‘Well?’
‘Well what?’
‘You’re denying that was you and Jared Rington?’
‘It was us all right; I just don’t see any assault.’
Tyler did his magic with the computer, bringing up a different file. On this one, it showed Sean Chaney boarding the BART at the Embarcadero stop. A few seconds later, I darted into the next carriage along. Tyler raised a quizzical eyebrow at me, but I was unmoved. He brought up a third file, which I guessed was from a camera at the airport terminus. Chaney stumbled from the carriage, dragging his left leg, one hand clamped down hard on it but failing to stem the flow of blood that dotted the platform.
‘I still don’t understand what you’re talking about.’
‘You followed Chaney on that train; a fight broke out; Chaney ended up with a bullet in his leg.’
‘Where’s the CCTV footage that proves that?’
‘Unfortunately the system inside was down. Someone stuck a Post- it note over the lens to block the view. I’m guessing it was you.’
Actually I’d had nothing to do with that, but I wondered to what ends Rink had gone to cover his tracks that he hadn’t told me about.
‘Were my fingerprints on this note? You can see from the guy on the video that he isn’t wearing gloves.’
‘Don’t take us for idiots, Hunter.’
‘I’m not. But where’s your proof? Did this Sean Chaney make a complaint?’ I knew that he hadn’t, otherwise they would already have read me my rights and shaken his statement under my nose. I drank my coffee.
Tyler shut down the computer. If that was all the leverage they had on me, then they were on a losing streak. ‘We know exactly what happened inside that carriage. OK, no one has gone on record to say so, but we know what went down and why you were both there. You were looking for whoever was responsible for murdering Andrew Rington. That’s also what we are doing.’ He opened a drawer in the desk, having to shuffle back to make room. He pulled out a folder and handed it across to Jones. Jones opened it and held it out. I’d to place down my mug to take it from him.
There were two columns of names.
The victims were listed down one side of the page, their wives and sisters, in one case a sister-in-law, down the other. I noticed immediately that Dan Lansdale and his wife had been added to the list. Parnell and Faulks were conspicuous by their absence though. I wondered if they had been deliberately left off the list so that I wouldn’t realise the cops were on to them. Funnily enough, neither detective had referred to us snatching the old guys from under their noses yet. There was one name I didn’t recognise. He didn’t have a corresponding female name alongside his. I had no idea who Mitchell Forbeck was, or what he was doing on there. Having perused the list, I looked across at Tyler.
‘We’ve been trying to discover the connection between all the victims. What is it that strikes you as obvious here?’
‘Each of them is related to Japanese women.’ There was nothing else I could say, without being totally obstructive.
‘We noticed that very early in our investigation, however we didn’t think it was that large a coincidence. Many men here have Japanese wives, and vice versa; we’re an open community in that regard. At first we were looking to identify something about the men, trying to connect them. Some are friends, but then there are others who aren’t. So we started looking at the women instead.’
Feeling very uneasy about the way his story was heading, I didn’t ask. Tyler had already made his mind up to lay all his cards on the table. ‘All the women on the list have one thing in common. As youngsters, they were relocated under Executive Order nine-zero-six-six to an internment camp in Arkansas during the Second World War.’
‘Wasn’t everyone of Japanese descent shipped from here to POW camps? It’s a pretty tenuous link.’
Tyler ignored me. ‘It’s a link all the same. When you take account of the fact that these women were friends, who remained in contact after the war, then you have to consider that it must have some bearing on the current situation. As you said earlier, you went to check on Mr Yoshida at Yukiko Rington’s behest. We did a little checking of our own. It appears that Yukiko contacted a number of the men on our list. Frankly it was what brought us to discover that Daniel Lansdale was murdered over in South Dakota. He was stabbed to death a couple of evenings ago. It was a different MO to the previous murders, but that isn’t so unusual now that the perp has changed his method. He injected Yoshida with an overdose of insulin, then set fire to his house, so it appears to us he’s not particular about how he kills his victims, rather he’s only interested in killing them. Period. It’s the reason why we can’t figure out. We know it’s because of the women, we just can’t decide how.’
‘We think you know more about that,’ Jones put in. ‘There’s something we’re missing here. All it takes is one hint, and we’ll be able to put it all together. Come on, Joe. Work on this with us.’
Guilt assailed me. I wished I could say, and help these cops to do their jobs. It mattered most that the killer was stopped from hurting anyone else — but there was no denying it: I owed giri to Yukiko and to her murdered husband. More than anything I owed Rink an opportunity to take revenge.
‘Sorry, guys,’ I said. ‘But I’m at a loss for any idea.’
Chapter 24
Melissa Yoshida was sitting opposite the sergeant’s desk as Detective Jones ushered me out of our meeting. I wouldn’t have noticed her had Jones not given her a slight wave, and told her he’d be ready to speak with her in a few minutes.
‘Thank you, Detective,’ Melissa responded. ‘I’m fine here.’
She wasn’t fine; she looked distraught and little wonder. I hadn’t anticipated that she would be called in for questioning, but it was obvious when I thought about it. Jones and Tyler were trying to piece together the killer’s motive and Melissa could possibly tell them something important. I doubted it. If Takumi had been anything like Yukiko then he had kept his secret to himself.
I felt guilty for some reason, as if I should apologise to her for not doing more to save her grandfather, and the shame hit me like a punch to the gut. I averted my face, doing my best to avoid notice. Maybe I’d have got away clean if Detective Jones hadn’t said: ‘Stay in touch, Mr Hunter. Anything you learn, I’d like to hear about it.’ He handed me a card with his telephone number on it.
The gregarious desk sergeant unlatched the flap to let me out, smiling and nodding, and as I moved into the public area I felt Melissa’s gaze on me. I couldn’t help glancing over at her, and our eyes met and stuck.
She was already getting up off the public bench, approaching me. She was dressed in a black trouser suit over a purple blouse, with her dark hair pulled back and barely a trace of make-up. Though I knew her to be in her early twenties, she appeared more mature, and — dare I say it — very pretty, despite her sadness. She was clutching a small purse against her abdomen, her head to one side as she studied me. It was as if she recognised my face, but how was a mystery to me. I’d only seen her that one time when she’d leaped from the taxi and run towards the burning house and she hadn’t looked at me then. I pulled up, casting a glance behind me to check Gar Jones had gone: he wouldn’t appreciate his key witnesses talking. Then again, that could have been his intention. Maybe he’d engineered that we meet. Perhaps he thought I’d share what I knew with the woman and he’d be able to tease the information from her. The best thing I could have done was smile, turn away and walk directly out of the police station.