by Vivian Barz
She scowled. “A worker was attacked at one of my nurseries.”
“By whom?”
“I can’t prove it was them, but I know it was those DOTE creeps who did it.”
Eric started. “Did you say DOTE—as in Defenders of the Earth?” She nodded, and he continued. “This is one crazy coincidence, because I was just talking about them to a, um, friend at the FBI.” Eric was still uncomfortable mentioning Susan in conversation, and his speech usually stuttered whenever he spoke of her. She wasn’t technically his friend, but it also felt just as strange saying ex-girlfriend.
Greta shook her head. “Oh, I don’t think it’s that coincidental at all. Those little bastards have been stirring up trouble all over Northern California. They’re on a rampage.”
“What have they done to you?”
She let out an angry grunt. “You name it. They’ve destroyed equipment, slashed tires on my delivery trucks, and set fire to storage sheds full of chemicals.”
“Geez. That’s nasty stuff.”
“That’s nothing. They’ve also driven metal spikes into my trees, so we can’t harvest them, which I can’t understand,” she said. “We’re not talking about centuries-old redwoods that are being ripped from a sacred forest; these are trees we’ve been growing for the sole purpose of harvesting. We’re doing this on our own property—land that’s been in our family for decades, since my daddy’s daddy was around. I don’t think these DOTE idiots even know who or what they’re protesting against. Everyone is so addicted to outrage these days. Just watch the news for ten minutes. People can’t seem to be happy unless they’re angry about something.”
“How do you know it’s DOTE who’s been harassing you?”
“I’ll show you how,” she said and then rooted around in her purse. She extracted a small flag and placed it in his hand. Printed on it was a red D enclosed within a triangle, just as Susan had described their emblem.
“I don’t understand.”
Greta explained, “See, if someone were to take a chain saw to a tree that had been spiked, the blade could hit the metal and they’d be injured by the shrapnel. That’s exactly what happened to my guy. So, vandals mark their handiwork with these flags to warn loggers that the tree has a spike in it.”
“Why did your logger cut into the tree if he knew it was spiked?”
Greta had started shaking her head before Eric finished his sentence. “That’s the thing—he didn’t know. For months these parasites have been spiking my trees, always, always leaving a flag. This last time, though, they didn’t. It’s like they wanted to get us accustomed to looking for their flags, and then as soon as we let our guard down, they came in and secretly spiked the trees. And now a man with a wife and two young children is in the hospital, fighting for his life. Doctors say that it’s unlikely he’ll live through the night . . .”
Eric looked away as Greta dabbed a tissue under her eye. When she turned her attention back to him, he asked, “Have you heard of them doing this to anyone else? Do you think they’re capable of anything beyond passive violence?”
“Passive violence. Humph, that’s an interesting way to put it,” she said bitterly. “I think you’re asking me if I know of any time they’ve attacked anyone outright, instead of setting traps like cowards?”
Eric nodded.
“I know a cattle rancher up in Salinas. They harassed him for months—spray-painted his buildings, overturned his tractors . . . same kind of BS they’ve been doing to me. They escalated things when they cut some of his fences near the highway—‘liberating’ the animals.” She made a sputtering sound. “Naturally, his herd got out, and some poor pizza delivery kid hit one of the larger steers in his little beater car. It was dark, so he didn’t see it; the dumb thing was just standing there, right in the middle of the road. It went through the windshield, pinned the kid until the paramedics came. Crushed his little plastic car like it was made of, well, plastic. Crushed the kid too. He did physical therapy, but he’s always going to need a cane to walk. Roy, the rancher, was devastated because the boy was a friend of his son’s—guess he’d even gone to his house a few times for dinner.”
“That’s so awful,” Eric said. “It’s so senseless, what they did. Crippling this poor kid, who wasn’t even involved in ranching, for the rest of his life to, what, send a message? It could almost be viewed as attempted murder or something of that nature, couldn’t it? They must have known the cattle would get out and that someone would get hurt. What else did they think would happen?”
“That’s the thing—they don’t think,” Greta said. “So, Roy, after he’d been stewing a few days, getting good and riled, went to the ratty strip mall bar where he knew these little creeps congregated. And he confronted one of them. Words were exchanged, and then the guy provoked Roy by saying that he—Roy—caused the accident. He also said he wasn’t at all sorry for what happened to the kid.”
“Wow, that’s just . . . wow.”
“I know what you mean. Boy, would I love to get my hands on that little jerk,” Greta said with her eyes narrowed viciously. “Anyway, Roy shoved the guy, which in the eyes of the law says that he was committing assault and that he was the one who instigated physical contact. According to Roy, the guy he shoved started howling, saying that his jaw had been broken.”
“Had it?”
Greta gave him a look so incredulous that she might have just said, Oh please. “Roy had only shoved him on the shoulder. Don’t get me wrong; he’s a big, intimidating man—I certainly wouldn’t want to tangle with him—but he didn’t even come close to touching his face. But that didn’t stop this guy’s buddy from jumping in to ‘defend’ his ‘injured’ friend. The only thing is, once the new guy started swinging, the whole group of those lowlifes jumped in. Roy’s face looked like hamburger meat after the attack. I saw him, and it was horrifying. His body was all bruised up too. He said they probably would have killed him, had a security guard not shown up.”
“So, what happened after that? If Roy had been beaten badly, surely he could have pressed charges.”
Greta shook her head. “If you were angry before, this part is really going to burn your britches. Roy hired himself an attorney and took them to court. He figured the kind of people they were, they’d cheap out on hiring a decent defense or might even be stupid enough to try to represent themselves. He couldn’t believe it, then, when they showed up with an army of suits from one of the best law firms in the Bay Area. Those lawyers must have cost them tens of thousands of dollars for just the one day in court. Roy’s attorney, while decent enough, simply couldn’t compete.”
“Poor Roy,” Eric said, feeling a great deal of indignation on behalf of a man he’d never met. “How did those guys pull it off, getting all those lawyers?”
Greta shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. This group, from what Roy says, did not seem the sort to live in a world of high-dollar attorneys. He called them ragtag, said they looked like they might be living out of their cars and didn’t have two nickels to rub together. They must have robbed a bank to pay for their defense. I wish I would have known what was going to happen in court, though, because I would have happily handed over every penny I had to Roy to hire the best lawyer in America, if it would have meant beating them.”
“And what did happen?” Eric asked.
“Roy lost, of course. And the guy with the alleged broken jaw? He countersued Roy for a million dollars in damages.” She provided Eric a disgusted look. “And he won.”
CHAPTER 12
Although she hated intruding on a grief-stricken widow, Susan decided to take a detour to the Nguygen residence before heading back to the office. She figured speaking with Chung’s wife, Lynda, would be the fastest—and likely the only—way to confirm Anne’s claim about Dov taking Chung to lunch to make amends.
The Nguygens lived in a handsome two-story Victorian painted the color of clay. Susan didn’t know architectural terminology, but there were areas of the house co
vered in what she’d describe as wooden fish scales that she found pretty. The yard was landscaped meticulously—which, given Chung’s management of his bank account, wasn’t unexpected—with a combination of succulents and dark, spiky shrubberies. It was a modern fairy tale she’d happily come home to every night, if she could ever dream to afford such a place.
In the driveway sat a long line of higher-end vehicles. Support for Lynda in her time of need. This made Susan feel both relieved and uneasy. While she felt better not being alone in a quiet, big house with a woman whose husband had just been murdered, she also wasn’t looking forward to the accusing eyes that were likely to meet her—Can’t you see she’s grieving? How could you show up like this?
Lynda met her on the porch just as she’d begun to knock. Unlike Anne, who’d insisted on the informality of being called by her first name, Chung’s wife seemed more like the Mrs. Nguygen type. It was a good guess too. When Susan addressed her as such, she did not make the offer to Please, call me Lynda.
Oddly, Mrs. Nguygen seemed less upset about her husband’s murder than Anne had been about Dov’s disappearance. Her eyes contained only the slightest tinge of pink. She was also, Susan saw, pinching a glass of red wine between her fingers, as if she were merely out on the porch enjoying some fresh air at a party. From inside, her guests erupted in a chorus of out-of-tune laughter—merriment with a manic edge.
Not quite what she had anticipated.
Despite the unexpected behavior, Susan knew there were no criteria for grieving, or for human reactions as a whole. Everyone handled adverse situations in their own unique way. Susan had seen a mother laugh hysterically until she broke down in frenetic moans after being informed that her child had been kidnapped. On another occasion, a white-collar embezzler audibly broke wind dozens of times throughout his interview and pretended not to hear it whenever it happened. They had to air out the room after he left, spraying down the seat with Lysol for good measure. Sometimes they became quiet as corpses; other times they screamed until they lost their voices. With humans, you just never knew.
Mrs. Nguygen offered Susan a glass of wine, which she declined.
Susan asked Mrs. Nguygen about Dov taking her husband to lunch, and she corroborated the story. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think Chung was looking forward to it. He said he found the man obnoxious.”
“So, why did he agree to go?”
“Not liking the man didn’t mean that he wanted to hurt his feelings. Chung said he felt sorry for him—he said it was clear Dov had a lot of personal issues, and that the lunch seemed to mean a lot to him. He said he could sacrifice an hour of his life if it meant making someone so happy.” Mrs. Nguygen shrugged. “But that was my husband. He always put others before himself, and now look where it got him. His problem was that he wanted people to behave the same way as he did. He was a good man, so he expected other men to be good, too, which is unfortunately not the way the world works.”
Susan was struck by how incensed Mrs. Nguygen sounded, which might explain the lack of tears. Perhaps she was in the angry phase of grieving and looking for something to focus her rage on. “Do you think Dov had a reason to hurt your husband?”
Mrs. Nguygen took a long sip of wine. “Are you asking me if I think Dov killed Chung over something as trivial as a stolen parking space?”
“So you knew about their rivalry?”
“Oh yes, of course. Chung used to get so furious over the whole thing! If his anger was anything to go by, Dov was probably pretty upset too. I’d be lying if I said that Chung was completely innocent in the situation. He did plenty of things to antagonize Dov, I’m sure. He never told me specifically what they were, since he knew I didn’t approve. But I could always tell when he’d been up to tomfoolery because he’d come home looking sheepish. I told him he was going to get himself written up or even fired, if he didn’t watch himself.”
“And what did he say to that?” Susan asked.
“He’d say, Well, he started it. So, I’d tell him that he could end it then, by not rising to such pettiness. Which, of course, he didn’t.” Mrs. Nguygen shook her head, her smile wistful. “Still, I refuse to believe that anyone would commit murder over such silly things . . . excuse me.”
Now, the tears came. There were only a few, but they seemed authentic. Mrs. Nguygen was far from the theatrical type who’d fling herself on the ground, wailing. For her, crying in front of a stranger probably was a dramatic display of emotion. She dabbed the tears away with a cloth handkerchief she pulled from the pocket of her slacks, quietly apologizing for what she might have considered an outburst. Susan waited silently, wishing that she, too, had a glass of wine.
A petite woman with matching red-lacquered nails and lips peeked her head out the front door. “Everything okay out here?” Her eyes moved between the two women, her lips pursing.
Mrs. Nguygen gently waved the woman away. “Yes, I’m fine, thanks. I’ll be in in a minute.”
After the woman went back into the house, Susan said, “I’m sorry; I won’t take up much more of your time.”
Mrs. Nguygen gave her a thin smile. “Take all the time you need. That’s Chung’s family in there. Here to stake a claim on their dead brother’s antiques, I have no doubt. Some of them are rather valuable. There’s a painting in the bedroom worth about as much as this house. He inherited them after both his parents passed; he never gets rid of anything, so he’s still got it all. His siblings were all pretty riled about it—they had a complex about their parents favoring my husband. They never considered that them being greedy and insufferable might have had something to do with them getting nothing. I’m sure they’re in there right now, debating who is going to broach the subject with me first. I’m surprised one of them didn’t show up with a moving van.” She clicked her tongue and held up her glass of wine. “This is the only thing keeping me sane.”
“Yes, family can be tricky,” Susan said neutrally, thinking of her own. She also had to wonder if Chung’s brothers and sisters might have wanted the antiques enough to kill for them. It seemed like a stretch. Why kill him now, and why do it while he was on a lunch break? If it was his family who’d plotted against him, they might have planned a little better. After a beat, she said, “Are you familiar with a company called Zelman Industries?”
“Sure, Chung did a job for them, oh, about a couple weeks back. Why? Do you think they had something to do with what happened to him?”
Susan smiled reassuringly. “No, we’re just covering all our bases, making sure there’s nothing we’re missing.”
“Well, we’re missing something, all right: Dov,” Mrs. Nguygen said, frowning. “If he’s innocent, where is he? That’s what I want to know.”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Susan answered quickly, not wanting the conversation to stray off topic. “What sort of job did your husband do for Zelman Industries?” Susan asked to keep the conversation rolling. Things would sour fast if Mrs. Nguygen began badgering her about why it was taking so long for Dov to be found. To anyone grieving over a crime committed against a loved one, it always took too long to find the person or persons responsible, regardless if it was a week or a year.
“I can’t give you exact details about the job because I really don’t know what he did for them. But I can tell you that someone named Marcus Zelman contracted him for a onetime job. Chung was an environmental engineer, which I’m sure you know, and this Zelman wanted him to conduct an environmental impact survey of the land surrounding the dam. He—Zelman—is some kind of land developer.”
“Can you give me any other specifics?” Susan asked.
Mrs. Nguygen thought a moment and then shook her head. “I’m sorry; I’m afraid I can’t. I wish I could be more helpful, but I just don’t know anything else. I’d tell you if I did. Chung said the job was fast, easy money. He was paid a couple grand for a few hours’ work. He submitted a report, and that was that.”
The front door creaked open, and t
his time a teenage girl stepped out onto the porch. “My niece,” Mrs. Nguygen told Susan, her eyes narrowing on the fragile-looking Chinese porcelain vase the girl clutched loosely in her left hand like it was an empty soda can she intended to toss in the trash. She was sending a text with her right, her eyes glued on her cell phone as her thumb tapped rapidly along on the screen.
“Please be careful with that, Sharice. It’s very old.”
The girl gave them an unenthused look that showed exactly how much interest she had in discussing her aunt’s old junk. Susan was willing to bet the vase was worth a small fortune. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until Mrs. Nguygen seized the antique.
“Mom says she wants to talk to you about it,” the girl said. Judging by her lack of grief, she didn’t seem too interested in mourning Uncle Chung’s death either. Her attention was already back on her phone.
Susan resisted the urge to remind Sharice that a member of her family had just been murdered. She vowed that if she ever had children, she’d be damned if she’d let them get away with being so disrespectful. She felt for Mrs. Nguygen, having to deal with in-laws like hers. If the girl was this bad, what must the mother be like?
“Oh yes, I’d like to talk to your mother too,” Mrs. Nguygen said with enough ice in her voice to cause the bratty girl to cease typing.
“I’ll let you get inside. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Nguygen,” Susan said. “And I’m very sorry for your loss. You’re lucky to have such a caring family to help you in your time of need.” While her voice had been void of even the slightest hint of sarcasm, she’d added the last part mostly to spite Sharice. It was petty, she knew, but it gave her pleasure to see the girl blush. Mrs. Nguygen gave her an appreciative smile that made it clear she’d enjoyed the shaming of her niece.
Susan made a move to leave.
As she started her car, she reflected how she sometimes longed for a big family. There were times, even, when being estranged from her father made her feel sad. However, it was interactions like the one she’d just witnessed at the Nguygen household that made her think that maybe she was better off on her own.