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Zhang Daiyu looked thoughtful for a moment. “I wouldn’t be so sure. There might be a way …”
CHAPTER 13
DETECTIVE SALAZAR HAD shared copies of everything he had with Justine and the Private team, on the understanding the transfer of information would be a two-way street. Mo-bot had told Justine about Salazar’s reaction to the Gaiter program, and how it seemed to have convinced him to take a collaborative approach. The two victims were Private employees, so the organization had standing and a strong interest in finding the perp, and Salazar was smart enough to recognize the resources he’d have at his disposal if he collaborated with an investigation that was going to happen anyway.
Justine leant back and rested her head against the couch. She was alone in the meeting room on the thirty-fifth floor of Private’s building at 41 Madison, a thirty-six-story black-glass-and-steel skyscraper that stood on one corner of Madison Avenue and East 26th Street, overlooking Madison Square Park. Mo-bothad been worried the room might trigger painful memories because it was here that Justine had erroneously received the news that Jack had been killed in Afghanistan, but she liked the place precisely because of that dark association. She’d never felt lower than she had at that moment, and had decided then she would do anything to ensure others never felt the same way. Besides, the memory of how low she had felt came with its corollary of learning Jack was alive, and that had been one of the happiest moments of her life, something she never wanted to forget.
Justine tried to set aside her personal feelings and consider Salazar’s case notes the same way she’d look at any investigation. This wasn’t a robbery or an abduction gone wrong. The killer had entered the apartment with the express intention of killing. His actions were either personally motivated—unlikely given the speed and lack of gratification shown during the shooting—or professional. Justine suspected he’d been hired or otherwise instructed to kill Lewis and Jessie, and that marked Ivor Yeadon as an obvious instigator, but would anyone, even a degenerate financier, be stupid enough to commission a double homicide on their own doorstep?
Mo was currently in the Private New York computer lab, reviewing video footage from a wider range of cameras, trying to use Gaiter to see if she could get an image of the suspect’s face. Sci was in the forensics lab, doing his own analysis of a DNA sample they’d collected from the wire gate. The suspect had indeed snagged his hand on a broken link in the mesh and left a small trace of blood. NYPD had taken a sample and Scihad managed to get a usable swab from what was left. He was running it against the databases Private had access to while he waited for news from Salazar. Sometimes Justine envied Mo-bot and Sci and the certainty of their respective disciplines. When Mo-bot hacked a network or confirmed an image search, the result was unequivocal. And when Sci got a DNA match or identified a suspect from a fingerprint, the outcome was definitive.
So much of Justine’s work was speculative, making educated deductions based on what she knew of human psychology and behavior, and sometimes it felt as though she was trying to find her way in the dark. Even when her profiles helped law enforcement or her colleagues at Private, she rarely focused on the elements she’d got right and instead obsessed over the characteristics or behaviors she’d called wrong. In this way her work was less a science and more an art, and sometimes, like now, she found herself frustrated by the lack of certainty. She wished she could give the team something concrete to work with.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Sci, who came in buzzing with energy.
“I didn’t get any ID matches, but I did manage to run genealogy.”
A match would have been too much to hope for, Justine thought, trying to hide her disappointment. Genealogy would at least give them something. Many years ago, Private had invested in the same capabilities as the numerous DNA genealogy companies.
“The suspect comes from mainland China,” Sci went on. “Looks as though one parent originated from the Beijing region.”
He had got Justine’s attention. It might have been a coincidence, but it supported her initial suspicion when she first heard of the New York attack—the two incidents had to be linked.
CHAPTER 14
AFTER WE WERE released from police custody, Zhang Daiyu and I had taken a taxi from Pinggu District to the Private building located near Dengshikou Station in the financial heart of Beijing. In truth, we didn’t lease the entire building, just the twenty-eighth floor of the striking tower, but I always referred to it as our building because it was such a landmark for me. My dad would never have believed I could take the tiny business he’d left me and turn it into a huge international operation. Of all our offices, Beijing was perhaps the one that most symbolized our reach. There were many US corporations that couldn’t operate in China, but I’d managed to navigate local law, find myself a partner in Shang Li, and launch a successful private detective agency in a country that officially prohibited them.
Justine had left me messages so I took the opportunity to call her. I knew she’d be worried.
“Jack,” she said, her relief palpable. “Where have you been? Your phone has been switched off.”
“Jail,” I replied. “But I’m out now.”
“Jail on your first day is an achievement even for you,” she responded. It was meant to be a joke, but her voice lacked conviction.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Sci has given us a lead. According to DNA analysis, it looks like Lewis and Jessie’s shooter was ethnic Chinese.”
She had my complete attention. This was confirming that there might be a link between the two attacks.
“We’re going to keep digging,” Justine said.
“Same here. We’re on our way to the office now,” I replied. “Let’s keep each other updated.”
“Will do,” she responded. “Stay safe.”
“You too,” I said, before hanging up.
Zhang Daiyu gave the polite smile of someone who’d been pretending not to listen as I pocketed my phone.
When we arrived at the office, she introduced me to the team of eighteen field operatives and ten administrative staff. The mood was somber, which wasn’t surprising, since they had lost three of their own, and possibly a fourth, their boss and my friend.
I thanked them all for their hard work and expressed my sympathies for their fallen colleagues’ friends and families before Zhang Daiyu took me into her office.
“They will have appreciated your words,” she said. “I know I did. Now I’m going to make some calls to see if I can get us in to speak to David Zhou,” she told me. “Make yourself at home.”
“I’d like to review the surveillance tape, if possible,” I responded. “See what Li and the team found on Zhou.”
