The Deepest Cut (16 page)

Heavy metal music played, originating from the back of the store.

Caspers bobbed his head to the beat.

A desk at the rear of the shop was empty.

“Hello,” Vining called. “Anyone here?” She again opened and closed the door, sounding the buzzer.

“We’re interested in looking at a wedding dress,” Caspers joked.

The long and narrow shop was floored with large black-and-white linoleum squares. Tiered garment racks bolted side by side along the walls were crammed with gowns filled with plastic bust forms. Two chairs, upholstered in pale pink, were near the entrance. A round coffee table between them was strewn with well-thumbed bridal magazines and
Sports Illustrated.
A crystal ash tray was free of butts, but was coated with ash.

A spiraling freestanding rack was loaded with puffy veils. Two dressing rooms on one wall had their pink velvet privacy curtains pulled open. Between them were three-way full-length mirrors set atop a carpeted platform.

Boxes of shoes were stacked on the ground with samples on display. A glass case held gloves, lacy garters, strapless, long-line bras, and beaded headpieces. On top of the glass case was a fish bowl with blue
glass pebbles at the bottom. Swimming in it were eight goldfish and a single black one.

Large framed posters of Asian brides lined the walls. All of them wore demure expressions even if the gowns they modeled were not. Also in a frame on the wall was a long, red silk robe. The full sleeves and hem were spread. It was covered in embroidery depicting a man and a woman wearing traditional Chinese dress, kneeling facing each other. Above them, two brilliantly hued butterflies soared.

“Hello …” Vining called. “Anyone here?” She felt that something was not right. She took out her gun. She had well earned her moniker “Quick Draw,” but didn’t care. She’d rather err on the side of caution and live to tell about it.

As for Caspers, he needed no encouragement to ramp up the force level. He quickly had his gun in front.

“This is Detective Vining and Detective Caspers of the Pasadena Police. We’re looking for Marvin Li.” They stayed still, looking and listening, hearing only the heavy metal music.

She pointed for him to head down one side of the shop, while she took the other.

A flash of light drew her eye to a corner where a square mirror was attached to the wall near the ceiling. She thought it was there to watch for potential shoplifters.

They searched through the racks of densely packed gowns, moving down each side of the long store, heading toward an open doorway at the back that appeared to lead to a storeroom.

The desk at the back had an old cash register and an old-fashioned heavy, twelve-ring ledger book. On the wall next to it was a big calendar with a photo of an Asian bride in a frothy dress gazing dreamily at a white orchid she held in her hands. The calendar was in Chinese and English. Also on the wall was a glass and wood display case with two sets of small swords that were about six inches long and three inches wide. One set had a dragon motif etched into the blade. The other had a flower and scroll pattern.

On the floor behind the desk was an old boom box broadcasting the heavy metal music. She reached down to turn off the radio just as an announcer was saying, “This is KROQ, the rock of Los Angeles.”

A large wooden screen, covered with a swarm of hand-painted butterflies, partially obscured an extra-wide doorway that led to the back room. As Vining approached it, the little hairs on the back of her neck raised up.

She was startled when a phone on the desk began ringing. Given the abundance of old office equipment, she was surprised that the phone was modern. After five rings, it fell silent.

Caspers hit the doorway to the storeroom first and spun inside, with more bravado than necessary.

Vining slipped around the screen, kicking open a partially closed door with a sign that said
RESTROOM.

Caspers made his way around the storeroom, which was a third the size of the front room, looking behind rolling racks crammed with an odd mixture of wedding dresses and outlandish costumes. Some of the costumes were made of brightly colored shiny nylon; others were fake fur or soft plush fabric.

Leaning against a wall were giant, plastic arrows with bold lettering in primary colors. Shelves were stacked with arrows, boxes of shopping bags, and full-head masks— gorilla, rooster, Frankenstein— and multicolored Afro wigs, like the one Scrappy had been wearing when he’d been shot.

A door at the rear was fortified with heavy bolt locks that were all engaged.

A safe tall enough to hold long weapons was against a wall.

There was a second desk in the back room, the same vintage as the one in the front, but this one had an open laptop computer on it. A narrow table against the wall held a stoneware teapot atop a base with a tea light candle beneath. Four straight-sided cups were turned down on top of paper doilies. A red On light glowed on an electric kettle. There was a square metal tin with a lid.

Vining moved through the room in the opposite direction from Caspers. Seeing movement, she swung her gun up only to spot her own reflection in another mirror affixed to a corner of the ceiling.

After they had cleared the back room, Vining gestured to Caspers to position himself on the other side of the outside door. She unlatched the bolt locks and flung the door open. After not hearing anything, she
ducked her head out. Signaling “all clear” to Caspers, she holstered her gun and walked outside.

An alley ran behind the block of small businesses. Parked outside Love Potion’s back door was a restored 1960s panel van. Its lustrous maroon paint had a metallic undercoat that glistened in the sun. Across the hood and down the sides were flames painted in lavender and silver. The effect was subtle; the design almost invisible. The van sat on oversize tires that had chrome “spinner” wheel rims in which a round face inside the rim would keep turning even while the car was stopped, creating an illusion that the car was still moving.

“Sweet,” Caspers said.

Vining looked inside the van’s tinted windows.

Attached to the rear was a hydraulic ramp.

“Somebody here use a wheelchair?” she asked at the same time they heard a bang at the front door coincident with the brash buzz emitted when the door was opened.

Caspers quickly had his gun out and strode back inside the store. “Police! Hands where we can see ’em!”

The abrupt entrance had startled Vining, too. She’d drawn her gun, but when she went back inside the store, she soon holstered it and took in the man who had rolled through the door in a manual wheelchair.

He had his fingers laced across his shaved head, as if he was well familiar with this drill. Tattoos covered his entire upper body, on display in a loose tank top that looked like a handkerchief against his massive chest and shoulders. Illustrations caressed his arms like sleeves, covering every inch of flesh up to his hands and to his collarbones, where the illustrations circled but did not creep up his thick neck. Inset into each earlobe was a half-inch cylinder of steel that was open in the middle. Sunlight from the shop windows shone through the round openings. A silver ring with a ball pierced his right eyebrow. A Fu Manchu mustache trailed down his cheeks and extended past his chin onto his chest. The ends were braided with narrow red ribbons.

His lower body was in stark contrast with the top. Jeans were draped loosely on withered legs. His feet on the footrests of the manual wheelchair were clad in spotlessly white, high-end athletic shoes.
His thighs supported a large Styrofoam drink cup. A brown paper bag was on his lap.

Vining had never seen someone react so coolly to having a police officer hold a gun on him.

Marvin Li grinned as he took in Caspers, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Ease up, man. Don’t shoot the crippled guy.”

SIXTEEN

C
ASPERS HOLSTERED HIS GUN AND BEGAN SEARCHING HIM. ARE
you Marvin Li?”

“You have no legal right to pat me down. All I’ve done is enter my place of business. I have not behaved in a threatening manner toward you or broken any laws. You don’t have a warrant. But go right ahead. Knock yourself out. The Pasadena Police actually lets you have a loaded gun, young Turk?”

“Are you Marvin Li?” Caspers angrily repeated. “Yes, I am.” Li passively endured the young officer’s vigorous patting down, while not-so-passively giving Vining a prolonged onceover.

Vining hadn’t seen someone in an old-fashioned manual wheelchair outside a hospital in ages. Nowadays, the motorized ones seemed the norm. She now understood why the shop had wide doorways.

Caspers felt Li’s jeans pockets. “You have anything on you that’s going to stick me or hurt me?”

“Look at you, Pasadena,” he said to Caspers. The edges of Li’s mustache rose when he smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. The planes of his face were strong yet refined, giving him an aristocratic look. It was underscored by the way he held his head and the fluidity with which he moved, in spite of his muscle-bound physique. His voice
was mild and calm, belying his intimidating persona. He had a slight accent, clipping some words while drawing out others.

Caspers repeated, “Do you have anything that’s going to stick me or hurt me?”

“My needle days are long over and I’m not carrying a weapon.” Li caught Vining’s eye and arched an eyebrow. “You’re gonna get yourself a bad guy one day, aren’t you, Pasadena?”

The only people Vining knew who would behave so glibly in such a situation were career cops and career criminals.

“That wouldn’t be you, would it?” Caspers took Li’s wallet from his pocket. “What’s in the bag?”

Li said to Vining, “You should tell him to identify himself and explain why he’s searching me in my place of business without a warrant.”

Vining hadn’t reined in Caspers because she was happy he was searching Li. Since Caspers had naturally stepped into the role of bad cop, she’d assume the counterpart. Yet she was surprised by Caspers’s behavior toward Li. It went beyond the young detective’s innate disdain for criminals. Caspers had only recently been pulled inside from the streets into detectives and Vining hadn’t worked with him long, but she’d never seen this side of him.

“I’m Detective Nan Vining and this is Detective Alex Caspers from the Pasadena Police. We’d like to ask you some questions about your employee Abel Espinoza.”

“Detective Nan Vining,” Li said. “A pleasure.”

Caspers handed Li’s wallet to Vining and picked up the bag from Li’s lap. He took out a white clamshell container and opened it.

That annoyed the tattooed man more than being searched. “As for you, Pasadena, you’re testing my patience. That’s an egg-white frittata with sautéed spinach and feta cheese. The container stuck between my legs is full of coffee. Are you finished, because there’s one thing I hate— cold food. Two things … and cold coffee.”

Vining went through Li’s wallet. It contained the usual: driver’s license, credit cards, and reward cards from Staples, Vons supermarket, and BevMo. He also had nearly six hundred dollars in cash. With the cash, she was surprised to find her business card. She wondered if this was the card she’d given Pearl Zhang last night.

Li started to lower his arms.

Caspers snapped. “I didn’t tell you to relax.”

Li ignored him and put his hands on the arms of his chair. “I’m telling
you
to relax. I’m happy to answer all your questions, but you need to take a chill pill, my man.”

His comment riled Caspers. Vining could almost see the adrenaline begin racing through his veins as his movements grew more brisk and his face flushed. Li seemed to have keyed into some deep-seated issue with Caspers. She had seen this before when cops had encountered someone— a suspect, witness, or even during a routine traffic stop— who reminded them of an ex who’d dumped them or an abusive parent. Perhaps Caspers’s lack of sleep was making his emotions raw. She was annoyed with him. Personally, she couldn’t care less about Marvin Li, who was too slick and glib for her by half, but they needed him to cooperate.

Vining shot Caspers a warning look.

They heard music. Vining recognized the tune as Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love.” Her ex-husband had worshipped the group. The music was coming from the cell phone attached to Li’s belt.

“I’m going to answer my phone, all right?”

Vining said, “Go ahead.” She put her card back inside the wallet and folded it closed.

Li picked up his phone, looked at the display, pressed a button to connect the call, and began speaking in Chinese.

Vining handed Li his wallet. While he was on the phone, she sneaked glances at Li’s tattoos. The illustrations weren’t coarse like common prison tattoos. They were colorful and delicate: of animals, flowers, lush forests, and butterflies. They momentarily distracted her, their artistry and complexity drawing her in.

She caught Li watching her, a wry smile on his lips. She moved away, feeling as if she was a tiny fish that had barely escaped the paralyzing yet beautiful tentacles of a sea anemone that had lured it close.

Caspers remained ready to pounce, standing with his hands away from his sides.

Vining slipped beside him. “Alex, back off. It’s not helping. Guy
like him, he’s been around the system for so long, intimidation won’t work and will likely backfire.”

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall.” Caspers looked at Li as if he could eviscerate him with his eyes.

Li ended his call and put his phone away. “See how easy that was, Pasadena? I thought the Pasadena Police had it together better than this.”

Caspers said with complete seriousness, “Just following procedure when dealing with convicted murderers.”

“That was twenty-five years ago, Pasadena. I did my time. I sit before you a reformed man.”

“My name is Detective Caspers.” Using his index finger, he poked Li in his beefy bicep with each word.

“Pasadena, don’t tell me you’re gonna rough up a guy in a chair.”

When Vining saw Caspers tense further, she put a hand on his arm.