Clearly irritated and ready to move on, the detective handed me his card. “If you end up seeking medical attention for your arm, call me. I can probably get the department to reimburse you for any expenses.”
“Thanks.” I snatched the card out of his hand with the arm I had used earlier.
I watched him hurry to catch up with his partner before looking down at the card: Detective Kyle Kang, Personal Crimes Division.
Chapter 3
The next day, I arrived at the Philip Burton Federal Building at my usual time, 9:15 a.m. I had a travel mug full of hot tea in one hand and an onion bagel stuffed with cream cheese and double lox tucked away in my purse. My stomach grumbled during the elevator ride to my floor. I couldn’t wait to sit down and devour my breakfast.
The office doors opened to a quiet floor. That week, an unusual number of agents were out in the field working cases, which I loved. A little quiet time coupled with my lox bagel was all right with me. No sooner had I placed my breakfast on my desk than I heard the one thing capable of ruining my morning.
“Abby!”
Dammit! I looked to my left and saw my supervisor, Special Agent Scott Reilly, leaning out of his office and tugging at me with his index finger. Generally he was okay and fair with a sense of humor. But boy did he have the worst timing of anyone I had ever known. I slipped my heels back on, picked up my tea, and made my way over to his office.
“Take a seat.” He removed his wire-framed glasses and wiped his face with his hand before letting out a breath. “How’s that case with the attorney coming along?”
“We’re close to raining on his parade.”
The case I had been investigating involved an attorney who stole the identities of his terminally ill clients to fraudulently obtain millions of dollars from insurance companies. I thought I saw some sick bastards when I hunted serial killers back in Hong Kong, but this guy took it to a whole new level.
He would purchase variable annuities with death benefits and death put bonds and list his clients as co-owners. When they died, the bonds allowed survivor options, meaning the bond could be redeemed years before maturity at face value. Same thing with the annuities he purchased: they provided a guaranteed return of all money invested plus a guaranteed profit upon the death of the person named the annuitant. All he had to do was wait for them to die—which they did. We were days away from raiding his office and making an arrest.
“You’re doing a great job. I’m pleased with your performance with the white-collar cases, considering your background.”
A compliment. This can’t be good. Part of the deal when I came on board with the FBI was that I would work white-collar crime. I had worked on enough cases involving homicide and organized crime and wanted a change of pace. Reilly agreed to it on one condition: if he believed my background would be helpful on a certain case, he would put me on it. So far he hadn’t abused his powers, but I felt as if one of those moments were coming.
“The satellite office in Oakland has themselves in a pickle. Over the weekend, we received a tip that the man fingered as the person responsible for mailing arsenic to the office of the Mayor of Oakland was seen camping in the woods near Mount Tamalpais, in Marin County. They coordinated with a couple of rangers from the U.S. Forest Service and did a sweep of the area they believed him to be in.”
“They find him?”
“No, but they did find a fresh body: a young woman with an axe sticking out of her chest. Doesn’t look like a camping accident either.”
“So what’s the problem?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest.
“The rangers are arguing that the FBI should take the lead since our agents were the ones who technically discovered the body.”
“Yeah, but it’s their jurisdiction.”
“I know. Here’s where it gets tricky. The body, and I’m not kidding here, was found on the boundary of State land and the land of the National Parks—Muir Woods to be exact. So that’s another agency, the National Park Service, that’s involved, and right now, everyone’s pointing fingers.”
“Talk about splitting hairs. If you want my opinion, those two agencies should fight it out. Between the two of them, they’re responsible for all things wilderness.”
Reilly sat quietly, pondering the dilemma. After a few moments, he took a breath and straightened up. “Abby, I want you to take over the case.”
I knew that was coming. “Why do you want the case, if you don’t mind me asking?”
He shook his head. “I have a bad feeling about this one. If we leave it up to those two agencies, they’ll screw it up. And if I pull the case in, you’re the best we have.”
Reilly handed me a file. Inside were pictures of the crime scene and the victim and reports from both the forest rangers and the agents in our Oakland office. The medical examiner would need a few days to weigh in.
“She’s pretty,” I said. “She could be a model.”
“Such a young girl. She had her whole life ahead of her.”
I’ve never seen much emotion from Reilly, but this girl had a noticeable effect on him. Then it dawned on me. Behind him, on the credenza, was a picture of his daughter. She looked to be the same age. The story was she had just graduated from UC Berkeley when she vanished. Her car was found abandoned on the 101 near Stinson Beach. No leads. No witnesses. The case went cold fast.
Every year, on the anniversary of her disappearance, he drives up to the location and spends the entire day there. From what I understand, she was all he had. His wife had died four years earlier from breast cancer. I felt sorry for him. I could understand his pain, having lost my own husband to a horrific crime while living in Hong Kong. Not knowing what happened had to be the worst part.
I stood up with the file in hand. “I’m on it.”
He barely nodded as he gazed out his office window.
Chapter 4
After finishing my bagel, I spent the rest of the morning poring through the contents of the file Reilly had given me. Piper Taylor was twenty-three years old. According to her parents, she graduated from Ohio State a year ago and had wanted to travel around Europe since the age of seven, when she first saw The Sound of Music. “She wanted to twirl on a mountain just like Julie Andrews,” they said. “She spent a year waiting tables to save up enough money.” They also mentioned that Piper added Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York to her itinerary at the last minute.
My victim sounded like an adventurous one. Her parents referred to her as “free spirited.” There wasn’t much information from them, which wasn’t surprising considering a field office in Cleveland had conducted the interview. The parents kept up on Piper’s travels through her blog, which I pulled up. Her postings were infrequent and general in the sense that she put up a few pictures and talked a little about what she did that day. Her parents seemed like genuinely nice people, and I didn’t get the impression that Piper had any problems with them.
I knew a couple of agents in the Oakland office, one pretty well: Agent Tracy House. We’d crossed paths a few times and had hit it off. Lucky for me, she was one of the two agents handling the arsenic investigation and was also the one who had stumbled across the young woman.
In her report, she wrote that she discovered the body in a small, hidden clearing. There were no equipment or signs that any camping or picnicking had taken place. The victim’s personal belongings consisted of a small backpack that included bottled water, a map of SF, some cosmetics, a small wallet, and a bag of chips. A short day hike. She could have easily been by herself or with someone she met along the way. Her wallet, passport and money were still intact as well. I can cross off robbery as a motive. I saw no mention of a camera. I thought it odd being she was a tourist. Also, I found no mention of a cell phone. Did the killer take these items?
Agent House wrote that there were no immediate signs of sexual abuse, but I figured I’d leave that up the medical examiner to decide. Her parents had confirmed she was staying at a small hostel
on Sacramento, between Kearny and Montgomery. That’s right next to Chinatown. From what I could tell, no one had talked to anyone at the hostel. I wondered if management knew one of their guests had already checked out.
I had intended my next move to be to the coroner’s office but decided the hostel had a better chance of telling me more about Piper than her dead body could at the moment.
After a twenty-minute drive, I stood in front of a wooden door adorned with bright red wrought iron. Above it was a tiny sign with Asian font lettering that identified it as the Lucky Buddha Hostel. I rang the doorbell and, a few seconds later, was buzzed in.
Eighteen wooden steps up a narrow and creaky stairwell dumped me into a lobby where two mismatched love seats, separated by an end table, greeted me. Above, written on the wall in white chalk, was a list of hostel FAQs and other information. Against the other wall was a pair of bookshelves stocked with travel books and brochures. A computer touting free Internet access sat on a desk next to it.
As I walked through the lobby, I passed a large bulletin board that had been tacked to death by a plethora of tour advertisements. One promoted a day trip to Muir Woods. Why didn’t Piper sign up for that tour? Not far past that, I noticed a young woman sitting behind a Dutch door.
“Hello.” She brushed her chestnut hair out of her eyes. “Welcome to Lucky Buddha. Do you have a reservation?”
“Sorry, I’m not here to stay.” I flashed my identification. “I’m Agent Abby Kane with the FBI. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Her smile flipped upside down and her posture deflated. “What’s wrong? Are you here to arrest someone?”
“No. I need information. May I have your name, please?”
“My name is Katerina Yezhov,” she said, straightening up in her chair.
The name matched the accent. “Are you the owner?”
“No. I work part time, and the owner lets me stay for free.”
“How long have you been working here?”
She tilted her head towards the side as she gathered her thoughts. “Maybe three or four weeks. In two weeks, I leave for Los Angeles and meet up with some friends.”
“So you travel alone?”
“Yes, for almost one year now.”
“Isn’t it dangerous for a young woman to travel by herself?”
She shook her head, and her hair followed. “No, it’s fine. One only needs to be responsible and use common sense.”
Gee, which one was Piper lacking? “You have a guest staying here, Piper Taylor.”
“Yes, Piper. I know her. She’s great fun. She’s been here for four days.” The receptionist tapped a few keys on the laptop next to her. “She’s scheduled to be with us for another two days. Is everything okay?”
“When did you last see her?”
“Saturday morning. She had plans to see the redwood trees in Muir Woods. I tried to sign her up for one of our tours, but she is very independent. She said tours are silly and limiting.”
“Did she tell you anything else? Was she planning to meet anyone or travel there with another guest in the hostel?”
Katerina took another moment to think. “No,” she said as she shook her head. “She was going alone. It’s not that difficult. She planned to take the ferry to Sausalito and visit the town as well—you know, kill two birds with one stick.”
“Stone.”
“Huh?”
“The saying is, ‘kill two birds with one stone.’”
“Ooh. I always mess up these American idioms,” she said, her cheeks flushed red. “Agent Abby, all these questions… Did something happen to Piper? Is she hurt?”
No sense beating around the bush. Now she has me saying them. “We found Piper’s body near a hiking trail on Mount Tamalpais.”
The girl inhaled before slapping her hand across her mouth. “No. It can’t be. I just saw her. Are you sure you have the right person?”
I took out my cell phone and pulled up a picture of the victim’s face. “Is this the Piper that is staying at your hotel?”
“Yes, that’s her.”
“I’m assuming her belongings are still in her room.”
Katerina still had her eyes locked on the picture when she nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll take you to it right now.” She groped around the desk, searching, until she finally opened a drawer beneath and pulled out a ring of keys.
She led me down the short hall and up two more flights of wooden stairs until we reached a large room with eight bunk beds.
“This is the women’s dormitory. Over there,” she pointed. “I assigned the lower bunk to Piper.”
Under the bed was a built-in locker. “Is her stuff in here?”
“Yes, but that is her lock. We don’t have a key.”
“What do you do when the occasional person loses their key?”
“I’ll be right back.”
While she was gone, I poked around. A blue towel had been draped over the framing of the bunk. Other than that, nothing else signified Piper’s presence.
A few seconds later, Katerina returned with bolt cutters. “I’m not sure how these work. I’ve never had to use them before.”
I took the cutters from her hand, and in one snip, the lock fell to the floor. “It’s that simple.”
Inside the locker was a large backpack. I rummaged through it and found no surprises: clothes, toothbrush, a few travel books. Nothing out of the ordinary—except I didn’t see a camera or a mobile phone. I did, however, find a laptop.
“Katerina, do you know if Piper had a camera or a cell phone?”
“Yes, she had an iPhone. It was doubling as her camera. You know, two birds.”
“Got it. I’ll be taking the laptop right now.” I wanted to get one of the Information Analysts started on it. “Another agent will stop by to collect the rest of her belongings. Until then, keep them in a safe place. Do you know when the owner will be in?”
“Oh, he almost never comes to the hostel. He talks to the staff by phone. He totally trusts us to run this place. Crazy, huh?”
I guess I can scratch the owner off my list of people to talk to. “Here’s my card in case you think of anything else that might help. Call me anytime.”
Katerina walked me down the stairs to the entrance. As I turned to walk away, she called out.
“Agent Abby, wait. I remember. Piper mentioned a place in Sausalito. I can’t remember the name but she said they made organic cotton candy.”
Chapter 5
I was a block away from my favorite dim sum shop; I figured a quick bite before heading across town to the medical examiner’s office wouldn’t hurt. I huffed it uphill along Sacramento Street to Young’s Fresh Dim Sum on Stockton. I knew I had pigged out on this stuff the day before, but I have a serious addiction to dumplings. Plus, Young’s wasn’t like the sit-down restaurant I took the family to on Sundays where the servers push carts around from table to table. No, this place was a hole in the wall. It had character.
Young’s had a simple counter to order from. Behind it were three stacks of bamboo steamers four high. Each one was filled with a different dumpling. There were a few tables to sit at, but mostly the place was designed for takeaway. I didn’t feel much like taking this stuff back to the office, and there was a seat open at one of the tables, so I made my selection and sat my butt down in the open chair.
I didn’t pay much attention to the gentleman next to me. He appeared busy with his spread of cheap eats. Two bites in and I realized the suit next to me was the Asian detective from the other day. Of all the dim sum joints in town… I couldn’t believe my luck—stuck at a table next to a guy I never thought I would see again. I couldn’t get up and leave; there was no place to go. It was only a matter of time before he recognized me. Wrong.
The guy continued to eat without looking up or taking a breather. He plopped his dumplings, one by one, into the sweet dipping sauce before popping them into his mouth, chewing fast and loudly. When he finished his main course, I
thought for sure he would look up and notice me. Nope. He steamrolled right into the rice cake.
I finished my entire meal without being discovered. What kind of detective is this guy? Clearly he wasn’t observant. Sheesh, lucky for the SFPD. Real keeper they got—
“I remember you,” he said without any sort of prompt coming from me.
I looked around, unsure if he had spoken to me. Eventually, he turned his head to me.
“How did you know? You never looked up once.”
He motioned with his head to the table in front of us. Sitting on top was a brand new, hot water heater used for tea. I could see both of our reflections in it.
“Oh.”
“I’m sure you were thinking I must be some crappy detective for my bad observation.”
Busted. “Why would I think that?”
He finished the last of his rice cake and wiped his hands on a napkin. “Look, I’m really a nice guy. We started off on the wrong foot. Truce.” He stuck out a clean hand and followed that up with a large toothy smile.
Realizing how silly the situation was, I gave in. “Truce. My name is Abby Kane.”
“Nice to meet you, Abby. I’m Kyle Kang. How’s the arm?” he asked as he held onto my hand and turned my arm from side to side as if he could somehow see through my jacket and make some sort of medical observation.
“The arm’s fine. Thanks for asking.”
“Do you eat here much?”
“Not as much as I would like,” I said, wiping my hands with a napkin. “You?”
“Quite often. I work out of the Central Precinct, which isn’t far. Plus, we’re responsible for Chinatown. You work in the area?”
“No, my office is near City Hall.”
He nodded as if he knew what building I worked in. “Oh, yeah, yeah. Do you work at the Asian Art Museum? Are you a docent there?”
Just when I thought we could be friends. “No, but nearby.”
Russian Hill (Abby Kane FBI Thriller - Chasing Chinatown Trilogy Book 1) Page 2
