Wray said, “A federal agent has been killed and another abducted. We believe these crimes may be somehow connected to your husband’s death.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Sugimori was on her feet and walking agitatedly around the room, keeping tables and sofas in between herself and them, Will noted. That could be an indication that she was lying — or that she was going to try and pull a weapon out of that big flower arrangement. “That’s insane. And you think Yuki is part of this?”
Wray asked, “Was he very close to his brother?”
“Yes. They were close. But what you’re suggesting is ridiculous.” She stood still. “Why would Yuki wait seven years to avenge his brother?”
Avenge.
Will said, “Your father-in-law recently passed away, I believe. We thought that perhaps some new information might have come to light at that time. Families often have secrets.”
“I don’t care for what you’re implying.”
“We’re not implying anything, ma’am,” Wray said. “We’re just trying to get to the truth. It’s nothing personal.”
Maybe not for Wray. As far as Will was concerned it was time to take the kid gloves off. They needed to break Sugimori and break her fast, because if they walked out of this house without the answers they needed, she was going to make two phone calls: one to a lawyer and one to Yukishige Sugimori. There was a more-than-good chance that the first thing she told little brother would be to kill Taylor — assuming he was not already dead.
Will refused to consider that. If they’d wanted Taylor dead outright, they’d have executed him in Will’s front yard when they shot Varga.
“Why do you think your husband killed himself, Mrs. Sugimori?” Will inquired.
For an instant the pale mouth seemed unable to form words. “He was…depressed.”
“I’d say that goes without saying.”
She blinked at him, nonplussed by the sudden, blatant aggression.
“Marital problems?” Will pressed. “That’s the usual thing, isn’t it?”
“No!”
He could feel Wray watching him, but she didn’t try to intervene. “You weren’t with him in Japan. That could have made a difference. Why weren’t you there with your husband?”
Her lips were parted, but no words were spoken.
Wray interjected, equally cool, “Do you happen to own a brown Chevy, Mrs. Sugimori?”
The pale eyes widened like an animal at bay.
“Mrs. Sugimori, do you own a gun?” Will asked.
* * * * *
The broken edge of the earthenware jug had to be fairly dull, because his hand slipped several times but he didn’t cut himself — maybe a good thing, if the contents of the bottle had been laced with rat poison. Not so good for cutting through these fucking ropes.
Jesus, he was tired. If he could just rest a few minutes.
But he was making progress. He’d kicked his legs free of the ropes a short while earlier.
He just needed…a few more…minutes…
A door slammed, the bang as loud as a shot in the empty building. Taylor’s head jerked up. Time. He rolled onto his knees, tucked his feet, and stood. Thank you God for the use of his legs, because he’d be a sitting duck otherwise. He leaned back against the wall, fighting his dizziness, trying to contain his breathing.
Footsteps approached briskly. Yu-Gi-Oh! was going to make this fast.
Taylor hit him coming through the door, a shoulder ramming into the other man. Yuki slammed into the opposite wall and dropped the gun he held. It clattered on the cement floor. After a fleeting second of astonished realization, Yuki dived for it. Taylor kicked him in the jaw, and Yuki went flying. He landed on his back and was back on his feet in a reasonably steady kip-up.
Terrific.
Taylor gave a hard, despairing yank on the rope around his wrists and felt it give. Not enough, though, and Yuki was coming at him Fists of Fury-style, throwing kicks and chops like a crazy windmill. Taylor ducked away, kicked the pistol through the door into the other room, away from their area of combat. He delivered a couple of roundhouse strikes.
Yuki staggered back and laughed. “You think you’re Chuck Norris, dude?”
Taylor didn’t have the breath to spare. Sweat stung his eyes, soaked the back of his shirt. This had to be fast, because he didn’t have the strength left for extended combat.
Yuki flew at him again; this time Taylor turned aside and let the kid hit the wall. He smashed into it but was up again, fists and feet flying, laughing.
Oh, to be twenty and a fucking psycho again.
Taylor was only too conscious of the fact that if one of those strikes connected, it was all over for him. He kept moving, ducking, weaving, managing to deliver a few good kicks. His basic strategy was to wear Yuki down a little. The problem was he was wearing down too.
He kept working at the rope around his wrist, tugging and rubbing at it, ignoring the pain of his flesh being scraped raw.
Yuki came hurtling at him again, delivering a succession of showy tornado and 720 kicks. Exhibition stuff. The prick was playing with him, cat and mouse. Taylor faked a retreat toward the doorway and, when Yuki charged after him, dropped him in his tracks with a jackknife kick to the head. Unfortunately, unable to use his arms for balance, it landed Taylor too. Hard.
It was like flipping a turtle on its back. Taylor rolled over, trying to get his feet under him. Yuki, stunned for a few seconds, was getting up again, and the look in his eyes said he was through playing games. He rushed at Taylor.
Taylor gave one last desperate yank to the restraints around his wrists and felt the rope give. He dived through the doorway, scrambling for the gun.
* * * * *
“You have no right to insinuate these things!” Alexandra Sugimori cried. There was color in her face now; her eyes seemed to glitter.
“Have you heard of the Federal Death Penalty Act of 1994?” Will inquired. He felt Wray’s double take, but he had no
