The Killing Hands Page 18

Hana turns to us. “Mrs. Park says she knew something was wrong with Mee, but that Mee insisted she’d had a burst pipe at her house and needed to stay somewhere just for the night.”

  I nod. “What time did she leave this morning?”

  Again, Hana talks to Mrs. Park in Korean and waits for the response before turning back to us. “About ten-fifteen. And she knew that was also strange, because Mee teaches and should have left for work much earlier. But Mee told her she was taking the day off to sort out the problems with her plumbing.”

  Mrs. Park says something to Hana.

  “She said she knew Mee was lying. That she’s a very poor liar.”

  I smile. “It’s not a bad quality.”

  Hana translates for me and Mrs. Park nods her agreement. She looks at her hands, twisting in her lap, and says something else, but the sentence is forced.

  “What did she say?” I don’t give Hana a chance to translate before my curiosity gets the better of me.

  “She asked if Mee was in a lot of trouble.”

  “I see.” I resist the urge to nod my head, in case Mrs. Park thinks I’m saying yes. “Tell her we’re concerned for Mee Kim’s safety. That she’s been pulled into something, but that it’s not her fault.”

  Hana translates and once she’s done I continue. “If she can help us, we can find Mee Kim and protect her. Does she have any idea, where Mee Kim was going? Where she might be now?”

  Again, I wait while Hana and Mrs. Park converse in Korean.

  “The only thing Mee told her was that she was going back to her house. But Mrs. Park knew that was a lie. She pushed her about it, asked if there was anything she could do, but Mee said not to worry, that everything was fine.”

  I sigh. I realize Mee is trying to protect Mrs. Park, but she could be risking her own life in the process. If the Yakuza catches up to her before we do…

  “Ask her what she thinks of Mee,” Ramos says. “You know, what’s she like?”

  Hana nods and repeats the question in Korean. The response is long, but Hana shortens it for us. “Mrs. Park just gave the most glowing report you could possibly imagine. Hardworking, caring, kind, beautiful, generous.”

  Ramos nods. “So I’m guessing Mrs. Park doesn’t think Mee Kim is a blackmailer or involved in the Yakuza herself.”

  Hana smiles. “I’m guessing it’s a no on that one.” She turns to me. “I’m going to ask her about the classes. If Mee turned to Mrs. Park, maybe she’ll turn to one of her other students. Someone else she’s close to.”

  I nod and wait while Hana asks the question. After a few minutes of back and forth, Hana turns to us. “She suggests we talk to Sun Lee and Mi-na Moon.”

  When we’re back in the car, Hana makes some more phone calls before we consider home visits for everyone.

  “You’re trusting everyone, I take it?” It’s possible someone on the other end of the phone will lie to Hana to protect Mee.

  Hana gives me a look. “You gotta be kidding me? I crosscheck everyone. Remember, I’m DEA. Everybody on drugs lies to cover their habit, their tracks. Maybe these people are respectable, upstanding citizens, but I’m not letting any fast talking get by me.”

  I laugh. “You sound like Dr. House…you know, the show House? He says everybody lies.”

  “Yeah, I watch House. And I have to agree with him. Certainly most people I run in to lie.”

  “Maybe medicine and law enforcement have something in common—they make us jaded when it comes to human nature.”

  She snorts. “Maybe.” She dials the next number, and I’m lost again as the Korean language flows from the backseat.

  Hana makes her way through our lists quickly and twenty minutes later she’s rubbing her hands together. “Okay, I reckon there are four people we should visit. The ones already earmarked—Sun Lee, Hae Koo and Mi-na Moon—plus one other, Na-yung Sung. Interestingly, Ms. Moon claimed she didn’t know Mee very well at all, but we’ve had at least two people say Moon and Mee are close.”

  “Everybody lies,” I quip.

  “Exactly.” Hana does up her seat belt. “Okay, I grew up around here and I’ve worked out the best order for the four visits, so we’re not backtracking. Unless you want to go straight to Moon?”

  Ramos and I glance at one another. “No, let’s do the fastest route. I’ve got kung fu tonight and I’m sure you guys have got things to do, too.” It’s 3:30 p.m. now, and four stops could easily take us three hours, depending on how long we spend with each person.

  Hana nods. “Okay. Our first stop is Sun Lee. And it’ll make Ms. Moon our fourth stop.”

  The first three visits are strikeouts and Hae Koo managed to keep us talking for forty-five minutes before it became obvious that all she had for us was gossip. By the time we get to Mi-na Moon’s home, we’re restless. Unlike the first three students, Moon lives in an apartment rather than a small single-family house. The cream-colored apartment complex on South Virgil Avenue is only three stories high, made of four clusters with red pitch roofs on each building and enclosed walkways that join the four sections. There’s only a small amount of greenery around the building, but despite this it doesn’t look like a concrete jungle. On the contrary, there’s something almost beachside and tranquil about the complex. The main entrance from Virgil Avenue is framed by a large cream archway, nearly two stories high itself. A wrought iron gate provides security, although realistically it’s not tall enough to keep a determined visitor or criminal out. We buzz apartment number fourteen and wait. It takes about a minute before Moon answers.

  “Yes, who is it?”

  “It’s Special Agent Kim from the DEA. We spoke on the phone.”

  “Oh. Yes. Come up.” Her voice is hesitant, surprised.

  “I take it you didn’t tell Moon we’d be dropping by?” I whisper.

  “Nope. Thought we’d make it a surprise visit.”

  The gate buzzes, releasing the lock, and Hana grabs it. “Let’s see what she’s got to say for herself.”

  Ramos holds the door open for Hana and me, before following us up the stairs. “My wife will be expecting me home for dinner soon.”

  “Dinner on the table at seven?” Hana teases.

  “Pretty much. Yeah.”

  “Well, we better not keep your missus waiting.” Hana takes the last step and knocks on the door. “I’m getting hungry, too. Maybe she could set another place at the table.”

  Ramos seems a little taken aback, before Hana gives him a light slap on the arm. “I’m joking. I’m going out for dinner.”

  “Oh.” He smiles, a little awkwardly.

  “She’s taking her time.” Hana knocks again.

  It hits the three of us at once.

  “Damn!” Ramos is the first to voice it.

  We bolt down the flight of stairs, just as Mi-na Moon opens her front door. “You’re too late. She’s long gone,” Moon yells down the stairs at us. But I think she’s lying again…I think long gone is all of five minutes.

  At the bottom of the stairs we split up. “I’ll try out the front,” I yell, running onto South Virgil Avenue.

  “I’m going down.” Hana dashes toward a door marked Parking.

  “That leaves me around here,” Ramos says.

  Once I hit the pavement I quickly look up and down the street, searching for Mee, her car, or anything else unusual. Nothing. I check again, this time devoting more attention to the passing cars and every person. There’s no sign of Mee Kim or her silver Hyundai. I push out a breath, hands on hips, before moving back into the apartment complex. Not surprisingly, I’m the first to arrive back. Rather than going up to question Mi-na Moon, I wait for the others, sitting on the bottom step.

  Ramos comes back first, out of breath. “Nothing,” he says. “Couldn’t find her anywhere on the grounds.” He sits on the step next to me, catching his breath.

  A short while later, the door to the underground parking opens, and Hana strides out.

  “Well?”

  She shakes h
er head. “No sign of Mee, but her car’s down there.”

  “Really? So she’s on foot now.” I stand up again, thinking maybe it’s worthwhile to keep searching the grounds and surrounding area.

  “Unless she took Moon’s car.” Ramos stands, too.

  “Let’s check in with Moon.” I lead the way back up the steps to Moon’s apartment. The door is closed. “Open up, Ms. Moon. It’s us.” I knock loudly on it.

  She opens the door and smiles. “Told you she was gone.”

  I shake my head. “Ms. Moon, I don’t know what Mee told you, but she’s in danger and we can help her.”

  Moon’s face falls ever so slightly. “Danger?”

  “Yes. Why else do you think the FBI, DEA and LAPD are chasing her?” Hana crosses her arms.

  “So you really are the law?”

  I show Moon my ID and Hana and Ramos follow suit.

  “What did Mee tell you?” Ramos asks.

  “That her ex-boyfriend and some woman were trying to get money off her, and pretending to be FBI or the cops.”

  “Ms. Moon, did you lend Mee your car?” Hana asks.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Give me the details of the car.” I take out my notebook and a pen.

  Moon bites her lip. “Nissan Micra 2002. Red. Plates 5EQ4500.”

  Hana shakes her head. “Try again, Ms. Moon.”

  Moon looks puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “I was just down in your basement. There’s a red Nissan Micra parked in your spot.”

  “But I gave Mee the keys. She was using the stairs over there to get down.” Moon points to a set of stairs along the corridor.

  Obviously, as soon as we buzzed, Mee ran that way, avoiding the front entrance altogether. But where did she go if she didn’t drive off in her car or Moon’s?

  Eighteen

  I arrive at kung fu twenty minutes early and am happy to find Sifu Lee in his office, and alone. I knock on the glass window and he beckons me in.

  “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “Not at all. How did it go today?”

  I put my gear down on the chair opposite Lee. “Our Little Tokyo victim does have indications of dim mak.”

  “Which points?”

  I tell him.

  He nods. “Kidney 22 and pericardium 6 are setup points. To exacerbate the effects of stomach 9 and heart 3. Have you had a chance to read the books?”

  “Not yet. I had a quick flick and I’ve given the one by the doctor to the forensic pathologist working the case. I think we’ll both be reading about dim mak this weekend.”

  Lee nods again. “Well, if you’ve got any questions….”

  “Thanks.”

  For the first hour of class we work on blocks, before Lee pairs us up for thirty minutes of partner work. Tonight, Lee puts me with Marcus, someone I don’t work with very often, and I’m immediately conscious of the difference in our skills and strength. Marcus may only be one level above me, but he’s also six-two and muscular. I remind myself of what I said to Williams—bulk doesn’t matter in kung fu, not if you’re fast and precise.

  For the first fifteen minutes we work as a group, with Lee calling out strikes for one side of the room and watching the blocks the partners come up with. The first series of strikes he calls out is left jab, right hook, followed by a double undercut. I look for Marcus’s first punch, watching his shoulders to see when the movement initiates. Even though it’s tempting and logical to watch the hands, it’s the shoulders that give away the start of a punch. His left shoulder moves ever so slightly, and the punch comes a few milliseconds later. By the time it gets to its target, my face, I’ve used an upper block to defend myself, bending at the elbow so his strike lands on the bony part of my forearm. Marcus doesn’t hold back, and the punch sends small aftershocks through my arm—might have a bruise there, despite my conditioning. Marcus’s right hook comes extremely fast after his left jab, and I put both arms up around my head to protect myself—similar to a boxer’s defensive stance. For the double undercut, which is a difficult strike to defend with a simple block, I take a step backward and bring my forearm down onto his forearms as the strike hits the place where I was standing only a second before. I keep watching Marcus, and only just manage to deflect the roundhouse kick he sends my way.

  “Hey, that wasn’t part of the drill!”

  Marcus grins. “Just keeping you on your toes.”

  “Okay, swap,” Lee says. “And stick with the instructions.” He eyes Marcus disapprovingly. It’s one thing to throw a kick when we’re sparring freestyle, but to do it when I wasn’t on the lookout could have been disastrous. Lee doesn’t want any unnecessary injuries on his watch.

  Once Marcus is in position, I move my body weight forward a couple of times as a fake, before lunging in with a jab. I follow it quickly with my right hook, and then the double uppercut. Marcus defends the strikes easily.

  The next series of movements Lee calls out includes two kicks moving forward as an attack sequence and two straight punches. I attack first, sliding forward and delivering a right-side kick aimed at Marcus’s chest, followed by a front kick aimed at his groin and then a right and left punch to his head.

  In the next sequence, Marcus moves in for a stranglehold. I wind both arms around the outside of his, and bring them down hard on his forearms just near the elbow joints, before his hands get a grip on my throat. We switch roles again, and Marcus has no trouble keeping me at a distance.

  With only twenty minutes of class to go, Lee breaks us into two groups, one he can supervise and the other is taken by Steve. Marcus and I are in Lee’s group, along with another five sparring partners. He gives each couple a few minutes in the center, with one person attacking and one person defending. This final exercise is freestyle sparring, allowing us to come up with whatever combination of strikes and kicks we’d like.

  “A word of warning,” Lee says. “I know you’ve got your protective gear on, but please take it easy. I don’t want anyone using full-out strength. Remember, this is a class, not the place to act like your life depended on your moves.”

  We all nod before he calls the first pair into the center. Most people manage to connect with their opponents, even briefly. Marcus and I are the last ones in.

  “Okay, you two. We’ve only got a couple of minutes left, so let’s see what you’ve got. Sophie, you can throw the first strike.”

  I nod and pop on my helmet, which is streaked with sweat and feels uncomfortably hot. Marcus follows suit, and we give each other a small bow. I use my footwork first, moving in fast so I’m close enough for an elbow strike to his ribs, while also making sure I keep my guard up to block any punches if he’s fast enough to throw one before I get out of his immediate range. I make contact with the ribs and block his retaliatory elbow strike by pushing the palm of my hand down along my body as I move out. He moves into attack mode, sending a right hook my way. As the punch comes closer to my head, I block it with my left forearm but quickly bring my right arm under his to the outside, so his elbow joint is sandwiched between my forearms on either side. In a fight situation, I’d apply as much conflicting pressure as I could, pushing my left arm away from me while pulling my right arm toward me. The result would be a broken elbow. But in this instance I hold the position for a millisecond and apply only the slightest bit of pressure to show I’ve got the lock on. While I’ve got his right arm, I sense his left coming toward the back of my head. I move away from him and into a lower horse stance, blocking the punch with my right arm. He’s closed up the space between us now, and I decide to use that to my advantage, going for another close-range strike. I move through into another horse stance, this time so I’m directly in front of him, with my back to him, and push both my elbows back into his body, before moving back to the neutral side-on standing position.

  My weight’s not quite balanced when Marcus tries a side kick. I only just manage to block the kick before it connects with my hip. It may be a class situation, but
now my adrenaline’s pumping—I almost let the kick through. Marcus follows his side kick with an immediate crescent kick and I move out of its way by sliding backward on my back foot. I team the back slide with an outside block, just in case I haven’t moved far enough away from the kick. This time Marcus misses me by an inch or two.

  While his leg is still in the air, I take two quick steps to get me in range of his supporting leg. I carefully target my kick to the back of his knee. In a real-life situation I’d be going for the side of the knee joint to tear his ligaments, or even for his shin. My kick connects with the back of Marcus’s knee and it has the desired effect, with his supporting leg buckling momentarily. However, his left leg hits the ground a fraction of a second after I’ve made contact, giving him time to recover his balance. I’m now behind him, and he immediately swings his upper body downward, like a pendulum, bringing his right leg up in a tiger tail kick that’s targeting my abdomen. I block and move at the same time, but if he’d put his full force into that kick he would have made contact and done some damage. Damn it. The only good thing for me is that kicks take a little longer to recover from than hand strikes, in terms of getting back into a balanced horse stance and throwing another punch or defending. So while he’s still reasserting his body into position, I move in and deliver a tiger strike to his back, targeting his kidneys with the palm of my hand. I make contact, but keep the power down, so it’s unlikely he’ll even have a bruise there tomorrow.

  “Okay, stop.” Lee claps his hands together twice, just in case his voice wasn’t enough to get our attention.

  We both turn around to face him and receive our verdicts, taking our helmets off at the same time. Sweat drips down my neck, back and between my breasts. I’ve definitely got my workout tonight. And that was only a few minutes of fighting.

  “Excellent,” he says. “In a fight situation you both would have made contact with some good strikes.”

  I smile, happy that I held my own with a more experienced and much bigger opponent. Maybe my private lessons are paying off.

  Two hours later I’m in bed reading and still winding down when my cell phone rings. I instinctively look at my watch—11:00 p.m.