Chapter 15
It was my first trip to San Francisco’s Japan Town. I had been to the more famous Chinatown with its dragon gate and profusion of glittering shops and restaurants, but this was more to my taste: less tacky. Driving up Geary Boulevard I was surprised to see the impressive edifice that was the Cathedral of St Mary’s of the Assumption, while just a tad further along there was the Japan Town Peace Plaza, with a beautiful five-tiered pagoda dominating the square. I would have liked to abandon the car and take a walk through the commercial area, but didn’t have the luxury of time. It was the day following Yukiko’s revelation concerning a four-decades-old murder, and even after such a long time there wasn’t a second to spare.
It was apparent to us all that any remaining members of the lynch party led by Andrew Rington were now in dire danger, and from the speed at which the killer’s agenda had escalated, I didn’t think that Yoshida Takumi had much time left. Rink was loath to leave his mother’s side — understandably — but had also taken on the task of locating both Parnell and Faulks, so it fell to me to go and check on their elderly Japanese friend.
Yukiko remained adamant that we could not share what we’d learned with the police, and we’d concurred. If the truth came out, prison time was on the cards for all four surviving members — Yukiko included. I wasn’t sure that an invalid in a wheelchair would escape the law either. Though their crime was horrific, the same impulse that drove me to wage war against the bad guys of the world said that Charles Peterson deserved everything he got. Two wrongs never make a right: true, but where did that leave the issue when a third wrong had been added to the mix? Maybe what I was prepared to do to protect the conspirators was required to regain the equilibrium.
I took a right on Webster, then started watching for the turn I’d need to take me to the neighbourhood where Takumi lived with his granddaughter. Yukiko had given me the address, but also his telephone number. I thought it was a good idea to phone the man, so he’d be expecting my arrival. I didn’t want him getting the wrong impression when a stranger turned up at his door. Using my hands-free kit, I dialled, only to listen to a recorded message stating that the phone was switched off. That didn’t immediately concern me, but I still thought it odd that Takumi’s lifeline to the outside world was not in good working order.
On his street, I slowed, counting down the house numbers. I found his place about midway along, a pretty two-storey home, painted duck-egg blue with off-white doors and window frames. The garden was tiny, but well maintained, with neat shrubs and flowers around a central water feature. There was a flight of wooden steps up to the front door, but alongside them a ramp had been installed to allow easier access for the disabled man. I wondered if his granddaughter wheeled him out here on occasion to pass time with the pleasant tinkle of water as a backdrop.
I looked up at the windows. All I could see was the reflection of the overhead sky, the windows opaque beneath the blue. But I got a sense of movement behind the living room window, as if someone was watching me. I waved, showed a smile, before getting out of my car. I only hoped that Takumi wasn’t waiting for me with a loaded gun when the door was opened. Still offering the smile, I made my way towards the steps. Before I reached the first, I detected a soft rumble from inside the house. I didn’t register the sound as anything unusual, but the following bang made me flinch. It sounded as if someone had exited the house in a hurry, kicking open a door at the side of the building in their haste.
Instilled habits caused me to swerve to the right, and I took half a dozen hurried paces to the corner of the house. I was just in time to see a large man vault over the back fence and into a neighbour’s yard. Under any circumstances the man’s actions would have been suspicions; with the recent events in mind, I’d no doubt who the fleeing person was. I called out harshly, saw the man glance back at me, his face twisted into an angry scowl, but then he fled alongside the neighbouring house and was gone. Before I knew what I was doing I was racing after him. This was my chance to catch the bastard, stop him once and for all.
I barely made it past the side door when I skidded to a halt. Undoubtedly I’d disturbed him while here to do harm to Takumi. Was I already too late to save the old man, or was there something I could still do? Following the killer’s previous MO I thought that Takumi would be past helping. I spurred after the killer.
Something made me stop. I looked back at the house. As I’d charged past the side door there’d been an aroma that my brain had recognised but not realised the significance of while otherwise engaged in the chase. Now I understood that the smell was smoke, and — as he had at Bruce Tennant’s house — the killer had employed fire to kill his latest victim. As much as I wanted to pursue and bring down the killer, I charged back towards the house and yanked open the door.
A plume of oily smoke billowed out. I crouched low, seeking its source, but a draught was pushing the smoke from elsewhere and out of the open portal. There was no time for anything else: throwing my arm across my mouth and nostrils I went in, staying low to make the most of the oxygen close to the floor. I was in a narrow vestibule with open doorways giving access to various rooms. One of them was a kitchen, as yet untouched by flame. I ignored it, heading deeper towards the front of the house. I called out, shouting the names of Takumi and his granddaughter, Melissa. Neither of them replied. The smoke was acrid, and growing denser as I approached the end of the hall. I dropped to my hands and knees, making quicker progress now that most of the smoke was above me.
The heat from the living room was already intense. As I paused in the doorway I could see dirty orange flames writhing up the walls, the fabric of the curtains, and over the furniture.
‘Takumi! Melissa? Can you hear me?’ I ended my shout with a hacking cough, covered my face with my jacket.
I could see neither and again got no reply. I was sure though that at least one of them had to be here, otherwise why would the killer have lit the fire?
The smoke stung my eyes, and I could feel the prickle of heat. Minutes ago I’d looked up at the windows, thinking their opacity was due to reflection, but knew now that actually the smoke in the room had made the interior nigh-on invisible. The swirling smoke was the source of movement I thought I’d detected, not someone peering back at me. No one could have been standing at that window, not with the blazing flames and poisonous smoke invading their lungs. They’d have been dead in seconds. What were the chances of anyone surviving this long? Then I saw the wheelchair and immediately noted that it was empty. On all fours, I scrambled towards it.
The heat was tremendous, but I ignored it. Grabbing at the wheelchair my hand fell on bare metal, and I hissed, drawing away from the heat that seared my palm. I searched around, pushing aside a small table, and then bumped up against a settee. The settee was on fire and I quickly moved away from it. The choking smoke was now barely inches above my head, and I could feel the poison seeping into my lungs. I began to cough and splutter but wasn’t ready to give up yet. I found the wheelchair again, and this time pushed it out of my way, so I could get to the other side.
I didn’t realise I’d squeezed my eyelids tight until my groping fingers fell on a malleable form and I had to open them to identify who I’d found. Takumi was lying on his back with his hands clenched at his chest. I feared he was already dead, but I could hear his rasping breath, and as I climbed up his body could feel that he was slick with sweat, so much so that his clothing was steaming. Lying almost face-to-face, I shouted at him. His eyelids flickered but that was his only response. His features were very pale, waxy, shining with perspiration. I placed my unburned palm to his forehead and felt he was icy cold — despite the fire raging only feet away.