She led them through the magnificent entry hall and down a three-step flight of stairs into a large room adorned with the heads of wild animals. Lions and antelope looked down on them with glass-eyed indifference. A zebra rug, head attached, sprawled under a glass-topped table made of elephant tusks and period rifles. A gun rack on the far wall displayed a deadly variety of scoped, oiled artillery.
Over by the fireplace, working with the speaker system, was Judge Alan Hollingsworth. He was wearing blue jeans and an old cardigan sweater over a green-and-white striped shirt. When he turned to them, Tanisha was treated to the most beautiful pair of bright blue eyes she had ever seen. They were set in a ruddy-complexioned face topped by a head of bushy, thick silver-white hair. Judge Hollingsworth was the poster boy for aging gracefully. He grinned at Wheeler. "Damn woofers or tweeters, or whatever they are, went on strike. No amount of judicial anger seems to convince 'em to work right." He moved to Wheeler and shook his hand, then turned to Tanisha as Wheeler made the introduction.
"Tanisha Williams," Judge Hollingsworth repeated after hearing her name. "Seems to me I remember reading that somewhere. Aren't you the police detective working on Prescott's murder?"
"Yes sir, I am, or at least I was."
"We were really distressed. Prescott was such a comer. It's impossible to believe he was murdered." There didn't seem to be recrimination in his remark, just a fact, stated bluntly.
"That's why we wanted to talk to you, Uncle Al," Wheeler said. "We've been looking into his death and got more than we bargained for. We ended up with a tiger by the tail."
"Well, you're in the right room for that." He smiled, waving an arm toward all his shooting trophies. "Can I get you anything?" he said.
"No sir, we're fine," Wheeler answered.
"Okay then, gimme the gist of it."
"To begin with," Wheeler said, "I think I need to tell you that the people who killed Prescott are dangerous, violent men. They're members of a Hong Kong Triad known as the Chin Lo. They have vicious street gangs over here called Bamboo Dragons. They've already tried to assassinate us, twice. If you help us, you may be at risk."
The remark hung there like ugly art until their thoughts were interrupted by the front doorbell.
"That must be Kay," Virginia said and moved out of the room toward the front door.
"You called my mother?" Wheeler asked in shock.
"She's been very worried about you. When you didn't come to Prescott's funeral, she called me. I know she wants to see you."
"Jesus, Uncle Al," Wheeler said, distressed. "I can't do this with my mother here."
"I highly doubt that your mother's presence here will alter anything," he said, judicial bearing on full display.
They waited until Katherine Cassidy entered the room behind Virginia Hollingsworth. Kay, as usual, looked astonishing. Still in mourning, she was dressed in basic black and pearls. She turned to Wheeler, her expression cool, making no attempt to embrace him. After one glance, she completely ignored Tanisha.
"I understand from Liz that while we were burying your brother, you spent the week in Hong Kong," she said without preamble.
"Mother, I'll try and explain this to you, but I can't do it if you attack every sentence before it's out of my mouth."
"Maybe I'll go ask Esmeralda to fix us something to eat," Virginia said, moving out of the den, anxious to be away from what promised to be an awkward family confrontation.
"Okay," Judge Hollingsworth said, "let's get at this, whatever it is."
"Mother's right. Tanisha and I went to Hong Kong. We brought this back with us. . . ." He handed the stolen document to his godfather.
Judge Hollingsworth examined the graceful hieroglyphic Chinese characters, and his expression darkened. Before he could comment, Wheeler handed him the translation that Willard Vickers faxed back to them at Captain Verba's office at Asian Crimes. The Judge read the first page, then passed it to Kay. It took only a few minutes for them to read the document.
"Okay," Judge Hollingsworth said. "Pretty amazing, if true. But what does this have to do with Prescott's murder? I don't see the problem. Take it to the L. A. Times."
Wheeler took a deep breath. "If I do that, most of these people will disappear or destroy the evidence and Prescott's involvement in this is going to become public."
"Prescott's what?" Kay said, fire coming into her eyes. "Prescott doesn't have a damn thing to do with this, Wheeler. How did Pres have anything to do with this silly election in Hong Kong?"
"Because, Mom, he was working for the Chin Lo Triad. He and his secretary were killed because the FBI was on to him, and the Triad leaders in Hong Kong were afraid he was going to--"
"I will not hear one more word of this. That is the most insane, trumped-up--"
"Why don't you stop shouting and listen to your son?" Tanisha said.
Kay's head snapped around. "I beg your pardon?"
"No, you don't. You resent the hell out of me. But the fact remains that Prescott was guilty of crimes against his country. The proof is right here." She handed Kay the translation they had made of the tape from Prescott's car, using volume ten of John Stoddard's History of California. "You can see Prescott says he was contacted by the FBI. He was involved in illegal bribes and campaign funding violations. The 4r' numbers and'd' numbers in that letter are Republicans and Democrats. We matched them to initials and districts of U. S. Congressmen and Senators. Their names are listed on the bottom of the page there."
Alan Hollingsworth took the page out of Kay's hand and quickly read the letter.
"This is utterly ridiculous and without corroboration," Kay said.
"You can say that, Mrs. Cassidy," Tanisha shot back. "You can even try and believe it. But this is going to come out. Too many people have already died, including your own son. I would think, instead of trying to keep it quiet, you'd want some justice."
"You couldn't possibly have a clue what I want. Accusations and disgrace won't help Prescott's family--won't help his widow and son hold up their heads in publicNot that I believe, for a minute, any of this is true." She was almost screaming at Tanisha as the dusty glass eyes of dead animals stared impassively down at them.
"Let's all calm down," Judge Hollingsworth said.
"I think if we can get the right political help," Wheeler said, "we can close all of this down and maybe nobody even has to know Prescott's part in it."
"What about her?" Katherine said, pointing a slender, diamond-jeweled finger at Tanisha. "She's dying to get her pound of flesh."
"Mrs. Cassidy, I'm not trying to destroy the memory of your son, but what we've discovered has almost cost your other son his life. He's been shot at and nearly assassinated. He just wants to get his brother's killer. Why don't you worry about what could happen to him? He's still alive."
Katherine Cassidy stood, holding her purse with a claw grip in front of her. Her fingers dug into the leather like the talons of a meat-eating bird. "You are certainly a sad, misinformed little Nigra," she finally hissed. "You couldn't possibly understand what I want or need. You come from dirt, so naturally this all makes perfect sense to you. To me, it's an abomination, an unfounded figment of your imagination, and I will hear no more of it." She turned and glowered at her eldest son. "Wheeler, if you insist on pursuing this course of action, I will have you removed from your father's estate. I am the sole executor and I have that power. I will see that none of your inheritance ever reaches you. You'll be out there on your own, buddy, and I don't think you've got the guts for it."
"Then you don't know him," Tanisha said softly.
"Finally, something we can agree on," Katherine said, then turned and walked out of the house.
A few seconds later, Virginia returned and looked at them. "Did Kay leave?"
"More or less," Alan said, turning to Tanisha. "I apologize for Kay's racist remarks. She's a product of her upbringing. She doesn't understand we're in a new world from the one she was raised in."
"Are
we really?" Tanisha said levelly.
Alan let the sarcasm pass, as Wheeler started to pace the room. He moved to the window and looked out at the beautiful yard and pool beyond. He kept his back to the Judge, Virginia, and Tanisha for a minute. Then he turned and looked at his godfather. "I don't mean to hurt her, I really don't. But can they just kill my brother and walk away?"
"They can't," Alan said. "So let's start at the beginning. Tell me every single detail."
Wheeler and Tanisha were still there when the sun went down. Judge Hollingsworth was astonished by the tale and by his godson's obvious bravery. He called Willard Vickers in Philadelphia and talked to him at length. By eight o'clock, the Judge was convinced that Wheeler and Tanisha were not only telling the truth, but were on to something so big that it would rock the world.
"No wonder they're trying to kill you," he said. "It was foolish to risk your life."
"It was worth the risk, because--" Wheeler stopped. He had been about to say, . . . because I've finally found out who I really am, but that was not true. At least not yet. It was also a melodramatic overstatement, so he finished the sentence differently. "... a lot is at stake," he said.
"God only knows how deep or high up in our government this corruption goes," the Judge said, looking at the names of well-known Senators and Congressmen. "If we pull on the wrong string, it could explode on us. We need to be very careful. We also need to get this into the right hands so it will be dealt with correctly and efficiently. You were right to bring it to me and keep it out of the media. This would've destroyed Pres's reputation, hurt his family terribly, and, as you say, it would have given the unknown guilty a chance to scurry and hide. We need to get everyone--not just the names on this list. I think I might know the right man to help us ... and let's just pray to God he isn't on somebody's payoff sheet."
The name he mentioned was Cameron Jobe. Jobe was the crusading Attorney General for the State of California, and had run on a reform ticket. Tanisha hoped they weren't making a huge mistake, but there was one thing about the state A. G. that gave her some reassurance. After having spent six months on Asian Crimes, she knew, first-hand, how the Chinese felt about Blacks. She didn't think the Chinese in Beijing would invest in a Black politician.
Cameron Jobe was a brother.
Chapter 34.
Fu Hai's Journey
The trip had started well for Fu Hai. They had all been given false travel documents, made in Triad print shops in the Walled City of Kowloon. They had flown out of Hong Kong on a chartered airplane, right under the noses of the Immigration inspectors. Fu Hai knew that the powerful Triad he was now a member of had made arrangements so that no questions would be asked. They had then flown to Madrid, Spain, and then had been put aboard a cargo plane and flown to Tijuana, Mexico. Fu Hai had been given a phone number to call when he got there. They were held at Mexican Immigration. He could not speak to the inspectors, but he had been given an envelope to hand to the man from Immigration. Shortly after he gave over the sealed envelope, he was allowed to make one call. He was soon speaking to a Chinese doctor from Taiwan who had immigrated five years before to Tijuana. The doctor told him everything had been arranged, but they were held in a deserted hangar for half a day. There were babies in the group, who cried in the oppressive heat. There was no water. An old man passed out and they could not revive him.
Two hours later, he died. Then, in the middle of the night, the hangar was opened and they were all loaded onto two stake trucks and taken over dirt roads for several hours to a dock. There they were loaded aboard the Golden Hind.
It was here that the worst part of the journey began. The Chinese peasants he was in charge of spoke many different languages. They huddled like children on the deck of the rusting trawler. The captain was Mexican and very drunk. There were three crew members; two were Koreans and constantly ate kimchi, a hateful Korean habit. The odor came out through their sweat glands, making them reek horribly. The third crewman was a surly Japanese with tattoos all over his body. Fu Hai could not speak or communicate with any of them. The Snake Riders had no place to sleep and had to share the few bunks below. Because Fu Hai was a Chin Lo vanguard and was the leader, he was given his own bunk, but he hated being belowdecks in the hot, smelly quarters, and gave it up to others who were unable to sleep outside in the wind and ocean spray.
The Golden Hind had left port and chugged north. The one propeller pushed them along slowly. The boat rolled in the heavy sea. Everyone, including Fu Hai, got seasick. As he leaned over the rail and vomited into the ocean, his taped wound ached miserably.
Suddenly the engine stopped and they were rolling in the swells off the coast of Southern California. Fu Hai was on deck, looking at a shiny white speedboat moving toward them fast, bouncing off the waves. He waited as the boat got nearer and the two men aboard threw lines over to the surly crew. A slender man climbed out of the speedboat's passenger seat and came aboard the Golden Hind. Fu Hai moved through the crowd of Snake Riders, across the deck to where the man was standing.
"I am in charge here," Fu Hai said in Mandarin, but the man spoke no Mandarin, so Fu Hai switched to broken Fukienese, which he had learned in Khotan. The man introduced himself and said he was called Dry Dragon. His face was swollen, as if he had recently been beaten.
"We will be out with a large boat to get you tonight," Dry Dragon said.
Fu Hai didn't think he could stay on the rolling, rusting Golden Hind another minute. "Is it not possible to get off sooner? There are some infants whose mothers have gone dry. They have not eaten in several days," he said. "There is almost no water."
"I wish I could honor your request, but for safety we must wait until long after dark to come ashore. I will try to accomplish it as early as possible." He was speaking to Fu Hai with great respect, so Fu Hai nodded, proud to be a member of the powerful Chin Lo Triad from the City of Willows.
The speedboat left and Fu Hai stood at the rail, watching. He knew he was close to the end of his journey. Somewhere, not far to the east, was the coast of California. He would live like a Party official in America. He would send for his once beautiful sister. He would nurse her back to health. He would accomplish everything he had set out to do.
If Fu Hai hadn't felt so seasick, he would have been very happy.
Chapter 35.
T. for Tyrone
There weren't nearly enough chairs in Rick Verba's overcrowded office. Wheeler and Tanisha ended up standing, because he was a civilian and had no business being there to begin with, and she was the lowest-ranking municipal employee in the room. Verba had given his desk over to Deputy Chief Gene Pitlick from Parker Center. Pitlick was tall, angular, and bald. He had brought with him two uniformed captains from Major Crimes: Captain Dan Lamansky, head of Administrative Affairs, and Captain Justin Meyers, head of Press Relations. Seated next to that parade of protocol was Captain Verba, and to his right was Al Katsukura, primary detective on the Ray Fong/Prescott Cassidy/ Angela Wong murder cases. Judge Alan Hollingsworth was in a wooden chair, all but forgotten in this sea of blue.
The most space in the room was taken up by T. Cameron Jobe, coal-black and handsome. He seemed to be constantly aware of the impression he made. Cameron was a strutter. He wore a very expensive, well-tailored suit which Wheeler would have gladly put in his own closet full of European labels. His tie was pearl-gray with almost no pattern. It lay neatly against his crisp white English linen shirt. He projected arrogance, and Wheeler hated him on sight. Tanisha knew in five minutes what he was: a consummate politician who used both his black complexion and his Harvard education for maximum effect. She had found out the T. stood for Tyrone. He'd been born in the Compton ghetto, but now acted more like the crown prince of an African nation. He had swept into the office ten minutes earlier, with his two White female paralegals, and had immediately taken the unstated position that nothing was going to happen unless he fully endorsed it. Wheeler and Tanisha had already taken him through the whole story, startin
g with Prescott's and Angela's murders and ending with the shootout at the Westin coffee shop. Cameron Jobe was now holding the two documents: one taken from the Triad headquarters in the City of Willows, and the other transcribed from Prescott's dash cassette. He was looking from one document to the other, his magnificent face arranged in a theatrical, puzzled frown. "The attempted assassination in the Westin restaurant was because of these?" he finally asked.
"That's what we believe," Wheeler said, trying hard to keep the edge out of his voice.
"Mr. Cassidy, this is a police matter. As much as you would like to contribute, I'm more interested in the opinion of the police professionals." He turned and looked at Tanisha. "Go ahead, Detective."
"What he said," she replied.
For a moment, the mask on T. Cameron Jobe's face slipped slightly and the two ghetto children traded eye-fucks straight from the corner of 103rd Street.
Cameron finally looked over at Judge Hollingsworth. "And you support this epic story, Judge?"
"Yes, I do."
"Okay," Cameron said, "if you're correct, then what we're looking at is a situation with heavyweight political overtones. You're talking about Congressional bribes involving powerful U. S. politicians. It's also got serious multinational implications."
"Does all this bullshit mean you're about to pussy out?" Wheeler challenged.
"Wheeler, that will be quite enough," his uncle Al said sternly.
"I've had people dying all around me for two weeks. Hell yes, this is big and full of international danger! Does that mean we're gonna just cover our asses?"
"You obviously haven't spent much time trying to make headway in the treacherous corridors of government," Cameron shot back. "There are a few important bases that need to be hit before we run off on something this complex and potentially explosive. You've got U. S. Senators on this list." He waved the document at the room full of cops. "Including Senator Arnold White, who is Chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee. You have any idea how many phone calls he has to make before this whole mess gets classified as a foreign security matter and all of us are bombed into career oblivion?"
Riding the Snake (1998) Page 28