She walked confidently at a pace she thought would mimic a person who lived in the neighborhood. A few steps past the building, she stepped into the alley. Where are you, little one? She scanned the area methodically, not wanting to overlook the small charm. It could have slipped into a crack or been covered by a piece of rubbish. Rather than kick the debris around, she picked up each item, eliminating any doubt as to whether she had checked under each one. It didn’t take long for her hopes to diminish as the area she searched widened. Vicki let out a deep breath, resolving to what she knew she had to do: return to the apartment.
<><><>
I hadn’t had any luck with the first three apartments—two were empty, and the occupant in the third had a very poor command of the English language. So there I stood, facing the last apartment at the end of the hall, expecting to have a similar experience. I was pleasantly surprised when the door opened and revealed a cheerful, old lady who was exactly my height.
“Hello. May I help you?” she asked with a pleasant smile. She had light blue eyes that popped against her snow-white bob, which was neatly tucked behind each ear. She wore a pink blouse with a pearl necklace draped over it and a checkered skirt that fell slightly past her knees. I could tell she was of the generation that believed in dressing for the day, even when she had no plans to leave her apartment.
I smiled back at her. “Hello. My name is Abby Kane. I’m with the FBI. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Concern drew her lips together. “Yes, of course. Please, come inside.”
She stepped back, opening the door wider. Before I could ask my first question, she told me to take a seat on the couch, said she would be back with some tea and then scurried off to the kitchen.
I hadn’t expected to have a long conversation; all I wanted was an opportunity to show her a few pictures. With her enthusiasm for entertaining an FBI agent, I got the impression she didn’t receive many visitors. Besides, it wouldn’t kill me to make the time, and she had said the magic word: tea.
I sat there quietly, taking in her décor. That woman loved horses. They were everywhere in the form of paintings, sculptures and stuffed animals. Even the throw blanket she had on her couch featured a scene of horses running through an open field.
“Let me guess; you like horses?” I said as he reappeared with a tray.
She laughed as she put it down on the coffee table. “I rode for many years as a young woman. I had my own horse, Betsy. She was a Dutch Warmblood who had the most beautiful, black coat you have ever seen. It shined under the sun like a freshly polished shoe.” She walked over to a built-in bookshelf and removed a picture frame and a small box. “This is me at the Summer Olympics in Helsinki. I won a silver medal, thanks to Betsy.”
I did a double take at the frail woman who now stood before me. “That’s you?”
“Yes,” she said with a chuckle. “Most people find it hard to believe that I’m an Olympian.”
She then opened the small box she held in her other hand. I drew in a sharp breath. “That’s beautiful. I’ve never seen an Olympic medal firsthand. Incredible.”
Her proud smile lit up the room.
I wanted nothing more than to pepper her with more questions about her life, but duty called. “Thank you for sharing.” I removed my phone and pulled up the picture of my mystery woman. “Have you seen this woman?”
She squinted and leaned forward before shaking her head. “She doesn’t look familiar, though I might have seen her and can’t remember.” She poured me a cup of tea. I noticed the familiar hue, and I got excited. I had expected black tea, maybe Earl Grey. I reached for the cup and before it reached my lips, I inhaled and couldn’t believe my nose. This can’t be. I took a sip. It is! “This isn’t Tieguanyin, is it?”
“Why, yes, it is. I happen to have a certain fondness for it.”
“Oh my God. So do I. It’s the only tea I drink. In fact, I carry a tin around with me.” I dug around in my purse and pulled it out so she could see it. “People think I’m nuts to carry tea around.”
She waved off my assessment. “I used to do the same thing. It’s not a tea that people commonly keep on hand.”
“Tell me about it. I tell everybody I drink green tea, because if I mention that its oolong tea, they always ask what the difference is, and I got tired of explaining.”
“A lot of people drink green tea, but oolong—now that’s a tea worth carrying around.”
I was completely and utterly in love with this woman. We talked about our addiction for a few more minutes before I steered the conversation back to the case. I pulled up the video footage that Tucker had sent me. “I have some video of her. Does this help?”
She watched the video twice before shaking her head once more. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t recall seeing this woman around. She doesn’t look familiar at all. I’m very sorry.”
So was I. As much as I wanted to stick around and continue chatting with her, I had a killer to stop.
Chapter 41
Jerry muttered under his breath as he stared out the window of the moving cab. He was furious, a fact that his beet-red face made very apparent. He chewed on a thumbnail that barely existed; it was the only way he could keep himself from exploding. He thought more than once about killing the cab driver to ease his nerves but had the resolve to hold back, something he couldn’t have done years ago, before Vicki’s calming influence.
Over the years, she had taught him self-restraint—said it would lead to a more prosperous life of killing. She was right, but he hated it. He hated denying himself the pleasure of killing on a whim. But what complicated matters for Jerry was his slew of anxieties, most of them compulsive.
Once Jerry bought into something, he had to see it through. It’s the only reason he could kill so pragmatically. Never in a million years had he thought he would take orders on how to kill a person and then deliver. That would have been too much trouble.
Jerry preferred organic kills, those that happened naturally with no disruption. He had once explained to Vicki that he likened this new method of killing to having sex with a condom. “When I’m in the moment and everything feels right and the next move should be to slip inside but I have to stop, get the condom, rip it open, slip it on… It ruins the natural rhythm of things.”
Jerry’s impatience with his wife’s insubordination had come to a head. She had pushed every one of his buttons with this last outing. How stupid does she think I am? He knew where she had run off to. He had noticed that her charm had gone missing. That stupid thing. It’s not even real gold.
Jerry wrestled with the idea of how to keep his wife under control. She was jeopardizing their gameplay. How could he expect to continue with her exhibiting that sort of behavior? I told her not to go there. I had forbidden it. At least, he thought he had. He was sure he did. It didn’t matter. The question he now proposed to himself was whether he should kill her. It would eliminate the problem, and he felt confident enough that he could go on without her. But there was a hiccup: he loved her.
<><><>
Vicki didn’t need to wait very long for someone to exit the building and allow her to slip inside. She pulled on the heavy, glass door of the rickety elevator and entered. The small space reeked of mechanical oil used to keep the gears of the old lift lubed and functioning. She hit the fifth floor button and proceeded to take the slow ride up. There was no bell or lighted number to announce her arrival, only the grating of metal when she slid open the manual doors.
Down the carpeted hall she walked, mindful of not dragging her feet or letting the heels of her cross-trainers drum the floor. No need to notify any of the residents that someone is outside. With each step closer, Vicki became increasingly aware of a tightening in her stomach. It wasn’t something she had experienced very often. She didn’t flinch when gutting a man, nor did it bother her to stare into someone’s eyes as their lifeblood spurted from a wound on their neck. Excitement would be the word to best explain those feel
ings. This was different. She had never before returned to a location while the body was still there. It wasn’t something that interested her, nor had she ever had any reason to.
She also noticed that her throat had dried when she swallowed, causing her to cough twice into her closed mouth. Strange, she thought. When she reached the musician’s door, only then did it dawn on her that the door was probably locked. Jerry had been the last one out; surely he had locked it. All this sneaking around and risk could be for naught. Vicki shook off those thoughts and reached for the doorknob, wondering and hoping. With a quick twist of her wrist, the door clicked open. Her husband had fucked up.
She entered the apartment and locked the door behind her. On the floor, surrounded by an oval of soiled carpeting, lay the musician. His eyes were still open, but dry, and staring absently at the wall. Most of the blood coating his skin and clothing had dried to a crust, except around the gash in his neck; there, it looked to still have a gel-like consistency. The strong smell of iron lingered in the apartment but was nonexistent in the hallway. It surprised her that it wasn’t worse, all things considered.
She moved closer to his body, careful not to step on the carpet that had absorbed fluids. Plush carpeting serves a purpose. His face was devoid of color, and his mouth lay partly open, allowing her to see his dark, bloated tongue. She noticed a slight belly had formed from the gases slowly building inside of him—a big fart waiting to explode.
Vicki carefully searched the area around his body and slowly branched out in a circle. She found nothing and started to wonder if the charm might be under him. That would be a bummer. She didn’t want to get her hands dirty. Maybe he has a broom or something I can roll him over with. What a drag.
<><><>
The fourth floor was a bust, but the company and the tea had made up for it. After thanking Virginia Ayton for her time—I had noticed her name on the picture she had shown me—I handed her my card and told her to call me if she should remember anything. Secretly, I hoped she would. I so wanted to learn more about her interesting life. Would it be weird to ask her to meet for coffee after questioning her?
I headed for the stairs with that thought lingering and wondered if Tucker had beat me to the fifth floor. I counted sixteen steps with badly worn carpeting before reaching the top of the stairwell. There were no surprises, just another dreary hallway staring back at me. There was a difference, though: I could detect a hint of carpet freshener. Someone cares on this floor.
Before I knocked on the first door, my phone beeped. It was a text from Kang asking for an update. I replied that Tucker and I were still in the first building and that I hadn’t had any luck. I told him I wasn’t sure about Agent Tucker. He responded with similar results on his end. So far, things weren’t looking so good. And it didn’t get any better, as I encountered a moment of silence after knocking on the first door.
Door by door, I made my way down the ghost hall. No one seemed to be home, and not a peep could be heard. I knocked on the second-to-last door and thought I heard a noise. I had: my stomach telling me to feed it. I let out a soft breath. My earlier hopes of moving forward in the case were slowly fading. That’s the thing with police work; the highs were high, and the lows were low. A lot of exploring was needed to produce any sort of meaningful result.
I kicked my heel into the carpet and twisted it as I waited for someone, anyone, to answer my knocking. I waited a few more seconds before turning to the last door on the floor. Come on, number sixteen; make my day.
Chapter 42
Vicki was on her hands and knees, craning her neck for a better look under the couch, when she heard the knock at the door. She jumped up at the sound. Her first inclination was that she had mistaken some other noise for a knock, but then she heard it again. Someone was definitely on the other side of that door. Just be quiet. They’ll leave eventually. But the knocking continued. Persistent fuckers, aren’t we?
Vicki looked at the body sprawled out in front of her. Inviting them in for coffee was out of the question. Did he have a girlfriend? Did she have a key? If he’d had one and she did have the key, she wouldn’t be knocking, dummy.
Again, three succinct knocks rang out.
Vicki quietly walked up to the door and leaned in toward the peephole. A quick look couldn’t hurt. Standing outside she saw a short, Asian woman dressed in a dark blue pantsuit. Who the hell is that? A Realtor?
“Open up,” the woman said. “I know you’re home. I can see your shadow moving under the door.”
Vicki looked down. Damn! She quickly counted her options.
Ignore her.
Answer the door and politely tell her I’m busy.
Kill her.
“My name is Abby Kane,” the woman said with a raised voice. “I’m with the FBI, and I want to ask you a few questions. It’ll only take a few moments of your time.”
Shit! Vicki had to reconsider her options. Quick!
She moved into the bedroom, yanked the brown comforter off the bed and covered the body. She then stripped off her pants, shirts and shoes and wrapped one towel around her head and another around her body. A splash of water to the face and she returned to the door.
Surely that agent wouldn’t come into the home of a half-naked woman. Vicki put on a smile and cracked the door open enough to peek out.
<><><>
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” I said. The woman staring at me from behind the door looked as if she had just stepped out of the shower.
“Bad timing.” The woman forced a laugh. She was being polite.
“I’ll get to the point.” I held up my phone and showed the woman the picture of my suspect. Her head jerked back instantly, and her forehead crinkled.
“Do you recognize this woman?” I asked as I moved the phone closer to her face. “Looks like you might have.”
She pulled her head back farther. “No, not at all. I can barely make out her features.” Her eyes fluttered back and forth between the picture and myself. “It’s a terrible photo.”
Why thank you, Master of the Obvious. “She’s a suspect in a case.”
She shrugged. “Is that it? I’m sort of in the middle of a bath, and I’m running late for an appointment.”
“No.” I pulled up the video. “See if this helps.”
She barely watched before she started shaking her head.
“You live in the building long?” I asked.
“Not long. Maybe six months.”
“It empties out during the day. This is the second apartment I have encountered where someone was home.”
“Oh, well, I work from home. I’m a writer,” she replied. Her nose turned up a tad. I guess she wanted to show me that her nostrils were clean.
“That’s nice,” I said, biting my bottom lip but never taking my eye off her.
“Well, Ms…”
“White. Evelyn White.”
“…Ms. White, thank you for your time.” I produced one of my business cards and handed it to her. “In case you remember anything.”
“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
As I turned to walk away, what she said stopped me dead in my tracks.
“Good luck finding them.”
Chapter 43
Jerry ordered the cab driver to pull into the alley next to the building. “Here’s fifty bucks. Wait here for me,” he said while handing the cabbie the money. “I have another hundred for you when I get back, okay?”
The cabbie nodded. “I’ll be right here, boss.”
Jerry eyed the brown-skinned man for a second before nodding and exiting the vehicle. He hurried to the front of the building, hoping the security gate had been left open. No such luck.
Fucking A. Dammit, why did she have to disobey me? He distinctly remembered telling her to forget about that charm and that returning to that apartment was a risk. Yes, it had all come back to him. The conversation had taken place over dinner and drinks. At least, that’s how he remembered it. Or did he? Jerry ig
nored the voice that said otherwise, the one that swore the conversation had never happened. Jerry hated that voice. So cocky. So condescending. “You always have to be right,” Jerry whispered under his breath. “Not this time.”
His left hand remained in his front pants pocket, fondling the ivory-handled razor that Vicki had gifted him a few Christmases ago. She’d said he needed to add some pizzazz to his kills, and a man’s shaving blade was the perfect way to do it.
Jerry looked around. There was no one on the block, so he resorted to his last option and starting calling apartments, hoping someone would buzz him in. A few seconds later, someone did. Jerry pulled open the metal gate and entered the building.
<><><>
I spun around and shoved my foot into the crack of the door right as she tried to close it.
“Excuse me!” she exclaimed. “Your foot is—”
“You said ‘them’.” I wedged my foot farther in and placed my left forearm against the door.
“What are you talking about?”
“You referred to ‘them’ as though I were asking about two people, but I had only shown you pictures of one person. Why?”
Her eyebrows narrowed and her head shook vehemently. “I don’t know, probably because you said so.”
She’s lying, Abby. “I didn’t say anything about two people.” I leaned into the door, feeling even more resistance. “Ms. White, you mind letting me in?”
“I will not.” She then kicked and stomped on my foot, trying to force it out. “You have no right to—”
That’s when I interrupted her by throwing my shoulder forward. Smack! The door struck her forehead, and the woman released her grip, allowing me to slip inside.
Right there before me, lying on the living room floor, was a body. Well, I saw a foot sticking out from under a blanket. I assumed the rest of the lump was a body. I turned to face White and realized she had recovered from the doorbutt faster than expected. She caught me on the chin with a right. It sent my face off to the side and my blood pressure skyrocketing.
Russian Hill (Abby Kane FBI Thriller - Chasing Chinatown Trilogy Book 1) Page 14
