The Deepest Cut (33 page)

“A stuffed toy dog.”

“That surprises me, that Marvin Li can get those tough guys to wear costumes like that. Interesting that Kicker Chang is working for Li.”

Vining was sitting in a rocky, rolling desk chair that Velado had pulled across the worn linoleum floor to his desk. Pairs of old Steelcase desks were bunkered together in a large open room that buzzed with activity.

Velado said, “We suspect Chang of being involved in a string of violent robberies of Chinese-owned businesses in Temple City and San Gabriel. The employees were pistol-whipped. Kicked after they were tied up. Word is, that’s how Chang earned his moniker, kicking his victims.”

He pulled a file from a holder on his desk and took out crime scene photos. “Chang’s a junior psychopath.”

“I didn’t think he was a choir boy, but psychopath?” Vining rolled
her chair to get a better look. The chair tipped slightly on its uneven wheels which made her jolt forward.

“A couple of months ago, we questioned Chang in the murder of a businessman and his girlfriend in a condo on Coolidge Street in Temple City. It was an incredibly violent incident. Six guys stormed the place and poured dozens of bullets into the victims. We had an anonymous tip about the IDs of the triggermen. They’re associated with a set called Hell Side Wah Ching. Chang’s name was mentioned. Again, we weren’t able to get anyone to come forward. Gets very frustrating.”

“I know,” Vining agreed. “Who was the businessman?”

“Chinese from Hong Kong. Rumored to have been associated with the Fourteen K Triad there. They’ve had a long-standing dispute with Wah Ching over the control of prostitution in the San Gabriel Valley.”

“So Chang does run with a gang.”

“Suggests it, but doesn’t confirm it. These Asian gangsters don’t represent like the African American or Latino gangs. Victor Chang is a classic case of a guy who leads a double life.”

“How so?”

“I’ll show you.” Velado stood.

As Vining moved to stand, the chair tipped back on one of its uneven wheels, almost toppling her.

“They need to get rid of this thing.” Velado pushed the chair ahead of him as he walked, shoving it to roll into a group of disabled chairs in a corner. He walked to a tall bookcase that held a collection of yearbooks from local high schools. He ran his index finger down the titles until he found the one he wanted. It was from San Marino High School and was two years old.

Velado flipped through the pages. “Vctor Chang was an honors student. On the gymnastics team and debate team. Here he is escorting the homecoming queen.”

Vining looked at a photograph of a smiling Chang dressed in a tuxedo. An attractive young Asian girl wearing a strapless gown with a corsage, her hair done in an upsweep, was on his arm. There was also a photo of the homecoming queen giving a surprised-looking Vctor a kiss on the cheek. The breezy caption said: “Go Girl.”

Velado went on. “Victor’s parents refuse to believe he’s a criminal. Course, they’re only here a few months out of the year. They spend most of their time in Taiwan where his father has a business. A housekeeper looks after Vctor and his younger sister. That’s not uncommon among affluent Chinese families. We call them the ‘golden latchkey’ kids.

“After we questioned Chang in relation to the double homicide, he went quiet. His name stopped coming up.” Velado continued to flip through the yearbook. “He may have been told to lay low. It was news to me that he had a job holding arrows on street corners in Pasadena. Here’s Chang with the photography club.”

Vining glanced at the photo and was stunned by another face in the group. “Can I get a closer look?” She took the yearbook from him. Standing next to Chang, proudly displaying a camera with a giant lens, was Ken Zhang.

She flipped through the class portraits, finding Ken among the freshmen. He was also in a candid shot of a group of kids that was captioned “Friends Forever.” Vctor Chang was in it, too, with his arm draped over Ken’s shoulders.

“You know anything about this boy?” Vining tapped the photo. “Full name is Lincoln Kennedy Zhang. Goes by Ken.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Is he still a juvenile?”

“Yes. I’ve already run him through JAI. He doesn’t have a juvie record.”

“Why are you interested in him?”

“He’s a friend of my fourteen-year-old daughter.”

“I see.” Velado returned to his desk and typed commands onto a keyboard. “No LASD records on him. Does your daughter go to San Marino High?”

“She’s at Coopersmith. It’s a magnet school for the arts in Pasadena. Ken Zhang goes there now, too.”

Velado turned to look at Vining. “Nothing comes up. You want me to ask around?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Be happy to.”

Before Vining left, she made copies of the yearbook photos of Ken Zhang, Vctor Chang, and the double homicide crime scene.

THIRTY-THREE

V
INING PARKED ACROSS THE STREET FROM LOVE POTION BRIDAL.
Nearby was a van for a pest-extermination company that Vining knew held a team who was surveilling Marvin Li.

She dodged traffic as she darted across the street. When she reached Love Potion’s extra-wide front door, it was pulled open by Marvin Li. Out came a lithe young Latina who was carrying a swollen garment bag draped across both arms.

“Bye, Marvin. Thank you.” The young woman flicked a curtain of long hair over her shoulder with a joyful toss of her head. Her black hair shimmered with red highlights in the sun, looking as if she’d recently been to the hairdresser. She was wearing a sleeveless blouse tucked into white jeans that fit too loosely around her hips. She was getting married soon and had lost weight for the wedding. Spotting Vining, she beamed at her before floating down the street toward a compact car.

Li continued to hold open the door. “Detective Vining. What a nice surprise. Please come in.” Today, the ends of his braided Fu Manchu mustache were woven with metallic gold cord. He eyed Vining as she walked into the shop.

His tattoos were showcased in the sunlight coming through the front door, but they’d lost their allure for her. “So, Marvin, you actually
sold a wedding dress. Did she give you twenty grand for a three hundred dollar gown?”

“Detective …” he said mournfully. “I’m helping out my aunt. This is a legitimate business. You still think I’m a bad guy. How can I prove to you that I’m reformed?”

He held up his hand to indicate the pest control van. “I’m not a suspicious man, but I have to wonder why that van has been parked across the street from my business since yesterday.”

“Maybe there are a lot of rats in the neighborhood.”

“I would hate to think that I’m under police surveillance.”

“Why would you think that?”

“The Pasadena Police keep harassing me and my employees about Scrappy Espinoza’s murder. I’ve told you everything I know and so have they.”

“Where’s your aunt?” Vining asked.

“She had an appointment. She’ll be back soon.” He coiled one of the tails of his mustache around his finger. “How are you minding that ghost, by the way?”

“Poorly.”

“Come have a cup of my delicious Chinese tea. It makes everything better. I’ll read your tea leaves. Tell your fortune. Don’t worry. I only tell the good things.”

“No, thanks. I came here to talk to you about something.”

“You can talk while I’m having tea.” He began rolling his chair toward the back room.

“I prefer talking out here.”

He rolled his chair onto its back wheels and deftly turned it to look at her. “Detective,” he chided. “You really do have a bad opinion of me, thinking I might harm you in my aunt’s store that she has kindly let me use out of the goodness of her heart. Come, have a cup of tea.”

He turned the chair and went into the back room.

Vining followed. She opened the restroom door, then went to the garment rack that was crammed with gowns and costumes and searched through them.

Li didn’t hide his amusement. He filled the electric kettle with bot-tled water and switched it on. He opened a foil-wrapped block, broke
off a square of compressed black tea leaves, and put it inside the stoneware teapot. “Do you have any suspects in the murder of our poor friend Scrappy?”

“The investigation is moving along, but that’s not what I came to talk to you about. Marvin, you have your human directionals working at each corner of Newcastle Street between Orange Grove and Mountain all day and most of the night. The managers of the only apartment building nearby didn’t hire you. Your human directionals can’t tell me where the apartments are that you’re advertising. What are your guys up to on that street?”

After Li filled the teapot with boiling water, he took a wooden match from a box, flicked the end with his thumbnail to ignite it, and lit the candle in the stand beneath the teapot. “Who did you talk to in that apartment building?”

Vining took out her notepad and flipped through the pages. “A couple by the name of Shugart.”

“That’s not who hired us. Our building is farther north. I’ve posted the human directionals on those two corners because there’s more traffic there.”

“What’s the address?”

He rolled behind the desk and opened a drawer.

Vining rounded the desk to watch him shuffle through file folders, keeping her eyes on his hands.

He closed the drawer. “Wait a minute … You’re right. You said you spoke to the building managers. That’s the problem. You need to talk to the owner.”

“Who’s the owner?”

“The name slips my mind and the bookkeeper has my records. Quarterly taxes are due. I’ll get you the information.”

Vining looked at Li dubiously. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Marvin?”

“Detective, I said I’d get you the information and I will.”

“Why are your guys out on the street until midnight or later? There’s nobody looking for apartments at that hour.”

“This is not just a job for them. This is rehabilitation. I told you before, there should be a twelve-step program for gangbangers who
want to leave the life. It’s an addiction. I don’t have meetings like at A.A. for them to go to at night, so I have to give them someplace else to spend their time. All I can do is keep them working.”

“What about Kicker Chang?”

“Are you speaking of Victor Chang? I don’t use my guys’ street names. I don’t let them use them around me.”

Li picked up one of the straight-sided mugs that were facedown on a doily and poured tea into it. “You’re sure you won’t have some tea, Detective?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Would you care to sit down?”

“No.” She remained standing where she could see his hands.

He made a face as if she was being painfully harsh.

“The head of the Sheriff’s San Gabriel Valley Asian Gang Task Force has evidence linking Victor to a set called Hell Side Wah Ching. Victor’s been implicated in a recent string of robberies of Chinese-owned businesses in San Gabriel and Temple City.”

Li calmly sipped from the cup he held between both hands. “Implicated. Not arrested and charged. Could be mistaken identity. Maybe someone with a grudge named him.”

She handed him the copy of the double homicide crime scene photo. “His name came up again in this Temple City shooting of a businessman who reportedly had ties with the Fourteen K Triad in Hong Kong. The businessman’s girlfriend was also killed. Word is the Fourteen K Triad is at war with Wah Ching over the control of prostitution in the San Gabriel Valley. You were with a Wah Ching set.”

“Yes, I was. Given everything you’ve learned about my life, I shouldn’t have to explain myself again, Detective.” He raised his voice slightly.

Vining was glad to see that she was finally making him lose his cool.

“Detective, don’t judge me by the past, but by what I’ve done since. The people I’ve helped. Guns Gone. I can show you testimonials from local civic leaders. The mayor of L.A. The governor of California.”

“Frankly, Marvin, I’m getting a confusing picture. On the one hand, you present this lifestyle that looks good on paper. Helping
gangbangers get out of the life, guns off the street … Then I find out that one of your protégées, Victor Chang, is probably active in gang life in a big and bad way.”

“Allegedly,” Li was quick to add.

“I recognize that you’re a pillar of society and all, but I can’t make sense out of why you have guys standing on Newcastle most of the night. One of your employees was shot to death while tagging a death threat to you. Can you help me out, Marvin?”

While Li had been agitated before, now he seemed lost in thought as he stared into his cup. He slowly moved to set the cup beside the teapot. When he again turned his eyes to her, his demeanor had changed again. He seemed sad and resolute.

Vining had the impression that Li was doing a lot of thinking, and quickly.

“This is very distressing news about Victor. I didn’t know he was implicated in two murders. Lately he’s seemed distant and angry. I’d reached out to him, but he refused to open up to me. I, of all people, know that you can only help the ones who want to be helped, but Victor is a special case. I’ve known him since he was a little boy.”

Li silently twirled an end of his mustache. “Now that I think about it, Victor and Scrappy had been having issues. There was bad blood. I broke up a fight between them. I got wind of others. My employees hide things like that from me because they know I’ll send them back to jail. Victor has anger issues. I’ve seen him blow up.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I suppose I didn’t want to admit it to myself.”

Vining looked at him skeptically. Was he a savior of the streets, or an ordinary criminal, lying to protect himself?

“I need to get to the bottom of this,” Li said. “I love Victor like a son. If he’s in trouble, I need to find out. I feel responsible. I promised his mother I’d watch out for him. I don’t take my promises lightly.”

“Okay, Marvin. I want you to come with me to answer questions at the station.”

He was suddenly jovial again. “I can’t leave the store, Detective. I promised my aunt—”

“You’re going to be leaving the store, Marvin.”