The Killing Hands (42 page)

The house is quiet and dark, with only a single light on in the kitchen. However, the curtains are drawn and we can't see inside. We file into the property's garden and make our way toward the house. Once everyone's in position, the team leader gives the order. It's 7:00 p.m., so we'll probably catch Suzuki and his family by surprise, sitting around the dinner table. Who knows if he's worried about the hit or is even aware that things didn't go as planned last night.

The front door gives and the team files in. There are eight of us taking the front door, six at the back door and another eight are stationed around the building's perimeter, ready to catch anyone who tries to make a run for it.

The front foyer is opulent, an ornate staircase leading upstairs, marble everywhere and tall ceilings. The SWAT leader puts his finger to his lips and, sure enough, we hear it.

A woman crying.

He mouths “Go” and leads us around the corner, toward the kitchen. I'm the last one into the kitchen, but instead of walking in on dinner, a woman sobs over Takeshi Suzuki's body.

“Who did this?” I demand.

His wife, now widow, looks up and notices the room full of law enforcement for the first time. Her eyes focus on me and she shakes her head.

“Where are the children, Mrs. Suzuki?”

“Not here. My husband—” she strokes his head “—he told me to take the kids to my mom's house for the night. He must have known. But I knew something was wrong so I came back, alone.”

“And he was already dead?”

She nods and covers her face with her hands.

“Who did this?” I repeat my original question, even though I've got a feeling I know the answer.

She looks up at me, tears streaming down her face. “He's untouchable.”

Moto. He said he'd keep his affairs in-house, and this is
how an organized crime boss cleans up. Maybe he knows about Suzuki's skimming, maybe not. Either way, in his mind he's righted a wrong, meted out his version of justice. But where does it end? Jun Saito was no saint, that's for sure. He was made to pay for taking Ima Yamada's life with the death of his girlfriend and unborn child. But that wasn't enough for Takeshi. He needed to kill Saito, too.

Takeshi got his revenge, but what about Mee? She may not have known her father, but I was hoping she'd see Suzuki behind bars.

Where's Mee's justice?

D
arren's breathing evens off. “I guess we can give tender a go next time.”

I laugh. “Guess so.” I look around my apartment at the clothes scattered through the room and Darren's overnight bag still at the door. At least we closed the front door. “It has been two weeks.”

“Two weeks and one day.”

“It was that one day that tipped us over.”

He smiles and brings me in for a kiss. “So, you're better?”

“Almost one hundred percent. Still not jogging, but I have started brisk walks and pilates. Jogging's next week.”

He strokes the scar on my left shoulder. “It's pretty small.”

“The doctor was a whiz.” My fingers go to the small bubble of tissue. “She said I could have plastic surgery to make it virtually invisible.”

“You going to?”

“Nah. It adds character…doesn't it?”

Darren manages a small snort. “Well, it's a war wound. You've had your fair share of trouble.”

I shrug. “Maybe. But that's all in the past.”

Darren turns away suddenly and sits up.

“What's wrong?”

“AmericanPsycho's not in the past.” He turns back to me.

“No. But next time I come up against that beast, I'm taking him down.”

Darren's mouth only upturns slightly. “I hate the fact that he's out there. Doing goodness knows what. Maybe watching you.”

“His prints and name have been flagged. No way he's getting into the US again.”

“It's not impossible.”

I don't say anything, knowing that Park Ling managed to fool the biometric tests, and I know AmericanPsycho has an almost unlimited supply of money to throw at new identities—documents, plastic surgery, the works.

Darren looks at me. “What?”

“I probably shouldn't tell you this, but the hit man from my last case got into the States again. It was only facial recognition software that picked him up in the end.”

“This is what I'm talking about.” Darren stands up and paces, but it doesn't have the usual conviction because he's naked.

I can't hide my amusement.

“What?”

“Sorry, it's just that pacing doesn't have the same sense of purpose with your clothes off.”

He looks down. “True.” He sits next to me. “So you got your man, the hit man?”

“Uh-huh. No confession, of course. But he had money on him with Takeshi Suzuki's prints, plus we've got him on attempted murder of our undercover agent and assault on me. I don't know if we'll be able to bring him to trial for all the other murders—the prosecutors are still sorting through what we've got and working out the best way to maximize the charges. But given the circumstances, I'm sure he'll get the maximum sentence for the attempt on Special Agent Dan Young's life and that's life imprisonment. I can deal with that.”

“And what about the person who put the contract out?”

“He's dead.”

“Dead?”

“Murdered by his boss, the L.A. head of the Yakuza, Tomi Moto.”

“Wow, so you've got the head of the Yakuza for murder. That's amazing.”

“Got?” I sigh. “Not exactly. We know he did it, and he now knows that his organization was infiltrated by a DEA agent. But we haven't got him by any stretch of the imagination. First off, one of his foot soldiers would have actually pulled the trigger. No way he'd get directly involved. And secondly, it's a clean, professional crime scene. No fingerprints, no DNA, no match on the bullet, no witnesses. For the moment, and maybe forever, no one will be brought to justice for Takeshi Suzuki's murder.”

“And how is the victim's daughter doing?”

“She's okay…given what she's been through. I think this whole thing's changed Mee Kim. A month ago she would have been outraged at Suzuki's murder, outraged that Moto had him killed. Now…well, you should have seen her face. I think she was actually happy that the man who ordered her father's murder is dead, too.” I lay my head in Darren's lap. “Vengeance was served this time, but I don't know about justice.”

Darren strokes my head. “At least no one walked free.”

“Except Moto.” I look up at the ceiling.

“Except Moto.”

We lie on the floor, silent for some time, until Darren says, “Time for another shot at tender?”

I smile and lean into him. “We should at least try.”