play with knives.”
“That’s why I don’t want SWAT kicking the door down,” Ryker said. “All due respect to our boys in black, I’d like to have the opportunity to speak with Miss Wong.”
“You think she separated Danny Lin from his yang? That’s no way to die, man,” Morales said.
“I don’t think she killed him-this broad’s in her fifties. But if she did, then she’s a dangerous psycho bitch until proven otherwise.”
Morales’s route took them past the Transamerica Pyramid, then down toward the Bay. Chinatown grew up around them and they were absorbed into its labyrinthine streets. Morales slowed down, and indicated the A-Z. Ryker flicked through the pages until he found their position.
“Next right, two blocks down,” he said. Morales steered that way. In no time they were within sight of the apartment block. Morales pulled in and stopped. A black-and-white sat parked in an alley, out of sight. Two uniforms climbed out along with an inoffensive-looking Chinese guy who smiled weakly as Ryker approached, Morales and Raymond a half-step behind.
“This is the supervisor, Mr. Lau,” the older of the two cops said. Ryker shook Lau’s hand, which was cold and limp. “Get this. He’s got family in the same building, a nephew and his wife and kid. Isn’t that right, Mr. Lau?” Lau nodded eagerly. “They live on the second floor. The woman’s one floor up. Mr. Lau called them and asked if they saw her today. They said yes. They think she could be up there now. Mr. Lau says she keeps to herself, pays her rent on time, doesn’t cause any trouble.”
“She won’t even say hello to my nephew’s family,” Lau said. “What kind of person won’t say hello to their neighbors?” He shook his head in disgust, then eagerly added, “Of course, I think I still need to see a warrant, right?”
Ryker pulled a facsimile copy of the warrant from inside his coat and showed it to Lau. Sometimes he loved technology. Sometimes. Lau checked the name and address were spelled right, folded the warrant, and handed it back to Ryker.
“What’d she do?” the cop asked.
“Murder suspect,” Ryker told him. “Emphasis on suspect. If we’re wrong, no big deal.”
“If we’re right,” Raymond said, “big deal.”
The cop shrugged. “Whatever way you want to play it.”
“I want you come along behind us and cover the stairs after we’re inside, keep the neighbors under control. Mr. Lau, you’ll help too. We’re going to unlock the door and walk right in.” He held out his hand and Lau gave him a key. The plastic tag read 303.
“Simplest plans are always the best,” the cop said.
They entered the building without drawing attention and climbed the stairs. Morales put himself into wingman position, establishing Raymond as tail-end Charlie, the backup gun if things went pear-shaped. When they reached the third floor landing they drew and checked their weapons. They padded silently along the corridor until they reached 303, and passed it by without stopping. Ryker pulled out his badge. Morales did the same. They crept back to the door. Raymond sucked in a deep breath. Morales crossed himself. Ryker fought an overwhelming urge to pass wind.
A narrow hallway. Doors to left and right. Bedroom. Bathroom. Kitchen. They peeked into each of these apparently empty rooms on their way to the living room at the end of the hallway. Ryker stepped into the living room and swung left, Morales went right. Empty. He peered beneath the couch and chairs. Nothing. He turned back to the hallway, saw Raymond at the open door in marksman’s stance, both eyes open, aiming right at him. As Ryker relaxed and Morales came up out of his crouch, she lowered her weapon. He realized that her expression must mirror his: disappointment that the neighbors, Lau’s nephew’s family, were wrong. Nobody was home.
A shadow fell across the hallway and obscured his view of Raymond for only a second. When he saw her again she was sitting outside, her back against the corridor wall, legs spread wide, head bowed so her hair cascaded down over her face. He bolted along the hallway and out into the corridor. His shoe struck Raymond’s gun as he skidded to a stop, sent it spinning away. Raymond’s arm flopped. Her head came up, her mouth moved, but she didn’t say anything. Her eyes rolled, following the direction of her flopping arm. Pointing? Ryker swung round, gun cocked, finger on the trigger. The shadow stood on the landing, looking back at him. That same face he’d seen in the security camera print, eyes like black stones, terribly beautiful, yet also terribly frightening. He pulled the trigger even as his senses acknowledged the shadow’s blurred movement up and over the hand rail, plunging down the stairwell. The narrow confines of the corridor reflected the percussion and deafened him; at the same time recoil slammed up his arm and hurt his shoulder. He already knew he’d missed. He ran toward the landing as Morales emerged from the apartment and moved to assist Raymond.
Lau and the two cops stood at the bottom of the stairway. They looked up at him with astonished faces. The older cop said something, cupping his hands around his mouth. Ryker pointed at his ear and shook his head, indicating that he couldn’t hear. His ears popped. It sounded like he had a sea shell covering both ears, giving the effect of waves on a beach. Morales’s footsteps grew louder. He joined Ryker and peered over the rail. “The hell happened?”
“She was here!” Ryker said. He shouted down to the cops, “Where is she?”
They looked at each other dumbly as if he’d spoken a foreign language. Then both men shrugged and spread their hands, the universal expression of incomprehension that told Ryker they didn’t have the slightest idea what he was talking about.
Ryker went down the stairs four at a time, leading with his Glock. Morales caught on and followed him. They reached the next landing down. Ryker peeked around the corner. The corridor was empty. At the far end, net curtains fluttered, pushed by a breeze. Ryker crabbed sideways along the hallway, pressing himself to the wall. Morales took the other side. They reached the curtains, which concealed an open window. Ryker peered out. The fire escape ladder was up, it hadn’t been used. Below the window lay a narrow alleyway with a row of trash bins. He leaned out as far as he could but there was no one down there.
“What happened?” Morales said. Ryker was torn between taking the fire escape down into the alleyway, and going upstairs to check on Raymond. “What the hell happened?”
“Stay here,” he told Morales. “Watch the alleyway. If anything moves, shoot it.”
Morales took up station, clearly bewildered. Ryker hurried back to the landing and called down to the cops, telling them to check the alleyway, even though he knew it was hopeless. They ran outside and Ryker climbed back up to the third floor, where he found Raymond on her feet, leaning against the wall and breathing deeply.
“Sandra. Talk to me.” He examined her for signs of injury, of blood, but couldn’t see either.
“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m okay.”
“Did you see her?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Raymond shook her head, then winced when it apparently hurt. “Give me a second. I don’t know, what the fuck, I was looking at you, next thing I knew….” She rubbed her neck, massaged the area of her collarbone. Ryker opened her jacket. Her white blouse was intact and blood-free.
“It hurts there?”
“Yeah it fucking hurts, don’t touch me. Christ, I thought the bitch must have shot me. The impact, I couldn’t feel my legs, what did she hit me with? It threw me back. My legs stopped working. A fucking sledgehammer or something?” He sensed her panic, a result of confusion and fear. They moved together instinctively and she clung onto him for dear life, trembling with reaction. Her words came out in breathless sobs. “I thought I’d be in a wheelchair. What did she do to me?”
“Sandra, did you see her?” He held her tightly, twisting his hips away from her to avoid any crotch contact. Last thing he needed right now was a hard-on.
“I saw something. It must have been her. She was there. Then she was gone.” Raymond delivered one last gurgling sob into his shoulder, then stepped back, disconnecting from him. “She was dressed in black, from head to foot.”
“She must have had some kind of weapon,” Ryker suggested. “A club, a T-bar, something like that?”
“I don’t, I’m not sure, if she had anything in her hands.” She touched his chest, making a fist, tapping him around his collarbone as if trying to visually recreate what she’d experienced.
“She punched you?”
