“Can I come? Please let me come. I gotta meet this chick.”
I had never known Tav to get his excited over what I was doing but deep down inside, I kind of wanted to show her off.
“Yes, you can come. But only if you behave yourself.”
“Darb, I’m not an idiot. I can act normal.”
“Okay, we’ll grab dinner after work. I think you’ll dig her. She’s amazing.”
An hour later, Tav and I were contentedly overlooking a sea of empty soup bowls and plates at the Golden Flower. I sipped my tea and played with a toothpick in my mouth. Life is good. You did well, Darb.
And then my phone rang. It was Chu.
Chapter 66
The cab had barely come to a stop when Leslie pushed the door open. “Keep the change,” she said over her shoulder as she exited. She was excited about her thoughts and was anxious to share them with Kang and Sokolov. They were sitting at their desks when Leslie entered the station.
“Detectives,” Leslie called out.
“Leslie. Thanks for coming back,” Kang said.
“Can we speak in one of the interrogation rooms?”
“Sure, right this way.” He and Sokolov led the way to an empty room.
As soon as the door was closed, she dove in. “We know the killer took Sulyn and kept her alive for at least a week before getting rid of her, right?”
“Leslie, I’m not sure this is a good idea––you getting involved and all.”
“Hear me out.” She raised her voice. “This is important and might help.”
“Go on,” Kang said.
“There was no sign of rape, no sign of strange mutilation or torture, and no sign that he kept a part of her for some grotesque reason. So then why take her, go through the trouble of keeping her alive for all that time, and then kill her if there was no reason to keep her? Our guy isn’t a kidnapper. I think he questioned killing again. He’s fighting against himself.”
“This is the splitter part…?”
“Yes. It’s possible that the killer’s struggle could have been with himself. It makes perfect sense.”
“Interesting. Multiple personality disorder,” Kang said.
Leslie continued, “A few years ago I had to do some research on MPD. The easiest way to explain it is by looking at it two ways; the splitting of the mind or the splitting of the mental concepts. The first is similar to multiple personality disorder, literally two people living in one body. The other leads to seeing things only two ways. For example, good and bad, black and white, and so forth. There is no middle ground. It’s seen as a developmental stage that leads to other conditions.
“Which condition does our killer have?”
“I think he has both. People with MPD can function in normal society. If he’s a splitter, then every action or thought has only two outcomes. In this case, our killer’s thoughts are split between good and evil.”
“So half of his decisions are good?”
“Normally it would be, but I think the evil side of his personality is the dominant and it’s choosing to see everything through evil lenses.”
Chapter 67
The sun had already dipped down beyond Nob Hill, casting Chinatown into an early night. Wisps of our gray friend began to appear. It was a little after six thirty, and Tav and I were chilling outside of Mr. Fu’s waiting for Leslie.
“Okay, okay I got one for you,” Tav said proudly. “Would you rather give Harold five hand jobs, each after a sweaty gym workout, or partake in mutual masturbation with him?”
I rolled my eyes. Usually Tav was the master of the conundrum.
“Weeeeeeeeeak,” I said. “I would pick––”
“Ah-ah, wait. I’m not finished. If you choose mutual masturbation with him, you must maintain eye contact the entire time. If you don’t, you will continue to earn yourself another session until said act is done properly.”
There’s the rub: the eye contact. A true conundrum. I had no answer. Each task was equally appalling. None was the better. “You got me. I can’t decide. Each makes me want to throw up.”
Tav took a bow. “Thank you, thank you very much.”
The door to the restaurant swung open. It was Mr. Fu. “No loitering. Come inside.”
This was the first time I’ve been back since our awkward conversation. Mr. Fu appeared to be acting like his old self. I guessed things were cool between us.
“We’re waiting on a friend. She should be here any minute.”
“Ahh, girlfriend? Good. I begin to think something wrong with you. Special food tonight, okay?”
Tav and I laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Leslie asked as she approached. She looked incredibly hot in jeans tucked into knee-high boots and a sheer pink and white blouse with ruffles down the center with a sharp, form fitting black suede jacket over top.
“Hi, Leslie.” I gave her a bear hug. Behind her, I could see Tav miming his rave reviews.
“Darby, you’re crushing me,” Leslie said, squealing with laughter.
I finally put Leslie down. She pointed at Tav. “You must be Tavish, right?”
“Yes, that’s me.” Tav stuck his hand out.
She took his hand and returned a firm shake. “Darby has told me a lot about you.”
“All bad things, I hope.”
“Terrible and repulsive,” she assured him. We all laughed. Leslie turned to Mr. Fu. “You must be the extraordinary chef Darby never stops talking about. Mr. Fu, I presume.”
Even Mr. Fu was caught off guard by Leslie’s beauty. He sort of mumbled a hello and bowed. “Come inside. Eat. I fix chef’s special tonight.”
My phone started buzzing in my pocket. It was Chu again. It would have to wait.
Chapter 68
The three of them entered the restaurant and climbed up the steep metal stairs to the top floor. Leslie stopped briefly to watch Mr. Fu walk by. Why do all Chinese people look familiar?
Mr. Fu continued back toward his cooking station. He noticed Leslie watching him. What the fuck she want? He was already irritated with Darby, and now he had to contend with Darby’s friends. This woman––there was something about her he didn’t like. Something bugged him. She was pretty and a bit flirtatious but that wasn’t it.
The pressing issue, though, was how much longer he could keep the act going. The dumb, loveable chef routine was growing old. The only thing that got him charged in the morning, actually gave him an erection, was the thought of his nightly games. Who’s next on the chopping block? That’s what he lived for. The truth was, he, The Voice, had always lived for the kill. It was the Mr. Fu side of him that got in the way. But now he was gone. Silenced. Buried forever. The Voice was in full control now. Every decision was his and only his. No more Mr. Fu deciding what to say or do.
He also liked his new name. Someone had finally leaked the serial killer angle and the weapon of choice to The San Francisco Chronicle. The paper dubbed him the “Chop Chef Killer.” They nailed it, he thought.
The Voice always kept his selection of cleavers razor sharp. Above his cooking station, five cleavers hung along the wall on metal hooks. All of them were off limits to the staff. Reaching up to unhook his favorite––it was the oldest one––The Voice reminisced about how well it served him from the very beginning in Hong Kong. It had a wide, flat piece of carbon steel anchored with a wooden handle. He always thought it was beautiful and especially liked the way it felt in his hand. The weight was perfect for hacking. What a resourceful tool. It sliced. It diced. But wait, there’s more! It hacked. It skinned. It put an end to life.
Picking up a single scallion, The Voice placed the edge of the blade on top of the leaf and watched it effortlessly split the onion in two. That was the test. It passed. But The Voice ran the blade over the sharpening stone anyway.
Chapter 69
The three of us hunkered down at a table in the farthest corner for privacy. It didn’t matter though. The entire top floor was empty. I flipped over three
porcelain teacups and poured steaming hot tea into each one.
“Leslie, I hope everything is okay with your family.”
“I wish I could say everything is fine but it’s not. My sister and her family live in San Francisco…my niece was murdered.”
I reeled back. I was not expecting to hear that. I thought maybe an elderly relative passed away. But murder? I looked at Tav. His face was frozen. I struggled to find words. What to say? What does one say after hearing that?
“Is she the one posted on the flyers?” Tav uttered somehow.
“Yes.”
“What happened?” I added with as much concern as I could muster.
“Some psychopath kidnapped her and then killed her.”
I had never seen this side of Leslie before. There was no smile or laughing, instead her personality was subdued and her look was serious. Clearly Leslie’s niece meant a lot to her. I could see she struggled to keep a strong face. I grabbed her hand. “I’m really sorry. I can’t imagine what it’s like.”
“Yes, so sorry, really am,” chimed in Tavish.
The three of us sat silently, staring at the ugly brown table until a very happy Mr. Fu suddenly appeared with a large platter of noodles. It was decorated with every sort of meat you could imagine: shrimp, pork, chicken, beef, squid––nothing was spared. There were also egg rolls, Mr. Fu’s spicy, twice fried pork, Kung Pao chicken, fresh stir-fried vegetables, hot and salty Dungeness crab, a big plate of Yeung Chow fried rice and of course, chicken chop suey.
His babbling and the smell of the delicious food broke the trance we were in. Slowly our appetites found their way back to us and we ate like a bunch of piggly-wigglies. Maybe it was to overcompensate for the awkward moment. That was fine by me.
An hour passed and we three were content with full bellies. I don’t think anyone felt like moving at the moment. I managed to wrangle up another pot of tea and we relaxed around our cozy table while Leslie told us about her close relationship with her niece. Tav and I listened intently, neither one of us wanting to interrupt. Eventually there was a pause and Leslie stopped.
Trying to avoid any period of silence, I reluctantly kept the conversation about her niece going. “So will you stick around for the funeral?”
“Yes. Andy, my brother-in-law, is making the arrangements. I expect to be here longer though. There have been some recent developments in the investigation that leads me to believe our killer is targeting Chinese teenagers. The detectives assigned to the case have already worked up a decent profile on our guy. All we need to do is find the mistakes. They always make mistakes. We can nail this guy. I want to nail this guy.”
I was surprised to hear Leslie talk this way. Investigations, developments, profiling––it was straight out of an episode of Law & Order. “You sound like a cop investigating your niece’s murder,” I teased.
“I am a cop.”
Holy shit!
Chapter 70
Downstairs in the kitchen The Voice was alone. He had long ago stopped customers from coming in and sent the kitchen staff home. Over the last hour, the restaurant slowly emptied itself until the only customers left were the three sitting upstairs around their table in the corner.
The Voice quietly played with his cleavers. Fondling was more like it. He chopped carrots methodically into quarter-inch-thick discs. A few rolled off the counter and onto the floor.
That bitch. Who does she think she is? Fucking eyeing me. I can end her life if I want. I’ve killed for less. Yes, I have. The Voice once again fixated on Leslie. There was something about her. Those eyes. The way she looked, it made him feel…guilty maybe.
And then it struck him. Why didn’t he see it before? It was too simple. She was familiar looking because he knew this person. Yes it was all coming back. The rewind button doesn’t lie. You’re that cop!
The question now: Did she recognize him?
Chapter 71
Sitting next to Leslie as she told me she was a chief inspector with the Hong Kong Police Department specializing in criminal organizations would go down as my all-time, number one, top holy-shit moment ever.
I sat still in my chair, like an obedient little boy, because I didn’t know what else to do. It felt as if someone had slapped my face, ripped out my stomach and served it up to me with a healthy side of mockery. Of all the women I could have met and got involved with in Hong Kong, I got the one who was a cop. No wait…an inspector. Sonofabitch.
Tav was equally stonefaced at the news. I could see it in his eyes. He had the “Oh, shits” and the “Holy-molys,” and I prayed he’d keep it together.
“I didn’t think my profession would have this sort of an effect on the two of you,” Leslie finally said.
I managed to eek out a response. Not one I would have wanted though. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. Is it hard to believe?”
“No, it’s not. I never suspected or even thought. I mean…you don’t look like a cop. Not that you couldn’t be––you certainly are capable and smart. I didn’t mean that as an insult. I’m surprised, that’s all.”
“It’s all right Darby. Stop freaking out. I’m not insulted. Most people are surprised when they find out what I do. It’s the reason why I don’t broadcast it.” She looked at Tav and grinned. “You might want to tell your friend here to breathe before he suffocates.”
Tav still had the look of stupid clinging to his face. I gave him a shot to the ribs with my elbow to try and shake it loose.
“I’m sorry. Are you investigating us?” Tav said.
Red alert. Red alert. The Tav is taking on water and in danger of dragging us all down. It looked like Tav couldn’t shake it. He was barely functioning. Come on, Tav. She doesn’t know anything. Stop assuming the worst.
“I’m sorry. Tav sort of has a crush on lady cops,” I quickly lied.
“I see. Well that’s not a bad thing. A compliment really.”
I stretched my arms over my head and gave a yawn hoping to create a chain reaction of yawns. That’s when I noticed we were the only ones on the top floor of the restaurant. It was only nine. Where the hell was the dinner rush? Strange.
As the three of us left Mr. Fu’s, I wondered why Leslie’s being a cop should even be an issue. How could she possibly know my business? She couldn’t. And anyway, I had it all figured out. As far as she knew, I sold nuclear weapons.
Chapter 72
A few days had passed since Leslie’s big revelation. I had gotten over it, but Tav hadn’t. To him, this was a sign to get out while I could. That wasn’t going to be an option. I was in debt $30,000 and I wasn’t about to eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
I sat alone in my cubicle drinking crappy coffee, too lazy to go down to the second floor where the espresso machine lives. Tav was tied up in meetings, which I was glad for. Having to deal with him was tiresome. I spent my time pushing through a last-minute travel request. This time, the Kong would be on the company dime, not mine. Given the initial order I put through and the write-up on the growth potential of the LC Toys, Inc., I didn’t foresee the penny-pinchers at Teleco having a problem with it.
With nothing more to do, I took Tav’s advice to walk the floor and mingle with my coworkers. My first stop, the kitchen on the second floor. Time I made use of that espresso machine. As I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I ran smack into Harold. It was gross. I touched his belly.
“Excuse me, I––” he started off until he realized who he had bumped into. Harold was fresh off his R&R. Not a good way to ease back into the job.
What did I care? Maybe our little interlude would send him over the edge for good.
Harold stood there quietly eyeing me for a good five seconds before snarling a comment at me. “You must think you’re the shit now, don’t you?”
“Look, Harold, I’m doing my job like you said I needed to.”
“Yeah, well, no one suddenly becomes heavy hitter without putting in the work.”
“I am work
ing. I reeled in a big account.” I mimed reeling in a fish.
He leaned in close, his breath toxic as usual: a cross between stale beer, salami, and earwax. “I know you’re up to something. And trust me, I’ll find out what it is. Slip up, and I’ll be on you like white on rice. Fuck you if you think you’re gonna make it upstairs.”
“No, fuck you, Harold. You can threaten me all you want with your weak clichés, but there’s nothing to find,” I countered. “You can’t stop me. Watch and learn, sucka.”
With that said, I left Harold still searching his microscopic brain for a clever comeback.
I didn’t feel much like walking the floor after my encounter with Harold. When I returned to my cube, Izzy was sitting at Tav’s desk.
“Hi. It’s Izzy, right?” I must have startled her because she literally jumped out the chair.
“Oh, hi. Yes. Sorry, I was just leaving Tavish a note.”
“No worries. Take your time.”
“I’ll be out of your way soon.”
I took a seat behind her and observed.
Izzy was an interesting character, she was the last person anyone would suspect to work at a telecom company. Running a surf shop seemed more fitting, or even leading a hike across the Amazon. Today, like most days, she wore faded jeans, a pink and white Hurly hoodie with the sleeves rolled up past her tan elbows, and a white scrunchie that held her beach-blonde hair back in a ponytail. She needed to be outdoors, not trapped here with the rest of us cogs.
“Got any big plans for the weekend?” I said.
“No, not really. Probably do some surfing. I stopped by to let Tavish know.”
“Why? He doesn’t surf.”
“Yeah, I know, right? But he totally wants me to teach him.”
Darby Stansfield Thriller Series (Books 1-3 & Bonus Novella) Page 16
