Authors: Stephen Knight
“We have it,” said the second man.
“Who are you, and what do you do?”
“I’m Nyby, security staff. I reviewed the video myself. I saw the video this morning, right after we found Alexsey. It shows the…the engagement. It went down almost like you said. We didn’t catch the killer on any of the perimeter sensors…well, that’s not true. At about the same time, we had a family of deer enter the estate through a small gate that’s hidden by the brush over there.” Nyby pointed to the right side of the estate. “About a hundred meters that way, behind those shrubs. The gate’s been broken for some time, but no one has fixed it yet.”
Manning was gobsmacked. “You mean…you
knew
there was a break in the wall, and you never bothered to fix it?”
Nyby became a bit indignant, forgetting the fact his boss was dead on the ground only a few feet from where he stood. The corpse’s pale eyes were now dry and stared up into the sky. “Alexsey knew all about it, but only deer came through there. They’ve been tripping off the motion detectors for days. He wanted it repaired as soon as it was discovered, but”—Nyby glanced at Lin quickly—“but Mr. Han wanted to find a vendor who would honor a specific price point.”
Lin sighed wearily and nodded. “It’s true, Manning. Han did mention this to me. He was known to be notoriously miserly all his life, even when the money was mine.”
Manning rubbed his face. “You allowed a break in your physical security.”
“We had electronic—”
“Mr. Nyby, electronic measures are meant to
supplement
physical measures, not replace them. Someone had a very big mistake, and this”—Manning pointed at the body lying at his feet—“is the result. Has the entire area been photographed, and have copies of the video surveillance been stored somewhere safe?”
“Yes,” Nyby said. “I have about a hundred photos of the entire area, taken by a Nikon D700 digital camera. Also HD video through the same system.”
“Has anyone disturbed Baluyevsky’s body?”
“No. The first person to find it didn’t touch it, and we have video to confirm that. It was one of the landscapers.”
Manning nodded and looked at Lin. “Lin Yubo, what do you want to do? If we call the police, then another department will take charge of this investigation. We’ll be shut out, but the chances of them catching Lin Dan’s killer go up…though only slightly.” He spoke to Lin in Mandarin, shutting Nyby out of the conversation.
“I know this. What do you suggest?”
“How much money do you have in the house? Right now?”
“Two hundred and sixty-seven thousand dollars in cash. Much more in gold, silver, platinum, and gems.” Lin didn’t bat an eye.
“Give the landscaper one hundred thousand dollars to forget about what he saw here today. Then get your people to dispose of the body. The guy’s stiffening up, so the sooner he gets hidden the better. Do you have next of kin contact information?”
“Baluyevsky had no one.”
“So much easier, then. Where is Ren?”
“Upstairs, still in his room. He had a great deal to drink last night, as always. Why do you ask?”
“Just trying to get a handle on who was where when this went down.” In English: “Nyby, you said you have video of the attack?”
“Yes.”
“And no one saw it go down in real time?”
“Manning,” Lin said tiredly, “I do not require constant manned surveillance of my own property.”
Manning snorted and pointed at Baluyevsky. “I very much disagree.” To Nyby: “Show me the video.” He looked at Lin. “Ryker would be extraordinarily interested in this, and in the disappearance of your manservant, Lin Yubo.”
“As…as am I, Manning. As am I.”
###
Ryker was still in Valerie Lin’s bed when his cell phone started vibrating in his jacket. His jacket was on the floor near the door, but the phone rattled against the hardwood floor, and Ryker slowly disengaged himself from Valerie and slid out of bed. He picked up the phone but didn’t recognize the number that showed on the display. He looked back at the bed and saw Valerie was still asleep. He contemplated returning to her side and nestling against her warmth—the master bedroom was a little chilly—but the phone continued to vibrate in his hand. Even on a Saturday morning, he was getting calls.
So he did exactly what he thought he’d never be able to do: he slipped on one of Danny Lin’s terry cloth bathrobes and slippers (both were too small for him). And then he stepped into the white marble bathroom and redialed the number that had called him.
“Good morning, Detective Sergeant Ryker.” It was Chee Wei.
“What’s up?”
“Got some info you might be interested in,” Chee Wei said breezily. “I’m in the city. Want to meet at the Starbucks near your place? Market Street and, what, Polk?”
“Market Street and Fell. We can’t do this over the phone?”
“Got stuff to show you,” Chee Wei said. He sounded like he was enjoying the whole cloak-and-dagger bit a little too much. “Believe me, we’ll all want to see it.”
“Who’s this ‘we’ you’re talking about?”
“You and me for now, then Spider and the rest of the crew. Maybe even Captain Jerkoff himself, if he can remember he’s a cop first and a politician second.”
Ryker sighed quietly. “When?”
“Jeez, what the hell’s wrong with you? I’ve got a treasure trove here, and you’re dragging your ass? Meet me in thirty minutes, is that good enough?”
“Yeah. Okay.” Ryker hung up just as the bathroom door opened. Valerie stepped inside and looked at him. Her face was an emotionless mask as she examined him while he stood there, stuffed inside a bath robe and slippers that were three, maybe four sizes too small.
“You look like you’re about to bust out of that robe,” she said finally.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?” When he didn’t answer, she said, “Because you think I might feel badly about you wearing my husband’s things, now that he’s dead?”
“Yeah. I guess, yeah.”
She shook her head, and her black hair shimmered in the light like some rare substance that was covered beneath a thin sheen of lacquer. “You worry a bit much…Hal? Can I call you Hal? Or would you prefer detective sergeant?”
“Hal’s fine, Valerie. A bit odd getting that worked out in your bathroom, though.”
“Who was on the phone?”
“My partner. He has something he wants to go over. He wants me to meet him at a Starbucks in SoMa.”
“The ABC?” she asked, using the term for American-Born Chinese. “Fong. That one?”
“One and the same.”
“So you’re leaving?”
“Yes. I think I have to.” He wanted to take her into his arms, and after a moment, he did. She came to him willingly and placed her head against his chest, her hands resting on his hips. Ryker bent over and kissed the top of her head. “Are you all right?”
“I have to pee,” she said with a slight giggle.
“Oh. Well, have at it, then.”
Ryker stepped outside and got dressed. He heard her go to the bathroom and flush the toilet, then turned on the water to wash her hands and maybe brush her teeth. He moved to the door, intending to ask if she had a spare toothbrush—Ryker’s mouth tasted a lot like the inside of a garbage can. But over the running water, he heard her sobbing. Quietly, because she was trying to hide it from him. He hovered outside the door for a moment longer, then turned and walked out of the bedroom.
###
“You’re late,” Chee Wei complained. It was almost 8:00am, and the Starbucks was already crowded. Ryker didn’t doubt he’d had to fight to keep his table. Maybe he’d even pulled his gun.
Ryker shrugged and sat down opposite him on a wooden chair that was off-balance. He tried to get comfortable, but the chair kept rocking around under him. He’d taken the time to buy himself a small coffee, and it tasted like rocket fuel.
“So what do you have that’s so important you couldn’t tell me about it over the phone, but have no problems discussing in the middle of a crowded, noisy Starbucks?”
“I heard from my cousin last night…well, more like this morning. Remember how I told you he was with the Hong Kong PD? He did some digging for me and found out some really interesting shit about James Lin.” Chee Wei smiled and took a swig of his skinny double half-caf mocha latte and looked damned pleased with himself. Ryker patiently sipped his no-frills coffee and wondered when Chee Wei would show the goods.
“Dude, you’re gonna love this,” Chee Wei promised.
“Any chance we can get this done before lunchtime?”
Chee Wei reached to the bag on the floor beside him and opened it up. Ryker frowned.
“Chee Wei. Is that a
purse?
”
“It’s a
knapsack,
” Chee Wei said defensively as he pulled out a manila folder from inside the dun-colored bag. He put the folder on the tiny table between them their coffee cups and flipped it open. Inside were several pages of text. Chinese text.
“Wow, it’s all in Chinese, even. Impressive,” Ryker said as he swigged some more rocket fuel and looked around the coffee shop. To think he woke up in a mansion just off of China Beach this morning, lying on a bed that was probably bigger than his entire bedroom in his apartment, next to a woman whose beauty was…well, the most amazing thing he’d ever seen up close. Despite being driven nearly crazy by grief over her dead, abusive husband.
Women. You just can’t figure them out.
“It
is
impressive,” Chee Wei said, rifling through the papers. “It’s a file on Lin Yubo, aka James Lin, former governor of Shanghai, former deputy director of the Central Cultural Revolution Group, and the head of the Shanghai Black Dragon tong. This guy was a real mover and shaker during Mao’s time. He started out as a criminal, working the backside of the Kuomintang and the rest of the Chinese Nationalists until the Japs invaded. When they took Shanghai, Lin faded out and came back into the picture, this time with Mao and his guerilla fighters. He stuck with them during the whole war against Chiang Kai-shek, and it seemed Lin Yubo was a true-blue commie lover.”
Ryker snorted. “Lin? A member of the Communist party?”
“The
Chinese
Communist Party, no less,” Chee Wei said. “Those guys didn’t mess around, they all believed in the Party, heart and soul. Well, at least in the beginning. But Lin? No way, man. It was just another way to stay alive for him.”
“An opportunist to the core,” Ryker agreed. “Look, all this is really interesting. But what does it have to do with our case?”
Chee Wei flipped a page over and started reading. He finally pointed at a block of text and showed it to Ryker. “Look familiar?”
“Yeah. It says ‘spicy beef platter’, right?”
“It says
Bu zhan, bu he
. No war, no peace. It was a slogan used during the Shanghai purges in the 1960s, during the beginning of the Cultural Revolution.” Chee Wei flipped over another page and held it up for Ryker to see. It was a photo of James Lin—Lin Yubo, back then, in a time when James Lin didn’t exist—standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Mao Zedong, the crazed deflowerer of twelve-year-olds himself. Mao had a gentle, almost beatific smile. Lin looked just as crusty as he did today, only more than four decades younger.
“So it’s revenge,” Ryker said. He took the printout and examined it more closely. A woman stood next to Lin, half cropped out of the picture. Ryker turned the page and pointed to her.
“Jiang Qing, Mao’s wife,” Chee Wei said. “She took over the post of the Central Cultural Revolution Group from Lin. This is when Lin had some bad times, when he was sent back to Shanghai to oversee the purges. It was actually a demotion, but my cousin thinks he used the time to rebuild part of his tong. Ten years before Mao kicks the bucket, and he was already planning for when China opened its doors to the west. You have to hand it to him, Lin is a really strategic thinker. And he used his crime money to buy his way into businesses and make even
more
cash.”