Chapter Eight
Los Angeles, California
“Not a bad place,” Sam said as they entered the condo building where Edwin Ito lived. “It’s older, but not too run-down.”
Kit said nothing. Her scowl was one of the more impressive ones that Sam had seen on her face.
“Are you okay, Kit?” Baz asked.
“Yeah. Still mad as hell that Nicchi was such a bald-faced liar.”
“Well, take a breath, kid. You don’t want to knock on Ito’s door looking like that.”
“You’re right.” She drew a breath, her shoulders visibly lowering. They’d been crunched almost to her ears.
“That’s the way,” Baz soothed.
“What did you find out about Ito?” Sam asked.
“Not a lot,” Baz said. “I didn’t have time to do an in-depth search. He’s seventy-six years old. He owns this whole building, plus two properties in San Diego—a house and his dojo. He’s got almost no debt except for a small mortgage on this building, nothing substantial.”
“He doesn’t own the dojo here in LA?” Sam asked.
“No. He sold it to Nicchi ten years ago. This might be the most important fact, though: he was born in Los Angeles but moved to San Diego thirty-two years ago.”
“The year Akiko was born,” Kit said quietly. “Not a coincidence.”
Sam had to agree.
“I checked the website for Ito’s dojo in San Diego,” she added. “Guess whose photos are there as black belts?”
“The Sherman twins?” Baz asked.
She nodded grimly. “Yeah. It’s all coming together, but I still don’t know how.”
“You’ll figure it out.” Sam pressed his palm to her lower back, gratified when she leaned into him. “We’ll figure it out together.”
The elevator doors opened and the three of them walked inside, their conversation stilling.
“Thank you,” she murmured as the elevator rose. “For coming with me.”
“Couldn’t have stopped me,” he murmured back.
“You guys are just doing this on purpose now, aren’t you?” Baz grumbled.
Kit chuckled, and Sam was grateful that Baz had gotten her to smile at least.
“Suck it up, old man,” she said. Then the elevator doors opened and Kit’s chuckle evaporated. “Look,” she muttered, pointing up at the camera in the corner of the hallway.
It was smashed, pieces of broken plastic littering the floor.
That wasn’t good. Sam steeled himself for what they’d find.
Kit had one hand on the weapon at her hip when she knocked on the door, then swore when the door moved, opening an inch before swinging back to its original position.
It hadn’t been closed.
And, on closer inspection, Sam could see that the door had been forced open. Someone had used a screwdriver or something similar.
“I’ll call 911,” he said quietly.
“Thank you.” Kit pulled on a pair of disposable gloves and gave the door another nudge, enough so that it opened fully. She sighed heavily. “Dammit.”
Hanshi Edwin Ito lay on the floor, his face and head covered in blood. Blood pooled on the carpet and one of the man’s legs was bent at an unnatural angle that made Sam wince. His leg was clearly broken.
“Cover me, Baz,” Kit said, giving him the weapon in her hip holster. “I need to see if he’s still alive.”
She and Baz entered Ito’s living room, Baz staying near the front door with his eyes on the hall that went to the bedrooms in the back while Kit crouched by Ito’s body, taking care to touch only his throat.
She looked up, startled. “He’s still alive.
Sam, have 911 send an ambulance. Tell them his condo has been thoroughly searched as well. It’s a mess. Mr. Ito? Can you hear me?”
Sam was talking to the operator when he saw Kit lean down, her ear to the man’s mouth. When she straightened, she was frowning.
“Oh my God!” a man shouted behind them.
Sam spun around to see Ricky Nicchi bounding out of the elevator, his expression no longer blank and controlled. The man was thoroughly panicked.
“Hanshi!” he yelled. “Hanshi!”
Sam grabbed his arm, thinking the big man would shake him off like a bug, but Nicchi stopped and stared at Sam, his eyes wide and shiny.
It was as if the unflappable Marine had become a small boy.
“Is he dead?”
“Kit says he’s alive. I’ve got an ambulance coming. You need to calm down, Nicchi. You’re no good to him like this.”
Nicchi sucked in several breaths, forcing himself to calm. “I know. It’s just…”
“He’s more than a teacher to you, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.” Nicchi swallowed hard. “I tried to call him and he wasn’t answering. He always answers. Motherfuckers. They hurt him.”
They certainly had.
Sam wondered who “they” were. He wondered if Nicchi would be more forthcoming now. But he was conscious of the 911 operator listening, so he kept his questions to himself.
“I’ve got 911 on the line,” Sam said.
Nicchi nodded then drew a few more deep breaths and entered the condo, his gait even and smooth.
“Don’t touch anything,” Kit said sharply.
“I won’t.” Nicchi crouched beside his teacher and stroked the older man’s face tenderly. “I’m here, Hanshi. Please hold on. Please don’t die.”
Kit’s expression softened. “He’s breathing evenly. Pulse is in the normal range. He was conscious for about thirty seconds but then slipped under again.”
Nicchi met her eyes over Ito’s limp form. “Did he say anything?”
Kit glanced at Sam, then back at Nicchi. “Just asked for help.”
Well, Sam thought, that wasn’t true. He knew Kit well enough by now to know when she was lying. He wondered if it was the open line to 911 or her unwillingness to share with Nicchi.
The condo truly was a mess. Books had been pulled from the shelves, sofa cushions ripped apart. The kitchen was visible, separated from the living room by a counter. The cabinet doors were open, the shelves empty. He figured they’d find broken plates and crockery on the floor.
Whoever had done it had not tried to hide their search.
Kit pointed to a trophy that lay on the floor, covered in blood. “I think that’s what they hit him with, but he’s got defensive wounds. When did you last speak to him?”
“This morning. He asked about Mary’s funeral arrangements.”
Kit eyed a suitcase sitting just inside Ito’s front door. “He was planning to go?”
Nicchi only nodded and said no more.
“How long has he owned this condo?” she asked.
“For nearly fifty years.”
Kit blinked at him. “He’s kept two residences for that long?”
Nicchi nodded, then leaned down. “Hanshi? Please wake up.”
But Ito wasn’t stirring. He continued to breathe steadily but remained unconscious. Which was probably merciful, Sam thought. The pain from that broken leg had to be excruciating.
“Does he have next of kin?” Kit asked. “Who should we call?”
“Me,” Nicchi said. “I’m his emergency contact. I have his power of attorney.”
Kit studied Nicchi before nodding. “All right. I need to call my sister. I don’t want her here.
I don’t think she’s safe here. But if she finds out that I knew Ito was hurt and didn’t tell her…
well, she might not forgive that. So we’ll have to keep her safe.
She’ll want to sit with him in the hospital. ”
Nicchi sighed. “I guess she will.”
“You will talk to me later, won’t you?” Kit asked.
Nicchi closed his eyes. “Yes. I’ll talk to you. Later.”
The elevator doors opened and a pair of medics appeared with a gurney. Sam ended his call with 911 and stepped aside.
Kit and Baz joined him, Baz earning a glare from the medics for the gun in his hand. Baz returned Kit’s weapon to her and she reholstered it.
“Where will you take him?” Kit asked the medics.
“County,” one of them said. “Cops were right behind us. You need to stay and give your statements.”
“Of course,” Kit said. “We planned to.”
“But not me,” Nicchi said. “I’m coming with him in the ambulance.”
“Who are you to the patient?” one of the medics asked.
Nicchi looked straight at Kit, as if challenging her. “I’m his son.”
Kit pursed her lips but nodded. “We’ll catch up with you at the hospital.”
“You’ll have to ride up front with me,” the medic said. “Come on.”
They stood with Baz as the medics pushed Ito into the elevator. It was immediately clear that, with the gurney, there was no room in the elevator for Nicchi, too.
Nicchi started to head to the stairwell but paused next to Kit. “Thanks,” he whispered. “I’ll tell them we were talking about self-defense classes for your doctor’s teen shelter.”
Then he ran, taking the stairs to the lobby two at a time.
“He’s going to protect your job,” Baz said softly.
Kit hadn’t looked away from the path Nicchi had taken. “I know. But then I’ll be beholden to him. I’m not sure I want that.”
“Neither am I,” Sam said. “Navarro won’t believe it anyway.”
Kit turned, smiling up at him wryly. “There’s that, too.”
Sam didn’t know how much time they had before the cops showed up and he needed to know. “What did he say to you? Ito?”
Kit frowned, troubled. “ ‘Tell her I’m sorry.’ ”
Los Angeles, California
Monday, January 30, 7:45 p.m.
“So why are you here?”
Kit forced a smile for the LAPD detective. Once she’d given their names to the officers who’d responded to the 911 call, Kit, Sam, and Baz had been nicely asked not to leave.
Detectives Burroughs and Desoto had shown up about forty-five minutes later. Burroughs was older, somewhere in his mid to late fifties. Desoto appeared to be in his early forties. Both were eyeing her suspiciously.
Burroughs had asked the question, his tone terse.
Kit couldn’t blame him. She, Sam, and Baz were encroaching on their turf and hadn’t given them a courtesy heads-up of their visit. Not that she’d planned to.
She didn’t plan on telling them everything now. Not until she knew who she could trust. Right now, she could only trust Sam and Baz. Marshall, Ashton, and Connor as well, but she’d keep their names out of this as long as she could.
That she hadn’t yet called Navarro unsettled her. That she didn’t include him in her circle of trust unsettled her even more.
“I assume you’ve looked us up,” Kit said.
Burroughs nodded. Desoto just tilted his head, waiting.
“You know I was shot on Saturday.”
“And shot at yesterday,” Desoto said.