White Ginger

by Thatcher Robinson

  “Or for the son who gave it to her.”

  He walked around to the trunk of the sedan where he disconnected the tender, a device that kept the battery charged. She opened the driver’s door to find the key in the center console. She slipped the fob into the ignition slot and pushed the start button. The car started without hesitation as Lee settled into the passenger seat next to her. A button next to the rearview mirror opened the garage door.

  She backed the car into the alley and waited while the garage door closed. The odometer read thirty-one miles. A melding of plastic out-gassing and light machine oil imbued the air with new car smell. Stiff, pristine leather seats cradled them. As she slipped the car into first gear, she turned to smile at Lee, and laid scratch, the wheels spinning as she exited the alley.

  Driving past the now-familiar sentries, Lee waved. A black sedan pulled out to tail the Beamer as it headed toward the Russian Hill district where Race lived. As expected, when she turned right on California Street to leave Chinatown, the shadowing car pulled to the curb.

  She spoke to Lee, watching in her rearview mirror as the black sedan made a U-turn. “You talked to Robert last night?”

  “Yeah, the police didn’t keep him long. They don’t consider him a suspect in Park’s murder. I guess they don’t think he has the stomach for it.” A small deprecating smile played across his lips. “He’s expecting your call this afternoon.”

  She didn’t acknowledge his attempt at humor. She wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “Let’s hope we have good news for him. His business partner’s missing, and his receptionist is dead.” She turned to look at Lee. “Don’t make life harder for him.”

  At her not-so-gentle rebuff, he looked aside at her and sighed. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be so hard on him. I have a hard time liking Robert. He’s fussy and he’s cheap. He reminds me of my grandmother. I never liked that woman.”

  “He can be frugal,” she admitted, “but he’s saved me a lot of money over the years. His penny-pinching is one of the reasons I employ him. That thing about his reminding you of your grandmother, I can’t help you with. You’ll need therapy for that one.”

  Lee spoke dismissively. “He’s more interested in money than he is in people. You saw how Park lived. It bothers me.”

  “I don’t make it personal, and you shouldn’t either. It’s business. Besides, I deal mostly with Benny, whom I’m genuinely fond of. My feelings for him give me even more reason to find him.” She glanced aside at him to drive her point home. “You need to stop and think about how Robert’s feeling. Benny was the rainmaker in their partnership. He brought in the business. Robert did all the number crunching. He probably feels lost without Benny. They were closer than most married couples.”

  Lee sighed. “You’re right. My bad.” He changed the subject. “Do you think Park handled the contract on you? Do you suppose that’s what got her killed?”

  “Maybe. I just don’t know.” She shook her head, unsure of pretty much everything. “There isn’t any evidence Park had anything to do with the contract. And there’s no way to question her now. It seems like everywhere we look, we run into a dead end—literally. It’s as if whoever’s behind these attempts on my life is always one step ahead of us.”

  “It’s time we did some catching up then.”

  She pulled to the curb at the corner of Lombard and Polk. Dressed casually in tan khaki slacks and a light-green windbreaker, Race stood in the doorway of his apartment building. He wore a baseball cap and sunglasses—Ivy League preppie. A large satchel hung from his shoulder on a strap.

  As he walked toward the car, Bai pulled the release on the trunk and heard the soft pop of the lid opening. He stopped to deposit his satchel before firmly closing the trunk and climbing into the backseat.

  “What’s in the bag?” she asked as she pulled away from the curb.

  He caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “Just a few things we might need. I wasn’t sure what kind of terrain we’d be reconnoitering, so I came prepared.”

  Lee took the opportunity to needle him. “‘Reconnoitering!’ I’ve never reconnoitered before. Do we need a permit for that?”

  She studied Race’s face in the rearview mirror. He was clearly annoyed by Lee’s banter.

  He answered the question tersely. “We’re going to look at land. We don’t know if the land is flat or hilly. Under certain circumstances, a pistol might prove insufficient in rough terrain. I brought along something with more range than a handgun. My job is to protect Bai. I can’t do that without the proper tools, as you so cleverly pointed out yesterday, Lee.”

  Bai spoke softly as she glanced at Lee. “‘There is no wisdom like silence.’”

  He had the decency to look contrite. “So, what, exactly, is in the bag?”

  “A rifle, set up for sniping and laying down cover fire. It’s an army M110 with a suppression unit, if that means anything to you.”

  “It doesn’t,” Lee acknowledged, “but I’ll take your word it’ll do the job. After reading your resume, I suspect you know what you’re doing.”

  “That’s what you pay me for.”

  Race settled into the backseat and pulled his cap down over his eyes, bringing an end to the conversation.

  Her passengers remained quiet as she drove through the city. It wasn’t until they’d crossed the Bay Bridge that Race broke the silence. “Did you find Park?”

  Bai considered her answer carefully. “Yes, we found her in her apartment. It appeared she’d been strangled.”

  It took a moment for him to reply. “She’s dead? Did you report it to the police?”

  She glanced at the rearview mirror “Yes. Robert notified the police.”

  “Do they have any suspects? Is there any evidence Park’s death is related to the attempt on your life?”

  “I haven’t talked to the police. I don’t know if they have any suspects. Whether or not Park’s death has anything to do with me would be pure speculation. I don’t have any evidence to that effect. I have suspicions, but suspicions are useless without a motive or a suspect. And Park certainly won’t be providing any answers.”

  Race stared at her before pulling his cap back over his eyes and settling back into the seat with his arms folded. He mumbled loud enough to be heard. “You certainly are full of surprises.”

  A freeway exit led to the old town of Folsom. Developments, visible from the road, looked like upscale housing mass-produced for urban professionals—two-story block houses with three-car garages and room for a pool. According to the Google map, the turnoff for Golden Heights wasn’t far away.

  “I did some research on this area last night,” Bai said. “The high-tech industry has invested heavily in Folsom. A couple of research-and-development campuses have poured hundreds of millions into the community. The white-collar jobs make property in this area a promising investment since homeowners would be mostly professionals—engineers and scientists.”

  Lee pointed off to the right. “This is the road coming up. You’re going to want to turn here.”

  As he suggested, she steered the car onto a two-lane blacktop road. They drove a short way before cresting a rise that blocked the main thoroughfare from view. A half-mile farther down the road, they came across another ridge where brick walls abutted the lane. About eight feet in height, the walls curved around the knoll in both directions. Large metal letters, painted gold, proclaimed the name of the development—“Golden Heights.”

  She stopped the car to look.

  “It certainly looks promising,” offered Lee.

  “What? The sign?” she asked.

  He looked at her and smiled. “I’m just saying the brick walls are impressive and the gold lettering is nice. I have a good feeling about this place.”

  “Who knows?” she conceded. “Maybe Benny scored the big one.”

  Race leaned forward from the backseat to look at the sign but didn’t offer an opinion.

  She placed the car back in gear and drove
slowly past the brick walls. The road took a steep turn down a hill into a small vale filled with large oak trees. They followed the road out of the vale to crest a second hill. The road suddenly came to an end. Braking slowly, she nudged the nose of the car to the edge of the asphalt and turned to stare at Lee.

  “Where’s the development?” asked Race from the backseat.

  She turned to look silently through the windshield. The hill sloped down to reveal a wide valley filled with scrub and tall oak trees. Where the asphalt road stopped, a dirt road picked up to disappear into the woods a short distance from the car. She reached forward to turn the engine off and open the door before getting out of the car to view the scenery.

  She walked to the front of the car. Lee and Race joined her as she looked over the unspoiled valley. Tranquility blanketed the pastoral landscape. Bai became immersed in the solitude of the countryside. It was quiet, peaceful.

  Lee’s voice, soft and questioning, interrupted her thoughts. “What’s happening here?”

  A suspicion had begun to form. She turned to look at him, her mouth skewed in consternation. “It’s more like what didn’t happen here.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Race. “Where’s the development?”

  Turning aside to look at Race, she barked a humorless laugh. His look of surprise made her laugh again. If both Benny and her money hadn’t been missing, the situation would have been a lot funnier.

  Race stared at her, obviously questioning her odd behavior.

  She reached out to grab his arm. “I’m sorry, John. I’m not laughing at you. It’s just the circumstances have me a little rattled. You see,” she said, motioning with her arm to take in the valley below, “there is no development. It’s a scam.”

  He stared at her in confusion. “I still don’t get it.”

  She took a second to look out over the valley.

  “I have the feeling I’m the spoiler. Or rather, Benny was the spoiler. I’m guessing he got himself involved in an auction he wasn’t invited to attend. I believe it’s a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and screwing with the wrong people.”

  Lee gestured at the valley below. “I still don’t get it.”

  She could see from Race’s expression he still didn’t get it either. The men turned to her for an explanation.

  “All right then,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Suppose I wanted to make money in a down economy, but nobody was buying what I was selling. In this case, houses. If I owned this land, I could go to a friendly bank, one where I had friends on the board of directors. My friendly bankers might provide a loan to put in sewers and water for this subdivision. But, instead of putting the money into installing sewer and water lines, let’s say I put most of the money into my pocket. I then used some of the money to purchase false documentation and bribe key officials to support the fabrication that sewer and water lines were properly installed. The documented improvement would increase the value of the property. I would then be free to take out another loan to put in the electrical and gas improvements, again increasing the value of the holding. This, in turn, would allow me to get another loan for sidewalks and streets, and so on. Every time I increase the value of the land on paper, I have the ability to justify more loans against the property. We’re talking about tens of millions of dollars.”

  “But at some point don’t you have to sell houses to get the money back?” asked Race.

  “Not if you’re a crook,” she said with a sense of futility. “I would guess whoever took the loans out on this property was in collusion with an insider at the bank. They let the property go into foreclosure with the assumption they could buy it back at a fraction of its assumed value. A lot of foreclosures are on the market now. Most properties sell for far less than their actual worth, especially with the secret auction system the banks have devised for insiders. In the end, the shareholders of the bank will assume the loss on the defaulted loans. With all of the defaults taking place, it’s pretty unlikely anyone would bother to follow up to see if this property had actually been improved as the paperwork claims.”

  “But Benny stepped in and bought the property out from under them,” said Lee, nodding his head in understanding. “They must have come unglued when they realized that their entire scheme was about to unravel.”

  “But why kill you?” Race asked. “You had nothing to do with this.”

  She turned to him and took a moment to study his face. He seemed sincere in his concern.

  “I suspect they were buying time. If I were to die, this property along with most of my holdings would go into probate. They’d have months—probably years—to cover their tracks. My death would give them time to regain possession of the property.”

  Lee spoke up. “So to avoid exposure, they kill everybody associated with the purchase of the property? Now we’re talking about a conspiracy of bankers and developers, just to start. Who knows how many people are involved?”

  She noticed that Race had stopped paying attention. He stared up. Following his gaze, she strained to see a cluster of black birds circling in the gray sky above.

  He pointed to where he was looking. “Do you see those birds?”

  “Hawks?” she asked.

  “You’re close.” He dropped his gaze to look at her. “They’re carrion birds—turkey vultures—sailing on a thermal updraft.”

  Lee stared at the birds and then at Race. “Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”

  Race took a moment to unravel the question. “It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s what they think,” he replied, while pointing his finger up into the air, “and they think something down there is dead. Or dying.” He looked down into the wooded valley. “But they’re not down there having lunch. Their caution leads me to believe there’s something, or someone, protecting the kill.”

  He looked around at the surrounding hills, putting his hands on his hips. “These foothills are home to mountain lions. It could be a lion has killed a deer and is sitting on the carcass.”

  “Or?” She asked, pretty sure she already knew what he was going to say.

  He knelt on one knee at the end of the road and pointed at rows of tire tracks grooved into the soil. “Some of these tracks are recent, the last couple of days. You can see how the wind hasn’t had time to wear down the edges of the impression; the lines are still strong and clean.”

  “Do you think Benny might be down there?” she asked.

  “Anything’s possible,” he said, getting to his feet. “If I were Benny and had just spent five million dollars of your money, I’d want to get a good look at this property. It could be that someone was waiting here for him.”

  “It could be that he’s still alive and being held down there as bait to draw us in,” she theorized. “What do you think we should do?”

  Lee interrupted. “We’re here, and we’re armed. I say we take a look.”

  Race looked at him and then at her. His expression was troubled. “The smart thing would be to turn around and call the cops. But I’m guessing you’re not going to do that.”

  Her shoulders lifted in a shrug of acknowledgment. “I think you’re beginning to understand me. He’s my friend. Leaving him down there isn’t an option. We’re going to find him and bring him home.” She pulled the Beretta out of its holster at her back, racked the slide to chamber a bullet, and flipped off the safety with her thumb. “Besides, I’m tired of being hunted.”

  He reached out to put his hand on her gun and gently push it down to point at the ground. “All right, Annie Oakley. I understand your feelings. But let’s not be stupid about this. If it’s a trap, and it certainly has the look of one, let’s not run blindly into it. Let me work my way into the valley quietly, on foot, to see what the situation is.”

  She was anxious and didn’t want to wait. “How long will it take you to get down there?”

  “Give me time to work my way around the ridge and come back from the other side. I need a chance to f
amiliarize myself with the terrain and to look for anything suspicious. And I need to do it slowly.”

  “Do as he asks,” Lee urged. He leaned against the fender of the car and watched Race with interest. “There’s no point in rushing into a trap if we can avoid it. Remember what Ho Chan always told us. ‘If you are in a hurry, you will never get there.’”

  She looked from Lee to Race, reluctant to sit idly by while Benny might be in trouble. “You’ve got an hour. Then I’m going down there to see what’s what—with or without you.”

  Race looked at his watch and then at her.

  “One hour,” he repeated.

  Race pulled his duffle bag from the trunk of the car to extract a rifle and a muzzle suppressor. He attached the silencer to the barrel of the carbine. His hands moved over the weapon with practiced ease. The sniper rifle appeared to be an old friend.

  “The suppressor will lessen the noise of the firing gun and hide the muzzle flash,” he explained as he donned a camouflage vest carrying enough spare ammo and equipment to fight a war. “So if you see a muzzle flash, it won’t be me.”

  He made eye contact with Bai to make sure she understood the implication of his statement.

  She nodded in response. If she saw a muzzle flash, she’d shoot back.

  “And watch your back. If I don’t run into problems, I’ll be in front of you,” he added.

  Without any further explanation, he turned to lope down the hill and disappear into the nearest copse of trees and brush. She looked but couldn’t see any sign of him. He’d disappeared.

  Bai and Lee settled in to lean against the front of the Beamer. Her eyes continued to scan the valley below. Tree limbs stirred in an early afternoon breeze. As the breeze grew stronger, the limbs and leaves on the trees grew more animated. Dark, billowing clouds scuttled in from the west to stack up against the foothills like layers of burnt marshmallow.

  Lee pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time before tilting his head up to look at the darkening sky. “I think we’re about to get wet.”