Bound: Chinatown Demons, Book One

by Rhys Ford

  “Don’t worry about checking in with her. I had a car go by for a welfare check early this morning and her place was dark. No answer at the door. My gut says she’s gone off somewhere on a binge, but I can’t chance assuming that. Right now, as far as the SFPD is concerned, she’s MIA, and we’re exhausting all resources to track her down. Morton’s calling hospitals, and the ME says no one matching her description’s been called in.” Chang made a sour face, flattening his lips disapprovingly. “I’m hoping I’m wrong. I am. But she’s been on her last thread for some time now, and this isn’t helping things. Internal Affairs is already sniffing around her cases to see if she’s screwed something up. The DA’s concerned something big might come back and bite us on the ass because she was hammered while working something out.”

  Spencer didn’t need to hear Chang say it, but the comparison to Johnson and his own troubles down in Los Angeles hung in the air, thickening it with a tension bitter enough to choke.

  “I know she’s been drinking on the job, Ricci,” Chang reassured gently. “You don’t need to feel like you’re ratting your partner out. I didn’t want to pair the two of you together. Not after all the crap you’ve dealt with, but…”

  “She had one last shot and I was it.” Spencer knew how that was. He’d burnt his own bridges and had been given one final chance in a place where he knew no one and didn’t have the city’s dirt in his veins. Struggling to find his place in the bullpen was hard enough, but dragging Johnson along with him was simply an albatross he had to be willing to bear. Penance for all of the lives he endangered. “I still don’t feel right not… trying at least, sir.”

  “You can’t save someone who isn’t willing to save themselves,” he replied. “Right now, she’s on paid administrative leave until we find out what’s going on. You were out with an injury. She should have been working the case. Turning over stones and hounding anyone who might have seen something. As it is, we’ve wasted days, and you know as well as I do, the farther out we get from when someone finds a body, the harder it is to catch the guy who put it there.

  “Next question is, are you doing okay?” The lieutenant dug a cold water bottle out from a mini fridge tucked away under his desk. “Here, make sure you stay hydrated. And then tell me what the hell happened to you. Carter said you were knocked loose a bit but wasn’t able to see who got the jump on you. You were running a fever, and the last thing he told me was if you didn’t shake it off, he was going to call the EMTs to pull you into the hospital.”

  “Don’t remember a damned thing,” Spencer admitted, grabbing at the offered water. “No question Carter pulled me in off the street, but the guy has to be stronger than he looks, because I was blocks away from where he lives. I feel okay. Ringing in my ears and my side is banged up, but I honestly don’t recall what happened. Don’t even remember seeing the guy who hit me.”

  “One of the guys at the tearoom came onto the scene after Carter found you. Said you were half out of it. I took his statement. We found a knife but no prints.” Chang frowned. “I’m going to ask you a personal question, and you can tell me it’s none of my business, okay?”

  Frowning, Spencer said, “Sure.”

  “If you and Carter have a thing going, it’s… okay, just so you know.” Chang’s features tightened slightly, something uncomfortable crossing over his round face. “I just need to make sure that you guys are… that nothing gets in the way of any cases. And I’d say this to anyone under my watch. Because we’ve had problems in the past, and I think I could have acted on things sooner than I did. So, I’m asking if you’re okay. If you and Carter are okay.”

  “Just a little bit turned around about what happened that night, but I’m fine. We’re fine. He’s kind of an asshole, but I knew that the first time I met him.” Something dark in Spencer’s gut growled, warning him to be circumspect, but he forged ahead. He didn’t like Chang picking at the medical examiner, and it was a struggle not to snarl back at the lieutenant. “He and I don’t have anything going, but yeah, it wouldn’t be anyone’s business. You’ve got a problem with him?”

  “Carter’s fine. Kind of weird, spooky weird but fine. And the man went out of his way to make sure you were okay. That says a lot in my book,” Chang said, shrugging. “Sancho dropped by to check on you for me. Said you were comfortable but definitely a bit sick.”

  “He never said he came by.”

  “Look, it’s no big deal. You didn’t want to go to a hospital, and Carter said you’d be fine in a couple of days. I just needed to follow up. Because I didn’t check on Johnson back when she was having problems, and now it’s just gone to shit.” Another flicker of discomfort, but this time it embedded itself deep into Chang’s expression. “Her problem with… well, her drinking started when the guy she was dating broke up with her, then fell off the face of the earth a couple of weeks later.”

  “Not Carter, though?” Spencer interjected. “Someone else?”

  “No, not Carter. He’s… I don’t know what he’s into. Or who. But I’ve heard rumors. This was a medical examiner tech named John Foster. Younger than Johnson. I mean, Foster wasn’t anything to look at, but he was a solid guy on the job until he and Johnson separated. That’s when she began to come in a bit worse for wear, and nothing I did seemed to sink in.” Chang sighed. “Foster’s work tanked. He became sloppy, not catching things in the field which didn’t endear him to Carter. And well, you probably know better than anyone else what Carter’s like when he’s got his feathers ruffled.Then one day, Foster just didn’t show up for work. Not one damned trace of him since.”

  “Kind of like Johnson,” Spencer mused. “How long ago did this Foster guy disappear?”

  “Few months. I’ll have to check,” Chang replied. “For right now, chase down what leads you’ve got. But if we don’t get anything to break soon, you can keep working on it until something hot comes in.”

  “And you’ll let me know if Johnson surfaces?” Standing up, Spencer pushed the chair back a little to give himself space to squeeze out before heading to the door. Regret at not reaching out to Johnson began to seep into his thoughts. He’d known what she was dealing with, but no amount of cajoling had helped him find his footing. Johnson didn’t seem to be the type of woman who wanted advice on how to live. “I’m hoping for her sake she’s okay.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Chang shook his head. “Thing is, we won’t know until we find her, and by then, it might be too late to do anything. Just keep your head down, Ricci. And remember, if you think you’re beginning to stumble, reach out. I’ll try to grab you. Just… grab back, okay? Because Johnson didn’t. And now I’ve got a cop out there who’s either lost or dead, and that’s on me. I don’t want to lose anyone else. Least of all, you.”

  Seven

  IT WAS MIDAFTERNOON by the time Spencer located the elusive Miss Lily. Not for the first time since he’d landed in San Francisco, he longed for the informant network he’d built up over the years. Johnson was supposed to have been the stopgap to help him get on his feet, but she’d been more of a hindrance than a help, and the shine on his SFPD star was too bright for a lot of the old-timers to take him seriously, even with the silver flecks at his temple and the cop weariness he knew stained his face.

  Hitting up the few people he knew around the piers, he eventually found the old woman holed up against the brick wall of an Irish pub. Her hands were wrapped around a large paper cup of mostly coffee, but Spencer got a whiff of something potent floating around in the dark, liquid depths.

  She was sitting in one of a pair of plastic chairs facing the water, protected from the wind cutting between the buildings by a battered dumpster filled with cardboard boxes. From the cigarette butts sticking out of a sand-filled bucket, Spencer guessed it was where the pub’s staff took their smoke breaks. Someone inside probably slid Lily the coffee—whether or not it’d come pre-loaded was anyone’s guess. But he’d been there.

  Hell, he still was there because the damned smell of chea
p bourbon tucked into the brew set his nerves on fire.

  Approaching slowly, he called out to her, not wanting to startle the woman. She didn’t know him, and most transients were leery of cops, rightfully so. They survived better when not seen, human wildlife scrubbing out an existence in a concrete and asphalt jungle where they had little power and no influence. Her dark eyes flitted from the water onto his face, gleaming beneath the folds of skin wrinkling around them. Her gaze punched through him, not unlike Carter’s, and Spencer stopped a few feet away, holding his star up for her to see.

  “Hey, guy named Buttons told me to look you up,” Spencer said softly. “Wondered if you’ve got some time to talk about a man you saw a bit ago. He dumped someone into the water, right?”

  She sat silent, watching him, so Spencer took another step, halfway wishing he’d gone in for his own cup of coffee once the cold wind bit into his face. It didn’t seem like San Francisco understood a sunny day. Too often, the sunshine was coupled with a bitter snap, especially near the water. Standing in the shadow of a two-story brick building, the shade left a frosty kiss on his skin. His side grew warm where the pink slashes were hidden beneath his shirt, but his ribs seemed to feel every bit of the cold, his muscles cramping and tightening against the chill.

  “Can I sit with you?” He motioned toward the empty chair. “Maybe get you something to eat?”

  “Sit.” She nodded, then turned her attention back to her cup. “Got lunch.”

  Bundled up in an oversized red parka she’d left unfastened and open, Lily’s shape was lumpy from far away, but up close, her brittle frailty startled him. White powder clung to the folds of her wrinkled face, and when she smiled up at Spencer, her eyes were nearly lost under the heavy false eyelashes pasted awkwardly over her lids. Pale pink fingerless gloves covered her hands, but most of the ends flopped over her nails despite being shoved up as far as they could be toward her knuckles. A floral print sweater swaddled her torso, and she’d rolled up the hems of her thick, heavy canvas pants so many times the bulk at her ankles was nearly as thick as Spencer’s wrist. But she seemed warm, healthy, and clean, a far cry from many who struggled with their daily lives.

  “You’ve got a place to stay?” Spencer eased into the chair, half expecting it to break under his weight, but the thing was tough, holding him steady. “Someplace safe?”

  “I’m good,” she said with a cackle. He couldn’t tell how old she was. It was a tossup between ancient and hard-worn, but he saw a sparkle of a faded beauty in her uneven smile. “Live over three streets up. Just don’t like staying there, so I wander around. They give me coffee here. Sometimes a sandwich. But I like the coffee.”

  Miss Lily saluted him with her cup and winked, taking a brief sip before eyeing Spencer, obviously willing to wait for him to start talking.

  “Buttons told me you didn’t have a place to go,” he admitted. “Said you were out at all hours walking about.”

  “I do that,” she croaked, coughing slightly. Another sip from her cup and she seemed to settle back down. “He told you to ask me about the man I saw? Why? The cop I told didn’t believe me. I figured I’d just shut up.”

  “Well, I’m a cop. And I’m willing to listen,” Spencer replied. “I might even be willing to believe. There’s been some crazy things going on, and I think you might have seen something I need to hear about.”

  “No one listens. And now the police are hiring your kind. Or is that another lie?” Another long assessing look and then Miss Lily humphed at him, much like a disgruntled sea lion being harassed off a boat by an angry dog. “You walk up here smelling like a demon and you think I’m going to be fooled by you? You want my soul.”

  “Ma’am, I’m trying to catch a potential murderer.” Reassessing her sanity, Spencer forged on, hoping for even a scrap of something. He figured he had nothing to lose laying all of his cards out on the table. Either the old woman actually saw something that he could use, or he’d come up against another dead end. “You’ve got nothing to lose, not even your soul, by telling me what you saw and when. As much as you can remember.”

  “I tell you, then you go away.” She stared out at the water, watching the boats go by for a few minutes; then finally, her crackling voice broke out into a trembling whisper. “He didn’t see me. The man. But I saw him. Skinny. Not like you. With white hair and wild eyes. I sat right here, in this chair.”

  “What did you see?” Spencer turned the recording app on his phone, placing the device on his leg so she would notice it. But the woman didn’t pay it any mind. “I’m going to record it. Just so I don’t lose anything, okay? When did you see this man?”

  Lily didn’t reply at first; then she nodded. Pointing out toward the water, she continued, “Maybe three Sundays ago. I thought he was one of the new guys who started to live under the overpass by that flashy hotel they’re building up that way, but he was too nicely dressed. Like he was going someplace nice to eat.”

  “What time was this? Do you remember?”

  Frowning, she glanced at him. “Early. Before the sun came up. I went walking because I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes I get tired and I nap here. They don’t mind. Think I was asleep a bit because I heard a big engine and then this big black car thing parked by the curb. Then the man came out, and I could see his hair, but I couldn’t really see his face.”

  “Could you guess what nationality he was?” The white hair could have meant anything from a towheaded blond to an older man. “Maybe even his age?”

  “Young. Everyone’s young now. Maybe your age, and not white but some white. Maybe mixed. It was hard to tell. His hair was pulled back. Like girls do. But it was dark over there.” She motioned with her free hand, pantomiming a ponytail or a bun. “Everything he wore matched. Like a suit. He opened the back of the truck thing, then pulled something out of it. It was loud when it thumped to the ground. I thought he could have broken it maybe. Didn’t know what it was, then he started to drag it. From over by the road, and then he got to the water… under that light there… and it looked like something heavy. About the same size as he was, but it was all wrapped up. And dirty. Stained.”

  “Did he struggle when he dragged this object to the edge?” Spencer looked toward the drop-off, then gauged the distance between the street’s fire lane and the water. “Or did it look easy?”

  “Easy. But it kept rolling over when he hit the grass.” She chuckled. “Gave him a hard time over all the rocks and then got stuck on the sidewalk. That’s when some of the wrappings tore, and I saw a hand flop out. So I shut up and went really quiet. I didn’t want him to hear me. He probably would have killed me too if he saw me.”

  “Was the hand moving?” Spencer panicked but tamped it down. If a live person went into the frigid waters off the pier in the early morning, as confined as Lily described it, they wouldn’t have lived long enough for anyone to rescue them. Her hesitation made Spencer’s throat itch for a sip of the old woman’s coffee. “Did the wrapped-up person look like they were fighting?”

  “No,” she finally replied with a shake of her head. “It was dead. Like you see a chicken head. Gray. Maybe. Hard to tell because only that light over there was on. But it was hard to move over the sidewalk. Then he had to fight to get it over the edge. Lifting it up looked hard because it was flopping about. Then it splashed into the water and he left.”

  “And you said you tried to tell a cop—”

  “Wouldn’t listen to me. Uniform cop. Older man. Mean eyes. Told him, ‘I think I saw someone toss a dead man into the water over there,’ but he told me I was full of shit.” Miss Lily sniffed, huddling over her cooling cup. “Told me I was making it all up for some money, but I don’t need money. What am I going to buy? I’m old. I have everything. So I shut up and come down here like I always do. But not in the early morning anymore. That one who came here with that dead man, he is a devil. Don’t want him to know I’ve seen him. And now, here you come, sniffing at where he’s been, so now I need to find so
meplace else to come and sit. I want to die in my bed. So you go on your way and leave me in peace. Keep me out of your demon business, and I will keep you out of mine.”

  §

  “Looks like they’ve found another one.”

  Xian didn’t have to look to see who’d joined him on the rooftop overlooking the pier. He knew the man’s voice, its purring darkness filled with a danger strong enough to make most men with any lick of common sense take a step back. If anyone could fold his thoughts around, it was Jiro, and Xian was in no mood for the man’s jabberwocky musings.

  The night was cool, and while the area around the piers clamored with noise and people, the sectioned-off corner of the pier was quiet enough, despite being cluttered by cops, spotlights, and official-looking vehicles, including a medical examiner’s van Xian sometimes drove to crime scenes. It had been four hours since Inspector Ricci spoke to the skinny old woman sitting behind one of the many brick buildings built along the pier’s edges, and Xian was impressed Spencer had not only convinced the department to dive for what he suspected was another body but that he’d pulled it together so quickly.

  His suspicions were confirmed when one of the divers brought up a partially unwrapped hand curled up into a rigid claw, long torn bandages trailing from its broken-off wrist.

  Spencer Ricci definitely was on the trail of a monster, but Xian wasn’t sure what side of humanity the inspector’s prey was on.

  “They’ll probably call you in soon,” Jiro said softly. “We both know how humans like to have everything in a box. Since you did the last one, you’ll do this one as well. You do like dancing with the dead.”