“I do. And the bar you had drinks at?”
Ellis again took to biting his bottom lip. “It’s on Polk Street, about a block away. Pay… Paytime, or Pay something, I think.”
“Playtime,” Kang suggested.
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Any idea what time you left? Did the group you were with leave with you?”
“It was late, I know that much—after midnight—and I think I left by myself. It’s a little spotty.”
“Okay, so you leave the bar. Are you walking back to your car? Are you hailing a cab?”
“I drive everywhere, so I’m walking back to my car, I’m guessing. I parked at the school or near the school. Again, my memory now is spotty. I have flashes of a sidewalk. I don’t see anybody else. A car drives by.”
“Do you know the make or model?”
“No, I just see a dark vehicle, a sedan maybe.”
“And then what?”
“That’s it. I don’t know.”
“All right, what about the students you had drinks with? Can you elaborate on that?”
“Well, we went out for a few drinks. I knew the name of one of the students because she’d helped set up the talk. Her name was Ashley. She has blond hair.”
Kang scribbled the information down. “This is helpful. I understand your wife is coming to pick you up.”
Ellis nodded.
“I’ll go ahead and make arrangements for someone at our office to look you over, take some blood. I appreciate your cooperation. Do you have a number I can reach you at?”
“If I do, I don’t know it, and the cops took my cell phone before they threw me in here.”
“Okay, I’ll check with them.” Kang removed his phone, snapped a picture of Ellis, and handed him his card. “Call me if you remember more.”
Chapter Forty-One
I was curious to see just how advanced Xiaolian’s physical training was after her admission about her upbringing. Once the kids were dropped off at school, she and I headed over to a local sporting store, and I bought her workout gear and cross-trainers. First thing on the day’s agenda was to test her physical conditioning.
“Did you do much running where you’re from?” I asked. We were both on the front porch, stretching our legs.
“We played a lot of games.”
“I mean running, not games.”
Xiaolian grabbed her foot and pulled it up backward until her heel touched her butt. “Oh, yeah. We ran on a treadmill.” She switched to the other leg and stretched it the same way.
“Never outside?”
“No.”
I had a couple of routes in my head, three to be exact. Depending on her conditioning, I could always switch it up. We started our run on relatively flat streets, which in San Francisco were either hard to find or didn’t last very long. Sooner or later a hill appears. We ran south along Stockton until we hit Columbus Avenue. I kept a good pace. Xiaolian had no problem keeping up, and she didn’t seem to be tiring. Let’s see how she tackles the hills.
When we reached Washington, we headed west toward Chinatown. The hill wasn’t that steep, but it was still a hill. I kept an eye on her, and she seemed fine. Once we hit Powell, we turned right and headed north, back toward the bay.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“I feel fine. It’s so interesting to see everything. Do we have to go back now?”
“Not yet. Do you feel like tackling a really big hill? At the top, we’ll have a nice view of the bay.”
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
We continued north until we reached Union. I stopped, facing west, and pointed at the hill ahead of us. The hill actually consisted of five mini-hills, created by five cross streets, the only flat surfaces on the way up. Each of the mini-hills steepened as they went farther up the big hill.
When we reached the second cross street, I asked her if she was fine.
“Yup,” she said, but I could hear that her breathing was labored, the first time since we’d started running.
When we reached the third cross street, I began feeling the burn in my lungs and legs. Usually it happened on the fourth street. It was an indicator for me that I still wasn’t at one hundred percent, even though I felt as if I were.
At the fourth street, I didn’t bother asking how she felt. I could feel my shirt sticking to my back. Perspiration poured down my face and neck. Xiaolian was just as slick, her black hair pasted against her pale cheeks like spider veins. We were both tired.
“One more hill, and then we’re done,” I said.
Our pace had slowed by then, and Xiaolian had started to fall behind on that last push.
“Come on, you can do it,” I said in between breaths.
I really did want her to do it. She was twelve. At her age, I wasn’t sure I could run that hill without resting. I continually glanced at her. She was struggling, but I could clearly see determination in her eyes. She wasn’t stopping. She didn’t want to.
We were halfway up the last mini-hill. She was doing it. Heck, I was rooting for her. It was then I realized how unnatural this all was. How bragging about this to Yates or Archer would only continue to solidify their thinking—that she was a trained spy. This wasn’t a normal game of tag. This wasn’t something the average twelve-year-old could do. I was torn. On one hand, I wanted her to stop and throw in the towel. On the other hand, I really wanted to see her power through and conquer the hill.
Xiaolian had slowed considerably, falling twenty feet behind me. I turned around and jogged backward. “Come on, you’re almost there. Don’t stop.”
She kept her head down. Each step looked as if it weighed a ton for her.
Clomp.
Clomp.
Clomp.
She looked up at me. Her mouth hung open as she sucked in air. She cleared her hair from her eyes with her forearm before lowering her head again, most likely concentrating on every step, ignoring the distance separating her from the top.
I continued jogging backward so I could keep an eye on her. When I reached the top, I raised my arms over my head and took deep breaths. It felt like I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. I could only imagine how Xiaolian felt, but pure determination fueled every step she took. She had only ten steps to go, and each step was slower than the last.
Don’t stop. You’re almost there.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
Yes!
Xiaolian stopped next to me, bent over at the waist, heaving hard.
“Stand up and hold your hands over your head,” I said.
She looked at me and opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t—she needed air. She straightened up and raised her arms to the sky. Twice more she tried to say something but couldn’t. Finally, on her fourth try, she was able to speak.
“You trying to kill me or what?”
I laughed at her remark. “Quite the opposite. I’m really impressed. Your conditioning is incredible.”
She tried once more to speak.
“Stop. Catch your breath. We can talk later.”
Union intersected with Hyde Street, along which one of the few remaining cable-car routes in the city ran. We walked toward the bay, and as Hyde Street began to dip downward, the view of the bay opened itself up to us. Straight ahead was Alcatraz Island.
It was a magnificent sight, one I never got tired of. The waters surrounding the island were a dark blue and sparkled from the sun beaming upon it.
“Wowww,” Xiaolian said when she laid eyes on it. “It’s amazing.”
“Keep walking. There’s another treat up ahead.”
A few feet later, San Francisco’s best-known landmark came into view: the Golden Gate Bridge.
“Wowww,” Xiaolian said again.
“There’s something else up here that’s pretty incredible besides the view.” We walked farther along Hyde toward where a bunch of tourists had gathered. “That’s the top of Lombard Str
eet,” I said pointing. “Have you heard of it?”
“No.”
“It’s the crookedest street in the world.”
“Crooked?”
When we reached Lombard, she peered down, and everything I said seemed to fall into place.
“Wowww.” Xioalian’s eyes nearly popped out of her head as she watched the cars drive slowly down a series of switchbacks, like lumbering caterpillars.
“It’s crooked because it’s too steep to drive straight down.”
“It looks spooky.”
We watched the cars for a bit and took in the wonderful view of Coit Tower in the distance before turning back.
“Where to now?” she asked.
“To that small park over there. It has fitness equipment we can play on.”
We climbed a set of stairs that led up to George Sterling Park. The fitness equipment was typical of what you find in any park. There were balancing beams, chin-up bars, a sit-up and push-up station, and even a couple of elliptical machines.
“What’s first?” she asked.
“Sit-ups.” I sat on a low horizontal bench. “This is how I want you to do them.” I lay down on my back and kept my legs bent at right angles, feet flat. With my hands resting on my thighs, I raised myself up, sliding my hands along my thighs until I touched my knees, and then returned to my starting position. “You think you got it?”
“Yup.” Xiaolian lay on the bench.
“You have one minute to do as many as you can. Ready. Set. Go.”
She took off, sliding her hands up her thighs just as I had showed her, exhaling at the crunch and inhaling as she lay back down. The average male of eighteen to twenty-five could do about thirty-five to forty sit-ups in this time frame. Xiaolian did forty-five.
We moved over to the push-up station. The average young male could do twenty to thirty push-ups. Xiaolian completed forty.
Same deal with the chin-ups. The average for a young man in a minute time frame was about twelve. She did sixteen.
She had an unbelievable amount of upper-body and core strength. “Were these exercises part of your routine?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Since I was a little girl.”
“The other children were just as good?”
“Some were better, but it’s because that’s all they did.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I had classes that some other kids didn’t have.”
“Like what?”
“Solving problems.”
“You mean like math?”
“No, more like situations. I had to figure out why something happened. Kind of like what you do. Don’t you figure things out?”
“I do.”
Xiaolian bit down on her lower lip and dug her heel in the grass.
“What is it?”
“I dunno. I just don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“Why you and I are so much alike.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Kang left Central Station before Ellis’s wife showed. He was eager to see if the bar had CCTV coverage. If they did, he might just get lucky with the footage. On the drive there, he realized he hadn’t heard from Abby, but he assumed she had gotten his message and that everything was fine at her home.
Playtime was a small bar located on the corner of Polk and Pine, about a fifteen-minute drive from the police station. Kang had passed by it a number of times but had never been inside. At night, young crowds always gathered outside—the smokers. It wasn’t until he parked along the curb that it dawned on him it might not be open. He glanced at his watch. Ten a.m.
The windows of the bar were tinted. He pressed his face against the glass, cupping his hands along his cheeks to cut down on the glare. He rapped his knuckles against the door and peered in again. He knocked once more. This time a figure appeared.
The door opened, and a young man dressed in jeans and a T-shirt stood in the entrance. “Sorry, buddy. We don’t open for another hour.”
Kang produced his identification. “I’m Agent Kang. I’d like to ask you a few questions. May I come inside?”
“Am I in some sort of trouble?”
“I don’t think so, but you might hold information that can help me with an investigation. Are you the owner?” Kang walked past the man and into the bar.
“Yes. I’m Owen Townsend.”
Kang rested his hands on his waist as he looked around. A wooden counter ran the length of the establishment. Mirrored shelving behind it showcased a myriad of top-shelf liquor. The seating consisted of small, rectangular tables with high chairs. The décor was sleek and modern, with a mixture of earthy shades. He noticed a circular staircase leading to a second floor.
“Mr. Townsend, were you working last night?”
“Yes, I’m here every night.”
Kang removed his cell phone and produced the photo of Ellis. “Did you see this man?”
Townsend leaned in for a closer look. “Yeah, of course. He was here with a bunch of students from the art school.”
“His name is Johnny Ellis. Did you speak with him?”
“A little. I know the students; they come in here often. He had given a talk at their school that night. Seemed like a cool guy.”
Kang removed his notepad and pen. “Could you write down the names of the students for me? I’d appreciate it.”
Townsend did as instructed. “Did something happen?”
“We have reason to believe Mr. Ellis was abducted after leaving your bar.”
Townsend stopped writing and looked up. “Are you for real?”
“He’s fine now. Did you notice anyone else in the group who wasn’t from the school? Maybe someone else in the bar who joined their conversation.”
Townsend thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. I could be wrong, though. It was a busy night.” He continued writing the names down.
“Did you see him leave?”
“I didn’t, but he definitely left before the students did. They were one of the last to leave.”
Kang looked around and spotted the CCTV cameras. “Are the cameras functioning? I’d like to take a look at the footage.”
Townsend handed the pen and pad back to Kang and then led him through a door at the end of the bar into the kitchen and eventually into a small office. “It records for forty-eight hours before recording over that footage. It’s good you came in right away.”
They both watched the video. Ellis stood next to a table. Three students sat in the chairs surrounding it. They appeared to be having an engaging conversation. Ellis did most of the talking. Kang counted the number of drinks Ellis had during the night—five.
“Do you remember what he drank?”
“Scotch.”
A little after midnight, Ellis left the group and exited the bar by himself.
“Is there a camera outside?”
“Yeah.” Townsend tapped a few keys on his laptop, and the camera view changed to one outside the bar. He then queued the tape to the correct time frame. Ellis could be seen exiting and walking along the sidewalk, away from the bar.
“He’s walking in the direction where the school is located. Might have parked his car there,” Townsend said.
The camera was angled to view the entire outside length of the bar, so Ellis remained in frame for a while before disappearing.
“Can you download and email me a copy of this footage?”
“No problem.”
Kang handed Townsend his card. “If you think of anything else relating to this matter, call me.”
Outside, Kang walked to the spot where Ellis had last been seen before exiting the frame. It was a step before Polk intersected with Austin. Kang surveyed the businesses on the corner: a yoga studio, a computer-support store, a Thai restaurant, and a small deli. None appeared to have their own CCTV system. On top of that, Austin was nothing more than a small side street. No traffic lights; therefore, no city-owned cameras. Kang checked his watch. He h
ad been at the bar a little more than thirty minutes. I’ll see if I can track down some of these students and then swing by Abby’s home.
Chapter Forty-Three
Kang entered the lobby of the School of Creative Arts, and it was abuzz with students chatting in groups, lounging on plush beanbags, or hurrying off to their next class. Student paintings, illustrations, photographs, and advertising pieces graced the walls. On one wall, a large video screen played a short film. Kang walked across the brightly colored, polka-dot carpeting toward a reception desk made of old whiskey barrels. A young girl with a purple Mohawk and more facial piercings than Kang cared to count sat behind the desk.
“Hola,” she said in a chipper voice. “How can I help thee?” She winked at Kang. The color black dominated her clothing, hair, nails, and makeup, with the exception of her ruby red lipstick. She chewed gum and made a popping sound on every fourth bite.
“I’m Agent Kang,” he said, holding out his identification. “I need to speak to whoever is in charge of this place, the dean perhaps.”
“That would be Sammy. Just a minute.”
While the young lady made a call, three students carrying a very large and detailed dragon’s head passed by. A serpent’s tongue snaked out between the sharp teeth.
“Excuse me, Mr. Agent. Sammy can see you now.” She stood and straightened her form-fitting skirt. “Follow me, please.”
The girl led Kang down a long hallway lined with classrooms and more artwork on the walls. They made a left and then a right before passing a miniature circus tent with glass walls. Inside was a conference table and chairs. They stopped outside a door made of brushed steel. The girl knocked twice but didn’t wait for a reply before pushing the door open.
“Sammy, this is Mr. Agent Kang,” the girl said.
“Thank you, Rebecca. Close the door on your way out,” Sammy said. “Please have a seat, Agent Kang.”
Kang fumbled for his identification, but Sammy quickly waved off his efforts and stood, reaching across the desk.
The Curator: SG Trilogy Book 2 (Abby Kane FBI Thriller 8) Page 15
