Stealing the Dragon

Chapter Sixty-two

At the precise moment Cape started talking to Vincent Mango, an explosion destroyed Harold Yan’s office on Grant Street.

The second floor windows facing the street were blown out, sending a light snow of glass onto parked cars. The ceilings on the first floor cracked, plaster hitting the hardwood floors in clumps, but the real damage was contained to the second floor. Xan had used just the right amount of plastique. Neighboring buildings were untouched. A fire started in the reception area outside Yan’s office, which seemed to be the source of the explosion.

The fire department arrived within ten minutes from the station less than four blocks away, knocking down the door and rushing up the stairs. At first they feared a gas leak that could spread to other buildings until they realized Yan’s offices used electric power and heat. That was when they considered arson. But when they found the body of a dead Asian male with gunshot wounds to the chest in Yan’s office, they didn’t know what to think.

Ten minutes later Vincent’s phone rang.

As he grabbed his coat, Vincent told Cape they weren’t finished, would talk later, and Cape just nodded. He walked to his car and waited a few minutes before pulling away from the curb. By the time he approached Grant Street, the block had been cordoned off, the cop cars and truck from the medical examiner stacking up next to the fire engine. Cape kept driving.

He desperately wanted to sleep but forced himself to drive down the Embarcadero to park in front of Town’s End restaurant, known for serving one of the best breakfasts in the city. Cape knew the owners and wanted to be seen in public for a few more hours. He also didn’t want to go home just yet. If someone wanted to find him today, he didn’t want to make it that easy.

He grabbed a table next to the window and nodded at the cooks behind the counter, managing a half-assed smile. He felt his eyes go to half-mast and thought about ordering coffee but knew he’d hate it when it arrived. He thought of Agent Williams and waved down the waitress to order iced tea and scrambled eggs.

Cape wasn’t hungry when the food arrived, and after an hour the tea was eating a hole in his stomach. He’d been holding the paper in front of him but couldn’t remember a single sentence. The radio behind the counter finally broadcast a news update that mentioned the explosion at Yan’s office, but it didn’t give any details. He felt his stomach cramp up and walked to the men’s room and splashed cold water on his face, then washed his hands. They looked clean, but he could still see the blood all over them.

He dried his face and looked in the mirror but couldn’t find any answers in his own eyes. He turned away and stepped back into the restaurant to find someone sitting at his table.

John Williams looked up from the paper and smiled.

“Your eggs are cold.”

Cape shrugged. “Lost my appetite.”

“That’s too bad,” said Williams. “I just ordered.”

It almost made Cape smile as he sat down. “Coffee?”

“You bet,” said Williams. “And eggs and hash browns.”

“Bacon?”

“Goes without saying,” said Williams. “Getting your appetite back?”

“We’ll see.”

“Most important meal of the day.”

“It’s almost lunchtime.”

“Yeah, but these folks serve breakfast all day,” said Williams. “Your kinda place.”

Cape nodded absently. “How’d you find me?”

Williams jerked a thumb at the window. “Not that many beat-up convertibles in this town, where everybody’s gotta own a Lexus or a Mercedes. ’Sides, you parked on the biggest road in the city. Figured I’d check the streets in front of the breakfast places first.”

Cape felt himself relax. He reached for his tea, reminding himself why Williams was such a good cop.

“What’s up?”

“There was an explosion at Harold Yan’s office this morning.”

Cape pointed to the radio. “I heard that,” he said. “What’s the deal?”

“Bomb went off,” said Williams, getting right to it. “Plus they found a dead body.”

“Yan?”

Williams studied Cape for a moment. “Heard you sent the po-lice a picture.”

He hadn’t answered Cape’s question, an old cop trick. “So it wasn’t Yan?”

Williams shook his head. “Another fella, Asian male in his thirties.”

Cape concentrated on keeping eye contact. Liars always drift. “He died in the explosion?”

“He might have, if he hadn’t already been shot.”

“And you’ve never seen this guy before?”

“I haven’t, but that don’t mean much,” said Williams. “But it turns out, he’s got a record.” He took a sip of coffee and looked over the rim at Cape, adding, “He’s not the guy in your picture, though,” making that last part sound almost like a question.

“You sure?”

“I’m never sure,” replied Williams. “Plus it was a shitty photo.”

“I took it at night,” said Cape. “With a digital camera.”

“What did the cops have to say about that?”

“They’re pissed,” said Cape. “Said I should have stuck around.”

“They’re right,” said Williams. “But you had someplace you had to go, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Don’t suppose you were awake at seven thirty this morning?”

“Sure,” said Cape. “I was over on Bryant Street, talking to the police.”

Williams raised his eyebrows and his mouth twitched, but he stopped the smile before it appeared. “That’s quite an alibi.”

“I’m flattered,” said Cape. “But shouldn’t you be talking to Harold Yan?”

Williams leaned forward on his elbows. “See, that’s the problem. The police had the same idea, and after they found the dead guy, no judge is gonna stop them from going over to Yan’s place and letting themselves in.”

“So?”

“They found an unidentified female in her late twenties, minus one finger, Harold Yan, and Harold Yan’s head.”

“Dead?”

“Yeah, all three of ’em,” replied Williams. “Yan’s definitely dead, so’s his head, and the girl’s been shot with a small caliber automatic, clutched in Yan’s hand.”

Cape grimaced and looked down at his plate. He could still feel the kick from Yan’s gun in his hand and see the small hole in Lin’s chest. Leaving Sally’s sword next to Lin was easy, but shooting a girl he once hoped to save wasn’t something he could shrug off. Sally told him it didn’t matter, Lin was dead and gone, but even she turned away after they spoke of it. It was Cape’s plan, and something he had to do alone.

When he looked up, Williams was watching him closely.

He said, “Seems Harold Yan wasn’t who he appeared to be.”

Cape met Williams’ gaze and held it for a minute, then nodded. Williams was giving him an opening.

“No, he wasn’t,” said Cape. “He set up the smuggling ring.”

“You saying Michael Long is innocent?”

“No,” said Cape. “I’m saying he’s stupid, and he broke the law, helped finance the operation. But Yan arranged for the ship, then when it went bust, he killed the guy in the warehouse and put the finger on Long.”

“You can prove this?”

“No,” said Cape. “But I can tell you Yan used a middleman, the guy in my picture.”

“Who was he?”

“He was supposed to be a bodyguard for Freddie Wang, but he was really working for Yan.”

“Doing what?”

“Making an impression on Michael Long, getting the money, scaring the shit out of him,” said Cape. “That was Yan’s idea, to frame Freddie Wang if the cops started looking any deeper. If Long identified the guy, no one would connect him to Yan, so Freddie ends up behind bars.”

“This middleman…you killed him?”

“No,” said Cape without hesitation.

Williams nodded and said, “Probably Freddie. Don’t suppose he’d be too happy about one of his guards two-timing him.”

Cape felt at least one of the knots in his stomach unwind.

He had accounted for all the killings except for the guy in his trunk, who obviously had been in the process of planting a bomb underneath Cape’s car. And Cape had rejected the theory that the man suffered a sudden heart attack but had just enough strength to lock himself in the trunk before he died. His neck had been broken by a professional.

Cape knew Sally had been going out on patrol at night and asked her about it. At first she just looked at him, her green eyes betraying nothing, but after a moment she smiled and said, “Don’t mention it.”

He never would.

Williams delicately picked up a piece of bacon between two fingers and took a bite. “That button you gave me, Yan gave it to you?”

“Yeah,” said Cape. “Figured you’d get to that right away, with his name on it.”

“Still talking to Interpol, but they’re pretty excited, want to know why I’m asking about some dude who’s been dead for ten years.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Said he was busy running for mayor,” said Williams. “Want to know what else?”

Cape waited.

“Once the cops finally called us, we checked the dead girl’s prints.”

“And?”

“They were all over the ship.”

Cape nodded. “Case closed?”

“Kinda neat,” said Williams. “Don’t you think?”

“You mean everybody being dead?” asked Cape. “Seems kind of messy to me.”

Williams took another bite of bacon. “Remember when I said you weren’t all that interesting?”

“How could I forget?”

“Changed my mind,” said Williams. “Know what that means?”

“You started a file.”

Williams nodded. “Sorta have to, if I want to keep my job, but it’s no big deal. In your case, there ain’t jack shit to put in there ’cept random bits of information that seem to come to you from above.”

“You leading up to a question?” asked Cape. “’Cause I noticed you have this roundabout way, sort of like you’re sneaking up on me.”

Williams chuckled. “You gonna tell me how you came by this information on Harold Yan?”

Cape seemed to think about it. “Not today,” he said. “That alright with you?”

Williams pursed his lips. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said slowly. “You obviously ain’t one of the bad guys, and truth is, this case’d be nowhere if you hadn’t stirred things up.”

“You think I stir things up?” asked Cape indignantly.

“Don’t push it.”

“OK,” said Cape, holding up his hands.

Williams glanced at Cape’s plate, the eggs runny and frigid. “Sure you don’t want something to eat?”

Cape looked over at the waitress, then glanced back at Williams. “You buying?”

Williams shook his head. “Not a chance.”

“What the hell,” said Cape. “Maybe I’ll have some pancakes.”