Retribution ( M Mystery) Read online

  RETRIBUTION

  KIT CRUMB

  LOST LODGE PRESS * ASHLAND, OR

  RETRIBUTION

  ©2010 by Kit Crumb

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or information storage and retrieval systems without written permission of the publisher.

  Lost Lodge Press

  40 Water Street

  Ashland, Oregon 97520

  [email protected]

  cover design by Chris Molé

  This book is dedicated to Chris — thank you, and thank you again, for seeing this manuscript through to the very end.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to my brother Kim who kept the encouragement coming through hundreds of emails. A special thanks to my Kenjutsu instructors who, over the past 42 years, instilled in me a deep respect for the plight of Japanese Americans interned during World War II. Thanks to Musako Inada, who shared some of her experiences during internment, and for providing me with indispensible resources.

  OTHER KINDLE BOOKS BY KIT CRUMB:

  Body Parts

  Cutter’s Legacy: The Search for Yamashita’s Gold

  Slider

  Measure of Time

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  IN 1942, ALMOST 120,000 JAPANESE AMERICANS were forced from their homes in California, western Oregon and Washington, and southern Arizona in the single largest forced relocation in U.S. history. Many would spend the next three years in one of ten “relocation centers” across the country run by the newly formed War Relocation Authority (WRA). Others would be held in facilities run by the Department of Justice and the U.S. Army.

  Since all Japanese Americans on the west coast were affected, including the elderly, women, and children, Federal officials attempted to conduct the massive incarceration in a humane manner. However, by the time the last internees were released in 1946, they had lost homes and business estimated to be worth, in 1999 values, four to five billion dollars. The deleterious effect on Japanese American individuals, their families, and their communities, was immeasurable.

  CHAPTER ONE

  KATE GREEN JOLTED AWAKE; a thud somewhere out in the hall drove her dreams away. She rolled over and glared at the clock numbers that glared back, 4:00 a.m. She was hoping for a lazy Saturday morning. Their lovemaking had become so vigorous lately and they had made love until midnight. Kate rolled onto her back shooting her arm out to give Richard a poke. He could investigate, in their old house she knew every creak and squeak, but this old hotel was filled with ghosts. Thud. Odd there it was again.

  Now she was really awake.

  When her hand found only warm sheets and an empty pillow, she smiled to herself. Richard was already up, he must have heard the noise too. She rolled back on her side and closed her eyes but her mind wouldn’t let her sleep. The noise was probably coming from the next room. She was awake for sure now. Maybe when Richard returned they’d make love again. Since he’d gotten the promotion everything had changed for the better. The move to this beautiful little town to look for a home, this wonderful suite and Richard’s promise that today they would decide on a house. Most importantly, new hours and the fact that he could now work from home part time. Richard was a new man--so calm and pleasant to be around. Yes, definitely a new man.

  The third time she heard the thud it brought her to the edge of the bed, heart pounding. Something must be wrong. She couldn’t find her slippers and the oak floor was cold on her feet, the air was cool on her nude body. Leaning back she reached under the sheets, and fished around, until she found her nightshirt, still warm. She thought she heard a scraping sound as she pulled it over her head, shooting her hands through the armholes. She stretched the end of the shirt across her knees, rocked slightly as she listened.

  “Richard?” Why was she whispering?

  She wobbled when she stood, then steadied herself on the headboard, and paused before making her way to the door. She could feel her heart beat. What was she afraid of? They weren’t the only occupants of this old hotel. “Richard.” A little louder this time. Kate pulled her shoulders back and thrust out her chin. “Richard!” Not quite a yell, surely he heard. Maybe he’d had a heart attack and was pounding on the wall to get her attention. His old position with the company had been so stressful. The promotion had been a lifesaver in many ways. She walked briskly down the short hall that lead to the living room and found it empty, turned and pushed the swinging door to the kitchen. It hit something and she pushed harder.

  Suddenly her feet felt warm and when she looked down a black ooze was flowing around her toes. Without thinking Kate slammed her shoulder against the door not taking her eyes off her feet, but it still wouldn’t budge. Then she heard the thud again. “Richard!” This time it was a scream. An arm had fallen across the opposite side of the door, a glimpse as the door swung in and she saw a hand, it wore Richard’s class ring. Then she was pushing with all her strength, and as if someone on the opposite side suddenly let go, she was through the door, turning, stumbling, and kneeling. Richard lay curled in a fetal position lying in an ever-growing silhouette of black.

  So much blood, she wanted to call someone who’d know what to do. She looked for the phone but remembered it was in the bedroom.

  She suddenly felt herself being urged to her feet by a pair of hands at her armpits. When Kate turned she heard herself gasp, this was no Good Samaritan, no individual bent on helping. The black clad figure stood directly in front of her and reached forward grabbing a handful of shirt raising it until her breasts were exposed. Her mind screamed rape. In that same moment she understood it might save her life, yes take my body. I don’t want to die, not now, not so soon. Not this way.

  She never saw the knife but felt a pain next to her navel, the way you might feel a slice to the finger while peeling an apple. The tip of the short knife entered just to the right of the diaphragm and was quickly retracted. Kate fell to her knees supporting herself with both arms. She forced herself to look up, suddenly a wave of relief masked the pain. He was gone. Maybe he’d been scared off, or never intended to kill her. From the corner of her eye she saw his feet and her pain returned with a vengeance. She never got the chance to turn her head and look, but heard a whoosh. Thud.

  Kate’s look of surprise was captured forever as her severed head hit the floor.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE CIRCLE OF ONLOOKERS closed in, watching in horror, as the woman was grabbed by the hair. In a blur of moves the attacker was quickly dispatched to the floor. The crowd grew, latecomers craning their necks, pushing forward to get a look. The fallen attacker’s accomplice was agape as he watched his friend tumble to the floor, moaning and rolling from side to side.

  “Yo bitch, try this on for size.”

  He charged her with a large club.

  Sheriff’s detective Buck Shore roared up Spyglass Hill, pushing the police cruiser as fast as he dare without using siren and lights. Tires squealed as he slammed on the brakes leaving the Plymouth double-parked. He could see the gathering crowd before entering the building.

  The baseball bat swing was aimed at the woman’s head. Instead of backing away she lunged inside the circular swing, blocked the arm holding the club, and struck her attacker three times.

  Buck was shouldering his way through the crowd, but when he reached the inner circle and the crowd broke into loud applause he knew it was too late. Not only had he missed the demonstration, he’d missed her speech.

  He looked on with pride as a young girl approached with a question. M turned to face the questioner. He tried not to stare at the way her T-shirt pulled against her breasts, how snug j
eans accentuated her hips and thighs. At age thirty, with her trademark French braid topping off her six-foot frame, M sported one shapely body.

  Breaking free of the on lookers Buck stepped up to his sometime lover. “M, I’m so sorry.”

  She held up her hand to stop him as a gangly looking teenager in an oversized karate uniform timidly approached.

  “Leanne Martin, this is Detective Buck Shore.” Buck gave a short bow. “This was Miss Martin’s first demonstration, and she did a really great job.”

  “Thank you, Sensei” She made a deep bow, and then turned to Buck. “I’ve seen you in the black belt class.” He returned her bow.

  “Miss Martin, why don’t you help roll up the mat?” Another bow and she was gone.

  “New orange belt?”

  “Yeah, last week.” M looked around. “Nice crowd for a Saturday morning.” She picked up her gym bag, extracting her watch from a side pocket. “Nine twenty, demonstrations always seem to go so fast.” She handed Buck her bag. “What did you say your excuse was?”

  He was ten years her senior, and a student for almost as long. When he joined the Fort Point sheriff’s department, Chief Detective Octavio Ramos directed him to the only Karate studio in Bay County. When M had asked the new detective to help her prepare for her private investigator’s license, they spent many late nights studying. Fascination with his instructor turned into infatuation, and they’d been dating off and on ever since.

  “A missing person turned up on the beach, Ramos was out at a domestic disturbance. I was the only one in-station when the call came in.”

  She slid the pads off her shins, tucked them under an arm, and headed for the mall exit, Buck dashed forward, opening the big double doors for her.

  “I guess a body on the beach is as good a reason as any for being late,” she said, bobbing her head in a short bow as she passed him.

  He continued holding the door for an elderly couple then fell in step next to M.

  “Got time for coffee?” He leaned on the cruiser, and grinned. “I’ll give you a ride in my police car.”

  Just then the scanner came to life. “Wait a minute,” Buck said, leaning into the passenger side window and cranking the volume. “Car seven, please respond.” He grabbed the mike and stretched the cord out the window, looking at M as he spoke. “Car seven responding. This is Officer Shore, 10-7. Out.” Buck straightened up but was drawn back by the urgency of the dispatcher’s voice.

  “Negative car seven, 187 at Dungeness Bay Hotel, Ramos unreachable.”

  He made a face, mainly for M’s benefit. “Car seven, 10-4, on my way. Out.”

  “A homicide?” M said.

  “A double,” Buck said. “Throw your bag in the back and get in.”

  The Dungeness Bay, as it was called by the locals, was the only hotel in town. Built in 1944 it still boasted hardwood floors and teak wainscoting. Its last renovation had been in 1975, replacing the plumbing and the old steam heating boilers in the basement for electric heat.

  It was almost a perfect square perched on a bluff overlooking the beach. The front of the hotel opened onto Main where it intersected Central. Four floors with twenty-two rooms all with full kitchens, and separate living rooms with connecting halls leading to one or two bedrooms.

  Buck pulled around to the back lot where the employees parked, turning, he blocked the driveway and set the lights spinning.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AMY KITTING WAS AWASH with emotions as her senses were bombarded with a strong copper scent. No matter where she pointed her lens there was blood. Blood spray across the walls, and blood pooled on the floor of the tiny kitchen; her eyes watered with the stench of it. She dare not train her camera on the victims for fear the viewfinder would isolate, even magnify, the last grotesque masks of death.

  She let the camera hang from the cord around her neck and taking a shallow breath, careful not to breathe through her nose, looked over at the Medical Examiner. He was pushing a wooden tongue depressor against the teeth of the detached head until it rolled first left then right. He appeared to be looking for something. She didn’t want to know what.

  As she switched to a wide-angle lens she reminded herself of how eager she’d been to get this job. She started with the far side of the kitchen where Edward Platt was dusting for fingerprints and spraying something on the floor. She’d felt so fortunate when Bay County Medical Examiner Sato Tessu had conducted the interview, and brave when he’d mentioned the human carnage she might be required to photograph. But nothing he said had prepared her for this. She attached a flash to clear the shadows and backed up to the kitchen counter in order to get in both victims and the ME.

  The glare of a camera’s flash reflected off the small round lenses of Sato Tessu’s wire rim glasses, causing him to jerk his head, sending tendrils of hair cascading across his forehead. Despite his irritation he looked up and smiled at the newest member of the crime scene team.

  “Kitting,” he said, swiping his hair aside. “Bring the camera down to the level of the victim to provide perspective. I’ll need the shot for my report.”

  Amy squatted down, eye still glued to the viewfinder.

  “Unless that’s a close-up lens, you need to get a tighter shot,” Tessu said, and then turned back to his gruesome task.

  She lowered the camera, switched lenses, wrinkled her nose against the coppery odor that permeated the air, and crept up on the lifeless victims as if they might reach out and grab her. She took the shot then duck-walked back for a wider perspective.

  “Hey! Hey, look out,” Edward Platte said, attempting to rise from a kneeling position where he’d been examining blood splatter.

  Amy stood up and turned around looking for some unseen obstacle. She flashed Platte a smile, “I don’t see anything, what am I looking out for?”

  He was turned to putty by her smile. “Ah, well, um. I just wanted you to be careful.”

  She flashed another heart-stopping smile. “Thanks,” she said and turned back around.

  Platte stood staring at her tight jeans as she squatted for yet another shot, shook his head and went back to the blood splatter. So inexperienced, he shook his head again at the thought. He loved her smile, and the way she shook her head to get her long hair to behave. He sprayed Luminal in a wide arc just beyond the headless figure of Kate Green, and waited for the chemical to color the fine mist of blood he hoped was there, blood so fine it was invisible to the naked eye.

  Tessu covered the head with a square of cloth, and looked away as Amy finished getting the shots he wanted, using the flash. When he blinked it felt like gravel under his eyelids. He’d been up until 3:00 a.m. the night before autopsying a John Doe.

  “Amy I need a high wide perspective. We’ve dusted the counters, a shot from the sink would be the right angle.”

  Platte finished with the blood spatter, picked up his sketchpad and began drawing the kitchen, careful to step around the patterns of blood made visible by the Luminal.

  He couldn’t help watching Amy as she stepped up then hoisted herself onto the kitchen counter. After years of an all male team with everyone approaching retirement maybe her youth wouldn’t be so bad. When Al had retired from the team as photographer, Platte was glad to hear that Tessu had hired a female, but he’d expected someone older, more mature. He had to smile, if nothing else she was candy for the eye; she could be one of his centerfold girls. He quickly averted his gaze and picked up the vacuum as she gained her balance and scanned the kitchen. He didn’t want to be caught staring.

  Tessu looked over at Platte and wondered why he was vacuuming an area of the carpet they’d already covered, and was about to say something when he turned it off and stood up. Tessu followed his gaze to the open kitchen door.

  The doorframe was occupied by a woman standing a full six-feet tall with abundant curves topped by auburn hair twisted into a French braid. She was scanning the room with piercing green eyes, taking in the human carnage, oblivious to the stares of
the two men. Amy broke the spell with an audible sign of surprise.

  “Sensei, what are you doing here?”

  “Special invitation,” the woman said. All eyes followed her as she crossed the kitchen, headed for the refrigerator and the Japanese character written in blood there.

  Tessu was grateful for any excuse to step away from the victims. Rising, he walked briskly to intercept the woman, stepping in front of her, effectively blocking her path. “I’m the Medical Examiner, and you are...?”

  Before the woman could answer, Kitting responded from the counter where she was still perched. “This is my Karate instructor from the Dojo, Mary Malmstrom.”

  The woman held up a hand to silence her exuberant student.

  “Detective Shore asked me to meet him here.”

  Tessu swiped at his unruly hair. “Well Mary, if you could wait for him by the door that would be a big help. We don’t need any more feet tromping around the crime scene than necessary.” He started to turn away, then as an afterthought turned back. “Exactly why are you here?”

  Detective Buck Shore had been standing just outside the kitchen door watching the scene unfold. “She’s here because she can read and write Japanese,” Shore said, and walked across the kitchen to join them. “M, this is Sato Tessu, Bay and Harbor County Medical Examiner.”

  Tessu smiled. “I thought your name was Mary.”

  She returned the smile. “Actually its Mary Margaret Malmstrom, M for short.”

  Tessu looked over at Shore. “You know detective, technically this is my crime scene.”

  Buck made a short bow. “Just trying to help. I thought that with two bodies you might have your hands full.”

  “Of course you’re right, just trying to keep the crime scene clean,” Tessu said, walking back to Richard Green’s body curled up by the kitchen entry.

  Shore extended a hand toward the refrigerator. “After you,” he said, and followed her across the floor carefully stepping over blood spray. He paused mid way, his attention captured by the young woman standing on the counter.

  “I’ve cleared the front area and there’s a chandelier there you can swing from,” Buck said, and smiled.