Authors: Stephen Knight
“That’s quite a list,” Ryker said. “Getting your Christmas shopping out of the way early?” He turned to Jericho. “Are you planning on deputizing this ‘third party’, sir? I mean, if he gets all this access, the least we can do is give him a detective shield. He probably already has his own gun, but we can square him away with a badge, right?”
“Ryker,” Jericho warned.
Ryker ignored him. He turned to Lin and faced him directly.
“You want to see Xiaohui Zhu? No. You want full access to the investigation I’m conducting? No. You want to review all the evidence we collected? No. Neither you nor your bodyguard are police officers, Mr. Lin. I’m sorry you’ve lost your son, but the task of finding his killer is mine.”
“Ryker!” Jericho snapped.
“Enough!”
The chief stirred after a moment. He and Selma Kaplan exchanged glances.
“I have to take Detective Sergeant Ryker’s side on this,” Hallis said unexpectedly, and Ryker did a double-take to make sure it was actually the chief talking. “These requests are
—
extreme, at the least. The San Francisco Police Department does not usually allow for outside interference when it’s conducting an investigation into any matter.”
Alexsey looked at the two city supervisors sitting next to him.
“Mr. Lin remembers those who show him kindness and respect,” he said. “He is willing to donate
substantial
monies to a number of charities, including the police athletic league...and certain political parties.”
Both Newsom and the other supervisor
—
Ryker couldn’t remember his name
—
exchanged glances among themselves and with Chief Hallis, then Jericho. They didn’t bother paying attention to Ryker or Spider, or even Kaplan. They were only tools of the city, no one important.
“He also has the ability to remove some of the S.F.P.D.’s current troubles,” the Russian finished.
“Current troubles?” Hallis asked.
“Victor Chin,” Alexsey said.
“What’re you going to do, plug him?” Ryker asked.
Alexsey looked at Ryker with eyes that were as flat as the landing deck of an aircraft carrier. “Mr. Lin has the ability to appeal to Mr. Chin’s better nature.”
“How’s that? You’re going to give him a choice of which kneecap gets busted first?”
“Please, let’s not let this get
completely
unpleasant,” said the hippy supervisor Newsom. “I think you’re being needlessly antagonistic, detective.”
“Fashion tip: bell-bottomed jeans went out of style in 1974,” Ryker said.
Newsom’s eyes bugged out of his head, but he said nothing further.
Spider pushed back in his chair. He slapped Ryker on the shoulder once, hard.
“Get out of here,” he said. “I’ll handle this.”
“The hell you will,” Ryker snarled.
“The hell I
won’t,
” Spider hissed. “Get out. Now. Go wait in the hall.”
“That sounds like some excellent career advice,” Jericho seconded. “We’ll handle this from here on out, detective sergeant. Thank you for coming.”
Ryker snorted and shook his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was insane. The entire situation was completely outside of anything he’d had to deal with as an officer of the law, and it was totally beyond him how both Jericho and Hallis could roll over for Lin in front of him and Spider. It made him sick, and just witnessing it made him feel dirty. He knew Lin would get what he wanted.
Disgusted, he left the conference room.
###
The meeting lasted for another ten minutes. Ryker cooled his heels in the hallway as Spider had instructed. He wanted a cigarette, but he had quit years before and San Francisco was the kind of town where a smoker could be drawn and quartered. Men could tongue-kiss other men in public on the street in front of kids from the Midwest on a walking tour, but he couldn’t smoke a Marlboro in back of the station.
When the meeting broke, Ryker watched as Lin and his Russian sidekick headed down the hall, escorted by Chief Hallis and the two city supervisors. None of them looked in his direction. Then he found himself face to face with Jericho.
“You’re some piece of work, Ryker,” Jericho said. “Do you
really
want me to pull you off the case? With that little outburst you just made, I should have your ass shipped out to the Traffic Company. You can get your jollies handing out parking tickets and directing traffic.”
Ryker reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his plastic container of Tic-Tacs. He held them out to Jericho.
“You need some of these, captain. Really.”
Because I think I smell dick on your breath,
he wanted to add, but couldn’t bring himself to completely commit professional suicide. Not just yet.
Jericho stepped closer, towering over Ryker, his face flushed.
“You’re not as useful around here as you seem to think you are, son,” he rumbled. “You want to fuck with me? You think you have what it takes to bring me down?”
Ryker stared up at Jericho but said nothing.
“Are you boys going to have a gun fight?” Selma Kaplan asked. She was standing in the doorway to the conference room with Spider right behind her.
Jericho glanced over his shoulder. He then turned back to Ryker. After a moment, he stepped back.
“Lieutenant Furino. Give your detective his instructions,” he said, then stomped off after the Chief and James Lin, like a good lackey.
Ryker leaned back against the wall. Down the hallway, a couple of cops on the bow and arrow squad
—
desk duty
—
had gathered to watch the fireworks. Now that the show was over, they went back to their respective offices.
Spider stepped around Kaplan and approached Ryker.
“That could’ve gone better,” he said.
“How’d it end up? Hallis, Jericho, and our duly-elected officials line up to give Lin a collective blowjob?”
Kaplan laughed. She walked up to Ryker and punched him in the arm, her blue eyes bright and luminous.
“You’re my hero. You’re as dumb as a brick, but you’ve got
cojones,
I’ll give you that.”
“Thanks. Was it just my imagination, or did Lin just successfully bribe the chief and a district commander?” Ryker asked.
“Serious accusations,” Kaplan said, “but since no money changed hands in my presence, I couldn’t confirm that.”
“Internal Affairs might see things differently.”
Spider laughed. “You want to try and uncage IAD on Hallis and Jericho? Kaplan’s right, Ryker. You
are
dumb as a brick.”
Ryker looked at Spider directly, his eyes narrowed.
“So what’s the upshot? What went down after I left?”
“They don’t get access to Zhu or any other witnesses or suspects we nab,” Spider told him. “Everything else, they get. We do keep identities private, however. Even the supervisors agreed to that one, because if it ever got out that S.F.P.D. let some names out and those folks got either whacked or mysteriously disappeared, it could put us all over the barrel.” He paused for a moment. “And Lin’s man said that Victor Chin and his lawsuits would go away.”
“Generous,” Ryker commented.
Spider shrugged.
“So how about it, Hal? You going to play ball, or what?”
“Like I get a choice?” Ryker asked.
“Sure, you get a choice. You have a choice between working homicide or Company K,” Spider told him, using the alias for Metro’s Traffic Company.
Ryker shook his head. “Lovely.”
“It does suck,” Spider acknowledged, watching a group of cops walk toward them down the hall. He nodded to them but kept silent until they had moved out of earshot, then continued. “It sucks big time, but San Francisco’s just like any other city
—
politics make the prime time, the rest of the action, like
real
police work, gets tossed into the backseat. Both Hallis and Jerko”
—
Ryker smiled when he heard Spider use Jericho’s nickname, something he’d never known the lieutenant use before
—“w
ant a long and storied life after they leave the department, and Lin’s obviously offering it to them. Same for the supervisors, too.”
Ryker nodded and looked at Kaplan.
“And what’s the district attorney’s interest in all of this?” he asked.
Kaplan reached up with both hands and threw her blonde hair back over her shoulders.
“Ostensibly, to make sure that things don’t get too far out of hand. If you guys agree to something that’s going to break the rules, we’re here to walk you back to sanity.” She paused. “But at the same time, I wouldn’t be too surprised if Sheffield wasn’t looking for some handouts either. He’s an elected official too, you know.” Sheffield was San Francisco’s district attorney, and Kaplan’s boss. He’d been known as a handout king for years.
“Well, looks like we’re getting it all around,” Ryker said.
“And it’s not likely to get any better,” Spider agreed. “Your guys have to work double-time on this one, Hal. Seriously.” He looked at Kaplan. “You’re attached to this one now, I take it?”
Kaplan nodded. “I’ll be representing the D.A.’s interests in this, from this point forward.”
“What do you make of the girl? Xiaohui Zhu?” Spider asked, mangling the name.
Kaplan shrugged and looked at Ryker. “If she did it, I’ll prosecute. Did she?”
“I doubt it,” Ryker admitted. “Danny Lin was a first-rate asshole, but this girl has her eye on her bank accounts, and killing Lin was no way to keep ‘em full. Speaking of which, I’d like to run a financial on her, if you don’t mind, Lou.”
Spider nodded. “Get me the form, and I’ll authorize it.”
“Will do.”
Spider checked his watch. “All right, let’s get to it. Keep Miss Kaplan in the loop as far as persons of interest go, and give the rest of your troops their details.”
“You got it,” Ryker agreed, not liking it one bit. But it was better than being sent down to the Traffic Company, he had to give it that.
But only just.
CHAPTER 12
The flight from Narita to San Francisco took nine hours and seven minutes, arriving on the same day as when Manning left. As the Japan Air Lines 747-400 descended through the marine layer which shrouded the airport, Manning prepared himself, straightening up in his business class seat and slipping on his shoes. Outside the window, misty gray cloud swirled past, featureless even though the airplane was flying at more than 200 miles an hour. It touched down at half past eleven that morning, and with the wail of thrust reversers, braked to a relative crawl in less than six thousand feet.
The jet lumbered its way to the taxiway and finally came to a halt at Gate A4. Manning joined the rest of his fellow passengers in unbuckling their seatbelts and setting about to disembark. As they filed off the aircraft, Manning nodded to the flight attendants and walked down the skyway, heading to the International Arrivals Hall, where he went through the usual customs proceedings. As an American citizen with nothing to declare
—
and who ever declared anything, anyway?
—
he breezed right through. He stepped through the glass doors leading to the bright and wide arrival hall, his bag in his right hand, a light leather jacket in his left.
###
There was a plastic basket of mail waiting for him in the lobby of his Lombard Street apartment, as he had restarted the mail service over the internet before leaving Japan. Manning picked through it for a moment, marveling at all the credit card offers he’d received, as well as some unwanted but regrettably unavoidable correspondence from the Internal Revenue Service. Also some mail regarding the disposition of his military benefits, which he had not yet started drawing. He decided he would go through it another day; after all, it had been there for almost four months.