Just riding the dark train, Jenny, I think to myself. Letting it lead us to their mistakes.
"Question," Alan says. "How come no one complained about the music? They had the volume up pretty high."
"I can answer that one, honey-love," Callie says. "Just be quiet and listen."
We do, and I hear it right away. The thumps of loud bass, mixed with muffled treble, coming from various places in floors above and below. Callie shrugs. "Young people and couples live here, and some like to play their music loud."
Alan nods. "I'll buy that. Second point." He gestures around at the room. "They were messy. Real messy. There's no way they just walked out of here covered in blood. They had to clean up first. The bathroom looks pristine, so I'm thinking that they washed up in there and scrubbed it down after." He turns to Jenny. "Did the Crime Scene Unit check the drains?"
"I'll find out." Her cell phone rings, and she answers it. "Chang." She looks at me. "Really? Right. I'll tell her."
"What now?" I ask.
"That was my guy at the hospital. He said Bonnie spoke. Just a sentence, but he thought you'd want to know."
"What?"
"She said, 'I want Smoky.' "
16
JENNY GOT ME to the hospital fast; she pulled out the stops, used her siren to run red lights. Neither of us spoke on the way over. I'm standing by Bonnie's bed now, looking down at her as she gazes up at me. I am again struck by how much she looks like her mother. It's disorienting; I just came from watching her mother die, and yet here Annie looks up at me, alive through her daughter.
I smile down at her. "They said you asked for me, honey."
She nods, but doesn't speak. I realize there won't be any more words coming from Bonnie right now. The glazed look of shock is gone from her eyes, but something else has settled in and put down roots. Something distant and hopeless and heavy.
"I need to ask you two questions first, honey. Is that okay?"
She looks at me, speculative. Apprehensive. But she nods.
"There were two bad men, weren't there?"
Fear. Her lip trembles. But she nods.
Yes.
"Good, honey. Just one more, and then we won't talk about it any more right now. Did you see either of their faces?"
She closes her eyes. Swallows. Opens them. Shakes her head. No.
Inside, I sigh. I am not surprised, but it's still frustrating. Time for that later. I take Bonnie's hand.
"I'm sorry, honey. You asked to see me. You don't have to tell me what you want if you still can't talk. But can you show me?"
She continues to look up at me. She seems to be looking for something in my eyes, some reassurance. I can't tell from her expression whether she is finding it or not. But she nods.
Then she reaches over and takes my hand. I wait, but that's all she does. And then I understand.
"You want to come with me?"
She nods again.
A million thoughts shoot through my head at this. About how I'm unfit to care for myself, much less her. How I'm on a case, and so who's going to watch her? I think these things, but none of it really matters. All I do is smile down at her and squeeze her hand. "I have some things to do, but when I'm ready to leave San Francisco, I'll come get you."
She continues to gaze into my eyes. Seems to find that thing she'd been looking for. She gives my hand a squeeze, and then she lets go, turns her head into her pillow, and closes her eyes. I stand there for a moment, looking down at her.
I walk out of that room knowing something's changed in my life. I wonder whether it's good or bad, and realize that just now, that doesn't really matter. This isn't about good or bad or indifferent. It's about survival. That's the level we're operating at right now, Bonnie and me. We're headed back to SFPD. The car is filled with silence.
"So, you're going to take her?" Jenny asks, breaking it.
"I'm all she's got. Maybe she's all I have too."
Jenny chews on this. A small smile appears on her face. "That's good, Smoky. Real good. You don't want a kid her age in the system. She's too old. No one would adopt her."
I turn to her. I sense something hidden here. Some undercurrent accompanying her words. I frown. She shoots me a tense look. Then relaxes with a sigh.
"I was an orphan. My parents died when I was four, and I grew up in the system. No one seemed interested in adopting a Chinese kid at the time."
I'm shocked and surprised. "I had no idea."
She shrugs. "It's not something you share a lot. You know, 'Hi, I'm Jenny Chang, and I was an orphan.' I don't like to talk about it much."
She looks at me, emphasizing that this moment is no exception. "But I will say this: You did a good thing there. Something pure."
I think about this and know what she says is true. "It does feel right. Annie left her to me--or so I hear. I haven't seen her will yet. Is it true he left it next to Annie's body?"
"Yeah. It's in the file."
"Did you look at it?"
"Yep." She pauses again. Another one of those thoughtful, weighty pauses. "She left everything in your hands, Smoky. The daughter is the true beneficiary, but she named you as executor and trustee. She must have been some friend."
I ache at this sentiment. "She was my best friend. Since high school."
Jenny is quiet for a few moments after this. When she speaks, it's a single word, but it's filled with everything she wants me to know.
"Fuck."
Fuck that, and fuck the world, and injustice, and what happened to you, and your daughter dying, and kids getting killed in general, and fuck it all till it's dead and buried and turned to dust and the dust is gone forever. That's what she's saying.
I reply in kind.
"Thanks."
17
DO YOU WANT the full version, or the condensed version?"
Alan opens the folder containing the autopsy report as he says this.
"The condensed version. Please."
"Here are the basics. The killer or killers raped her, both pre-and postmortem. He or they cut her with a sharp blade before she died, with most of the damage inflicted being nonlethal."
Torture. I nod for him to go on.
"Cause of death is exsanguination. She bled out, due to the severing of the jugular." He glances at a page in the folder. "Once she was dead, and they were done having their fun with her body, they cut her open. They removed the internal organs and placed them in Baggies, which were left by the body." He looks up at me. "All the organs are accounted for except the liver."
"They probably took it with them," James says into the silence that follows. "Or ate it." I hide a shiver at these words. I'm sure he's right.
"Examination of the wounds shows that they're consistent with those caused by a scalpel, which fits. Because the ME says that the removal of the organs was skillful. Not just the surgery, but knowing where the organs were and how to remove them intact. They not only separated the large and small intestines, they divided them into their component parts. Three for the small intestine, four for the large."
I think about this for a moment. "Did he--sorry, they--dissect any other organ in the same way?"
He consults the file, then shakes his head. "No." He looks up at me.
"They were showing off."
"That's good," I say, grim.
Leo's look at me is incredulous. "How is that good?"
Alan turns to him, answering the question for me. "It's good because the way we catch these guys is that they make mistakes. If they're showing off, that means the act itself isn't enough for them. They also want our attention. That means they're not going to be as careful as they could be. Or should be. So they're more likely to make mistakes."