The Deepest Cut (39 page)

Vining had gone home and switched cars to her Jeep Cherokee as she was no longer on-call. She had to circle the block to get in the queue of SUVs driven by parents waiting to pick up their kids. A school employee stood at the parking lot entrance and directed traffic.

As Vining inched forward, she looked at the Rose City Center
across Pasadena Avenue. Mike Iverson said that was where the guy who had piqued his interest in Cookie’s murder investigation had worked as a security guard. She would check it out after she picked up Emily.

T. B. Mann working as a security guard made perfect sense to Vining. His M.O. suggested familiarity with police procedures and access to buildings and property. He also had knowledge of officers’ work schedules. That wasn’t hard to figure out. Gangbangers used cheap police scanners to find out which officers were on the street. T. B. Mann also could have developed contacts within the local police.

As she waited in the queue of cars, she called Joanne Temple at the Colina Vista P.D., as Iverson had instructed. After introducing herself and catching her up on what Iverson was doing, she got to the purpose of her call.

“I chatted with Mike because I’m investigating an assault against a Pasadena police officer that has similarities with the Cookie Silva murder. Mike was very helpful, but he couldn’t remember a lot of the details of Cookie’s murder, and said I should contact you to see the case files.”

Temple’s voice was slightly raspy, suggesting that she was an older woman and a longtime smoker. Vining soon learned that the passing years had not affected her fortitude.

“Of course, Detective, but such requests have to be approved by Chief Gilroy”

“I hate bothering the chief with a case that’s been closed for years. Perhaps the watch commander could approve it. All I’d need is a half hour at most.”

Joanne Temple would not be budged. Vining got the message loud and clear. If she was going to get anywhere with the Colina Vista P.D., she had to go through Gilroy. Kissick was right. Gilroy was the queen of Colina Vista.

She thanked Temple for her time and said she’d contact the chief directly. Vining might not find the answers to her questions about Cookie Silva’s murder investigation in the case files anyway. She would have to meet with Gilroy face-to-face.

She thought about Iverson’s statements about Axel Holcomb not
being capable of such a murder and the strange circumstances of Axel’s confession. Iverson didn’t say anything overtly condemning about Gilroy but he left ample room for reading between the lines. He also hinted that he was passed over for the deputy chief job that went to the shining outsider, Betsy Gilroy. Vining could see that there was much about Gilroy for longtime CVPD officers to dislike. Iverson didn’t seem like a guy who would have a problem with a female boss, but who knows?

The school’s traffic monitor finally waved Vining into the parking lot. Among the cluster of teenagers waiting beneath a slatted-wood porch covering was Emily sitting on the edge of a cement block planter. She was animatedly talking to Ken Zhang, who was standing in front of her, his body between her knees. They were holding hands. Emily didn’t let go even after she’d spotted Vining. Her demeanor was chilly.

Ken did release Emily’s hand and greeted Vining with a quick wave that was not accompanied with a smile.

Pearl Zhang had probably called her son on his cell phone before Vining had exited the front door of her office suite.

Emily picked up her backpack from the planter and slid to the ground. She pointedly kissed Ken on the lips before heading to the car.

Ken turned toward the parking lot.

Vining struggled to keep her anger in check. She said through the open driver’s window, “Hi, sweet pea.”

Emily uttered a disconsolate “Hi,” opened the Jeep’s rear door, tossed her pack on the backseat, and stopped just short of slamming the door closed. She flopped onto the front seat, staring straight ahead. Her silence was deafening.

Vining didn’t attempt to remedy it. She circled around the parking lot, still in the caravan of cars.

Emily looked longingly at Ken, who was getting into his BMW.

Vining looked at her watching him. She then took a closer look at her daughter. “Where did you get that T-shirt?”

The white, short-sleeved top was printed with a diagonal pattern of multicolored butterflies. The tight, stretchy cotton knit revealed Em’s blossoming figure.

Vining frowned at the artwork. It jarringly reminded her of the tattooed butterflies on Marvin Li’s torso.

Emily responded without looking at her. “Ken made it in his silk-screen class.”

“Where’s the blouse you were wearing this morning?”

“In my backpack. I changed in the girls’ bathroom. What’s the big deal?”

“Put your blouse on over it.”

“Why?”

“That T-shirt is too tight.”

Emily sneered, “You don’t want me to wear it because Ken gave it to me. I know everything you told Ken’s mother.” She yelled, “Mom, how can you think that Ken’s in a gang?”

The car in front of Vining pulled into the street. It was finally her turn. She took advantage of a small break in the traffic and gunned the Jeep, cutting across three lanes barely in front of the oncoming, speeding cars. A horn blared.

Emily complained, “Do you
have
to do that?”

“I need to make a quick stop here.”

“So you drive like you’re in hot pursuit? Are you ever
not
a cop? Can’t you just be a normal person sometimes?”

Vining found a parking space in front of the supermarket and cut the ignition. She faced her daughter. “One, I’ve had it with this snippy attitude of yours. Knock it off, right now. Two, I have good reasons for thinking that Ken could be involved with a Chinese gang.”

“Good reasons? Because he’s Chinese? Because he went to school with a guy who’s in a gang? Because his cousin used to be in a gang? Because he doesn’t know who his father is?” Emily’s voice grew shriller with each question.

“All those reasons, yes. Furthermore, you’re too young to be holding hands, kissing, and riding around in a car with a seventeen-year-old boy. I don’t care who he is.”

“I’m almost fifteen.”

“So you keep reminding me. I don’t care. I don’t want you seeing that boy.”

“How can I not see him when we go to the same school? Coopersmith only has two hundred students.”

“Emily, don’t be smart. You know what I mean. Quit while you’re ahead.”

Tears started down her face. In spite of the tears, the girl gave Vining a look so full of loathing that it shocked her.

“Not everyone is a criminal until proven innocent, Mom. I’m not like
you.
I don’t go around looking for the worst in people.”

Vining raised her index finger. “That does it. You’re grounded for a week.” She was so angry, she’d bared her teeth. It was more than anger. She felt a wave of helplessness.

“Grounded?” The tears streamed down Emily’s face. “Like how?”

It was the first time Vining had been compelled to punish Emily like that. She knew what being grounded meant when she’d been a teenager, but had to think fast to translate it for today’s world. She didn’t even know if the term was still used. “You’re coming straight home after school. No going to the mall or to movies or walking around Old Town.” She paused as she thought. “No cell phone other than to call me or your dad or in case of emergency.”

“What?
I can’t use my cell phone?”

“Only to call me or your dad or in case of emergency.”

“What about text messages?”

“I said no cell phone.”
Vining didn’t think she’d ever been this exasperated. Her fourteen-year-old daughter had gotten to her in a way that hardened criminals hadn’t managed to do.

“For a
week?”

“Emily, this conversation is over. I have to go into the market.”

“Why? We shopped yesterday.”

“I have to do something.”

Emily wiped tears with her hands. She found a small box of tissues in the glove compartment. “Dad’s picking me up. I’m staying with him and Kaitlyn until Sunday.” She added defensively, “It’s his weekend with me, anyway. I didn’t go last time at all, so … Kaitlyn will take me to school and pick me up.”

Vining had called Wes to discuss the Ken Zhang situation. He said he’d talk it over with Emily the next time they were together, but she
didn’t know they’d already spoken. “You might have shared this with me sooner. I made all that stew that’s been cooking in the crock pot all day.”

“When did I have time to tell you? You’ve been on my case since I got in the car.”

“Emily I don’t know where you learned this habit of talking back, but stop it. And by the way your father and I agree about the Ken Zhang issue.”

Vining had told her ex-husband, “We have to stand together on this, Wes.”

He said that he agreed, but was worried about their actions having the result of pushing Em into Ken’s arms. “You know how we were.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

“I think you and Emily could use some space.”

Vining realized, for the first time ever, that it was true. Ever since Wes had walked out on them when Emily was two, mother and daughter had been exceptionally close. Vining had fretted that their “two against the world” stance had put an undue burden on her daughter. She knew she depended upon Em too much. Ken Zhang was perhaps merely a catalyst, bringing to light fissures between her and her daughter that had already been there. She wondered when the fracture had started. There came a point when girls tried to differentiate themselves from their mothers and pulled away. That was natural and expected. But something about what was happening between her and Emily felt unnatural. Had her obsession with T B. Mann polluted even this, her most precious relationship?

She couldn’t blame everything that was wrong in her life on T B. Mann. Like a skilled predator, he’d taken advantage of her weakness, but the weakness had been hers before he’d dug in his talons.

She indulged in a guilty pleasure. Having Emily out of the house for a few days would be a relief. She had a lot on her mind and much to do.

“Ken’s not an
issue.
He’s a boy.”

“Okay, fine. Emily, I asked you to get the blouse you had on this morning and put it on over that T-shirt.”

Emily huffed with the melodrama that only a teenage girl could muster. She said sarcastically, “Yes,
ma’am.”

“You just earned another week of being grounded.”

“But there’s a dance—”

“Emily, keep it up and you’ll be grounded until you’re eighteen.”

Vining got out of the car. She was deeply disturbed about their confrontation. She had spent most of her life trying not to be like her mother. Patsy had gone through men as quickly as she went through bot-tles of drug-store cologne. She’d generally ignored her two daughters unless there was an opportunity to display them like cute accessories.

Vining swore that Em’s life would be different. She’d made sure that Emily had a good relationship with her father. Wes had his faults. More than most men, in Vining’s humble opinion. But he deserved credit for being there for his daughter, providing emotional and financial support— after he’d abandoned her, of course.

Vining’s focus during Emily’s life had been to give her a steady calm, and secure home. She’d held tightly to the effort not to mimic her life with Patsy. Had the force of her viselike grip led to the same result, another daughter alienated from her mother?

FORTY

T
HE GROCERY-STORE MANAGER GAVE VINING THE NAME AND PHONE
number of the security firm the shopping center’s property-management company had used for the last fifteen years.

When she returned to the car, Emily had followed her instructions and was wearing the short-sleeved blue blouse she’d been wearing when she’d left the house that morning. Listening to her iPod, she slid her eyes to acknowledge her mother’s return.

Vining winked and received a tiny, but welcome quiver of a smile back. She reflected that maybe her bond with Emily was not hopelessly ruptured. Maybe it never could be. Perhaps that was the eternal saga of mother and daughter. As much as Patsy often infuriated her, Vining still made an effort to see her and to honor her birthday and Mother’s Day.

Vining turned left onto California Boulevard, heading for Arroyo Parkway and the 110 freeway to head home to Mt. Washington. While Vining was stopped at the light at Fair Oaks, Emily surprised her.

She yanked out one of her ear buds and asked, “When’s the last time you saw that house?”

Vining knew without asking that “that” house was the one where T. B. Mann had ambushed her, where the first strand of yarn had been pulled, where her life had started to unravel— the house at 835 El Alisal Road.

Vining had also been thinking of the house. She always did when she was in that neighborhood.

“It’s been a while,” she replied.

“Have you ever gone back inside?”

“Never.”

Just parking across the street from the house was sufficient to take her breath away. Once, she’d tried to walk up the brick path to the front door, just as she had done that Sunday in uniform, responding alone to a simple suspicious-circumstances call in a safe neighborhood that saw little crime. She was only able to make it a few feet down the path before her devil of fear came to call, draining the blood from her extremities, making her hot and chilled at the same time, filling her head with metal shavings that pinged and abraded, leaving room only for a single, compelling thought:
Flee!

“Let’s go,” Emily said.

Vining continued on California, past Arroyo Parkway. After a few blocks, she turned right on El Alisal Road, entering a well-kept neighborhood of mostly two-story Colonial Revival or Spanish Revival homes built in the early years of the last century on spacious lots. The streets were lined with trees as old as the homes, with a different type on each block: magnolia, cyprus, elm, and camphor. The camphor trees’ expansive branches created a green canopy over those streets. The gentle Midwestern style of the neighborhood was an anomaly in Southern California and thus was a favorite filming location for movies, television, and commercials.