Counterfeit Lies

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

When Jake arrived at Park’s home, the San Marino police were on the scene. Red and blue flashes shot into the night sky like strobe lights at a seventies disco. The media were also on hand, reporters across the street attempting to get a few facts to piece together a story and helicopters circling, their bright lights attempting to get footage for the eleven o’clock news. Uniformed officers blocked the entrance at the gate. Jake couldn’t very well flash his FBI credentials to gain access. He would have to bluff his way through the cordon — and still avoid being plastered on the front page of tomorrow’s Los Angeles Times.

He drove down the block, parking around the corner from Park’s home. Grabbing a baseball cap from the backseat, he pulled it down low on his head, put a new memory chip in his recording device, and locked his Glock in the glove compartment.

He slipped behind the shrubbery of a nearby home and made his way down the driveway, where he walked with purpose toward Park’s drive, appearing to the media to be a nosy neighbor.

Approaching a uniformed officer at the gate, Jake said, “I’m a friend of Mr. Park’s. He called and asked me to come over. He’s not real comfortable around uniforms. Where he comes from, people wearing uniforms aren’t exactly on the side of the citizen. I think I could help gain his cooperation.”

The police officer nodded and said, “Let me call my sergeant.” With that he walked a few feet away and spoke into the radio attached at his shoulder. The other officers remained vigilant just in case one of the perpetrators had remained at the scene, risking capture to further satisfy his bloodlust. An evidence technician inside a patrol van was discreetly videotaping the crowd so detectives could review it at a later stage of the investigation. When the officer guarding the gate returned seconds later he said to Jake, “I’ll escort you to the house.”

“That’s okay, I know the way,” said Jake, acting naïve about proper police procedures that prevent citizens from freely roaming around a crime scene.

“I’ll escort you. Let’s go,” said the officer in a command voice.

After turning the corner of the driveway, beyond the site of the media or neighbors, the officer said, “As a precaution I need to pat you down.”

“I understand.”

The officer gave a cursory search, asked Jake to remove the wallet from his back pocket and then hold his undercover driver’s license while the cop used the camera on his smartphone to photograph it. Then, using a field interrogation app on the phone, the officer asked, “Is this address on your license current? You’re not a neighbor?”

Jake’s undercover address — an apartment he rarely frequented — was downtown. “Yes, that’s my address. I know Mr. Park from work.”

When they arrived at the front door Jake saw the destruction. Having executed early-morning arrest warrants, Jake had burst through enough doors to recognize the work of trained professionals. The intruders had skillfully centered the ram just below the doorknob and shattered the wooden frame, defeating the lock and dead bolt.

A female detective came to the front door. “Is this the guy Park called?”

“Yes,” said the uniformed officer. “I patted him down, he’s clean. I sent the FI card to your phone.”

The detective nodded and extended her hand. “I’m Kelly Rodriguez. I’ll need you to sign the log-in sheet.”

“Jake Goode,” said Jake. “What happened? Do you have any idea who did this?”

The dark-haired detective shook her head. “I’m hoping you can help. Park doesn’t seem too interested in cooperating. He’s not much of a talker.”

Jake maintained his serious façade. “He’s from a police state. I don’t think he had much success with uniformed authorities.”

“Maybe you can convince him this isn’t a police state.”

“At least not yet,” said Jake.

She gave him a look and he knew what she was thinking. Oh great, just what I need at a triple homicide, some left-wing nut job with an agenda.

Jake knew he wasn’t making a friend but he wasn’t interested in earning his Merit Badge this evening.

With a hint of resignation, Rodriguez said, “Maybe hearing it from you will make him realize it’s in his best interest to work with us. The sooner we can get the information out on the air, the quicker we may be able to find who did this.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said with feigned sincerity.

Jake stepped through the front door and immediately spied a dead body to the left, a sheet covering the corpse. In the living room a paramedic was treating Park, placing a bandage on the large gash above his eye. A second team had already taken Park’s wife, Soo Min, to the hospital.

Jake headed to Park, who stood up, pushing aside the paramedic. “No more. I am fine.”

“But sir…”

Park offered a slight bow as Jake approached. “Thank you for coming.” Then, almost in a whisper, he said, “Walk over here.”

“Sir, if you are refusing any further treatment I’ll have to ask you to sign this form.”

Park waved him off. “I will sign your paperwork later.”

The paramedic began cleaning up the mess he caused treating the wound as Park and Jake walked to a quiet corner. The detectives watched intently.

Park said, “They have Jenny and Gracie. At least five men broke into my home. When Tommy tried to stop them he was killed. Jake, Tommy was very brave. He saved my life. Do not say anything to the police about Jenny and the girl. I will handle this matter.”

Jake balked. “But it’s a multiple murder. Your house is a bloodbath. The cops are swarming all over the place.”

Park answered quietly but sternly. “I will handle the kidnapping in my own way. Let them investigate the murders. I will do the rest.”

“Do you think Reid is behind this?”

“He would never be that stupid.”