun Cha mouth-lip tea, picked by the mouths of virgins.’”
Amy laughed. “You made that last part up.”
Ryan grinned. “No, I swear, it’s right here, come look.”
I did and it was. “Do they give an address?”
He pulled up a map. “Yes. It’s in the 1500 block of West First Street.”
“Amy, what is the address where you visited Sterling Woo?” I knew it wasn’t a fluke.
I looked at Amy just in time to see all of the color drain from her face as she read from the business card. “1509 West First Street, in Granite City.”
“Okay, what’s this all about?” Ryan asked.
“After the shooting in your garden,” Amy said, “we got three or four new client requests. Kate was busy with Andy’s funeral and trying to stay alive. I went through the new list and did the usual background checks. Sterling Woo passed everything. Now I have to admit, we don’t go real deep. So I went to talk to him. He wants us to watch his business because he thinks someone is stealing. Said he wanted to be discreet so his employees wouldn’t know he suspected anything was going on.”
“Why wouldn’t he use his real name, I wonder?”
“Got me. He’s a strange man. The offices are on the second floor of a warehouse I would guess at least a million square feet. He had several clerks and a woman who seemed to be his personal assistant. Of course, I only called him Mr. Woo, so if it is indeed Mr. Wu, they wouldn’t know the difference and neither would I.”
Amy made sense.
The detective in me took over. “What else do you remember about him?”
“Well, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Everybody in the place was dressed up but him. He had on a silk running jacket and sweatpants. Looked like he just got off the running trail, but his belly showed he has probably never run a step in his life. He’s about five feet, six inches and has light hair. Chinese usually don’t have light hair so I’m guessing it’s dyed.”
Ryan got up and retrieved a photo from a file on the dining table. “I realize this is from the back, but could it be your Mr. Woo?”
“Yes, I think it could. Where did you get this?” Amy asked.
Ryan tapped the picture with the tips of his fingers. “It’s from the gallery, the day Lizzy went missing. She had words with this gentleman before she disappeared.”
“What are we going to do? Should we call Roger and get the police involved?” I was ready to go back to bed.
Ryan took out his cell phone. “No, not yet. Tomorrow you’ll call Mr. Woo, and let him hire you to watch his business. Meanwhile, I’ll get a couple of my men to watch him. We’ll find out where he lives. I think he’s the answer to finding Lizzy.”
Amy and I nodded in agreement.
We were sitting around resting, each of us content to sip the glass of wine I poured for us, when the intercom came on, and we all jumped. “I’ll get it.” I said.
“Better let me. It’s after eleven. If it isn’t one of my men, then it’s someone we don’t want to see anyway.” He walked over and pushed the button so he could talk. I couldn’t hear everything, but a few minutes later Doug was standing in the entryway with two boxes and the office computer. Ryan came back with everything and sat it on the dining room table. “New phones and the computer from the office so you can download your info.”
“How did he get in the office?” Amy asked naively.
“We have our ways,” he answered.
Ryan looked up at and me and smiled, then turned to Amy. “Amy, Douglas formed a bond with Digger and is asking if he needs to go for another walk.”
Amy picked up her little fur-baby. “Yes, I’ll get his stuff.”
Forty-five minutes later--no Digger, no Doug.
CHAPTER 21
R yan tried to call Doug’s cell phone.
No answer.
He phoned Ted Davis.
No answer.
Marlin Fanning and Bobby Johnson were elsewhere watching Ryan’s house and Amy’s mom’s place. There was no other choice but to call Roger Simon. He said he would send a squad car, and he would be there himself in ten minutes.
We waited.
Ryan paced and Amy worried about Digger. I felt sick, and responsible, just like I had since I realized my actions the night of the fire had probably caused this entire tragedy.
It seemed like forever before we heard sirens. Ryan went down when he was sure the police had arrived. Kline had worked for him for years. Ryan was visibly upset. I snapped my gun on my waist and began walking behind him.
“You should stay up here where you’re safe.”
“No, you should. This is my fault entirely, and I’m going to put a stop to it.”
“That’s very noble, but going out into the danger of the night isn’t going to solve anything.”
I didn’t bother to say anything else. I put both hands on my hips and gave him my most defiant look.
“Jeez, Kate.”
His body language screamed defeat. When he stepped into the elevator, I walked in beside him and called back over my shoulder, “Amy, I’ll be back with Digger as soon as I can.”
If Amy answered, her retort was lingering on the other side of the closed door.
The street was once again lit up like it was noon instead of midnight. Police cruisers kept pulling up, and neighbors came out of their apartments and houses in droves. What a sight.
Ryan went to talk to Fanning and Robertson who showed up together. He looked over at me and mouthed, “Stay put, please,” while they joined the police in the search for Doug and Digger.
Reluctantly, I nodded, but then I heard a noise to my left and was compelled to walk toward it. Digger! His leash was hung up in a big bush. He whimpered and shook.
When I tried to free him, he snapped at me. I talked to him in my best pet voice, but he was having no part of it. I didn’t want to leave him alone to go get Amy, so I went to the other side of the bush where I thought he went in and pulled with all my might. He came loose and was so scared, by that time, he jumped into my lap.
I put the loop of his lead over my hand to my wrist and then wrapped it around about three times. The dog was not going to get away from me. A Saint Bernard couldn’t get away from me the way I had him tethered.
Something hit me. It wasn’t a person. It was a stick, a stick with a point on it. Thank goodness, it went through the fleshy part of my arm and didn’t hit anything vital. It struck with such power it knocked me to the ground.
The force of the impact sucked all the air from my lungs. My vision faded to nearly black. I struggled to stay conscious and closed my eyes to concentrate. I needed air. I felt someone standing over me. I opened my eyes but couldn’t lift my head. There were boots and black-cuffed trousers. I tried to look up but the pain in my arm as I lifted my head sent me into a panic. Whoever it was touched me. I wanted to scream!
I had no air.
I had this feeling once before when I was in the third grade. I had run as fast as I could, jumped for the top rung of the jungle gym, and missed. I hit so hard my lungs were completely empty. I remember thinking I was going to die.
My lungs expanded ever so slightly. As I became more aware, the pain intensified.
“Are you okay?” It was Ryan.
“Yes.” It came out as a faint whisper.
“You just couldn’t stay put.” He tried to sound angry, but it came out as concern.
“Dog.” I sounded stronger.
“Was the dog worth getting hurt over?”
I pulled on the lead to make sure Digger was still there. “Yes.”
He kissed my cheek and sat beside me. I heard him say into his cell phone, “We need a paramedic over behind the sumac. Same kind of injury, but not as serious.”
I wished I could sit up. “What happened?”
“Doug’s pinned to a tree with one of those sticks clear through him. He’s awake and talking but they’re waiting for a doctor because they’re not sure whether it will increase his injury to remove it.”
“Someone was here,” I whispered.
“Obviously.” He patted my arm and wiped the sweat off my forehead with his shirt sleeve. “What did he look like?”
“I only saw feet and pant legs. I wanted to look up but I couldn’t. The shaft hit me with such force it knocked me to the ground. I lost all my air.” The energy I expended to say all of that made me dizzy again.
“Can you describe the boots and pants?” he asked.
“Black suede boots above the ankle, cuffed legs on the trousers.”
“Think about it. Did you have the impression it was a fat person or a thin one? Were they woman’s boots or men’s? Were they woman’s slacks or men’s trousers?” He fired the questions at me like a professional.
