Survivor in Death (In Death 20)

“I’ve been employed in this capacity for three years.”

“So you know Kirkendall.”

“I have not had the pleasure of meeting him.”

One of the screens slid open. The man who came out wore a black gi, with the black belt around it scored in a way that told Eve he was a master.

He was no more than five-eight in his bare feet. Like the woman, his head was hairless. And like her, he put his palms together and bowed.

“You are welcome here. You inquire about Mr. Kirkendall. Do you require privacy?”

“Never hurts.”

“Please, then.” He gestured to the opening. “We will speak in my office. I am Lu,” he told them as he escorted them down a narrow white hallway.

“Dallas, Lieutenant. Peabody, Detective. NYPSD. What are these rooms?”

“We offer privacy rooms for meditation.” He bowed to a white-robed man who carried a white pot of tea and two handleless cups on a tray.

Eve watched the man slip through one of the sliding screens and close it behind him.

She caught the sounds of hand-to-hand ahead. The slap of flesh, the thud of bodies, the hiss of breath. Saying nothing, she moved passed Lu and walked to another opening.

The studio spread out, in sections. In one she saw a class of six executing the sharp, silent movements of an elaborate and graceful kata. In another, several students of various ranks fought under the supervision of another black belt.

“We instruct in tai chi, karate, tai kwon do, aikido,” Lu began. “Other forms and methods as well. We offer instruction to novices and continuing instruction and practice to the experienced.”

“You offer anything but tea and meditation in those privacy room?”

“Yes. We offer spring water.” He neither smiled nor seemed insulted by the question. “If you would like to examine one of our meditation rooms, not currently in use, I would only request you remove your boots before entering.”

“We’ll leave that for now.”

He led her through another doorway, into a small, efficient, and attractive office. More low tables and cushions. Painted screens on the walls, a single white orchid bowing out of a red pot.

His desk space was stringently ordered with its compact d and c unit and a miniature ’link.

“Would you care to sit?”

“Standing’s fine. I need to speak with Kirkendall.”

“He’s traveling.”

“Where?”

“I can’t tell you. He is, to my knowledge, traveling extensively.”

“You don’t know how to reach your partner?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. Is there a problem that involves my business?”

“He lists this as his address on his official data.”

“He does not live at this address.” Lu’s voice remained smooth and untroubled. “There is no residence here. I fear there is some mistake.”

“When’s the last time you spoke with him?”

“Six years ago.”