Counterfeit Lies

by Oliver North

  Park was hardly impressed by the lieutenant but maintained his humble posture, walking slowly back to his chair and taking a seat. “I’ve spoken to your other detectives. I’ve already told them. Men broke in and tried to rob me.”

  Osborne was attempting to act efficient and commanding. “We know that. We need a description of the men who broke in.”

  Park replied meekly, “They were wearing masks.”

  “How many?”

  With a slight tone of annoyance Park said, “I’ve already told your men, at least five.”

  “At least?” asked Osborne. “You don’t know for sure?”

  Park lifted his head slowly and looked the police lieutenant in the eye. “I was in my office. I only saw five. One is lying dead in my study.”

  An air of mistrust flooded the room, with Park playing the frightened immigrant to perfection. The lieutenant said, “Good thing the neighbors called the police. I’m not sure you would have reported this.”

  Park became more conciliatory. “Lieutenant, my friend has been killed, as has one of my security personnel. Both died protecting me from just this type of intrusion. If I could help I would. Please, the men wore masks and gloves. There is nothing more I can tell you.”

  The police detective was polite but firm. “Sir, would you accompany us to your office?”

  Park nodded and slowly rose from his seat. He grabbed Jake’s arm more for show than need but Jake could tell the events of the evening had taken a physical as well as emotional toll on the crime boss.

  The lieutenant, Hafner, and Wilson followed behind Jake and Park, Hafner grunting as if upset it was taking the elderly Korean so long to make his way down the hallway to the study.

  When they entered, Jake immediately spotted two more bodies covered with sheets. The coroner’s team was preparing to remove the deceased to the county morgue on North Mission Road. Routine autopsies would be performed but an armchair detective could identify the cause of death. Evidence, however, in the form of bullets and fragments would be preserved in the hopes at some point they could be matched to a weapon and the shooter.

  The evidence technicians were photographing the crime scene and attempting to dig spent rounds out of the walls and ceiling. Cartridge casings were scattered throughout the floor and cardboard numbers were placed by each object, providing reference for the crime-scene photographs.

  The lieutenant lifted the sheet of the intruder, lying in a large pool of dark blood where the twentysomething man had bled out from his wounds. He was dressed in black but Jake was surprised by his appearance. The dark curly hair and full beard were matted from the sweat and mask but the man was obviously Middle Eastern, not Asian as Jake expected.

  “Do you know this man?” asked the lieutenant.

  Park looked at Jake before answering. He put his head down as if in submission and said quietly, “He is one of the men who broke into my house.”

  “We know that,” said the lieutenant, exasperated. “Did you ever see him prior to this evening?”

  Park shook his head as he took a seat. “I have never seen this man before.”

  Everyone’s attention turned to the two coroner assistants who removed the sheet and carefully placed Tommy in a black body bag. As they lifted the limp body onto the gurney, Charles Hafner, the FBI ASAC, chose that moment to insert himself into the investigation.

  Hafner bellowed for all to hear, “Park, it’s no secret who and what you are. Who was behind this? Rivals seeking to eliminate the competition?”

  Park remained humble, his head lowered, though Jake noted a slight edge to the response. “I am a businessman.”

  Hafner took a step forward. “You and I both know that’s a lie. It’s either stupidity or guts to do this to a man like you. What did they want? They didn’t just break in here for grins and giggles.”

  Park kept his head down in either genuine grief or an effort to hide his contempt and anger. “I do not know why they broke in here. They left without taking anything.”

  Hafner moved in closer to the seated crime boss. “Is that so? Mind if we look around. Have you checked the entire house? Maybe you should accompany us on a walk through the house and check out every room. Maybe something important is missing and you just didn’t look close enough.”

  “They took nothing.”

  “You live alone? This is a pretty big house.” Derision was evident in the question.

  “I live with my wife, my daughter, and my granddaughter.”

  “We know your wife went to the hospital but I haven’t seen your daughter or granddaughter. Where are they?” asked Hafner.

  Park said nothing.

  Hafner continued to plow ahead. “Where are they tonight? Were they home when this happened? It’s late and it seems strange they aren’t here. Come on, Park, tell us what really happened.”

  Jake’s face reddened and his temper was about to crest. He was at his best in the midst of chaos. He calmed in a shootout. He almost welcomed commotion and disorder. But Hafner, the bureaucratic bumbler, was on the verge of wrecking the entire operation.

  Though Jake worked at staying cool he decided an act of honor would enhance his credibility with Park; he sprang for the attack. “It’s Mr. Park to you and he told you all he can. This man has just been through a home invasion. His friend and an employee were killed. His wife was attacked. With the property taxes he pays you’d think the police could protect him. I’d suggest you hit the streets and try to find who did this. Or is it just easier to harass the victim? You guys are amazing.”

  Hafner was staggered. He wasn’t expecting his subordinate to intervene, but with the ASAC’s lack of real investigative experience, maybe any move the undercover agent made would have come as a surprise. He held up his hand to object and said, “Listen, Jake . . .”

  The idiot blew it!

  Hafner was large on volume and weak on sense. No one had addressed the undercover agent by a first name. Park had his head down and didn’t react to the gaffe.

  Jake pounced on the mistake, interrupting the ASAC, hoping his theatrics would mask Hafner’s blunder. “You think you can waltz in here and challenge this man’s integrity. I’m assuming you got lucky and found that badge in the first Cracker Jack box you opened. Armed and ignorant is a horrible combination.”

  Hafner was overmatched but, swallowing his pride, he played the role. “Who are you? Has anyone checked this man’s ID?”

  Jake whipped out his wallet and shoved his driver’s license into Hafner’s face. The undercover agent was into his role and pushed back hard, real anger spilling over. “Here’s my ID! Now how about your badge number? Is this where my tax dollars go, to pay your salary? I think it’s time you and your people left. If you have any further questions, send someone else tomorrow. Mr. Park answered your questions the best he could. He has tried to cooperate. Maybe your next questions should be directed to his attorney. Is this the way you conduct a murder investigation? I happen to know Mr. Park is a close friend of the mayor. With a phone call or two I’m sure by this time next week all of you will be worrying about parking ticket quotas.”

  The lieutenant, unaware of Jake’s undercover capacity, jumped between Hafner and the agent. As a patrolman he had deescalated enough domestic disturbance calls to understand the importance of a timely intervention. “Maybe he’s right. We’ll give Mr. Park a chance to rest. We’ll be back tomorrow, sir.”

  With a weak smile, Park nodded as everyone began to slowly exit the room. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  While the technicians finished photographing the crime scene and uniformed officers collected the evidence-gathering equipment, the senior on-scene tech approached Park and Jake with a request. “Since you and your wife described the intruders as men wearing gloves,” he said to Park, “there isn’t much point in us dusting the place for fingerprints. But I notice this place has an extensive video surveillance–security system. It would be very helpful to our investi
gation if we could have access to the backup files either here or at the alarm company.”

  “I will look into it,” Park said wearily. “But not tonight. It will have to wait until tomorrow.”

  “But sir,” began the evidence technician, “that could be a terrible mistake. Many of these systems automatically delete files after a certain length of time and we don’t want to lose—”

  Jake, still concerned about Hafner’s blunder, seized the opportunity to again play the role of Park’s ally and interrupted. “Look, you heard the man. He’s been through hell tonight. His wife has been taken to the hospital and he needs to deal with that. Tomorrow will have to do.”

  The crime-scene investigator shrugged and departed. When all the police were gone, Park ushered Jake back into his office, where his demeanor immediately changed from meek victim to warlord. He summoned his security chief, instructed the heavyset guard to contact the families of Tommy Hwan and the dead security man, then dismissed him with instructions. “Make sure they have all departed the house and grounds and we are not interrupted.”

  When Park and Jake were finally alone, the crime boss sat at his desk and opened the bottom drawer, withdrawing something concealed beneath a stack of papers. He handed Jake a half sheet of paper with cutout letters from a magazine. “Here’s the ransom note they left. They’re demanding three million dollars.”

  Jake debated whether he should be the CSI technician preserving the note for prints or the criminal cohort anxious to kill those responsible. “Cutout words on a ransom note seems a little too Hollywood. Why not just pound out a note on a computer? I’m not sure it’s possible, but if you turned this over to the police they might be able to get fingerprints or maybe even DNA off the letter,” said Jake.

  Park shook his head, his anger surfacing. “No more police! I’ll cooperate long enough to get information from them, but we give them nothing more.”

  “They may not be competent, but I’m not sure they’ll give up easily,” said Jake. “They will be back. Your neighbors here will demand it. I’m also guessing without your help this will never get solved.”

  “I don’t need their help. I will resolve this in my own way.” Park punctuated this by slamming his fist on the desk.

  Jake let Park’s anger simmer, then, pointing to the ransom note, he said, as if asking himself aloud, “I wonder why three million? Three million seems like an odd amount. Why not a million or five million?”

  Park was confident in his response. “There is a reason for that amount. The demand provides a clue and a reason why I can trust you.”

  “I don’t understand. Who do you think is behind this?” asked Jake, sensing he was close to information that was key to the investigation.

  “I may tell you everything at the appropriate time. I need to do some checking. When I find those responsible they will pay with their lives.”

  Jake shook his head; his response was sincere. “But we need to get Jenny and Gracie back safely.”

  Park nodded, his dark eyes filled with rage. “Jenny and the child are my first priority. Once they are safely in my protection I will eliminate those who chose to challenge me.”

  “But who? Could it have been Reid? If he’s too weak to pull the trigger, could he really orchestrate a kidnapping?”

  “It is not Reid,” said Park, putting his elbows on the desk, resting his face in his cupped hands as he gently probed with his fingertips the abrasion on his cheek where Kareem had struck him with the muzzle of the AK-47.

  “Could it have been Yeong?” asked Jake.

  Park looked up at the American and said definitively, “It is someone within our circle.”

  “But why would he challenge you? Tommy was more fearful of you than he was of Yeong. He always said you had the strength and controlled the community.”

  Park nodded.

  Jake continued. “Kidnapping doesn’t seem the smart move. Does Yeong have anything to do with Arabs? Tommy never mentioned anything about Middle Easterners being mixed up with the enterprise.”

  “Yeong is a businessman and, like me, is willing to deal with anyone who can be trusted. We both have gone outside the family in our various ventures.”

  “Did you know the intruder who was killed?” asked Jake.

  Park slowly rose from the desk without responding and headed toward the wet bar. He held up the bottle of insamju, Korean vodka, offering Jake a drink. When Jake nodded, Park poured two drinks, handing one to Jake. “I don’t know, but I think Tommy recognized one of the intruders just before he was killed.”

  “Is that the person who shot Tommy?”

  Park nodded.

  “What about the others?”

  Park took a sip. “The one who shot Tommy seemed to be in charge. He’s the one who threw the note at me and did all of the talking.”

  Jake debated how far to push the inquiry. He was almost conducting the interrogation Hafner wanted but didn’t want to appear to be a cop.

  “In what language? Did you recognize his voice?”

  Park shook his head and said, “He spoke English, without an accent. But I did not recognize the voice.”

  Park took the Cartier cigarette case off the bar and removed a cigarette. Without waiting for Jake to assist, he lit it, drawing several puffs as the conversation paused.

  “Do you know a guy named Sonny?” asked Jake.

  “We call Cho Hee Sun ‘Sonny.’ Is that who you mean?” said Park as he slipped the cigarette case in his pocket.

  “When I was with Tommy the other day, he and his girlfriend Candy were talking about a man named Sonny getting killed a couple of nights ago.”

  “That was Sonny. It was in the papers. He was killed at his home in Beverly Hills.”

  Jake took a brief sip of the Korean vodka made with ginseng root. “What part did he play in all this?”

  “He worked with Yeong. I had little to do with him. He was a successful businessman who was involved in our business as well. He moved much of what Tommy brought in from Korea, but I’m not sure Tommy knew very much, since Sonny was higher up on the distribution chain.”

  “Could his death and the kidnapping be connected?”

  Park paused before answering and his response was as if the question triggered a thought. “I’m not sure.”

  “Why did you hesitate?” asked Jake.

  “Like I said earlier, I will find out who did this and when I learn their identities I will tell you, assuming I need your help.”

  “Whatever you need, just ask.”

  Park nodded, crushed the half-smoked cigarette into an ashtray, and began making his way to the door. “Excuse me. I need something for the pain.”

  As Park headed toward the bathroom, Jake continued down the long hallway and began looking around the living room for clues. Even though the police had searched the crime scene, the tension between Park and the law enforcement officers had to have affected the thoroughness of the examination. And Jake’s dance with Hafner certainly abbreviated the search for evidence that could be useful in a prosecution.

  Jake bent down near an antique table and picked up a small sticky object the size of an almond.

  Park looked puzzled as he entered the room.

  “CSI: Hong Kong,” said Jake, holding up the object and smiling uncomfortably. “Could this have come from one of the attackers?”

  Park shrugged and said nothing.

  Jake was serious about the clue and thought it might hold an answer. But he also feared his performance could arouse Park’s suspicions about this overly intuitive criminal co-conspirator. Jake stood straight and walked toward the Asian crime boss, allowing a closer examination of the object in his hand. Putting the evidence to his nose, Jake said, “I think this is candy. It smells like peppermint.”

  He held the object out for Park. “It makes no difference,” Park said.

  “Maybe it will help the cops identify who did this.”

  Park shook his head slowly and with thoughtful delib
eration said, “I am not interested in helping the police. First we get the return of Jenny and the child. Then we kill those who did this.”

  Park crossed the expansive living room and opened the sliding glass doors leading to a large patio. He stepped out and looked toward heaven as if seeking comfort.

  Jake followed. Staying in character, he wasn’t about to lecture Park on the merits of the U.S. criminal justice system. Anyone with Park’s background would administer his own brand of street justice, never seeking satisfaction from the courts. Park, the hunter, had become the prey, for a few very violent moments.

  Standing silently beside the crime lord on the darkened patio, Jake thought to himself, Those behind this abduction may be able to run but they’ll never hide from a man with Park’s power. Whoever did this is already dead; they just don’t know it yet.

  After the two men stood in silence for nearly a minute, Jake asked quietly, “Do you have the money? It may be key to getting Jenny and Gracie back safely.”

  Park pulled out his gold cigarette case and after opening it offered one to Jake, who shook his head. Park removed a cigarette and tapped it on the case before putting it in his mouth. After lighting and taking a long draw, he slowly blew the smoke into the still night.

  “I will when the container arrives on Friday.”

  Jake was genuinely surprised. “You can make three million off one container?”

  Park shook his head. “I can make three million off the next container. You must ensure that it arrives on time. Jenny and the child cannot afford any delays.”

  “I’ve cleared the container through Customs and paid off my guy at the port of entry. There shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll check with him tonight just to make sure.”

  Park took another slow draw on the cigarette and said, “Thank you,” as he blew out the smoke.

  “Will you be okay tonight?”

  Park tamped out his cigarette. “I am fine, Jake. I must call some people. Just deliver my container.”