“Rico,” she said. “We got trouble. Call it in!” Meagan drew her weapon and exited the car.
“Meagan!” Rico called after her. The doughnut box fell off his knees, contents scattering over the carpeted floor. “Shit. This better not be a wild goose chase. You sure you saw somethin’?”
“Yes! What the hell are you waiting for?” Meagan yelled through the window. “Radio for help.”
Rico raised dispatch on the police band. “This is Asante. We have a possible intruder at the Tasoto Residence. Send backup now.” He pulled out his gun and joined Meagan on the front drive. “We stick together. Watch each others’ backs.”
“Hey! I know the drill.” Meagan tried to sound confident, despite being anxious as hell on the inside.
Rico nodded and beckoned Meagan to follow. He led the way, moving slowly along the side path. The experienced patrolman checked walls and bushes while Meagan covered the rear. In contrast to Rico’s soft footsteps, Meagan’s were loud and clumsy. She staggered backwards along the gravel path, too afraid to look where she was going. A killer could be lurking in the darkness waiting to strike, and Meagan didn’t want to leave herself exposed.
It was a relief when they reached the rear garden. The soil was solid, and Meagan had an easier time maintaining her balance, though her gun still wobbled in her unsteady hand. She cursed herself for being so impatient for action. Providing directions to tourists was hardly thrilling, but it was far less intimidating than pursuing a murder suspect.
“Only one way in,” Rico said, studying the garden’s layout.
Meagan checked possible routes into the house. All but two were sealed tight, and the planks nailed across the broken French windows were intact. “No sign of forced entry,” she informed her partner. “The intruder’s still outside.”
“If there is an intruder.” Rico made no attempt to conceal his skepticism.
The two officers swept the backyard, working side by side to cover ten thousand square feet of grass, shrubbery and garden ornaments. Shadows constantly shifted shape with the trees, and the wind chilled Meagan to the bone. It was like being in a horror movie, cast as the helpless victim of an unknown stalker. Meagan’s stomach churned, and her pulse rate quickened. She could sense someone watching, but a thorough search of the grounds failed to reveal an intruder.
Not counting the house, there was only one place left to search: the dojo structure. Rico signaled Meagan to cover him, crawled on all fours, and peered beneath the wooden foundation. A squirrel scurried between the support stilts, scrounging for food in the dark brown soil. There were no other signs of life, animal or otherwise.
After declaring the coast clear, Rico stood up and grabbed the dojo’s door handle. Meagan took position at the bottom of the steps, ready to open fire if necessary. Rico flexed his fingers and pulled back the sliding panel, to be greeted by nothing except darkness on the other side. He looked around for a light switch, but couldn’t find one.
“You stay outside,” he told Meagan. “Make sure no one sneaks up from behind.”
The rookie was troubled by his blatant deviation from protocol. “Rico, aren’t we supposed to stay together?”
“Cover the rear, damn it. You hear anythin’, and you come in. Else stay put. It’s dark in there. Don’t want you shootin’ at me by mistake.”
Before Meagan could argue, Rico entered the building alone and vanished into the shadows. Reluctantly, the rookie did as he asked. She stood with her back to the wall and watched the garden. Had Meagan looked up at the dojo roof, she might have seen the attack coming.
The two-footed lunge caught her totally by surprise. The unseen attacker kicked Meagan between the hips, sending her flying forward. Her skull cracked against the hardened soil. Meagan lay paralyzed, unsure whether it was the blow to the head or sheer terror that prevented her from moving a muscle. Someone dressed in a black leather jumpsuit stepped on Meagan’s hand, and kicked away her gun. The weapon slid across the grass, out of reach.
“Rico!” Meagan screamed, face contorted in pain. “Rico!”
The attacker wrapped a thin wire cord around her throat and pulled it taut, silencing her cries for help. The young officer kicked and struggled, but it was to no avail. She was still weak from the initial blow, and the strong-armed killer had no trouble dragging her underneath the dojo. Meagan heard thumping above, and saw Rico’s feet on the front steps.
“Meagan!” he yelled. “Meagan! Where are you?”
The intruder tightened the wire garrotte around Meagan’s throat. She attempted to call out to her partner, but the words choked in her mouth. Strength fading, Meagan flung her elbow at the attacker’s face, knocking off the biker’s helmet. The pale-skinned blonde woman threw Meagan back and shifted on top, effectively pinning her to the ground.
Rico paused by the discarded gun. “Meagan? Meagan!” He shouted her name several times, running frantically back and forth.
“Your partner seems lost,” the attacker whispered, pulling her garrotte even tighter. “If only you could call for help. Aren’t bodyguards supposed to protect people? Try starting with yourself, you skinny bitch.”
Meagan clawed at the wire around her neck, gasping for breath. Her vision spun, and she saw a glowing white light on the horizon. She punched and kicked, but her blows were timid and increasingly desperate. After a minute-long struggle, Meagan relaxed and slipped into a peaceful, endless sleep. The last thing she heard before passing out was a psychotic, girlish chuckle.
***
Jade waited thirty seconds before loosening her garrotte. Though the redhead had stopped moving, the killer wanted to be sure she wasn’t playing dead. Satisfied the cop wouldn’t miraculously spring back to life once she let go, Jade released the girl and retrieved her helmet. Taking on armed opponents had felt rewarding, despite her victim being physically weak and inexperienced. The fun of strangling a policewoman to death under her partner’s nose had made the trip worthwhile. Now it was time to deal with the fat man.
Jade crawled to a decent vantage point, unzipped her jumpsuit, and unsheathed her katana. The Hispanic cop had stopped chasing shadows. He was standing twenty feet away, panting with exhaustion. Jade found it ridiculously easy to sneak up behind Rico and tap him on the shoulder.
The Mexican turned around. “You almost gave me—”
Before the cop realized who he was talking to, Jade sliced off his weapon arm. Rico screamed in pain as blood poured from his severed elbow, turning the frosty grass from white to red. The detached limb fell at Jade’s feet, fingers twitching around the pistol grip. She chuckled at the fat cop’s plight, watching him limp about the garden.
Jade knocked Rico onto his back with a high kick, and plunged her sword down into his stomach. The blade passed through into the soil, pegging him in place.
“Meagan was looking for you earlier, Rico,” Jade said. “Calling your name.” She lifted Rico’s three remaining limbs, snapping each in turn. “Too bad you couldn’t hear her.”
Rico’s screams gave way to babyish cries. “No. Don’t kill me.”
Jade dragged Meagan’s corpse from under the dojo, and dumped it face up in the garden. She stripped the dead policewoman of her uniform, removing her shirt, trousers and shoes.
“Your partner’s so beautiful,” said Jade, straightening Meagan’s hair. “That’s why I strangled her. I wanted to avoid tarnishing her face. I know what it’s like for a young woman to be robbed of her dignity, to suffer abuse from those in power. To be taken advantage of. I didn’t want to put Meagan through that. None of this applies to you, Rico. You’re an ugly bastard.”
Rico’s eyes widened in horror as Jade gripped her sword hilt. She stood on his chest, using the leverage to pull her katana free.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not going to kill you. I need you to give a message to your friends on the police force.”
Jade grabbed Rico’s chin, held it steady, and carved four characters into his forehead. Blood th
ickened around the cuts. The killer’s message was clear. 18-A.
***
Kyle hadn’t seen Candy Watson in seven months. The curvaceous, sandy haired marketing analyst had gained a few pounds since then, but still attracted many a bachelor’s eye as she walked into Luca’s Bistro. The Italian restaurant was popular with dating couples, featuring live stage music and an award winning wine list. During peak hours, it was essential to reserve a table in advance.
Kyle straightened his tie, making sure he looked presentable. He thought it strange that Candy had gotten in touch again. She had, after all, made it quite clear their relationship was over. When Kyle first met her, Candy was a rising star at one of the city’s prestigious electronics firms. They became romantically involved following a chance meeting in a coffee bar. Many of Kyle’s previous girlfriends had found what he did for a job scary, but Candy was different. She took great interest in his work, and actually enjoyed the company of a man who lived dangerously.
Or so Kyle had believed. He recalled the fateful evening when he’d brought a bouquet of daffodils to Candy’s apartment, only to discover her in bed with an older man. Her secret lover turned out to be vice president at her company. Candy was having an affair with her boss to further her career, and had no scruples with dating two men at once. When Kyle confronted Candy the following day, she dumped him without so much as an apology. Her love had been a charade.
Now Candy had expressed a desire to see Kyle again. On the phone she’d said she regretted her mistake. Obviously things hadn’t worked out too well with the VP. Despite her romantic flip-flopping, Kyle had accepted Candy’s invitation to buy him dinner. He was disappointed not to be eating with Nicole instead, but she needed some time alone, and Kyle had the evening free.
“Are you ready to order?” inquired their server.
“Yes,” said Kyle, returning the menu. “The lady will have the Pasta Supremo with a Caesar Salad.”
The waitress jotted his choice down in shorthand. “And you sir?”
“He’ll have the same,” Candy answered for him. “And to drink, we’ll share a bottle of your Golden Creek Cabernet.”
Candy handed her menu to the server, waited until she and Kyle were alone, and unbuttoned her jacket. “Pasta Supremo. That brings back good memories.” She was recalling their previous visit to Luca’s Bistro, some eight months ago.
“And a few bad ones. How’s… Terence doing?” Kyle stalled on purpose. He hadn’t forgotten the name of his competition.
The waitress brought a bottle to their table, uncorked it, and poured two glasses of wine.
“Terence is doing fine,” Candy said after the girl left. “Though you know these corporate types. They can be extremely dull.”
“I’m sure there are exceptions. So what’s the story behind our sudden reunion?” Kyle raised his glass. “What are we honoring tonight?”
Candy responded to Kyle’s toast, clinking her wine glass against his. “To adventure. That’s what I miss the most, Kyle. Your detective stories.”
“My stories? Things aren’t so glamorous in the real world. Believe me.”
Candy stroked Kyle’s hand. “You’ve taught me a trick or two about police work, like how to be observant. I don’t see a ring around your finger. So, you still haven’t tied the knot? I’m surprised some woman hasn’t snagged you by now.”
“I’m still looking for the right girl.” In his mind, Kyle weighed Candy up against Nicole. “Someone beautiful, exciting, mysterious.”
“And do I fit that description, Detective Travis?” asked Candy, sipping her wine.
Kyle’s cellphone rang before he had the opportunity to answer. “Pardon me,” he said, reaching inside his jacket. “It’s probably my partner. She usually calls when it’s inconvenient.”
Candy gave Kyle an inquisitive glance. “She?”
“I never mentioned Lakeysia? Don’t worry. She doesn’t even qualify for your league, and she’d never mix business with pleasure.”
“I bet you would,” replied Candy with a seductive smile.
Kyle frowned when he saw the caller ID. Curiosity got the better of Candy, and she leaned across the table. Kyle tried to conceal the information on his phone’s LCD screen from her, but he wasn’t fast enough.
“Who’s Nicole?” Candy asked. “Do you mix business and pleasure with her?”
For a second Kyle considered telling Candy a little white lie, then he realized Nicole could be in trouble. He turned away from his date and took the call. “Everything okay?”
“Detective Kyle Travis, Homicide.” The woman’s icy introduction turned Kyle’s knuckles white. Her voice was unmistakable. “I like your business card. It’s nice and official. You should have chosen your bodyguards more carefully.”
Candy slammed down her glass in anger. “Hi, Nicole,” she shouted into Kyle’s phone. “I’m the girl he stood you up for.”
“Shut the hell up, Candy!” Kyle yelled, covering the phone.
Candy gave him the finger, gathered her belongings, and stormed away from the table.
Kyle’s thoughts were elsewhere. “What do you mean?” he asked the psycho woman, though he’d already connected the dots. Kyle waited for her answer, terrified of what it might be.
“Did I catch you at a bad time? I’m so sorry. And to think Nicole trusted you. Instead of being here to protect her from me, you’d rather have supper with Candy. Is she sweet, detective? She sounds like it.”
Kyle was losing patience. “Where’s Nicole?”
“It wasn’t very smart placing her life in the hands of an overweight Mexican and a silly girl who should have stayed in high school. Now it’s just her and me.”
“You’re bluffing.”
The killer chuckled. “Come on, Detective. You know me better than that. You’ll find your dead colleagues in the back garden, next to your lady friend.”
“You touch her and I swear—”
A dialing tone rang in Kyle’s ear. The caller had hung up on him. Either she was lying and wanted to test his nerves, or she really was planning to kill Nicole. Kyle put neither possibility past this audacious woman. He threw payment on the table, left the restaurant, and informed dispatch of the situation. The Tasoto residence was on the other side of town. Even if Kyle drove at top speed, there was no chance of reaching Nicole in time.
***
Jade methodically tore Travis’ business card into tiny pieces, then blew the confetti off her leather glove. As the strips floated to the ground, she replaced the telephone receiver on its stand. It was amusing how the detective had unwittingly given his nemesis a personal cellphone number. Now she could reach him whenever she wanted. Threats on Nicole’s life were definitely his weakness, one Jade intended to exploit as the game progressed.
The killer treaded carefully past the broken wood and glass, wreckage from the shattered French windowpane. The barricade had yielded easily to Jade’s sword, but her presence in the house had triggered a motion sensor alarm. The loud shrieking sound reverberating through the mansion halls was designed as a deterrent to intruders, but Jade knew the police wouldn’t arrive for a few more minutes. Even though Detective Travis would have radioed for reinforcements, there was plenty of time to do what was needed.
Jade exited to the entrance hall, drew her katana, and climbed the staircase to the upper floor. She had spent four months training in preparation, and moving silently had become second nature. A small child would have made more noise than her. From outside the house, Jade heard screeching tires and wailing sirens. The front downstairs windows flashed blue. As expected, the dead girl’s colleagues had come to save her.
Uniformed grunts were too predictable to be anything more than a slight nuisance. They would search the garden, then the lower floor rooms, and finally upstairs. Jade would perform her final act, and disappear long before anybody found Nicole. The killer smiled in triumph. Her detour had been a resounding success. The cops had tried to stop her and failed miserably.
Despite all the hints Jade had given them, they still didn’t have a clue who she was.
Chapter Eight: Mourning the Dead
Outsiders tended to categorize Americans as either rich or poor, but those who rented places on Telegraph Hill were somewhere in between, wealthy enough to live downtown but unable to afford anywhere nice. The view from Lakeysia’s third floor apartment was better than those from ground level, but not by much. While some of her fellow residents could see Coit Tower and Bay Bridge, her window looked upon a derelict hotel building across the street. Lakeysia hadn’t dusted or vacuumed her place in a month. Regardless of how often she cleaned, new dirt always replaced the old.
The evening news broadcast had featured a special report on the growing number of girl gangs in inner city Los Angeles, a statistic the presenter referred to as “a disturbing new trend”. Lakeysia switched the television off, and took a break from her homework. She had no wish to listen to a grossly inaccurate, sensationalized account of crime in Southern California. Female gangsters were hardly a new phenomenon, and certainly not worthy of discussion. Especially after what happened three summers ago.
Memories of Carl Brewster remained fresh in Lakeysia’s mind. The two detectives had been engaged for five months, and were about to become partners in marriage as well as LAPD Homicide. They’d talked about quitting the force to start a new life in the country, away from the nightmare of South Central. A week before their wedding Carl was killed. The shooter was Mei Tan, a name that would never be forgotten by the woman whose life she destroyed.
The incident occurred during a dawn raid on a suspect’s residence. Lakeysia, Carl and four other cops were after Lao Ching: a Chinese Triad boss wanted in connection with the murder of a nightclub owner. After a bloody shootout with his four bodyguards, Lakeysia and Carl cornered Ching in his bedroom. A naked, Oriental girl cowered behind the bed sheets, screaming as police stormed the room. Mei Tan played the part of the innocent hooker to perfection.
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