Free The Killing Hands by P.D. Martin Page A

says. “Even to the sound of the shot.”
    â€œChances are he used a silencer,” says Hart, “but without a bullet it’s impossible to tell.”
    â€œHe’s been careful, all right.” I try to focus on the conversation and not the vision.
    â€œIt’s good to confirm the murder was planned,” Ramos says. “Thanks, Hart.”
    â€œNo problem…but I still wish we had a bullet.”
    â€œYeah, a bullet would be nice.”
    â€œSo would an ID,” I add, knowing we’ll never find a bullet.
    â€œWell, I’ll leave the ID with you guys. I’ll send you my written report in a day or two.”
    â€œGreat, thanks again, Hart. Anderson, you want to stay on the line?”
    â€œSure.” I don’t really want to talk to Ramos—I want the time and space to think about the vision, but I can’t tell him that.
    Once Hart hangs up, Ramos says, “Just thought I’d check in. I’m still working on the cars, but nothing stands out so far. You?”
    â€œIt’s a waiting game my end.” I bite my lip, eager to get off the phone. “I’ll call you if the State Department comes back with an ID, otherwise see you at the DEA at five-thirty?”
    â€œOkay. Ciao.”
    As soon as I hang up, I replay the vision. The first part was definitely related to our Little Tokyo victim. I recognize the parking lot and the light, although realistically those types of lights are fairly common, being used in smaller playing fields and most outdoor parking lots. But the detail of shooting out that type of light is too specific to be anything but our light, our case. And the killer picking the bullets up ties in with the crime-scene team’s assumption that the killer must have cleaned up after himself. Again, the darkness marries with our thoughts to date on the killer’s actions. Nothing new there. But the second part of the vision doesn’t make sense…not yet. I was in the role of a victim, shot. But our vic didn’t get shot. And he wasn’t sitting down or tied up.
    I spend another fifteen minutes trying to find something useful in the vision or induce another one before moving back to the arcade case. I make good progress and by the time my phone rings again at 4:45 p.m. I’ve got the bare bones of the profile ready for the LAPD.
    I fish my phone out of my bag and flip it open. “Agent Anderson speaking.”
    â€œAgent Anderson, it’s Lara from US State.”
    â€œI was hoping it was you.”
    â€œSorry I couldn’t get back to you sooner, Sophie. One of those days.”
    â€œI hear you. Did you get a match?” I ask, flipping over my notebook to a new page.
    â€œSure did. His name’s Jo Kume.”
    I scribble the name down as Rodriguez spells it out for me.
    â€œEntered on a Japanese passport. Does the name mean anything to you?”
    â€œNo. You guys got anything on him?”
    â€œNot much. It’s his first time visiting the US. He listed a hotel in Monterey Park as a contact.”
    â€œMonterey Park…that’s not too far from where his body was found. Can I have those details?”
    â€œI’ll e-mail you all the info from his entry documentation.”
    â€œGreat. Thanks, Lara.”
    â€œYou’re welcome. Have a nice day.”
    â€œYou, too,” I say before hanging up and immediately punching in Ramos’s number. “Ramos, it’s Anderson. We’ve got a name.”
    â€œHallelujah.”
    â€œJo Kume.”
    â€œYou run him yet?”
    â€œNot yet. I’m just about to leave for our DEA meet. But State says it was the guy’s first visit to the US, so I doubt we’ll have anything on him.”
    â€œWhat time is it?” He pauses. “Darn it, I better get moving, too. I’ll get someone to plug his name in, just in case.”
    â€œMy contact’s going to e-mail through the full details, including