The Deepest Cut (21 page)

“You’re just a popular girl, Nan. Making friends wherever you go.”

She laughed without amusement and again turned lackluster attention to Chinaman’s interrogation.

Lam commented, “That’s going nowhere. He’s not giving anything up.”

“I think he’s telling the truth.
American Idol,
” she sighed. “I’ve got to finish getting ready for the briefing.”

VINING HAD COLLECTED, PHOTOCOPIED, AND STAPLED SELECTED DOCUMENTS
from the Scrappy investigation. A set was squared on the table in front of each chair in the conference room. She’d straightened the chairs. At the last minute, she snagged Caspers and asked him if he’d put bottles of water at each place.

He gave her a crooked smile. “You’re not nervous, are you, Nan?”

“A little.” It was obvious, so she might as well admit it.

“You’ve never been the lead on a homicide before?”

“Not one like this.” The PPD homicide detectives investigated all suspicious deaths. The cases she’d worked apart from Kissick had been cut-and-dried. Husband kills wife in front of the kids. Wife kills husband and confesses. Homeboy shoots a rival in front of ten witnesses, who won’t talk, and a CCTV camera that will. Depressed man or woman kills himself or herself, leaving a suicide note.

The more complex cases, she’d worked with Kissick. She never considered that he was “in charge.” To her, and she knew he would agree, the investigation had been a collaboration, but she’d always let him take charge of the briefings. It would be good for her career if she sometimes held the dry-erase pen and fielded the pointed questions. She didn’t care. She already had the job she wanted.

“Time for your turn in the spotlight,” Caspers said.

That was another common misconception about her, that she had third-floor aspirations because she was focused and aloof. Working at a police station could be like high school, only with guns and badges.

She didn’t protest, but simply said, “Time for you to shine too, buddy. Show that you’ve stepped up.”

He gave in to a small smile, clearly flattered.

Being political did not come naturally to her, but she’d learned to appreciate its benefits and to fake it for self-preservation. She wanted to keep Caspers on her side. She ought to have earned that and more after she’d covered for him today with Sergeant Early and Marvin Li. She’d had a chat with Caspers in the car on the way back and had given him some big-sisterly advice, which he’d received well. While he was
still capable of annoying her to the core, she’d come to like him. He was a good cop and generally strove to do the right thing. She needed someone to back her up during the briefing. The heat being put on Beltran would filter down to her.

She wondered what Kissick was doing. It was late afternoon and he had certainly met with the park ranger by now. She regretted not having leaped on the Morro Rock connection when Kissick had first mentioned it after seeing Nitro’s drawings.

Who was she kidding? When Nitro had shown up, she’d been in the thick of investigating a grisly double homicide. She’d lied to Kissick and Sergeant Early when she’d slipped off to Tucson to investigate Johnna Alwin’s murder. She’d barely managed to disappear for a few hours.

Now, the murder of a career gangbanger whose life had ended as if foretold was keeping her from the only murderer she was obsessed about bringing down: T B. Mann.

Standing in the perfectly set-up conference room, dreading the meeting that was about to begin, she looked at the big clock on the wall and tried to quiet the acid churning in her stomach. She left to get the Maalox tablets in her desk.

TWENTY-ONE

A
N HOUR INTO THE BRIEFING, VINING THOUGHT IT WAS GOING AS
well as could be expected. Her team had turned over a lot of stones and was aggressively pursuing a couple of solid leads. Yet, judging by Lieutenant Beltran’s expression— he was facing her at the opposite end of the table— she felt he thought she’d been watching soap operas and eating bonbons. Certainly, he’d never looked at Kissick that way, or had Kissick just brushed it off? She recognized that while Bel-tran craved attention, the type of spotlight that was being put on him from upstairs was casting an unflatteringly harsh glare. She guessed he was just sharing the love.

Vining bolstered her confidence by making eye contact with the others there: Detectives Alex Caspers, Louis Jones, Doug Sproul, and Corporal Cameron Lam. Caspers’s contribution had been helpful and smart. She was proud of him. Sergeant Early was seated to her right. While Vining couldn’t directly see her, she welcomed Sarge’s solid and encouraging presence, as if Early were Kissick’s surrogate.

Vining had presented what they had learned so far in their two-pronged investigation. On one hand, they were looking into a possible Chinese gang connection through Marvin Li, aka China Dog. On the other, they were chasing down the usual suspects in the ongoing gang war. She had stood through most of the briefing, making use of the diagrams
and photos on poster board that one of the staff assistants had helped her put together.

After she’d concluded, Lieutenant Beltran was the first to speak.

“The business owners are hammering us to solve this, and quickly.” His tone was clipped. “They’re afraid of people staying away from Old Town because of gang violence. They remember what happened to Westwood Village.”

Silence followed his last comment.

Vining’s skin prickled with perspiration and she feared wet half-moons were spreading down the armpits of her shirt. She was glad she’d selected a light pink shirt which wouldn’t show the perspiration as obviously as one of her medium blue ones. Beltran’s disparaging facial expression had fanned her nervousness during her presentation, but with this comment, he’d made her angry. A word of encouragement from him wouldn’t have been out of line. He knew gang murders were notoriously hard to solve. Anyone who knew anything wouldn’t talk, out of loyalty or fear. Her team was doing everything by the numbers and then some.

She was about to respond when he opened his mouth and raised his index finger, telegraphing that he wasn’t finished. “Nan, in my humble opinion, we don’t need to waste any more time investigating Pearl Zhang, her family, or her business associates.”

Now, he’d really ticked Vining off. She recalled one of Kissick’s favorite sayings that went something like, just because you’re paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.

Early shifted her feet beneath the table, but remained silent. Everyone was waiting for Vining to respond. If she lay down, she’d lose her power and authority.

She stole a phrase from Kissick to preface her comments. “All due respect, ell-tee, but Scrappy’s murder doesn’t fit the mold of the recent gang-related incidents. None of our informants report the local gang-bangers taking responsibility for Scrappy’s murder, which is unusual. Usually, we have the opposite— guys claiming to be good for a murder when they weren’t anywhere near it. We need to think outside the box.”

Sergeant Early finally stopped holding back. “I agree. We need to
let the evidence lead the investigation. We start speculating and we could end up being wrong. Scrappy was tagging ‘Death to China Dog’ on property owned by a family that has connections to a well-established Chinese gang. Asian gangs haven’t taken hold in Pasadena. You’ll remember a few years ago, when a man connected to a Chinese gang opened a video arcade near Pasadena City College. We found out about it early and were able to chase him out of town before he and his crew got established here. Scrappy’s murder may be a wake-up call that there’s something going on that we haven’t yet caught wind of.”

Beltran turned up his palm, conceding. “Point well taken, Sergeant, but you said we need to follow the evidence. Marvin Li says he’s retired from the Wah Ching gang and the facts bear this out. He’s spent years trying to help gang members get out of the life. Sure, Marvin’s newfound respectability could be an elaborate front. I’m not naïve to that possibility. But the question remains: Why would Marvin Li or Pearl Zhang want Scrappy dead? If they were going to eliminate him, why do it on family property? While Pearl Zhang at first denied knowing China Dog’s identity, she was simply embarrassed about her cousin’s criminal past. She apologized to me and I feel she was sincere.”

An image of Beltran and Zhang laughing together popped into Vining’s mind.

Beltran continued. “Let’s follow this thread through, but do it quickly and move on. It doesn’t help our image to harass Pearl Zhang, a fine citizen who’s done so much for the community.”

Vining saw that Pearl Zhang had Beltran in her pocket, or perhaps in her pants.

Beltran looked at the wall clock. “You’ll have to excuse me. As I mentioned, I have a meeting with the chief.”

He hadn’t mentioned it, but Vining was glad he was leaving. She no longer wondered if perspiration was soaking her shirt. She was certain of it. When he had left the room, Vining glanced at Sergeant Early, who gave her a quick smile.

Caspers’s shoulders dropped as he exhaled. Everyone remained sitting stiffly until Sarge leaned back and laced her hands across her broad
middle. Only then did the mood become more relaxed. Jones, Caspers, and Lam almost simultaneously leaned back, too. Sproul took a small white cloth from his shirt pocket and began cleaning his glasses.

Vining was the only one with her posture still erect and her hands on the table. “Cameron’s done research on Asian gangs. Can you bring us up-to-date, Cam?”

“Be happy to.” Lam scanned through handwritten notes. “I met with Sergeant John Velado, who’s the head of the Sheriff’s San Gabriel Valley Asian Gang Task Force, working out of the Temple City station.

“As everyone here knows, the Asian population in the San Gabriel Valley has skyrocketed over the past twenty years. Asians comprise fifty percent of the population in some cities and in some areas, the numbers are even higher and they’re growing. The Department of Justice estimates there could be fifteen thousand Asian gang members in California and as many as five thousand in the S.G. Valley. In Orange County, Asian gangs are principally Vetnamese, Laotian, and Cambodian. In the S.G. Valley, they’re generally Chinese and Korean.

“Unlike African-American and Latino gangs, Asian gangs don’t claim a turf. They aren’t attached to a street or neighborhood. Gang loyalty is not their priority. Their number-one goal is to make money. Gang members fighting one day may later get together to pull off a crime.

“They prey on their own communities, targeting Asian businesses and homes. They specialize in extortion, robberies, especially home invasion robberies, identity theft, illegal immigrant smuggling, prostitution, drug trafficking, and import/export fraud. Using the tried-and-true formula that’s worked for all organized crime groups, most of their crimes go unreported because of the victims’ fear of revenge.

“Their crimes are conducted with precision, demonstrate organization and planning, and are characterized by extreme violence. The larger gangs operate under a hierarchical structure. Among Chinese gangs, at the top are the ‘dai los’ or big brothers. At the bottom are the foot soldiers or ‘sai los,’ little brothers. In between are lieutenants, crew chiefs, and associates. The leaders try to insulate themselves from the gang’s activity. Not all Asian gang members are Asian. Some get in
because the dai lo likes them or they were sponsored by an Asian girlfriend.

“Investigating Asian gangs is tough. We’re up against cultural barriers, a code of silence, and language issues. Being a police officer is not a respected occupation among Chinese and Southeast Asians.

“Another unique aspect of Asian gangs is that members don’t admit to being in a gang. They don’t get tattoos with their gang name. They don’t tag. The kids lead double lives. Many are from affluent families. Honor students. When they’re home, they’re respectful, dutiful sons and daughters. Their parents have no idea.”

Vining again recalled Ken Zhang’s eyes flashing that night outside the Hollenbeck Paper building when he said, “Are you Emily’s mom? She’s in my photography class.”

Lam continued. “In the nineties, there was a member of the Asian Boyz who got straight As in school, volunteered at a hospital, and had a part-time job, all while he was involved in a month-long crime spree that left seven people dead.”

He sat back in his chair, finished. There was a period of silence, as if following a sermon.

Vining finally spoke, “Which brings us to our friend Marvin Li.”

She held up an 8×10 mug shot of a much younger and clean-shaven Li. To her, he looked like any other of the hundreds of young punks she’d encountered, out to subjugate the world, or die trying. A sprinkling of acne in the hollows of his cheeks contraindicated his tough-guy mien. The V of skin visible beneath his open shirt collar was not yet covered with tattoos. His eyes were different from what she’d seen that morning. In the photo, he had the dead eyes of a life-long criminal. The touch of whimsy that she’d observed in person was missing. He was a killer, but he loved butterflies.

“Cameron, did Sergeant Velado have a take on Marvin Li and his transformation since he got out of prison? His Guns Gone organization and alleged other good works?”