“Well, hi,” I drawled with casual understatement, enjoying myself. “I just thought I’d check out this Research Room I’ve heard so much about. What do people research in here anyway?”
I sidled over beside Liang. Plunked myself down in the hard backed chair next to him. Then leaned into his private space to see what was going on. Tomas appeared horrified.
“Are these bort?” I asked, looking at the rust colored minerals spread out behind the microscope in a tray. They weren’t very pretty.
“These are bort,” Tomas confirmed.
“We were just finishing examining this batch,” Liang said, grasping the glass tray under the microscope and dashing its contents into the bort tin. He then slammed the lid on, stood up and almost knocked Tomas over in his haste. Liang settled the tin into a safety deposit box, strode over the plush carpet to the single, empty slot and slid his cargo in. He turned one key in the upper key slot, then made eye contact with Tomas to turn his key in the lower and larger slot.
I watched all this in fascination, but being the clever multi-tasker that I am, at the same time I palmed the bug and swiftly switched it from my right to my left hand. When Tomas rose to turn his key in the other slot, I leaned forward enough to reach down and extend my palm to the handle of Liang’s briefcase. I pressed the little bug into the arch where the metal handle attaches to the body of the case. All the while keeping my eyes on both of them, but my surprise visit had made them too self-conscious to be aware of what I was doing.
The bugs have a strong adhesive on the back. It would be nice for Geo and me to bug everybody, but it just wasn’t cost-effective. The things were $500 a pop. And then there’s that little, nagging problem of legality.
When the box was safely locked up, Liang’s phone trilled. He lifted it to his ear. His face grew dark. He glanced hurriedly at his watch, “I’ve got an appointment I’m late for, if you’ll please excuse me.” He executed a slight Asian bow toward me, a deeper one toward Tomas. As Liang rose up, his eyes lingered in contact with Tomas’s a little too long. Then Liang sidled over by me, grabbed his bugged briefcase and rushed from the Research Room.
Tomas stood there, looking like the cat left holding the bag. Although I had no idea what bag, exactly, he was left holding. I did make a mental note that Liang only had one key to the boxes. Obviously the powers that be in Swann did not trust Liang to have free access to the diamonds in the Research Room. Good choice, given the circumstances.
I didn’t have time to quiz Tomas about his activities in the Research Room today. My attention was on Liang, and I was anxious to stay close.
“I’m sorry, Tomas, but I missed breakfast and I’m going to have to run out for a bite to eat.” Tomas looked infinitely relieved, as I, too, rushed out of the Research Room, down the hall, and headed after Liang. I wasn’t too worried about losing him because I had Investigatour in my car—well, Geo’s car—but I wanted to observe Liang in action if I could.
I knew Geo was not in class this morning, so I punched his speed-dial number as I descended the twenty-five floors alone in the elevator. The reception was bad, but he picked up first ring. “Geo, this is Sammy, can you meet me to follow Liang? Are you at the office?”
“Yup, I’ll shut down, lock up and be waiting for you.”
Geo and I sometimes splurged to buy expensive pieces of gray-market electronics equipment. If given the opportunity, Geo and I had planned on using two new devices today: one called Investigatour that displays a real-time map of a suspect’s whereabouts and movement using cell phone tracking and another extremely expensive device—Geo and I lovingly call Snoops—that could record real-time conversations, if we were able to remain close enough to be in range.
Chapter 15
At the Biltmore parking lot, I hurriedly worked to hook up Investigatour following Geo’s written istructions. When I powered up Investigatour, Liang’s cell phone dot immediately blipped into life, heading for the north side of Camelback Mountain.
Just then, Geo jumped into the Camry’s passenger side, lugging a large, aluminum box. He scooted his seat back as far as it would go to fit the box on his lap.
We wheeled out of the lot hot on the heels of Liang’s blipping presence on Investigatour. Turned north on 24th Street. Climbed the winding drive toward Glendale Avenue. Headed east with Piestewa Peak on our left and the Biltmore golf course curving along on our right. A few golfers wandered among the links even though it was already 110 degrees.
The Camry climbed gradually until we hit the crossroads of 32nd Street, where Glendale morphs into Lincoln Drive. I figured the name change occurs because Glendale doesn’t sound ritzy enough for the kinds of people who live in this part of town. Most people assume the richest people in Arizona live in Scottsdale, and it’s true that many of the richest people in the Valley and even the world own a home in Scottsdale, but the most elite homes of all grace the north side of Camelback Mountain and boast a Paradise Valley address.
Geo wasn’t checking out the scenery, though. He had his eyes glued to Investigatour, giving me a moment-by-moment report of Liang’s whereabouts, who had just turned north onto Lost Dutchman Drive.
Geo pried his eyes away from the monitor long enough to flip open the latches on our other new equipment. Geo drew open the lid of the huge aluminum box to reveal our brand new, never tried listening device: Snoops. Its actual name was TH-490, but we affectionately called it Snoops. Snoops had cost our business $10,000, financed by opening up a home equity line of credit on my house. Snoops was nowhere near top-of-the-line, but it gave us investigative powers that surpassed many of the other small investigation and security companies in the Valley. Or at least we hoped it would. We weren’t even sure if it would actually work.
As he pulled the shiny new equipment from its box, Geo’s eyes shone. He lovingly fingered and adjusted the high-tech device until a popping sound spurted out, followed by an electronic shriek. Next, some kind of Asian-mix jazz number started playing. Woohoo! Geo and I laughed out loud and high-fived each other. Snoops had snooped out Liang! I could barely believe our luck. Sometimes our electronics equipment works and sometimes it doesn’t. Any number of things can go wrong, like getting arrested for illegal conduct. At the moment, things were going so right.
We pried our eyes off Snoops and back onto the Investigatour monitor, while I tried to keep my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road all at the same time: Liang’s dot appeared to be heading up Mummy Mountain, another magnificent mound of rock thrusting out of the desert floor and home to the very, very, very rich. Monstrous homes adorn the higher perches of the mountain, priced in the millions, with infinity-edged pools, thirty-seat home theaters, sports courts, impenetrable security systems, and gated access that is nearly inaccessible for an investigator because of the rocky cliffs that surround the most expensive homes. One way in and one way out. Through the high-security gate.
We were zooming along Lincoln when the Asian jazz abruptly clicked off. Then we heard Liang’s voice saying, “Liang, requesting entry.” No sound for a few minutes. Then we heard the clanking and scruffling sound we figured must be Liang hoisting his briefcase to enter the home.
While Geo stayed tuned, I attempted to hurry the ancient Camry along the same path Liang had taken: a brief jaunt on Joshua Tree Lane, further climbing on 57th Place, then upwards and upwards to the very top on Glen Drive. Geo was in heaven, surrounded by so much electronic gear, he could barely move. He flipped Investigatour into satellite mode. Satellite mode is not real time, but the street names were now superimposed over an earth photo. We could see the actual grounds of the estate where Liang had rushed to his appointment. It had to be one of the largest residences on all of Mummy Mountain, with a view of Camelback Mountain too. The mountain views and city lights at night must be extraordinary. Whatever Liang was into, it was big time with a capital B.
We heard a doorbell chime and what sounded like a door being opened, but no accompanying sound of greeting for Liang. May
be there was just silent bowing going on between Liang and whoever answered the door? Or maybe Liang’s palm was muffling the listening bug? Hard to tell. We waited expectantly.
The next voice we heard was in Chinese, or something like Chinese. Neither one of us speaks a second language except some rudimentary Spanish.
“Fuck me!” Geo blurted.
Then we heard Liang’s voice answering. Also in some Asian dialect.
“Fuck you twice!” I blurted out.
Then we both laughed out loud. A ten-thousand-dollar listening device. Our brand new, beautiful Snoops was worthless to us. Well, almost.
Geo, ever clever, began fiddling frantically with the dials, until he found record mode. If we could find someone to translate this illicit conversation, maybe we could understand what was going on right before our very ears, but impenetrable to us.
Whatever language they were speaking, the sound of fear is universal. Liang was afraid. The other man sounded older and cold. Cold as dry ice on a baby’s tongue.
I didn’t need a translator to know that Mai’s little brother was in trouble. Maybe more trouble than big sister Mai could ever extricate him from this time. Perhaps this conversation was about a huge gambling debt that he owed? No use speculating. We listened silently. Then the conversation took a turn for the worse.
Liang’s voice rose in pitch. Became tighter, faster, tremulous. He was on the verge of crying. As if he were attempting to explain the inexplicable.
In direct proportion to the higher, faster pitch of Liang, the other voice slowed way down. Ice. Dry ice burning. Fuming. Infinitely ominous. The other man was a tiger grown tired of its play thing. And we all know what comes next when big cats get bored.
Yeow! Hopefully, we weren’t about to be illicit audio-witnesses to a murder. Either way, it’d be a bitch to report without us both getting arrested.
The conversation halted abruptly. We breathed a sigh of relief and looked at each other. No screams or gurgling sounds accompanied the halt. Next we heard what sounded like the front door shutting and knew we’d better skedaddle before Liang saw us. I flipped on the ignition. Hung a U. Sped along Glen Drive, down 57th and the Lost Dutchman, then exited left on Lincoln at a decent clip.
We could see Liang’s dot on Investigatour tooling along behind us, not very fast. “Let’s get back to our Biltmore office, since I have a class this afternoon. My bet is that Liang is heading back to Central One,” suggested Geo. “I wrote down the address of the Glen Drive residence, so I can research ownership.”
Not even Asian jazz was emerging from Liang’s end, so we headed for the office, launching into quiet conversation, not wanting to miss any sound that might burst from Snoops.
“That was exciting,” I blurted in a lowered voice.
“Yes, but for all our time and money, we still know very little.”
Geo had a tendency toward understatement. That might be good, since I’ve been told I might have a tendency toward overstatement. “You mean besides this dead end, you’ve run into dead ends in your research too, Geo?”
Somewhat incensed, “I didn’t say that, Sammy. Since when have I ever run into a complete dead end?”
I may not have had Geo’s extraordinary IQ, but I was smart enough to know how to answer this one. “Never.” A lie, but I figured I’d stroke his ego.
“Okay, then, so let’s play Top Five.” Geo liked this investigation game I’d invented where we shared the top five points of discovery each of us had learned so far, starting with the least important. We used to try and play Top Ten, but neither one of us ever had ten points of discovery to share, so we lowered it. “You first, Sammy.”
I performed a one-handed drum roll on the dashboard with my free hand. Hard to do, especially while you’re driving. “Number five in my current thrilling investigation of the Swann Diamond Company is: Karl Zaiid seems like a shallow man with a bully complex.”
“Sammy, that’s a lame one.”
“You’re right. The next one’s a little better.” I drum rolled the dashboard again, sort of like a one-handed patty cake game. “Number four in my findings at the illustrious Swann Company: If Karl Zaiid and Mai are having an affair, as I think Michael suspects, it’s a damn weird one because Mai showed no affection whatsoever toward Zaiid in the airport this morning. In fact, if I were to name her emotions, I’d say a mix of anger, disgust and fear.”
“Hmmm. That’s a little better, Sammy. What’s next?”
“You’re a tough man to please, Geo, but here goes. Number three: Incredibly expensive pieces of artwork are just hangin’ around on the walls of the Swann corporate office. It seems suspicious to me. Plus, Michael is inordinately fond of them. You might want to do some digging along those lines. He says he performs trades to get them. ‘My big, honkin’, shiny diamond for your fabulous little Paul Klee.’”
“Since I have no idea who Paul Klee is, I’d go for the big, honkin’, shiny diamond.” We were still tooling along Lincoln Drive.
“Oh, ye of little imagination! I’d go for the Paul Klee any day.”
“So if I’m going to research Michael’s Klees, I’d better know how to spell Clay. And I have a funny feeling it might not be C-L-A-Y.”
“”You’re intuition is operating at a feverish pitch, Geo. It’s K-L-E-E.”
“Good thing I asked. My feverish intuition would never have conjured up that bizarre spelling. I’m ready for your number two on the hit parade, Sammy.”
I resumed my drum roll, but stopped in mid-air when a sound emerged from Snoops. Our eyes shot down to his moving dot on Investigatour. He still appeared to be heading back to Swann. A cell phone was ringing.
“Let’s note the time,” I whispered, “to check who he’s talking to.”
The same foreign words emerged from Snoops. We were clueless, but Geo was writing down the time. We heard the word “Yellowknife” in English.
“Something about Yellowknife, where Karl and Mai are flying as we speak. I think he’s scheduled to fly out this evening to join them there,” I said. Liang’s voice clicked off. The Asian jazz music began to float from Snoops’s speakers.
We relaxed some and continued the Top Five hit parade. “Number two in my current thrilling investigation of the Swann Diamond Company is: Before embarking on the new business direction and before hiring Zaiid to manage it, Tomas and Mai conducted a cost benefit analysis of the proposed industrial diamonds business plan. It seems to be panning out, but not nearly at the rate they’d anticipated, so Tomas is suspicious. He also thinks that Liang and Karl return from their industrial diamonds trips with a little too much bling, as in suspicious bling.”
“Oooh, suspicious bling! Often a telltale sign. At least for those with a very short gratification fuse.” We were now dipping slightly downhill with the Biltmore golf course on our left this time. There were still a few golfers wandering, dazed in the heat.
“Perfect segue to my current number one in the Swann hit parade. Speaking of a short gratification fuse, Liang’s in deep shit of some kind. Tomas says he’s a gambling addict and ever since Karl Zaiid entered the picture, Liang’s been spiraling out of control. Liang’s got a reputation for betting on anything that moves: cards, horses, sports. Especially if it’s online.”
Geo jumped in. “Luckily for Swann, he’s not one of the three owners. A gambling addict is a disaster waiting to happen. How much access does he have to the company’s funds or diamonds?”
I explained about the Research Room and how Tomas held the second key to the deposit boxes. “However, when I surprised the two of them together in there, they looked quite chummy. It might be easy for Liang to slide that key away from Tomas in a moment of wild passion, or manipulate Tomas into surrendering it outright.”
“Swann’s turning out to be quite a little hot bed.”
“I think a lot of these small, family-owned companies have that tendency. Too much company inbreeding and interrelationships, with no external controls or oversight. On t
he other hand, it’s hard to beat the freedom of a privately owned firm.”
“It’s my turn to play Top Five,” Geo interjected. “And my Top Five are laced with corporate inbreeding and interrelationships, too.”
Geo was less dramatic in his presentation style, although the content of his findings could sometimes be startling. His ability to spot a trend or pattern and then follow it through was uncanny. He liked to tell me how he arrived at his assumptions, his research, and how and why his hunches had emerged. I tried to be patient with his telling style. I know it’s hard to imagine, but patience is not one of my virtues. Geo began to tediously list the research databases and portals he swims through like a fish to come up with his intel, but I squashed his tendency like a smash-hit serve in tennis: “Geo, cut to the chase!”
“Okay, okay! Number five: I ran a background check through a number of databases you have no interest in hearing about on all of the key players at Swann. Tomas and Mai came out clean.”
“Yikes, is it safe to infer then that Karl, Michael, Liang and Sylvester all came out… what’s the opposite of clean? Unclean? Dirty? That’s a lot of unclean, if you ask me.”
“Well, a lot of it, especially for Sylvester and Michael, is business related. Disagreements over who owns what. Who bought what from whom for how much? Patent infringement. Especially for Swane in that arena. Don’t forget he’s owned or owns multiple businesses in lots of arenas, not just diamonds. Lots of exposure. Besides, you’re jumping ahead and that’s against the rules.”
“Geo, I made the rules, so I can break them if I want to.”
“Correction. We made the rules, and we can agree to break them, and right now I don’t agree that you get to jump ahead.”
“Okay, I agree that you can go at your own agonizingly slow pace if it makes you happy.” I wanted to sit on my hands to keep from strangling Geo, except that I was driving. By this time, we’d rerouted our path back on Glendale Avenue and were travelling south down 24th Street into heavier traffic. Snoops was still on. Asian jazz playing. I figured Liang would get to Swann in the next ten minutes or so.
Baby Brother Blues (Sammy Dick, PI Series: Book 1) Page 11