The Deepest Cut

by Dianne Emley

  Vining stepped from the room and walked to the back door. The bolt lock was engaged. “Is this the door that Axel went out that night?”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Van Allen pointed. “He went right through there.”

  Vining unlocked the door, crossed a small porch, and went down steps to the bare ground.

  The Van Allens followed.

  Joining Vining on the packed dirt at the bottom of the steps, Mrs. Van Allen seemed eager to share lurid details. She pointed. “There was a bloody footprint right there. Cookie’s blood was on the doorknob.”

  Several yards away was a clearing covered with dry grass. Vining walked to stand in the middle of it. “Is this where the barn was?”

  The Van Allens moved closer but stayed on the clearing’s edge.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mr. Van Allen said. “The city tore it down.” “Did either of you ever think that maybe Axel didn’t do it?” The couple exchanged a surprised glance. He responded, “What kind of a ridiculous question is that? Of course he did it. He confessed.”

  Vining said, “Sometimes people confess to crimes they haven’t committed.”

  Mr. Van Allen said, “Maybe so, but that’s not the situation here.” Mrs. Van Allen said, “I have to say that Axel did a good job. Did everything he was told. He kept this place spic-and-span. It hasn’t looked that good since.”

  FORTY-TWO

  JIM KISSICK AND DEPUTY D.A. MIREYA DUNN MET WITH MARVIN LI AND his attorney Sammy Leung in the PPD interview room. Leung was in his sixties, with salt-and-pepper hair that was expensively cut, and an Italian suit that was also expensively cut, but he had craggy, pitted skin that made him look like a tough guy

  Marvin Li wore a dark blue, long-sleeved shirt that covered his tattoos except for a small triangle that peeked above the top shirt button. The braided tails of his mustache were tied up with dark rubber bands and not dangling with sparkly ribbons. He wore black slacks. While he’d removed the steel drums from his ears, the lobes had been so stretched, light was visible through the empty holes. He was deferential and subdued. His attorney did the talking.

  “Mr. Li would like immunity from prosecution,” Leung began.

  “Immunity.” Deputy D.A. Dunn repeated the word with a hint of derision. She was in her late thirties and was originally from Vene zuela. Standing not quite five feet tall and with a round figure, she wore her black hair in a bob with bangs that reached the middle of her forehead. Her nickname was “the Fireplug,” although “firecracker” would have been a more apt description of her personality and passion for justice. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest. Her head was nearly even with Kissick’s, who was sitting.

  “Immunity’s a big request,” Dunn said. “What does Marvin have for us that merits immunity?”

  “Mr. Li knows where Victor Chang is hiding,” Leung said. “He’s confident he can convince Victor to turn himself in and to confess to murdering Scrappy Espinoza.”

  “Tell us where Chang is,” Kissick said. “We’ll go pick him up.”

  Li shook his head. “It’s not that simple. I’m the only one he’ll talk to.”

  “You’ll wear a wire,” Dunn said.

  Li again shook his head. “No wire. That won’t fly with Victor. He’ll know. Let me go where he’s staying and talk to him alone. He’ll come with me. I guarantee it.”

  “How can you guarantee that?” Kissick asked.

  “I know Victor. He’ll listen to me.”

  “You need to meet him someplace public, where we can protect you,” Kissick said.

  “Can’t do that,” Li said.

  Kissick looked at Dunn who threw up hands that were as small as a child’s. “Marvin … Sammy … You haven’t given us anything here. You want immunity, but for what? Give me something I can work with.”

  “How about you tell us something about this.” Kissick showed them the surveillance photos of Grace Shipley and her daughter Meghan being affectionate with Li in front of the Love Potion. “Marvin, what’s your relationship with Grace Shipley and why do you have guys posted on her street twenty-four/seven? They’re not there to advertise apartments. Don’t even bother telling us that lie again.”

  Li was stone-faced.

  Leung said, “Mr. Li and Mrs. Shipley are having a romantic relationship, as Mr. Li has already explained to you, Detective. Meghan has been having problems with a young man with whom she terminated a relationship. He’s been bothering her. Mr. Li sent his employees to Newcastle Street to watch out for Meghan’s safety.”

  “Did Meghan file a police report or request a restraining order?” Dunn asked.

  “Not yet,” Leung said. “She’ll be doing so soon. Today.”

  Dunn balled her fists at her sides. “Marvin, this is bullshit. Stop wasting our time. Are you going to give us something to bargain with or not?”

  Marvin hooked his fingers for Leung to move closer. They spoke quietly in Chinese. Leung sat back and nodded at Li, who said, “I’ll show you the house where Victor is.”

  “That’s progress,” Kissick said, leaving the room. “Let’s go.”

  FORTY-THREE

  WHEN VINING SHOWED UP AT THE COLINA VISTA POLICE STA-tion, she was immediately ushered into Chief Gilroy’s office, as if the chief had been expecting her.

  Anita, the chief’s secretary, closed Gilroy’s door after Vining had entered. Gilroy was busy signing letters at her desk and did not look up when she commanded, “Detective Vining, please sit down.” Vining took one of the chairs facing her desk. The chief continued to work as if Vining wasn’t there. She was in uniform. Vining guessed she had an official function that day.

  Several minutes passed during which Vining listened to Gilroy’s pen scrape across sheets of stationery. The chief finally gathered the pages, tapped the edges together, and walked them to her secretary.

  Again closing the door, she returned to sit behind her desk, back straight, hands on the chair arms, expression somber. She wasted no time in getting to the point.

  “Detective Vining, I’ve already had a lengthy conversation about the Cookie Silva murder with your colleague, Detective Kissick. He reached the conclusion that Cookie’s murder is in no way related to those other attacks on policewomen. I realize that you have a lot personally invested in tracking down the man who stabbed you. I’m sensitive to the pain you’ve gone through and that you’re still going through. However, you must understand that there is nothing in Colina Vista that will help you in your quest.”

  She paused. Vining was about to speak when Gilroy went on. “Detective, little goes on in this city that I don’t know about. I don’t appreciate you going behind my back and upsetting our citizens by opening old wounds. Mr. Van Allen called me, troubled about your visit to the Foothill Museum. Then our lady who’s in charge of records tells me you tried to gain access to the Cookie Silva case files without going through me.”

  “I know how busy you—”

  Gilroy silenced her with a raised hand. “I am busy, but I do make appointments. I also know you met with Mike Iverson. I know what he told you without having to ask. I sidelined him in Cookie’s murder investigation for good reason and he still carries a grudge. Frankly, I’m somewhat miffed that you felt it necessary to go around me. I am more than happy to tell you and show you everything you need to know about Cookie’s murder, but I’m extremely busy right now and honestly, I don’t know what else I can tell you that I haven’t already gone over with Detective Kissick”

  Vining was briefly cowed by the chief’s diatribe and didn’t know how to begin. Still, she was determined not to leave until she’d asked Gilroy the questions that nagged her.

  In the silence, Gilroy softened. “Detective Vining, I can’t imagine how horrible it must have been to have gone through what you did. I wish I had more for you here. I’ve admitted that my investigation into Cookie’s murder was not perfect. When it happened, I was new and arrogant and I was in over my head. That being said, we got our man.”

 
Vining nodded. She looked out the windows behind the chief’s desk at the foothills that were turning deep blue and violet as twilight descended. She wondered if Sergeant Early and Kissick were right. Was it pointless for her to study drawings found in a mute transient’s backpack as if they were the Dead Sea Scrolls? Her mind was swirling with so many thoughts that she couldn’t separate logic from her gut feelings. She needed time and quiet to sort things out. Still, she knew she’d never rest until she at least asked Gilroy her few questions. The chief certainly couldn’t begrudge her that.

  “Chief, thank you for your time and your candor. I realize I’m digging up painful memories for this community and police department.”

  Gilroy gave her a small regal nod.

  “If I can steal a few more minutes. There are a couple of issues that Detective Kissick didn’t raise. If I could explore them with you, it would help me reconcile matters in my mind.”

  Gilroy didn’t stop her, so she continued.

  “This is the artist rendering done based upon Axel Holcomb’s description of the man he said he saw slit Cookie’s throat.” She set the crude drawing on Gilroy’s desk. “This is a sketch of the man who attacked me.” She set the sketch done based upon her recollections of T B. Mann beside it.

  Gilroy gave them a perfunctory glance, her expression enigmatic.

  “Mike Iverson told me that there was another person of interest in Cookie’s murder. This guy had seen Cookie socially and had been bothering her with unwanted attention. He was working as a security guard at a shopping center in Pasadena. Iverson thought his name was Teddy Pierce. I will find out his name once the security firm goes through their records. Instead of waiting, if you’d let me examine Cookie Silva’s case files, I can find out who he is right now. There might be a photo of him in your files. Maybe he’s the man depicted in these two drawings.”

  Vining thought she saw Gilroy’s posture stiffen. “I can get that information for you, Detective.”

  Vining didn’t want to press her luck by asking for a timeframe. “Thank you, Chief.”

  Gilroy pushed back her chair, as if concluding the meeting.

  “Chief, may I ask one more thing?”

  The fine lines around Gilroy’s mouth deepened. “Certainly.”

  “In your conversation with Detective Kissick, I’m curious about why you never mentioned that Axel Holcomb has a subnormal I.Q.”

  Gilroy raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t mention it? I guess it didn’t occur to me.” She smiled and shook her head as if she couldn’t offer any further explanation.

  “Everyone I spoke to who knew Axel and a lot of the newspaper articles said that no one could believe he was capable of such a terrible murder. Mike Iverson said that you and he agreed that Axel hadn’t done it. Then, you decided to question him again and somehow, he confessed.”

  “What’s your point, Detective?” Gilroy’s eyes bored into her.

  “I wonder what motivated you to change your opinion about Axel. And Axel’s confession … I’m certain there were questions raised—”

  Gilroy’s hand came up and she pointed at Vining. “Are you that desperate to build a serial killer theory around what happened to you? You’re so possessed by this crazy idea of yours that you come into my police station and question not just my integrity, but the integrity of my police officers, our city government, our citizens, the prosecutor, the judge, and the jury?

  “You should know something, Detective Vining. I have plenty of contacts in the Pasadena P.D. They talk about you plenty. They speculate that when you died, maybe you brought some of the dark side back with you. They think you’re a scary person, Detective. There are questions about whether you’re fit for duty. Your visit here makes me wonder whether there’s truth to the gossip. You come in here with your sad history and your gruesome scars that you don’t even try to hide and make these scurrilous accusations. I’m the chief of police in this town and I say that this conversation is over.”

  Vining silently picked up the two artists’ sketches and returned them to her leather folder. Reaching inside her jacket pocket, she took out Nitro’s battered and scratched pearl necklace. The one she’d stolen from him. She flung it onto Gilroy’s desk where it clattered like dried bones.

  Vining had surmised that this was the iconic necklace. This was where T B. Mann’s murderous journey had started. It was a guess on her part, based upon gut instincts that were perhaps refined when she took that two-minute journey to the other side. The gossipers were right. She was a scary person.

  It was satisfying to see Gilroy, in her pressed navy-blue uniform, draped with brass and ribbons, jump as if confronted by a rattlesnake. She recovered quickly, a professional to the core, but Vining had seen her blink.

  “Have you ever seen that necklace before, Chief?”

  Gilroy didn’t move to touch it. “What’s this about?”

  Vining headed toward the door. “Chief, everything you’ve said about Cookie’s murder and Axel Holcomb makes perfectly good sense. Everyone involved made good decisions with the information they had at the time. But I have new information and I know it’s not welcome, but it has to be examined. I think that necklace belonged to Cookie. I think the man who murdered her gave it to her. I think that man murdered two other women and almost murdered me. Chief, have you ever seen that necklace before?”

  Gilroy didn’t answer.

  “I’ll leave it with you so you can think about it.”

  “I don’t want it,” Gilroy snapped.

  “There’s an innocent man who doesn’t want to be on death row.” Vining left without looking back.

  FORTY-FOUR

  VICTOR CHANG’S IN THAT HOUSE.” MARVIN LI POINTED TO A small Craftsman-style bungalow that had peeling dark blue paint and needed a new roof. A manual sprinkler attached to a hose was in the middle of the unfenced yard. Spots of bare dirt peeked through the patchy grass. The sprinkler wasn’t running. No cars were parked on a cracked-cement driveway that led to a detached garage behind the house.

  Li was handcuffed in the back seat of a Mercury Mountaineer, a plain-wrap SUV that Kissick had taken from the pool of undercover vehicles. Caspers was driving and Kissick was in the front passenger seat. They had pulled to the curb across the street from the house.

  A few doors down, a Chevy Caprice sidled next to the curb and cut its lights. In it were Corporal Cameron Lam and Detectives Louis Jones and Doug Sproul.

  Li had taken them to the historic neighborhood in Northeast Pasadena known as Bungalow Heaven. Its modest homes were built early in the last century when middle-class families moved into the area already populated with wealthy Midwestern transplants. Many of the homes in this cozy neighborhood had been painstakingly restored while others were barely hanging on.

  Kissick used his cell phone to call in their location and request information about the house where Li had led them. He was leery about using his two-way radio, as their broadcasts could be monitored by anyone with a scanner. “How do you know Victor’s there, Marvin?”

  The car engine was running, but Caspers had cut the headlights. It was dark outside, but this neighborhood came to life once the sun had set. People were in the street, walking dogs, pushing babies in strollers, jogging, or waving at neighbors who were sitting on gliders on wide front porches.

  The house that Li had pointed out appeared shuttered and forlorn. Thin drapes were closed over the front windows. A light that appeared to be from a table lamp glowed dimly inside. They could see a flickering television through the drapes. While most of the other houses on the street had their front doors open behind their screen doors to take advantage of the cool night air, the front door of this house was closed. An old window air conditioner at the side was cranking for all it was worth, dripping condensation onto the ground.

  “Victor’s grandfather lives there,” Li said.

  “That doesn’t answer my question about how you know Victor is there.” Kissick was getting tired of Marvin Li. In spite of a
ll of Li’s and his attorney’s promises, he had yet to give them anything useful.

  He thought of Nan and wondered what she was up to. He hadn’t heard from her since she’d left the station earlier that afternoon when Sergeant Early had told her to go home. He was concerned about what had happened between her and Emily that had prompted Em to rage at her mother over the phone. He recalled how edgy she’d been in Sergeant Early’s office earlier that day. He’d never seen her like that before. He was worried.

  “I don’t know absolutely that he’s there right now,” Li said. “This is where he usually goes when he wants to hide out.”

  “What does he need to hide out from?” Caspers asked. “What made him run? One minute, he’s holding his sign on Newcastle Street, the next, he’s gone. What happened from one minute to the next, Marvin?”

  Kissick took out his cell phone and began typing a text message to Vining. He was going to keep it a simple “How R U?” but his fingers got carried away with him and he added, “Im w Ac and tats.” He told her he was with Alex Caspers and Marvin Li. “M/B found chang. Call U L8r.” He pressed Send and hoped she had her cell phone turned on.

  “I guess he got scared,” Li said. “If you let me go to the door, I can talk to him.”

  “Did someone tip him off that you were arrested?” Kissick returned his cell phone to the holder on his belt.

  “I don’t know,” Li said. “I’m telling you that if you just let me talk to him, I can convince him to turn himself in.”

  “How are you going to convince him to do that, Marvin?” Caspers turned to look at Li in the backseat.

  Li was looking almost forlornly at the bungalow across the street. The confrontational persona that he’d wielded in his earlier interactions with the detectives was gone. Kissick thought he looked shaken and afraid.

  “What’s troubling you, Marvin?” Kissick hooked his arm around the headrest of his seat and turned toward Li. “Talk to us. We can help you.”

  Li’s cuffed wrists behind his back made his muscle-bound upper body stretch the seams of his shirt. “I’m troubled because Victor needs to do the right thing. Let me call him at least.”