The barista’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the badge.She set down her cloth and leaned forward, lowering her voice.“I was the one who took your call.”Her gaze darted nervously to the other barista, who was occupied with a customer at the far end of the counter.“And no, David’s not here.”
“When will he be back?He told us he’d be working until five.”
“That’s the weird thing,” the barista kept her voice near a whisper.“Right after he got off the phone with you, he looked like he’d seen a ghost.Said he wasn’t feeling well and needed to leave immediately.He literally grabbed his bag and bolted out the back door.Didn’t even clock out properly.”
Ann Marie stepped closer.“How long ago was this?”
“Maybe twenty minutes?The manager’s not happy—we’re short-staffed as it is.”The barista glanced at the door as if expecting Kim to reappear.“David’s never done anything like this before.He’s super reliable, always picks up extra shifts when someone calls out.”
“We need to locate him immediately,” Riley said.“It’s related to an ongoing homicide investigation.”
The barista’s eyes widened further.“Homicide?David?”She shook her head vigorously, silver earrings catching the light.“No way.He wouldn’t hurt anyone.He’s like the gentlest person I know.Apologizes to the plants when he bumps into them.”
“We just need to ask him some questions,” Ann Marie clarified, her tone soft.“He may have information that could help us.”
Riley pressed further.“We need his home address and personal phone number.”
The barista hesitated, conflict evident in her expression.“I’m not supposed to give out employee information.I could get fired.”
“I understand your concern,” Riley said, leaning in slightly, “but this is a matter of public safety.Two women are dead, and others could be in danger.”
The color drained from the barista’s face.She glanced over her shoulder to ensure her coworker was still occupied, then reached beneath the counter for a small notebook.“Give me a second,” she murmured, flipping pages until she found what she was looking for.She scribbled something on a napkin and slid it across the counter.“Please don’t tell anyone I gave you this.”
Riley palmed the napkin, noting the address in Kadota Junction and a phone number with a DC area code.“Thank you.You’ve potentially helped save lives today.”
The barista’s resistance dissolved.“David lives alone in that little house.If you talk to him, tell him Tara says to call the café.The manager’s going to put him on the schedule for every weekend shift for the next month if he doesn’t explain himself.”
Riley thanked her again, and they turned to leave.
“He’s running,” Ann Marie said, pulling out her phone as they walked briskly back to the car.She dialed the number from the napkin.After several rings, the call went to voicemail.“No answer.”
“He told us he’d be at work until five, willing to talk with us.Then immediately fled out the back door after ending the call.”Riley started the engine, checking traffic before pulling away from the curb.“What’s he hiding?And why run unless he’s involved in the murders?”
“Fear doesn’t always indicate guilt,” Ann Marie pointed out as she entered the address into the navigation system.“Sometimes it’s just...fear.”
Riley considered this as she wound through the afternoon traffic toward Kadota Junction.The neighborhood was a good thirty-minute drive in the best conditions, and considerably longer with the current congestion.Time enough for David Kim to disappear if that was his intention.
“He said ‘Am I in trouble’ when we mentioned his students,” Riley recalled.“Not ‘What happened to them’ or ‘Are they okay.’His first thought was for himself.”
“True,” Ann Marie acknowledged.“But his accent suggested English isn’t his first language.Cultural and linguistic differences can affect how people respond to authority figures.”
Riley nodded, appreciating Ann Marie’s perspective.She was right, of course—fear of law enforcement could stem from many sources beyond guilt.Still, David Kim’s abrupt departure from the café after agreeing to meet with them heightened her suspicion.Innocent people rarely ran from the FBI unless they had something significant to hide.
As they inched through the congested streets, Riley’s thoughts turned again to the two victims and their identical deaths.Somewhere in this city, a killer was methodically selecting targets, watching them, planning their executions.Was David Kim that killer?
The Kadota Junction neighborhood felt like a different world from DC’s urban core.Small, well-worn homes from the 1940s nestled beneath mature trees, their branches forming a canopy over the narrow streets.Riley slowed the car as they approached David Kim’s address.The house was a modest bungalow with weathered green siding and a small covered porch.A detached single-car garage stood to the left, its door partially open.Nothing about the property suggested anything unusual until Ann Marie suddenly straightened in her seat.
“The garage—movement,” Ann Marie said sharply.“Someone’s in there.Block the driveway!”
Riley reacted instantly, swinging the car across the concrete driveway just as a small blue hatchback began to emerge from the garage.The hatchback’s bumper stopped mere inches from her driver’s side door, its engine revving briefly before falling silent.
Through the windshield, Riley could see a man behind the wheel—presumably David Kim—his face a mask of panic.The car was packed nearly to the ceiling with what looked like hastily stacked belongings.
“He’s running,” Riley stated flatly, her right hand already moving toward her sidearm as she pushed open her car door.Ann Marie was out of the passenger side almost simultaneously, positioning herself with a clear view of the hatchback’s driver.
“FBI!”Riley called out.“Step out of the vehicle slowly, Mr.Kim.”
The man behind the wheel froze momentarily, then his shoulders slumped in defeat.He pushed open his door and emerged slowly, his hands already rising above his head.David Kim was smaller than Riley had expected—perhaps five-foot-seven, with a slight build and scholarly features.His black hair was neatly cut, his clothing simple but well-maintained: khaki pants, a light blue button-down shirt, and a navy cardigan.Nothing about him screamed “killer,” but Riley knew better than most how deceptive appearances could be.
