I made Sifu Hong aware that his school was being watched.

So the pieces didn't fit. What were the alternatives? Say Mai hadn't arranged to harass herself. And Anson wasn't responsible. Then who?

Sue Rasmussen? The man was a saint with her. To protect her boyfriend?

Don't say anything about the club.

What the fuck are you doing?

Sternway knew Hardshorn from the fight club. Why hadn't Anson spotted him at the tournament?

You will not be ready indeed until your pain has become separate from your anger.

Meanwhile the chops were worth an appalling amount of money to anyone with the expertise to recognize their value.

How about my fear? Was that supposed to be separate too?

I stifled a groan.

"What's wrong with it," I said finally because I couldn't imagine where else to begin, "is that it doesn't explain why asking Hong to evaluate those chops scares me so much."

"Damn it, Brew, you've lost me again." Ginny wasn't angry now. She was just trying to shake me out of my confusion.

"Is Hong in danger? Did he look at the chops? Did he say something strange about them?"

I shook my head uselessly.

"Shit, Ginny. I've lost myself. A couple of minutes ago I was so close " I simply hadn't been quick enough. The back of my brain had offered me a chance, and I'd let it get away.

As far as I knew, Hong hadn't said anything at all about the chops.

"But," she stated flatly, "it was too much to take in all at once. Cut yourself some slack, Brew. You've been here before. You know how to cope. Just give yourself a little time. You'll get it back when you're ready for it."

Sure, I muttered to myself. What's a few hours among friends? Or a few deaths?

Nevertheless she was right. I had been here before, trying to see things that I already knew clearly enough to understand them. And my brain never worked worth shit when I tried to force it.

But I couldn't shake the conviction that Hong's death was already on my conscience, and it hadn't even happened yet.

"Probably," I sighed.

"But it never feels like it's going to come back."

"Then stop thinking about it." Ginny was ready to get off the phone.

"Go do something. Find Fuller. Talk to Moy. Warn Hong. Give yourself a chance. I need to figure out how I can get this bag to Marshal before Mai calls."

"Sure," I conceded wanly. The aftermath of missed opportunities left me desolate, as ruined as a wasteland. But before she could hang up I added, "Ginny," with the fervor of a prayer, "thanks."

She chuckled grimly.

"Thanks yourself. I would never have thought of searching this house."

And I wouldn't have thought of asking Hong to evaluate the chops if she hadn't suggested it. If she hadn't wanted to close the rift we'd driven between us.

When she hung up, I didn't know whether to smile or weep.

Twenty-Three.

A nap was out of the question now. I couldn't have slept with a quart of Seconal in my veins. But I needed a shower badly. In fact, I might not survive without one. I felt too grimy to function, so dirt-streaked and bespattered that it reminded me of my drinking days.

Back then Ginny sometimes had to roust me out of the trash before she could put me to work.

A shower could wait, however. I had time. First things first.

The phone sat in my lap like one of those black boxes that would tell you why an airplane crashed if you could just figure out how to access it. Personally I loathed phones. I was spending way too much time talking to people I couldn't see.

Maybe Nakahatchi was right. Maybe you couldn't trust what people said over the phone because they weren't present to take responsibility for it.

Unfortunately I had to make calls anyway.

After a couple of minutes, I sank my teeth into myself in a manner of speaking and dialed again.

Finding Kerri Lee Fuller turned out to be easy. Directory assistance gave me her number. She answered on the third ring.

Yes, she was a karate-ka, although I'd never heard of her school. Yes, she'd competed in the tournament. Yes, she'd lost a red clutch purse there. It held her driver's license and all her credit cards. She was in trouble without it. Her relief was evident when I told her that it'd been recovered.

I gave her Moy's number, informed her that her purse was evidence and Moy would want to talk to her, and assured her that she'd get everything back in a few days. Then I hung up.

Calling Moy myself didn't work out so well.

After the phone rang three or four thousand times, I was connected to a voice messaging system. Press "1" to leave a message, press "2" to speak to another detective, that sort of thing. I didn't have the heart to repeat everything for Moy, so I left the important stuff to Marshal. Instead I just said that I'd come across a phone number and wanted Moy to identify it for me. When I'd given him that one as well as my cell phone number, I replaced the handset and put the phone back on the end table.

Then finally I went to take a shower.

I still intended to call Hong. But I put it off. I had no idea what to say to him.

Sifu Hong, your life is in danger.

Why?

You got a good look at the chops.

Yeah, right. Pull the other one, I need it stretched.

Sternway had assured me that Hong could turn me into dog food with both hands tied. And now I thought he was in danger because he'd seen the chops up close?

I had to have a shower.

Some days just peeling off dirty clothes was like molting. Removing encrusted sweat and inadequacy from contact with my skin made me feel like I'd become new. But not today. Today my befouled sensation ran a whole lot deeper.