White Tiger

CHAPTER 21

Manning awoke to find he was alone in his apartment. There was no note, no indication that he had ever not been alone, except for the vague smell of Maggie Shi’s perfume on his sheets. He ran a hand through his hair and prowled through the apartment. He found no trace of her, which was slightly unnerving. Manning was a light sleeper, both by nature and from training. How had she left the apartment without him knowing?

His cell phone buzzed, and he checked its display. The caller ID read PRIVATE. Manning was tempted to let the call roll into voice mail, but answered it anyway.

“Hello.”

“It is I,” Lin said in Mandarin. “Come to my home immediately.” The line went dead.

Manning stared at the phone for a long moment, then put it on the night stand and headed for the en suite bathroom.

Manning circled Baluyevsky’s body for a second time, moving slowly, trying not to disturb any elements surrounding the dead Russian. He was grateful for the tall hedges that surrounded the courtyard and the swimming pool area, for the day was off to a bright and sunny start. If this had happened in the hills of Los Angeles, say, then the body would be visible to dozens of people.

Lin stood nearby, along with Baluyevsky’s second-in-command, a man Manning had not been introduced to. The security man kept his hands in his pockets, but the hunch of his shoulders betrayed his tension. For the first time since they had met, Lin looked tense as well.

“What can you see?” he asked Manning in Mandarin.

“I’m not a medical examiner or a forensics expert. I think you should call the police, Lin Yubo. Waiting will make them suspicious.”

“So you see nothing?” Lin demanded.

Manning straightened and put his hands on his hips. “I see a dead man with what appears to be a knife wound beneath his chin. Looks like the blade transited through his sinus cavity and probably intersected with the brain stem. Alexsey might have drowned in his own blood, and his death wasn’t quick.”

“What else?”

“The killer’s address and phone number.”

Lin was deathly silent for a moment. Then: “This is not the time for humor.”

Manning looked at him squarely. “Whoever did this caught Baluyevsky by surprise. At the end of a very long day, when his responses would be degraded. From the position of his right hand, it appears he might have been in the process of drawing his weapon. What I’d really like to see though, is the video.”

“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.”

“You sound like you admire him,” Ryker said.

“I admire his check book, that’s for sure.”

“What else you got?”

Chee Wei spread out the pages as far as the tiny table would allow. Ryker picked through them, but 99 % of the text was in Chinese. He would need Chee Wei to spoon-feed him everything, which would be incredibly time-consuming. He was about to ask Chee Wei to type up the Cliff’s Notes version when he came across some more pictures. Lin as a younger man. Lin in the trenches with the rest of the commies. Lin as a respected member of the Chinese Communist Party. Lin extolling a group of people-

“Well, lookie here.” He pointed out one of the figures standing beside Lin in his ‘return to Shanghai’ phase. “You were right. It’s that guy the manservant.”

“Han Baojia,” Chee Wei said. “Lin’s deputy. See, I told you those guys had a history.”

“Shoot son, you might actually be worth a detective’s badge after all.” Ryker went through the pictures again, and found yet another person of interest. He’d almost looked over the image but something tickled his eye and he looked back. It took a moment for the face to register with him, and he turned the paper back to Chee Wei again. “Who’s this guy?”

Chee Wei read the caption. “Ren Yun. Until recently, the guy running the Ministry of Transport in China. He was one of Lin’s associates back in the day, and his primary sponsor back into the Communist Party after Mao died and the Gang of Four fell. What about him?”

“He was at Lin’s last-” Ryker said before he stopped himself. “I saw him with Lin,” he amended, and quite lamely, at that.

Chee Wei looked at him, puzzled. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Huh. Maybe he will make a good detective after all.

“I was invited to Lin’s house last night. For a, uh, social function. This guy, Ren, he was there. Looks about the same, only a billion years older.”

“You went to a party at Lin’s house?” Chee Wei was appropriately scandalized. “Hal, you realize that’s a bona fide conflict of interest, and probably ethically questionable, right?”

“Neither of those things ever separated Cueball from his badge.”

“Everyone knows he’s fat and stupid, and every village needs its idiot, so Wallace is ours. But you? You’ve got baggage, and superiors who fucking hate you, man. Going up there was probably not that smart.”

“Yeah, well.” Ryker lifted his coffee cup to his lips.

“You get laid?”

Ryker almost spit his coffee all over Chee Wei. “What?”

“I said, did you get laid? Was Valerie Lin there? Did your hormones assault her?”

Ryker sputtered for a moment, then made a face and shook his head. “Kid, you’re some piece of work.” He dropped his eyes back to the papers, hoping that Chee Wei wasn’t that good of a detective yet.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I guess it’s just not your time of the year yet. Don’t worry though, I hear rutting season is right around the corner. In, like, New Zealand.” Chee Wei caught the look of the woman seated at the next table. “Eh, sorry.”

“Do we know what this guy’s here for?” Ryker asked.

“What guy?”

“This guy. The guy I saw last night.”

“Why didn’t you ask him last night when you saw him?”

“Because we weren’t exactly formally introduced?”

“Oh. Well, I don’t know. I guess I can try and find that out, though. But there’s something else I got to tell you. This is the creme de la creme, man. You interested?” Chee Wei wiggled his sparse eyebrows.

“Not at all.”

“Lin had two sons. Danny was the youngest. His eldest? Killed in Shanghai last month. Care to guess how he died?”

Ryker didn’t need to guess. He stared at Chee Wei for a long moment, too stunned to even speak. Then finally: “You mean to tell me this has happened to Lin before?”

Chee Wei nodded. “Totally weird shit, right?”

“A month ago, you say.”

Chee Wei went through the printouts and showed him another page. A younger, taller, more vital version of James Lin stared at him from the small picture on the paper. While he couldn’t reasonably ascertain these things from just a two-inch by two-inch picture printed out from an inkjet printer, he got the impression that Lin’s eldest son had been nothing like Lin Dan. This one had been serious. This one had been intelligent. This one had been studious. And more than likely, this one had been legitimately dangerous.

“Do we know the full circumstances behind this one’s murder? And what’s his name, anyway?”

“Lin Jong. John Lin here in the U.S. No, we don’t know the full circumstances, it’s still an active investigation in Shanghai, and the police have the information closed off. My cousin mentioned that it might not be real smart for him to start a fishing expedition that way, because he thinks the Ministry for Public Security is involved. The Chinese version of the FBI, only not so nice and not restricted by things like, you know, basic human rights.”

“So he can’t really help us any further. I got it.” Ryker tapped the tabletop for a moment, looking down at the photos before him. “Whatever’s been following Lin around is finally catching up to him. Both his sons, gone. That’s got to be a tough thing to deal with.” And the cunning bastard never even thought to tell us!

“So what do we do now?”

Ryker leaned back in his chair and looked out the windows that overlooked Polk Street. He tapped the tabletop again, an aimless patter. “Let’s go back to the stationhouse and review all this stuff. Then maybe take a ride up north and see what we can find out.”