White Tiger (8 page)

That did it—the leviathan groaned, rolled over and descended back into the inky ocean depths. He began to relax, then realized Valerie Lin was looking directly at him. Did she know? Or had she said something, only he was too lost in his juvenile fantasy to hear? He chose a neutral gambit—“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lin....”
—
and deliberately allowed his voice to trail off. She could interpret it one of several ways:
I’m sorry for your loss. Could you say that again please? Someone chopped off your husband’s penis, stuffed it into his mouth, then stabbed him through the heart.

“My housekeeper should be able to verify... I did not leave the house. I also made a telephone call, to my sister-in-law. We talked for some time. That must have been around....” She shook her head, sighed, then shook her head again. “Does my father-in-law know? Have you told Lin Yubo?”

“We thought we should break the bad news to you first, Mrs. Lin.”

Something changed in her. Ryker couldn’t quite put his finger on it but the temperature of the air between them dropped a couple of degrees. “You don’t know who murdered my husband,” she said. “You came here to judge my reaction. You suspect I may be responsible.”

“Those are exactly our reasons for being here, Mrs. Lin.” She blinked in surprise at his unexpected candor but Ryker saw no reason to sugar coat it. “The first thing we do when someone’s husband suffers an unnatural death is call on the wife. Ten will get you twenty that she did it, or knows something about it. My first impressions of you are favorable. I don’t believe you murdered your husband. That doesn’t mean you’re automatically dismissed from the list of suspects. But if you let us talk to your housekeeper and your sister-in-law, and if what you just told us checks out, we won’t bother you again unless we absolutely have to.”

Chee Wei looked bemused, which was fair indication of how far Ryker had crossed over the line. But he wasn’t a robot any more than Chee Wei was a virgin. He was also on totally unfamiliar ground. Valerie Lin spoke good English but was, first and foremost, Chinese. Was he supposed to break the news as he would to an American wife whose American husband had been found dead? Or was he doing the right thing by laying all his cards on the table? Would she take this as it was intended, as a gesture of respect, or would she take insult instead? He held his breath and waited, only too aware of the risks involved.

“Thank you, detective,” she said at last. “For being so honest.”

He inclined his head, a quarter-bow rather than a mere nod.

“My sister-in-law is in China,” she said. “She lives in Shanghai.”

Ryker knew that Chee Wei would have the telephone company records pulled and Valerie Lin’s claim either verified or refuted within the hour. These days all calls going through the international switchboards were electronically recorded as a matter of course and scanned for keywords that might reveal terrorism at work, before being compressed and copied to permanent storage media. Cooperation between Homeland Security and every police department across the country was at an all-time high, and an official request for access to a particular data stream was likely to be granted without question.

“I’ll go talk to the housekeeper,” Chee Wei said. He got up and left the room. Ryker immediately felt awkward at being left alone in the presence of this beautiful woman who had captivated him from the instant she opened the front door, and who made him feel like a schoolboy caught up in the first stomach churning blossom of puppy love.

“Are you from Shanghai, Mrs. Lin?” he asked, feeling the need to make polite conversation that would put her at ease.

“I lived there soon after we were married, before we moved to San Francisco, but I am from Chongqing. Are you familiar with China, detective?”

“A little. Just enough to know Chongqing is a long way from Shanghai.”

“Most people don’t even know that much.”

“I was only a kid when the Bruce Lee thing hit the States like a whirlwind, but it left a lasting impression. Kung Fu schools were springing up everywhere. I became a student so I could learn how to beat up entire roomfuls of Japanese
karateka
. It didn’t quite work out that way, but my teacher was an elderly Chinese who introduced his pupils not only to the martial arts, but also to the history and traditions of his country. His family was from Wuhan Province. His name was Chen.”

“You surprise me. Truthfully, I didn’t think any Americans cared enough to learn about China. I once met a woman, the wife of one of my husband’s American business associates, who thought Japan and China were....” Her words became a convulsive gasp. She covered her face with her hands and closed her eyes. Ryker looked away, not wishing to embarrass her. She sobbed once, just once, and then she said, “I apologize for my unseemly behavior.” When he looked at her she was perfectly composed.

He wanted to tell her it was okay, he understood and sympathized, but again that would probably embarrass her so instead he said, “May I ask your advice? On the matter of your father-in-law. As far as I know, he is unaware of your husband’s death. Would he—would you—prefer it came from us? I don’t know how your family works. I will be the one who tells him. It’s my duty. But, if you would prefer to convey the news, if it would, I don’t know, gain him, or you, some measure of release? Rather than coming from a stranger. Please forgive me if I’m being too presumptuous.”

“Your concern is greatly appreciated, detective. Thank you. Truly. But... if I am being honest... I do not relish the thought of telling my father-in-law that he must bear the pain of loss for his second son. Coming so soon. I would much rather... if it is not too much to ask... I would much rather it came from you.” She rose with fluid grace and moved to the window. There she stood with her back to him and her arms wrapped around her own body as if for comfort, her white knuckled hands visible, the fingers pressing into the fabric of her blouse. If ever there was a perfect moment for him to go to her and take her in his arms and tell her she would never again have to worry about anything for as long as he lived, this was it. A hard pulse beat in his own throat and surf waves crashed inside his ears as he actually contemplated implementing this insane physical action that would destroy his career and probably his life. Such was the power this woman had over him and she didn’t even know it.

The bubble popped when Chee Wei appeared in the doorway, flipping his notebook shut. He slipped it inside his jacket along with his pen, and nodded when Ryker threw him a curious look.

Ryker reluctantly got up. “Thank you, Mrs. Lin. If we need to speak to you again, we’ll call first. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

She didn’t answer or turn from the window. The rain had stopped, only a brief shower, leaving the garden gleaming and fresh. Chee Wei turned to leave but Ryker stopped halfway to the door, a sudden thought having surfaced.

“Mrs. Lin. If I were to say, ‘No war, no peace,’ would that mean anything to you?”

For a moment he wasn’t sure whether she’d heard him or not. Chee Wei was watching her too, looking for some gesture or change in body posture that might reveal knowledge. But all she did was shake her head, the slightest of movements. Ryker realized she was watching his reflection in the window glass. He forced himself to stop drinking in every line and curve of her body, and followed Chee Wei out. Leaving her alone with her grief made him feel nauseous.

The maid, or housekeeper, opened the door for them and bade them farewell with a tight smile. Ryker and Chee Wei made their way back to the car. But as they neared the end of the path something made Ryker stop and turn and look back at the house.

He couldn’t see Valerie Lin at the living room window, not that he thought she was responsible for the unsettling feeling that had literally sent a shiver up his spine. His eyes searched the trees and, among the shadows, he found the white-haired gardener they’d seen on the way in. The old man stood motionless, his hands folded within his jacket sleeves. Ryker didn’t know what to make of it.

Chee Wei said, “If that’s how they build them in Guangzhou, maybe this arranged marriage bullshit won’t turn out so bad after all.” He unlocked the car with his remote. “Yeah, right, what are the chances? Her nickname’s probably Elephant Butt.” He climbed in behind the wheel. Ryker studied the gardener for a moment longer, then walked to the car and climbed in the passenger side, still feeling strange about what had happened.

“Yeah, four hundred pounds of blubber. I’d lose my dick in the folds of her fat,” Chee Wei continued. He turned the key, started the engine. “The housekeeper says they had a quiet night in. Watched some Chinese soaps on satellite TV, then went to bed around ten-thirty. Then they had their nightly lesbian fest. Mrs. Lin got hers first. The housekeeper says she likes it rough, right up to the elbow. She squeals like a pig when she comes. Hey, you listening?”

Ryker was listening but with only half an ear. He was thinking back to the night Shannon Young had died in this very house. Valerie Lin had been out of town. Ryker didn’t recall seeing the housekeeper then either, or the gardener. Were they employees or family? Did they travel with her? He knew someone must have checked it out, just as he and Chee Wei were checking on Valerie Lin’s whereabouts around midnight last night. Maybe the records still existed. Or had James Lin conspired to have them erased, as he’d so easily erased the minor problem of his son being charged with supplying tainted drugs that led to Shannon Young’s overdose?

“So I’m guessing you’re thinking about Mrs. Lin. Maybe she’s just your type. Maybe you’ll get the chance to talk to her again. Who knows where it might lead? A quiet dinner for two. Touching knees under the table. An electric spark. An invitation back here for a night cap. With any luck her husband’s slippers will fit. Maybe his robe and his pajamas, too.”

“Let’s go talk to James Lin,” Ryker said, and Chee Wei put the Crown Vic into gear.

CHAPTER 4

Tokyo, Japan

The sun was low on the horizon when Manning returned to his apartment in Tokyo’s Minato-ku ward. He had taken a circuitous route home, making several switchbacks and conducting the usual surveillance detection routines he employed out of habit, though he had no indication that the Fujianese had tailed him. And as Minato-ku was full of foreigners like himself, there was little chance they could find him near his home. As most Asians looked alike to Westerners, the reverse was true, though getting an Asian to admit such usually involved nail-pulling and teeth-breaking.

Halfway home, his DoCoMo cell phone chirped; he had received an SMS message. Manning checked the mailbox, and was heartened to see one word:
Airborne
.
Chen Gui and his narcissistic nephew had left Haneda, and were bound for Osaka’s Kansai International. Excellent
—
step one complete.

Manning’s apartment was in a newer building in Roppongi Heights. His two-bedroom unit was on the 19th floor, which afforded him a grand view of the hellacious Tokyo Tower and all of Minato-ku, something he rarely tired of. It also had an alarm system, which was something he prized.

As always, the apartment was vacant when he entered. Shucking his shoes, he stepped across the ceramic-tiled entry foyer and crossed over into the kitchen, where he acceded to his customary ritual of opening the refrigerator and peering inside. He wanted a beer, but didn’t dare, not if there would be an op later in the night. So he chose a chocolate-flavored soy drink. The cherry wood floors in the living room gleamed as if they were glazed with glass, and his socks made for an uneven gait as he half-walked and half-skated to the leather chair that faced the windows. He lowered himself into it with a sigh, and sipped some of the sweet soy. He checked his watch; Chen Gui would be in Osaka in less than an hour, and his connection would depart 40 minutes after that. So for the moment, Manning was content to sip some soy and look out the windows at the growing night.

He must have dozed off, for the trilling of the cell phone brought him back to a much darker room than the one he thought he’d just entered a short while ago. He checked his watch groggily; hell, it was no doze, it was a full-out power nap. He’d been out for over two hours!

He rose from the chair, kicking over the empty glass, sending it rolling across the throw rug. Manning stooped to pick it up, then headed into the kitchen. He placed the glass in the stainless steel sink and picked up the phone from where he’d left it on the marble countertop.

To Dalian. Call LF. Msg Me Aft 12