Blood Passage (33 page)

Peter smiled faintly.

Billy returned, shaking his head. Peter set off toward the offices on the left.

Mrs. Forrest quickly got out in front of him. “This is Mr. Payne’s office.”

The door was open. Peter ignored a young man sitting at a desk outside Payne’s door and looked within, where a middle-aged man was talking on the telephone. Jimmy walked into the office. Payne’s eyes focused on them for the first time and a scowl began to form. Jimmy took the telephone out of his hand and hung it up, then sat on the edge of Payne’s desk.

“
Hey, what the hell–”

“
Shut up,” Jimmy said, leaning forward and raising his voice just a little.

“
Are you Thatcher?” Peter asked.

“
Who the hell are you? You can’t come barging in like this! Margaret, have you called security?”

Jimmy leaned across the desk and slapped Payne hard across the face. “Answer his question.”

Payne rocked back in his chair, shocked.

“
Are you Thatcher?” Peter repeated.

“
No, hell, I’m David Payne. Gary’s not here right now.”

Peter turned away and headed for the next office. Behind him, Jimmy leaned forward, patted Payne’s red cheek in an almost friendly gesture, and got up to follow his boss.

Billy remained in Payne’s doorway as Peter walked past the next office, in which a woman sat reading something on her computer, and the next office, which was empty. He went on to the final office and looked at a name plate on the wall that said “Gary Thatcher, President.”

A red-haired secretary rose from her desk. “You can’t—”

Peter ignored her and walked into Thatcher’s office. Behind him, Mrs. Forrest spoke quietly to the redhead, who sat down again. Jimmy turned around so that he could see everything, all the way back to where Billy stood at Payne’s office.

Peter surveyed the empty office. Again, no expense had been spared, and the view from the enormous windows was spectacular. Perhaps, he thought, Uncle Sang had a point when he said that Peter should abandon his quaint headquarters above the Bright Spot and move into one of these office towers downtown. It certainly made a very strong impression on visitors.

He walked out of the office and looked at the redhead.

“
Where is he?”

“
Um, um.” She glanced at Mrs. Forrest, who was staring at her. “He went out.”

“
Where?”

“
He didn’t say.”

Behind him Jimmy stirred, but Peter made a small signal with his hand and Jimmy relented. Peter sat down on the corner of the redhead’s desk and picked up her name plate.

“
This is you? Gloria Ferguson?”

“
Yes.”

“
You’re Thatcher’s private secretary, Gloria?”

“
Yes.”

Peter put the name plate down and smiled at her. “How long have you worked for him, Gloria?”

“
Two, um, three years.”

“
Long enough to get to know him fairly well, I’d say.”

Gloria nodded.

“
So where’d he go?”

Her jaw quivered and she closed her eyes for a moment as she swallowed. It was amazing, Peter reflected, how people knew instinctively when they were in physical danger, like animals in the wild who understood that a predator was about to catch them. Our species is still not very far from its natural origins, he mused.

“
Out, for something personal.”

“
How long ago?”

“
Maybe an hour and a half ago?”

“
When do you expect him back?”

“
I’m not sure.”

Peter frowned.

“
There’s nothing in his calendar for the rest of the day,” Gloria said hastily. “Sometimes he takes the rest of the day off and doesn’t tell me. I guess he’s taking care of something personal. He’s kind of in and out that way. Did I say that already? I’m sorry.”

“
Call him.”

She bit her lip. “He doesn’t really like it when I do that.”

Peter’s right hand, which was at his side, made a quick small movement and Jimmy stepped over beside Mrs. Forrest, invading her personal space. She involuntarily began to step back but Jimmy took hold of her elbow and drew her close to him. He turned to look impassively at Gloria, who watched with wide, fearful eyes.

“
Call him,” Peter said again. “Tell him Mr. Johnson is here for his appointment.”

Gloria snatched at the telephone and punched in the number of Gary Thatcher’s cell phone. When Thatcher answered she told him that Mr. Johnson was here.

“
I know, I’m very sorry, Mr. Thatcher, but for some reason it wasn’t in the book. Well, I can ask him but I don’t think he wants to reschedule, he’s rather insistent.”

She listened and then covered the receiver to look at Peter. “He’s asking me what it’s about.”

“
Tell him it’s about office space,” Peter said. “A series of contracts. Tell him we can meet somewhere else if he likes.”

She repeated this into the phone and listened. “He wants to know what you have in mind.”

Peter held out his hand for the phone. She gave it to him wordlessly.

“
I’m listening,” Peter said.

“
I’m in a meeting at city hall right now,” Gary Thatcher said. “Tell you what, though. I’ll meet you in Governor’s Park at nine o’clock this evening. I’ll be waiting for you on one of the benches in front of the fountain. That way we can discuss your situation in private.”

“
That might be all right,” Peter said. He heard a dull background noise over the phone. It took him a moment to identify it as the sound of a jet taking off. Gary was not at city hall, he was at the airport.

“
You do a lot of business at city hall, do you?”

“
Yes, I do. Look, I have to go.” A flight announcement began in the background, completing the exposure of his lie. “See you in the park at nine.”

The line went dead. Peter handed the phone back to Gloria and turned to Jimmy just as his iPhone began to vibrate. “Listen carefully to me, both of you,” Peter said to the two women. “Don’t interfere, don’t call anyone about this, don’t become involved. Your boss wouldn’t want our negotiations to be ruined by thoughtless interference from support staff. Am I making myself clear?”

Gloria nodded as though her head were on a string. Mrs. Forrest opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it and pressed her lips tightly together.

Peter took out his iPhone. “
Wei
?”

“
Uncle Peter, it’s me,” Mikki Lung babbled in his ear. “Where are you? Never mind, don’t answer that. We’ve all been taken down to police headquarters for questioning. I’ve never been so frightened in my life.”

Peter stepped into Thatcher’s office and closed the door.

“
Slow down, Mikki. What are you talking about? Who’s been taken to police headquarters for questioning?”

“
Me! Everyone. Yi, Wu, even Daniel. They asked me all kinds of questions about my job and who else works for you and what they do. And they showed me a picture of some big black guy, Greg or somebody, and asked me what I knew about him. I was scared half to death!”

“
What did you tell them?” Peter asked, a little sharply.

“
Nothing, Uncle Peter! I don’t know what everybody really does for you, so I told them they do deliveries and stuff.”

“
What did you say about the black man, Gregg?”

“
I never heard of him before.”

Peter willed himself to calm down. “All right, very good, Mikki. You did well. You say they brought the restaurant staff down?”

“
Yes, and I saw Mr. Sheng and Mr. Foo here, too.”

Peter’s pulse jumped again and he knew that somehow the police had made the connection between him and the murder of ShonDale Gregg. Time
was
now an issue and it would be important to act quickly.

“
Thank you for calling me, Mikki. I’ll send someone to pick you up and take you home.”

“
No, it’s okay Uncle Peter. I called my dad and he’s coming to get me.”

Peter ended the call and immediately speed-dialed Henry Lee. He gave the attorney his instructions and then made another call to have his restaurant staff picked up and brought back to the Bright Spot. He started to call Sheng’s cell phone and then realized it would be a mistake. Let Henry Lee handle it. He had to get to the airport immediately before Gary Thatcher got away.

He put away his iPhone and looked around the office. Predictably, there were numerous photographs of the same man hung in groups on the wall, a short, dark-haired individual posing with local politicians and athletes. Some of the photographs were autographed “To Gary, best wishes” and so on. Obviously, this was Gary Thatcher. Peter took an 8-by-10 glossy of Thatcher with Mayor Watt from its frame and folded it in half. Slipping it into his jacket pocket, he strode out of the office, snapping his fingers for Jimmy to follow.

They were back in the interview room, this time with Donald Sheng again on the hot seat.

“
You should know, Mr. Lee,” Hank said, “we have a voice analysis matching a sample of your client’s voice and the voice speaking into the intercom at the victim’s apartment building. With that and analysis of the video footage we can prove Mr. Sheng here was one of two men who abducted ShonDale Gregg from his condo and took him to what ended up being his death. As we speak, a warrant to search Mr. Sheng’s residence is being executed, and anything further we find will just be icing on the cake.”

“
You’re looking at accessory to murder for starters,” Karen snarled at Sheng, who stared back at her impassively.

“
Detective Stainer’s right,” Hank said. “The time to negotiate a deal to mitigate the impact of our evidence on the rest of your life, such as it is, would be right now.”

In the observation booth, Assistant State’s Attorney Leanne DiOrio turned to Ann Martinez. “The only way we’re going to get Mah is if one of these guys gives him up.” She was a short, heavy-set woman who wore a black skirt and jacket that matched her short, straight black hair and the heavy dark circles under her eyes. “We’re a long way from getting the complete story on this thing,” she complained, filling the small room with her aggressive personality.

Henry Lee spoke quietly to Sheng in Cantonese, who stared into space.

“
What’s the verdict, Sheng?” Karen demanded. “Are you gonna give us Peter Mah or are you gonna be roasted on a spit over a slow fire?”

Sheng tucked in his chin and rattled off several angry sentences to his attorney.

“
Where’s that cop?” DiOrio demanded, glaring at Martinez. “The one who speaks Chinese? What are these guys saying to each other?”

“
My client is willing to answer your questions,” Lee said unexpectedly.

Hank leaned forward and stared at Sheng. “Did Peter Mah kill ShonDale Gregg, or did he order you to do it?”

“
No.” Sheng replied impassively.

“
No, what?” Karen demanded. “That’s one answer for two questions. Let’s take them one at a time, smart guy. Did Peter Mah shoot ShonDale Gregg?”

“
No.”

“
Did you shoot ShonDale Gregg?”

“
Yes.”

In the observation booth, DiOrio dropped her BlackBerry on the floor. “Did he say yes?” she asked, hurriedly picking it up.

Karen sat back. “What’d you shoot him for?”

“
Didn’t like him.”

Hank scoffed. “You didn’t like him? So you shot him?”

Sheng looked at Hank with absolutely no expression on his face. “Didn’t mean to shoot him. Gun went off by accident.”

“
Take us through it,” Karen demanded. “Tell us how it went down.”

“
Big drug guy. Heard he wanted to bring coke into Chinatown, sell it to our kids. We don’t like that shit, so I took him for a ride. It got rough.”

Karen eyed him. “You look okay. It must have gotten rough one way, fella.”

Sheng said nothing.

“
Where’d you shoot him? Where’d it happen?”

“
Down at the river. Under a bridge.”

“
Where?”

“
Who notices street names?” Sheng shrugged. “Off Baywater somewhere.”

“
How’d you get him there?”

“
Stole a car. Picked him up.”

“
You stole a car, drove it to his apartment building, picked him up, took him down to the river somewhere off Baywater Street, roughed him up and shot him, then loaded him in the trunk of the car and drove him across the river to 121
^st
and dumped him in the alley? That what you’re saying?”

“
Yes.”

“
Where’d you steal the car?”

Sheng said nothing.

“
Can’t tell me where you got the car? Where you stole it from?”

“
Who notices street names?” Sheng said again.

“
Why that alley in particular? Why drive from the river all the way over to that alley just to dump him? Why didn’t you just throw him in the river?”