Wha Mi found herself tied to the handcart again. Mrs Lee stepped around it and faced her . The school director was well groomed and did not look any of her 50 years. Her below the knee skirt, matching black jacket and glasses framing dark brown eyes showed her as the intelligent, competent woman she was. She looked like the director of a successful school and not like a serial murderer at all. When Wha Mi had first met her, the woman had the red, tear-stained cheeks of someone in mourning. She’d lost two key staff whom she had called friends. Her reputation and livelihood were in jeopardy and she looked the part. In the dim light of the convenience store all of that was gone and replaced by a woman of calculating intelligence. She straitened her clothes after laying out large sheets of plastic on the floor. Satisfied that any mess would be limited to the covered area, she wheeled Wha Mi onto the plastic and looked her over as though she were a problematic variable she was trying to solve out of an equation. “Just so you know it won’t hurt for long. Only a second or so.” Said Mrs Lee.