Hungry Ghosts (12 page)

A line of uniformed officers moved up the stairs and into the crime scene. It seemed both ages and no time at all till Korematsu returned. Vaguely I wondered if I was in shock. It was almost the same sensation I'd had in Tia's dining room when I'd realized the truth about my brothers hunting for Mike. But one thing I was clearheaded enough to see was that there was no way I was going to let Mike's name come into this investigation.

Korematsu walked back in, propping himself against the doorway. There was a studied quality to his expression. He was slight, with hair that was long for a detective. I wondered if he was about to be rotated into an undercover job. He looked undercover, not homicide. He was way too sexy for homicide. I could see him half sprawled in a dark bar, setting up a buy, see his hair hanging over his eyes, down around his chiseled cheekbones.

I flushed. I really was losing it. I stared down and inhaled slowly. Still I found myself thinking that he was one of those guys who hold their college looks till they're fifty. Was he that old? When John was that age, he was already a force in Homicide. Had Korematsu joined the department late? “So, Ms. Lott, you said Ms. Dru disappeared about twelve-thirty.”

“That's right,” I said, yanking myself back to the question.

“You talked to Detective Lott at twelve forty-eight. Then what did you do?”

Broke into the garage
was not the answer I wanted to share here. I sobered up quick. It was what they call in the stunt business “death curtain time,” the moment the assumptions are shattered and you know you're going to die if you don't get out that very instant. I'd had a few of those moments in car chase gags; each time I'd bailed I'd ended up with a broken pelvis or a collapsed lung—instead of a coffin. Now I saw in Korematsu's face the deadly eyes of a homicide detective.
Whom
. I forced myself to stay still—no straightening of shoulders, no intake of breath, definitely not an iota of change of expression. “I waited for him. I wanted him to find her, but, well, there was nothing he could do, was there? Officially, I mean.”

I thought for a moment he would say, “Whom do you mean?” but he merely nodded for me to go on. Not so much as a smile for John Lott's sister. “I ran the neighborhood, checked each side of Broadway, the blocks around, Van Ness, Polk, and then went back to see if she'd come home.” I looked past him across the hall into Leo's room. All I could see of Tia was her arm flung out palm up. I turned away, squeezing my eyes shut to hold back a torrent of tears.

“That was what time?”

“I don't know. But then I ran back along Broadway to here and had Robin Sparto, the second unit director on the movie, get me through the barricade. The officer there may remember the time. Robin might have some idea.”

“And then you came up here?”

“After showing Robin something, yes.”

“And you went to the priest's room? Why was that?”

To ask why the bell hadn't rung as it always does to end the evening sitting, to find out if there had been an evening sitting at all, and to ask what could have been so important that the priest misses the evening service on the second day the zendo is open.
“To say I was back.”

“His door was shut.”

“Yes.”

“You knocked?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“There was no response, so I went in.”

“The door was shut and the priest didn't say anything to admit you, but you went in anyway? Is that normal for your relationship with him, Ms. Lott?”

I looked Korematsu in the eye. “It is.” At the monastery where I'd met Leo I'd had to protect him, and going in and out was part of that.

“And you found a woman in his room.”

Oh shit!
“She was dead.”

“There are footsteps, in blood, leading down from the crime scene—”

“Mine. I went to get help.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Uh-huh.” I followed his eyes to the wad of clothing on the floor with the dark stains. If he tested them, he would discover the stains were mud. But by the time he got the results he would have dusted Tia's apartment for prints and found mine. And then there was her garage, also full of my fingerprints.
Whom!
Now I remembered where I'd heard Korematsu's name. He was a new instructor in the academy when John was in charge. As the least senior guy, Korematsu was assigned to teach recruits how to write reports. John had gotten him busted back to wherever he came from
for the sin of focusing too heavily on grammar.
As if
, Grace had told me,
writing a sentence clear enough for the D.A. to understand was going to be a blot on the department
.

The guy would have to be a saint not to relish John Lott's sister with a corpse in the next room and blood all over her shoes.

Again I looked him in the eye, and said, “Detective, I am a police detective's sister. My brother joined the force when I was four years old. You, of all people, know how opinionated he is about police behavior, and about the stupid things civilians do in the face of the police. Can you imagine if I were to kill someone, I'd leave bloody footprints and then call you?”

For the first time, he smiled. He said, “We'll talk about that at the station.”

I waited till I caught his eye. “I don't think so.”

C
HAPTER
12

I
HATED
to have to summon one of my big brothers, but, dammit, Korematsu was not going to haul me to the Central or whichever station he worked out of and leave me twiddling in an interrogation booth. Possession is nine-tenths of the law and I was damned if I was going to be possessed. I pulled out my phone and called Gary. He said exactly what I could have scripted for him:
Why didn't you call me immediately! Korematsu!! Don't say another word, not to him, not to me!!! Korematsu! Shit! Not a word, even about why that bastard is there!!!

I sat silently. Korematsu stood silently, with the expression of one who's swallowed a hot coal of fury. I wanted to say: Tia is dead in the next room, and the big issue here is your petty feud with my brother! Or: Why would I kill Tia! I was happy to see her; she was going to make my return to San Francisco fun. I figured today's lunch would be the first of many, that we'd talk about old times, but more that she was my friend.

How could I have imagined she'd walk off the way Mike had or, worse, that she might ever end up dead? The parallel chilled me. She was so entwined with Mike in my mind. But she wasn't dead because of Mike. She had her own life, had had it for years, and something in that sprang up to slice her throat. I shivered and suddenly I couldn't stop shivering. The horror of it washed over me like her blood all over Leo's floor. Sweat, icy
now, coated my skin. My clothes were meant to cool the body, not warm it. I was remembering Tia in her long skirt swinging her body into her living room chair with a bravado that covered her pain, or almost.

Korematsu shifted. Without moving my head I could see him through my eyelashes, his forehead wrinkled, his brows peaked over his dark eyes. He looked toward the closet, seemed to reconsider, glanced toward a shawl hanging out of my not-yet-unpacked suitcase, hesitated. I sat unmoving, waiting, in this still moment of suspended investigation, this oddly intimate moment.

My phone rang. I just about tossed it across the room. Gary said: “Tell Korematsu to let me through his damned cordon! No wait, let me tell him. Hand him the phone.”

I did, and waited while Gary handed his phone to the cop outside.

Korematsu stared down at me. “Your brother! What are you, a twelve-year-old?” He handed back the phone, his fingers brushing mine.

“No, I'm not.” I held his gaze, and my response shifted to a near-tease. The moment, the very inappropriate moment lingered, and promised. I was almost glad when the heavy door banged open downstairs and Gary's feet pounded up the stairs, and the question of who would look away first vanished.

“You okay, Darcy? Has he threatened you? Intimidated, touched you in any way?”

Korematsu only looked at him coldly and stepped out into the hall, calling for a subordinate to bring a notebook. He held it out to Gary. “Ask your client to list her activities today, by the minute, with names and addresses of corroborators.” Then he was gone, leaving a uniform to watch us.

My brother stood holding the pad, looking as stunned as I had. He bore no relation to Mr. Take No Prisoners on the phone. He was staring beyond
the uniform into Leo's room at Tia's body. “Oh, Gary, I'm so sorry. Did you know Ti—?”

“Rabbits!”

I stopped instantly, heeding our old ritual of warning our siblings of approaching parents or John. Gary looked like he'd taken a medicine ball in the gut. His eyes wrinkled up; for a moment I thought he was going to cry. Of course he didn't want the cops to know he'd known Tia. And I was horrified that I'd damned near fallen into Korematsu's trap, forgetting there was a uniform outside. It was such an old cop trick.

I followed my brother's gaze back to Tia's body. Eight hours ago she'd made me lunch; now she was lying in the next room with her throat slashed. It was like parallel universes, as if I had stepped through a crack into the wrong one.

I was glad to have this clerical task to focus on. I thought it would be done in ten minutes, but it took much longer, even recording the easy stuff:

           
Sat zazen with Leo Garson and one stranger: 6:45–7:20.
Who was that man who looked like he'd chosen the zendo as a place to keep warm until the Caffè opened up?

           
Gym 8:00 to 10:30.
Not long enough to keep in stunt shape
.

           
Walked to Tia's: 11:30–noon.

Each memory settled in the lap of my mind, wanting to be examined. And then there was the time at her flat before I realized Tia was gone, and the time after, both of which I needed to account for in ways other than the truth. At some point Gary stood in the hall and watched the activity in Leo's room. At some later point I realized he was really just staring at Tia's body, staring in a way one does not at an acquaintance but at a friend or
lover. When I reached
Called Leo Garson while running around the Broadway Tunnel ~ 5:00
P.M
., Gary dropped down beside me on my futon. His face was pasty. I hardly recognized him like this.

“Darce, how can she be—”

“Rabbits!”

“—dead like this. I just can't—”

“Rabbits, dammit! Rabbits!”

“—believe—”

“Shut up! Just shut up, dammit!” I slapped him as hard as I could.

“Hey, what's going on in here?” the uniform demanded.

“Call Korematsu. We're leaving.” I stood up. Gary never was very limber, even as a teenager, and now he braced both hands against the wall to leverage himself up. Korematsu was in the doorway in what seemed like seconds. I handed him the pad. “It's the best I can do. I'm through here.”

I thought he would threaten interrogation, arrest, but he glanced from me to Gary and said, “I could keep you a lot longer. Just promise me you won't leave town.” He paused, then added, “Swear on the Buddha.”

I laughed.

“I'm serious. This is a Buddhist temple. Swear on the Buddha.”

The man really was serious. I didn't know whether to be insulted or teased. But it was the time for neither. “Okay,” I said. “I promise to stay inside the city limits, Detective. I could swear on the Buddha, but this is a Zen Buddhist temple. The Buddha is not a god; the statue downstairs is a lovely piece of art but not a holy relic, and the historical Buddha himself was merely a man who realized how to live. Buddha nature is essentially awareness of life, nothing mystical. If I was going to leave town I would swear on the Buddha, hail a cab to the airport, and not think twice about it. But I won't because—”

“It would look bad for your brother, the other one,” Korematsu said
so automatically I shot a glance at Gary to see what Korematsu was referencing. But either Gary was still dazed or he had enough sense to rabbits himself.

I brushed past Gary, grabbing his hand to steer him to the stairs without making his condition any more noticeable. After Korematsu's comment, I was sure word of Gary's disintegration would be fast-tracked to John and all John's enemies. “It's like living in a village,” I grumbled as we hit the street. “An icy, socked-in village.”

San Francisco fog is ridiculous. It's like stage smoke gone wild. I glanced at my watch but could barely read the face. 8:15
P.M.
Only just dinnertime, and streetlights were gray blobs, the storefronts across Pacific nonexistent. Fog hung off lampposts like Christmas tree snow. There had to have been heavy wind earlier to move this blanket in, but now the air was dead still and cold, like we were wearing wet wool coats with wet scarves.

“Where'd you park?”

“Across the street.”

“There's no car there.”