When the Dead Speak

Chapter 70

Chapter 70

Sam whipped her Jeep around a corner and down Lake Drive to the hotel. She had entertained the thought of stopping by Preston's house but decided it was best to let him sweat for a while. The fact that he hadn't placed a call to her this morning told her he was already sweating profusely.

The dark sedan Tim had allegedly seen in the past had been replaced by a white van. After convincing herself that Tim's imagination was on overdrive, she finally had seen the suspiciously parked floral van for a floral shop that didn't exist.

She lost the van on the last turn down an alley on Wentworth. She was going to put a stop to this. Against her better judgment, she let Tim use his computer to access the guest list at the Suisse Hotel. The FBI had spent so little time with Benny, Sam had never suspected they would still be in town.

The elevator doors opened and deposited Sam on the fourteenth floor. She looked around for agents, bodyguards. The hallway was deserted. Matter of fact, Director Underer had the entire top floor. Suite 1411 was the only room.

She pressed the doorbell twice. The door was pulled open by a tall, distinguished-looking man in horn-rimmed glasses. Carl Underer wore his navy suit like a uniform. She could envision his closet filled with twenty identical suits.

"Director Underer?" She stretched out a hand to him. "Sergeant Sam Casey."

He clasped her hand and after a faltering moment said, "Of course." Carl closed the door slowly. "To what do I owe this visit, Sergeant?"

"Please, call me Sam." She walked around the conference table eyeing the serving tray of coffee and hot water, the laptop computer, telephone, file folders, a black briefcase. She made herself a cup of hot tea. "Why are there two goons following my every move? Watching my driveway?"

She assessed his living quarters with its dark mahogany wood, floral wallpaper, Queen Anne furniture, and wet bar. Hallways branched out like expressway intersections.

"I wasn't aware you were being watched, but I'll definitely check into it." Carl motioned toward the conference table. "Please, sit." Carl stole a brief glance toward Sam's lightning bolt pendant.

"If you are still in town because of the Hap Wilson case, I might be able to help." Sam watched for his reaction. He was as stone-faced as the statues at the entrance to the hotel.

A door at the far end of the room by the fireplace opened and an Asian man of medium height and slight build emerged. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you had company," the man said. The air was thick with tension. Carl made no attempt at introductions.

"You aren't interrupting," Sam said.

"I'm just going to leave these here for the cleaning lady." The man placed a stack of newspapers on the couch.

Sam saw the heading Korean Today. She moved to the couch and glanced at the address label.

"Wait." She looked up at the retreating man. "You're Lincoln Thomas?"

"Yes."

Carl swiveled in his seat. "There's no need to..."

"Sam Casey." Sam reached for his hand.

"Yes." Lincoln's face brightened. "I stopped by to see you the other day." His eyes dropped down to her necklace. "Where did you get this?"

Suddenly, Hap's written words popped into Sam's head, the report her father had written, the account of Mushima valley. All the names, places, events.

She took a step back, assessed his age. Could it be?

"My, god," she gasped. "You're Ling Toy!"