White Ginger by Thatcher Robinson Page A

arm away from the body.
    The limb straightened but remained raised in the air in a final salute.
    â€œShit . . .” The word just escaped her lips.
    Jason had ears like a bat. “What is it?”
    It took her a moment to answer. “Mrs. Yan looks like a pincushion. Defensive wounds are on the insides of her arms as well as her hands. The wounds look shallow.”
    She forced herself to count the wounds that ranged from the area around the woman’s upper thighs to her chest. She quit counting at thirty. Mrs. Yan had obviously fought her attacker. Somebody either really hated the woman, a reaction Bai found understandable, or was just a horribly incompetent killer.
    She turned again to the two men sitting in the grave. “She must have fought like a demon. Who did this?”
    Bai stood to walk over and confront the men. The grave diggers looked at one another and shook their heads, refusing to talk. She thought one of the men had coughed. The grave digger sitting in front grabbed his shoulder. Blood seeped from a small bullet hole. She turned to Jason, stunned.
    He shrugged. “The lady asked a question. Answer her.”
    The wounded man’s eyes were bright, tearing with pain. He cried, “We don’t kill ’em. We just bury ’em.”
    Then it registered. Bai’s eyes darted around the dark confines of the crawl space. Her voice sounded shrill in her ears. “It’s a graveyard!”
    Jason’s stare caught her eye. He willed her to breathe, something she’d somehow forgotten to do. She put her hand up to acknowledge the unvoiced directive and took a deep breath.
    Jason looked around at the rolling ground with a smile showing through his mask. “Sammy’s been a busy, busy boy.” He turned back to the grave diggers. “So, where is he?”
    The wounded man glared at Jason and spit on the ground. Another cough. A small hole appeared in the man’s forehead. He toppled face-down in the dirt.
    Jason addressed the remaining prisoner. “You’re going to have to dig that hole a little deeper.” He pointed the gun at the man’s head. “That is, unless you want to join your friend. If I were you, I’d start telling me everything you know about Sammy Tu.”
    Bai looked at Jason with her jaw agape. He’d just casually killed a man. She found herself uncharacteristically speechless.
    The man, either Chan or Shen—not that it mattered—blurted out a confession: “Sammy drove a girl to Vancouver. He’s going to auction her overseas. He left last night. He’ll be back the day after tomorrow.”
    The man’s eyes were like saucers, his face ashen. He trembled with fear.
    Jason’s voice was calm. He seemed almost disinterested. “Where in Vancouver?”
    â€œI don’t know. I really don’t. I’d tell you if I knew.”
    Bai blurted out, “Who killed Mrs. Yan?”
    The grave digger’s head jerked around to look at her. “I don’t know, lady. I got a call from Sammy this morning. He told me there was a body down here to bury. That’s all I know.”
    â€œYou don’t know much,” Jason said coldly.
    The man turned to Jason and shrugged. Jason’s gun coughed again. The grave digger toppled forward to lean against the back of his dead companion.
    Jason and Bai were alone with the dead. She could feel their ghosts surrounding her. Clammy perspiration formed beneath her mask while a roaring in her ears left her deaf. Cold fear wrapped her in a coiled embrace then swallowed her whole.

Bai panicked and ran. She stumbled in the loose dirt and went down on one knee as her fingers plunged into moist soil. Tears blurred her vision. She realized crying didn’t make any sense. Then again, the death she’d witnessed didn’t make any sense.
    Jason was suddenly beside her. His hand gripped her arm, like a steel band, to lift and steer her as she blindly