"It was open," Moy explained.

"Tang says Hong always slept with it open. He liked the night air.

"We've already been up on the roof. Not that we can see shit in this storm. But one of the utility grates sure looks scratched. And we found fifty yards of rope tied to a grappling hook out in the Dumpster.

Ordinary towing rope, the kind you can buy in about a hundred hardware stores."

"Spell it out for me." I didn't need the help, but I wanted to keep him talking.

"What do you think happened?"

Moy rolled his eyes.

"Nakahatchi heard a noise and went to check on the chops. When he saw they were gone, he figured Hong took them. He went out the fire exit to the utility shaft, climbed up to the roof, hooked the grapple onto a grate and shimmied down to Hong's window. When he'd killed Hong, he went back up the rope, took his rope and grapple out to the Dumpster, and let himself back into Essential Shotokan."

"Isn't that kind of stupid?" I asked dishonestly.

"Leaving the rope and grapple where you're sure to find them?" I already knew why they'd been disposed of so obviously.

Torrents blinded the windows. The parking lot might as well have existed in a different dimension. Full of cars like I'd never seen it before "There's no IQ test for killers," the detective retorted.

"Nakahatchi may be a moron. God knows he acts like one."

"Bullshit." I couldn't stifle the shivers in my chest. My voice shook like I was feverish.

"I've spent too much time around him. I know better."

He hadn't had any difficulty finding my weaknesses.

"Maybe," Moy countered, "he didn't have time to ditch the rope anywhere else. Not in this storm. He couldn't risk being gone when Hong's body was discovered. Hell, maybe he was still in Hong's apartment when T'ang Wen knocked. He had to hurry."

I conceded the point. What choice did I have? Instead of arguing, I threw more chaff.

"That doesn't explain why you considered Nakahatchi a suspect in the first place." I sounded the way I felt, chilled to the bone.

"Unless T'ang already knew the chops were gone when he talked to you "

I didn't believe that for a second. Hong hadn't stolen the chops. And T'ang Wen would never have left his master open to that kind of suspicion.

"He didn't," Moy stated flatly.

"He didn't mention the chops at all. In fact, he doesn't know they're gone." He stared at me hard.

"Unless somebody called him after I came over here." Like me, for instance. But Moy didn't pursue the question.

"I asked him if Hong had any enemies. He named Nakahatchi. But he was reluctant about it. He kept insisting that Nakahatchi behaved honorably toward his master as recently as yesterday."

"He must've given you some kind of reason," I countered.

Moy nodded.

"He said the Japanese are hostile toward all things Chinese. Especially the martial arts. He claimed it's traditional, almost hereditary."

The detective paused briefly, then added, "And he's sure Nakahatchi was jealous of Hong."

I let my jaw drop.

"Jealous ?"

"Hong had more students. And Nakahatchi had to recognize Hong was a better martial artist. It's obvious to everybody."

I got the impression that Moy wasn't impressed.

"Says T'ang," I insisted.

"Says T'ang," he admitted.

"Well," I went on, "he's right about the traditional hostility."

Tremors gave my tone a cutting edge.

"But the part he didn't tell you is that it works both ways. The Japanese and the Chinese and the Koreans all distrust each other. Soft styles and hard styles sneer at each other. Traditional styles think modern styles are junk. Modern styles think traditional ones are ossified. Martial America is a hotbed of ingrained suspicion. Everyone here wants precedence.

"That Tae Kwon Do school next door is one of the worst." More chaff.

"They don't think Nakahatchi deserves the chops. They give him too much 'face."

"And speaking of 'face,"

" I continued, hurrying so that Moy wouldn't notice my efforts to distract him, "who do you think inherits Traditional Wing Chun now? The head student, T'ang Wen. With his master out of the way, he stands to gain major 'face' if Hong was murdered by a Japanese sensei."

That was cruelly unfair to T'ang. He esteemed his master too highly to be selfish about it. But I ached to deflect Moy from Nakahatchi. That was crucial. I couldn't tell Moy the truth. If I did, he'd have only two choices, a cop's choices believe me and get in my way, or doubt me and take me in as an accessory. Somehow I needed to make him question his assumptions about Nakahatchi without turning him in the right direction. Otherwise I'd never be able to extract the evidence I needed.

Moy held up his hands, urging me to slow down.

"Are you trying to tell me T'ang Wen had a reason to kill his master?

He took the chops to throw suspicion on Nakahatchi, then killed Hong so he could take over the school?"

I shook my head. I couldn't go that far. Not even to protect Nakahatchi or myself. Shivering in gusts, I admitted, "I think T'ang is a decent guy. But maybe he's figured out that he could be the big winner here. If Nakahatchi goes down, the only rival T'ang has left in Martial America is Master Soon."

For a moment, Moy looked out into the storm as if he hoped all that rain and violence would help him think. Frantically I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, chafing my skin in an effort to generate some warmth. If I couldn't stop shivering, my brain might start to rattle in my skull. Then I wouldn't be able to put one coherent idea in front of another.

But I was too angry to let that happen. I'd pick a fight with the wall, batter my blood back into circulation, before I allowed myself to fall apart now.

When Moy faced me again, he changed directions.

"Speaking of keys, Axbrewder," he asked in the bored tone I remembered, "how do you get around in the building?"

Shit! He was still interested in me as an accessory.

I met his gaze as innocently as I could.