“Possible. It makes sense. It’s hard to move very far when you’re carrying a body over your shoulder.”
“So the apartments immediately outside the alley, those are the closest.”
Kang ignored what I said and walked back to the entrance of the alleyway. Facing the street, he looked uphill and downhill.
“He’s got a body on his shoulder. Turn right out of the alley and he has a hill to face… Turn left and it’s all downhill. The building across the street doesn’t have apartments on the upper floors. He had to have turned right.”
We walked a few yards and then stopped. The second building down from the alley had apartments on the upper floor, and so did the building across the street, which coincidentally was right next to Mr. Fu’s restaurant.
Kang pointed up to the fire escapes on the building across the street. “Not much laundry hanging out to dry. Now look above us.”
There was a huge difference. Every single fire escape was covered with a week’s worth of family unmentionables. It’s not something one would notice unless looking for it.
“Families live here. Let’s assume Dad isn’t out killing people. The building across the street has fewer families, perhaps more single male tenants.”
We hurried across the street. “Are we going to search every apartment?”
“We need warrants for a search.”
“Do we have that?”
“Nope. I have something better: my Chinese.”
We climbed two fights of wooden stairs, taking them two at a time. At the top was a long narrow hallway lit with a few low-wattage bulbs. Musk was the way to describe the smell. Dank was a close second.
Kang knocked on the first door and kept knocking until the door opened. An elderly man stood in the doorway. He was still half asleep when he appeared. Kang spoke to him in Chinese very quickly and in seconds we were inside his studio apartment. Nothing here and we didn’t waste any more time.
The second apartment housed a young woman with two small children and a frail old lady sitting in a rocking chair. By the time we got to the third floor we knew exactly what to expect––either a small one bedroom or studio with a Chinese family living in close quarters. No place to hide a hostage or a body. Yet Leslie was somewhere around here.
Back outside on the sidewalk we were nowhere closer to finding Leslie and my worry factor started to climb. “What now?” I said to Kang.
“We’ve had it all wrong.”
“Great. You mean we’ve wasted a bunch of time.”
Kang looked around us, surveying the area once more. “What if he were a business owner? The stores and restaurants are much bigger than the apartments and they usually have storage spaces––that’s it,” he exclaimed.
“What? Tell me,” I shot back.
“Basements. Perfect for hiding things––they’re completely out of sight.” Kang pointed to the diamond plated steel doors embedded in the sidewalk every ten feet or so. “Each one of these slabs of metal opens up and leads down to a small storage area.”
“Let’s start checking them,” I urged.
“There’s one problem. It’s not private. Our killer likes to play with his victims. He must have access to them easily. Opening up one of these during the day ain’t exactly a covert operation.”
When I heard Kang say that, my stomach hit the sidewalk. I got to thinking all Kang wanted to do was come up with leads, so he could shoot them down. It was frustrating. How on Earth would we find Leslie this way?
Chapter 113
My God, he’s here! Terror sprinted through every bone in her body. It certainly wasn’t Leslie who chuckled.
Wi loved watching the hotshot detective from Hong Kong, the so-called Hammer, in her futile attempts at freedom. She had earned her nickname a few years back for her ability to bring her foes down fast and hard. Wi laughed again, quietly inside. No more hammer time. He watched the Hammer work to release her legs from the binding. Wi wasn’t afraid, in fact his arrogance was the reason why he didn’t bother to tie them tighter or use a chain.
Leslie’s skin tingled as thousands of goose bumps rose to attention, completely aware that death was a few feet behind her. Her breathing began to labor. She heard the darkness behind her laugh again. He’s enjoying this, she thought.
Leslie had no idea how long he had been watching. Did it matter? She wasn’t sure yet. Did he know she had freed her feet? Probably.
“Leslie, stop struggling,” the darkness finally said.
She froze. How does he know my name? Who could this be?
“Yes, I know you. I recognize you. Maybe you recognize me, no?”
Leslie recognized the voice in the dark. It sounded like Mr. Fu. Was this really Mr. Fu? Could this old man be the killer who took her niece’s life and now wanted hers? Why would he want to do this? Leslie had so many questions, but now was not the time to play inquisitor. With her feet free, she had a fighting chance––but she would need to tip the scales further into her direction. She had to free her hands. The bindings had loosened a bit more since she started working on them but not enough to slip a hand free. She had to stall him.
“I recognize your voice,” Leslie said, “You’re the old man from the restaurant––Mr. Fu.”
“Old?” The voice laughed.
When Leslie passed Mr. Fu in the kitchen, there was something about him that stuck with her. At the time she didn’t think much of it. But now that she was here, with him, she harkened back. And then the answer appeared. She knew him. She had met him long ago.
Memories of that day flooded her head turning her stomach, knotting it up. She couldn’t believe this. Was it true? How could she be sure? She had seen Mr. Fu only briefly. She concentrated on that moment, visualizing him. Come on inspector. Solve the case.
Wi watched Leslie, waiting for the connection to be made. He knew it was only a matter of time before she put the puzzle together and realized who he truly was. “You figure it out, Detective, Inspector, Officer.” His tone was mocking. “I see your brain working hard.”
Leslie searched her mind. Where had she met him before? Now she was absolutely certain they had met before, but where?
“Come on, little one. You can do it. Remember.”
That was it! Little one. “You killed my father,” she said, her voice shaking.
“Congratulations,” Wi said, clapping slow applause. “Tough case to solve, huh?” He laughed.
The fear in Leslie evaporated, replaced by boiling anger. Now more than ever, she wanted to nail this sick bastard. The opportunity to avenge her father’s death after all these years tasted sweet. Wi wasn’t the only excited party here.
Leslie then asked the question that had been on her mind for decades. “Why did you kill my father?”
“He show me no respect. He bring this upon himself.”
“You wanted to rob him and he stood up to you and you didn’t like it so you killed him, and…and then you laughed.”
Mr. Fu let out another deep belly laugh. “Like I am now.”
Leslie kept working on her bindings. Slowly they were loosening more. She had to keep him occupied. She needed to keep prodding him for more information, to allow him to brag about his conquests.
“How did you know who I was?”
“I kept an eye on you. You entered the police academy at young age. Oh, I know you. Maybe one day you come for me like you are now. But I win, Inspector. I win this time. Surely you wonder about me?”
He was right. From the day Leslie lost her father, she had been focused and determined to keep track of the man who shot her father until she could one day return the favor to Wi Yen, enforcer with the Wo Shing Wo.
He was the reason she pursued law enforcement, the reason why she was so successful at her career. Catching these psychos was her way of dampening the pain she felt from losing her father. But those hopes were all but dashed when she discovered Wi Yen was killed in a fire years ago, before she grew up.
Still tuggin
g on the bindings around her wrist, Leslie was on the verge of freeing one of her hands. She had to keep Wi talking, and this bit about the fire confused her. “You’re right. I kept tabs on my father’s killer but I was under the impression Wi Yen died years ago in a fire, before I joined the academy. How could you be him?”
“Because I am Wi. Fu is dead. It was his body in the building.” He recounted his escape from the police and Hong Kong, how he intelligently planned the perfect getaway. He spoke of his exploits like a proud little boy looking to impress his father. But this was no little boy looking for acceptance––Leslie knew better. He was a killer, and she had just freed her hands.
She wanted more time, and didn’t interrupt as he went on about his life as Fu, the grumpy cook, and how he had completely assumed Fu’s personality, his mannerisms, even the way he spoke. “And then Darby came along, with his constant questions, always pushing,” Wi growled.
This caught Leslie by surprise. Was she hearing him correctly?
Wi sensed Leslie’s confusion. “Yes. Darby’s responsible for Wi’s return. He unlocked the past.” He rambled on about Darby and questions and awakenings and cravings that came back, but to Leslie it was all becoming a bunch of mumbo-jumbo. She was more concerned about losing consciousness again. She was certain he would not keep her alive any longer. The game was being played and recess was almost over.
“How is Darby involved in this?” Leslie finally managed. She could sense the conversation was winding down. If it continued, so would she.
For the next few minutes, Wi carried the one-sided conversation. Leslie was Peppermint Patty and Wi was the teacher with the trombone voice. Nothing he said made sense at this point.
Chapter 114
I may not be a crime fighter but I do know this: Standing around doesn’t get shit done. “Detective,” I called out. He didn’t react, didn’t flinch, not one bit. He had to have heard me. This time I yelled, “Kang!” when he turned, I gave him my what-the-fuck-are-you-doing look.
“Sorry, I get in thinking mode and it’s like tunnel vision as scenarios play out in my head.”
“So what do we do? The storage areas are a bust.”
“Hold that thought. Some of these businesses have them inside.” Kang looked around and then pointed into a glass door. “There.”
I looked at where he was pointing. It was Mr. Fu’s restaurant and it was closed–which was weird, because I could have sworn it was open all day long.
“Look at the kitchen floor, about halfway back. You see them?”
“Yeah, the steel plates. I know this restaurant by the way. I eat here all the time. I know the owner, Mr. Fu.”
“Oh yeah? Is it open only for dinner?”
“No, it should be open. In fact I’ve never seen it closed in all the years I’ve come here.” I decided to leave out Mr. Fu’s recent trip to Hong Kong. I’m sure he closed the restaurant then. I only told Kang what was necessary.
I placed my face against the glass and peeked inside. The lights were off and it was empty. Toward the back of the kitchen where Mr. Fu cooked, I could see the big wok, it was in the sink and it looked like a tiny stream of water was pouring into it from the faucet.
“This is so absurd; I’ve never known Mr. Fu not to be open during the day.”
“Maybe he’s on vacation?”
“Maybe…but in the last five years, I’ve never known him to take a vacation, let alone close the restaurant up. Plus, he left the water running.”
“Huh?”
“Look for yourself. See the sinks in the far back? The facet over one of them is on.”
Kang cupped his hands and placed them against the glass door and then pressed his face up against them.
“It’s totally not like him. He’s kind of anal,” I said.
Kang jiggled the door a bit. The lock was old and loose. A couple of forceful tugs and the bolt slipped out of the door of the framing. The door swung open.
“What are you doing? Breaking in?”
“I can’t stand waste. I’m turning the faucet off. I’ll slip the lock back in.”
Even the cops in San Francisco are pro-green. I followed Kang into the restaurant. It was eerie when it was closed.
I looked at the cleavers hanging on the wall next to the cooking station. Mr. Fu had so many of them––they were his prized possessions. He constantly sharpened and polished the steel. Most of them were old and from Hong Kong. So much for prized possessions––he’s missing one.
I heard Kang gasp. I turned to find him massaging the right side of his waist with one of his hands.
“Damn. That wok is still hot.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I bumped it when I reached over to shut the faucet off.”
“That’s strange. The place is closed…why would it be hot?”
Kang continued to massage his burn, eyes on the sink. He picked up the wok carefully and looked at it. “Someone recently cooked something in this wok.”
As Kang said that, we both heard a large booming noise. We weren’t the only ones in the restaurant––I was able to deduce that all by myself.
Kang turned to me with one finger pressed to his lips. He pointed upstairs as he withdrew his sidearm, a Glock.
Holy cow, this was serious shit. I’ll admit it; my knees were playing knock-knock. I mean there was the possibility someone could be robbing the place right now. Maybe this person also used the wok to cook something too. You hear about it in the news: burglars raiding the refrigerator in the home of the person they are robbing. Or was it the killer? This was getting a bit crazy.
Kang motioned for me to stay put and headed up the narrow metal stairs. I looked around the counter tops for a weapon, something I could wield in case Kang got taken out. No way I was staying down there by myself. Metal spatulas, bamboo spoons, chopsticks––I wasn’t planning on cooking dinner. I needed to do damage so I took a cleaver from the wall and gripped the heavy chopping machine tightly in my hand.
Again Kang waved at me to stay put. I defiantly shook my head back at him. I was determined to stay right by the side of the man with the gun.
The stairway was steep and narrow. If we were to suddenly run into someone, it could only happen at the last possible moment. The stairs turned to the right at the top. It was a blind turn.
With the lights off, visibility was almost zero. Kang stopped at the top and peeked his head around the corner of the stairs. He silently crept around the corner holding his gun out in front of him with me right on his heels, cleaver in hand. As we made our way into the tiny, second floor dining room, we quickly realized no one was there.
“Maybe the noise came through the walls, from a neighbor or a business,” I offered.
He holstered his gun and looked at the large cleaver I was still holding out in front of me. “You plan on getting chop suey on someone’s ass?” Kang asked with a slight chuckle. He took the cleaver from my hand.
“Very funny, but that noise didn’t sound completely normal.”
Then we heard a noise again. This time there was no mistaking it; it was female and it came from downstairs.
Chapter 115
Wi stood up and walked over to the tub. Leslie knew it was now or never––she had to make a move. He kneeled down beside the tub and raised his arm. Leslie could make out the cleaver.
Without warning she kicked her leg up and caught Wi right below the chin with her foot. His head snapped back, sending Wi down. Leslie heard the knife clank across the floor.
With both of her feet and hands free, Leslie quickly slipped over the edge of the tub. Her legs were wobbly from lack of circulation but she had to keep going. She moved toward Wi as he stood up. She swung hard with a closed fist and missed.
The momentum almost carried Leslie down to the floor as she passed Wi. He countered with a fist of his own, hitting her on the back of her head. The force sent her flying against the wall. She gouged her head against a metal object of some sort as she stumbled. L
eslie could feel the warmth trickle down her face. She was bleeding––a lot. Head wounds tend to look worse than they really are. She knew that and hoped it was the case. She couldn’t let Wi get the upper hand again. Not now, not ever. What little energy she had left was quickly draining itself from her body, maybe enough for one more attack.
Blood found its way into her left eye making it harder to see. She could hear him moving toward her. Leslie spun around quickly and blindly shoved an open palm forward, throwing all her weight into it.
What luck! Leslie connected with Wi and heard a loud cracking sound. That would be his nose crushing under the force of her palm. Warm blood gushed out as Wi yelped and fell back. She wasted no time and moved forward following Wi to the ground, expertly straddling him and pinning his arms with her legs. She was tiny and wasn’t sure how long she could hold him. He was unusually strong for his age.
Wasting no time, Leslie balled up both her fists and commenced with a ground and pound that any mixed martial artist would appreciate. Each crushing blow caused more damage to Wi’s face. Twenty-five years of anger poured out of Leslie with each blow she delivered. This was the revenge she craved. The payback she wanted. No matter how many men she locked up, none of that compared to the satisfaction of the moment. This was all for her father.
Wi’s body had stopped moving and was no longer responding to the blows. Was he dead? Unconscious? Leslie had no idea. She threw everything she had into her fury of fists. Now exhausted, she rested and started to move off of him.
This was enough for Wi to swing a stunning blow to the side of her head, sending her to the side. He’s alive! Wi bucked Leslie off of him and quickly stood up. He reached and grabbed her hair, twisting it around his hand as he yanked her to her feet. Leslie was still reeling from the blow. The room was tilting to the side. Her eyes could barely focus. Then Wi sent another fist of fury into her gut, forcing the air to evacuate. It felt like her lungs collapsed and waved the white flag. She couldn’t take a breath no matter how hard she tried.
Darby Stansfield Thriller Series (Books 1-3 & Bonus Novella) Page 24
