Skin Puppet: Reightman & Bailey Book Three

by Jeffery Craig

  “Hello, Ms. Anthony. I didn’t expect to see you so soon either.” Melba had turned to her right, making introductions. “This is Toby Bailey, my friend and business partner.”

  Jocasta had extended her hand with a knowing glance. “You’re eyes are quite striking, Mr. Bailey. If I were ten years younger and you were heterosexual, I’d give you a run for your money.”

  “Now mother, none of that. I’m getting jealous.”

  Melba had done her best to ignore the comments and to keep things civil, and had turned quickly to her left. “This is my good friend, and another partner, Madame Zhou Li, and her nephew and our friend, Jon Chiang.”

  “Ah,” Jocasta purred. “So nice to finally meet you, Madame Zhou. I’ve heard so much about you over the years from my brother. Vassily, isn’t Madame Zhou looking well this evening?”

  “Indeed, she is,” Vassily Grokov agreed as he’d made his way forward to stand at his sister’s shoulder. “I’m afraid, like my nephew, my invitation must have been lost by the postal service. However, once I heard about this little event, I knew it would be impolite if I failed to stop by and share my wishes with you directly.”

  Waves of tension had radiated between Zhou Li and Vassily Grokov. Melba had the distinct sense Jon was supporting his aunt with one well-placed, inconspicuous arm, lending her some of his strength. She’d edged herself closer to Zhou’s side, while Toby sidled around until he stood at her back.

  Zhou didn’t speak—not at first. She’d simply cast her eyes over Grokov and his sister dispassionately and had only offered Jake a dismissive glance. Then, she’d inclined her head, regally. “I am well-aware of the true nature of your wishes and intentions, Mr. Grokov, and have been for many years, ever since you deigned to move yourself and your brood to this city. You have flourished, which is no surprise. The weeds in the garden often gain a strong foothold without proper tending.”

  Then, Grokov threw back his head and roared with laughter, attracting the attention of everyone in the room. “Is that the best that you can do, Zhou Li? I was expecting more fire! More vim and vigor! Instead, you shelter in the arms of your associates and mouth a few barely insulting words. You disappoint me, old woman. But tell me, how is the renovation on that corner property going? Any trouble with the city? Eh? I expect a few minor issues will pop up. They always do in these situations. Old buildings can be quite a nuisance. Perhaps this one will turn out to be troublesome enough for you to consider selling.”

  Zhou Li had smiled. “Never to you,” she’d assured him.

  “Ah. That is as I expected. It’s a pity. Perhaps if the problems are significant, the city will have to step in and condemn the premises. That would be unfortunate. You could lose a lot of money. But Capital Street doesn’t need another vacant store front, crumbling from the foundation up. It needs ventures that are busy making money! Capital, flowing into the coffers, just as the name of the street implies.”

  “Brother,” Jocasta had interrupted. “I think you’re upsetting poor Madame Zhou. She looks very pale to me. Feeble and frail.”

  Emily somehow chose that exact moment to release her mother’s hand and had stepped forward, drawing the attention of both Jocasta Anthony and her son. “Why are you being so mean to Madame Zhou? I don’t think that’s very nice.”

  Jocasta had smiled down at Emily, before flicking her gaze to where Melissa and Hector stood. “Oh! What darling little children. Aren’t their dresses sweet, Jake? They look like spun sugar fairies. Are they also associated with this firm, Ms. Reightman?”

  “Yes, they are,” Melba remembered replying, before she stepped forward and gently pulled her granddaughter close.

  “You’re very protective, I see. I approve. So many horrible things can happen to unprotected children.”

  Jake had then knelt down next to Emily, and smiled. “Hello, beautiful. My name is Jake. Would you like to play with me someday soon? I promise we’ll have a great time. I can show you all kinds of new games.”

  Before Melba could react, Jill’s voice had cut through the room. “Jake! That’s enough! Leave her alone!” Every eye not already watching the drama unfold had shifted toward them.

  “Hello, Jill. Fancy meeting you here. I was just making a new friend.”

  “I know exactly what you were doing, and it needs to stop. Now!”

  His face had flushed with the embarrassment of being called out in public, and his eyes had glittered with anger. Jocasta leaned forward then and laid a hand on his head. “For once, your sister is right, Jake. You need to remember where you are. This is neither the time nor place for one of your diversions. In fact, I think it’s time to say our farewells. I must say, our reception was not as warm as I had expected.”

  “But—”

  “Jake!” Melba dimly recalled Vassily’s voice, low, but harsh and insistent. Jake Anthony’s face had instantly changed from red to deathly pale, before he slowly rose to his feet, head bowed with resentment, looking at Emily from beneath thick, lowered eyelashes.

  Melba had felt a sudden touch of fear when she’d deciphered his speculative, almost hidden gaze.

  “My sister is correct.” Grokov’s voice had cut through her growing apprehension. “You are fragile and frail, Zhou Li. Old. Feeble. A word of advice, or a warning, if you prefer.” In her memory, Melba saw him lean in and utter a few words, his voice too soft and low for any but the two of them to hear.

  Then, Zhou Li’s hand lashed out, striking his cheek with a sharp, ringing slap. The print of her small hand had been clearly visible against his skin.

  Grokov’s eyes widened in shock, and he’d pulled back his own hand.

  Jon Chiang had stepped in front of his Aunt, poised and ready.

  Grokov must have realized the imminent danger, because he reconsidered and dropped his fist. “I was wrong, old woman. You still have fire. But you will pay for that. No one strikes me without retribution.”

  After a tense moment, Zhou had eased Jon’s arm to the side, and stepped forward. “I await your bill, Vassily Grokov.”

  She’d stood there, calm and serene, her face inscrutable to the curious crowd.

  Looking back, Melba remembered Vassily parting the crowd and making his way to the door. She remembered releasing Emily to Abby’s care and then following to make sure Jocasta and Jake left the party along with Grokov. She recalled Jill’s quickly spoken apologies, and her own response. “Just leave, Jill,” she’d replied. “Please, just leave.”

  Most of all, she remembered hearing a sharp gasp from the crowd. She’d turned in time to see Zhou Li’s eyes flutter before she crumpled to the floor and Jon’s quick, strong arms catching her on the way down.

  Color, light, and motion. Feelings of worry and panic.

  Moon slipping through the crowd to retrieve the children and hurry them away to a safer, calmer place.

  Murmured goodbyes from new acquaintances.

  Hugs and reassurances from old friends.

  The swirl of gossip and titillated laugher from the curious.

  A harsh glare of lights and the light blue jackets of the Emergency Response Team.

  She remembered Toby asking Jon if he’d heard the private words Grokov shared with Zhou Li.

  “I could only make out one, single word. It sounded like father,” Jon had replied as he climbed into the back of the ambulance.

  And then, everything had been swallowed by the sound of sirens, as the ambulance pulled away.

  With Jon Chiang’s words ringing in her mind, she’d turned and navigated down the hall to the back office. She remembered tossing assorted files and papers onto the floor by her desk until she’d found what she’d been looking for.

  Finally, she’d kicked off her shoes and seated herself at her desk, before opening the single file, clearly labeled with Vassily Grokov’s name.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “What the hell happened last night?”

  Melba winced. Agent Edmondson’s continuous pacing back and forth
across the floor of the back office and the sound of his heavy footsteps hitting the polished wood had worn her already shot nerves to a frazzle, making it impossible to concentrate. His sharp, impatient question was the last straw.

  “I’m not sure,” she snapped. She ran her hands through her messy curls and winced again when they caught in a stubborn tangle. Apparently, her rushed morning brushing hadn’t done much good. “I don’t know any more than you do. As you know, Jake Anthony crashed the party, along with his mother and uncle. There’s some sort of history between Grokov and Zhou Li, although I haven’t a clue how far back it goes. After a few exchanged insults, Grokov leaned down and said something to her, and she exploded. Other than the creepy subtext flowing between mother and son, that’s about it.”

  “What did he say to her?”

  Melba shook her head in frustration. “That’s just it. No one was able to hear anything except Jon, and he was only able to make out one word. He said it sounded like ‘father,’ although he wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, it was bad. I’ve never seen her react like that.”

  “For a little lady, she packs a wallop,” Agent Garfield observed from her seat on the couch. “I was standing near the back when it happened, but I heard her hand make contact, and I could plainly see the imprint on his face. I was sure he was going to hit her back. Once I realized what was happening, I tried to shove my way through the crowd, but by the time I got there, Grokov was on his way to the door.”

  “He would have hit her if Jon hadn’t been there.” Toby pushed his chair back from his desk and leaned his elbows on his knees. “I saw his face and knew he wanted to.”

  “I did too,” Melba confirmed. “Thank God, he didn’t. I don’t think we could have stopped Jon from killing him.”

  “Have you heard from Jon this morning?” Edmondson asked.

  Toby nodded. “Yes. He said Madame Zhou was resting comfortably and should be able to go home tomorrow. I asked him if she’d shared any information, and he said she didn’t remember anything, not even slapping Grokov.”

  “Do you think that’s the truth?”

  Melba glanced over at Toby and met his eyes. They both had the same thought. “No,” she answered. “I don’t. But you can forget about getting anything more out of her before she’s ready to come clean.”

  “Do you think Grokov will press assault charges?” Garfield asked. “She slugged him with a room full of witnesses.”

  Melba shook her head. “No.”

  “Why? He’d be perfectly justified.”

  “Maybe, but he won’t. One thing I’m certain of is whatever form his revenge takes, it won’t be as straight forward as swearing out a complaint and having her charged with assault. That’s not how he operates.”

  Edmondson stopped his pacing and raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You sound pretty sure of that. What gives?”

  For a moment, Melba considered not sharing what she knew. The information she’d reviewed late into the evening wasn’t tied to the current case, and as much as she appreciated his concern, it really wasn’t any of his business. Although, if the information was even halfway accurate, she’d bet good money the Feds already had their own thick, juicy file on the man. After another shared look with her partner, she decided it couldn’t hurt to fill the agents in on what she knew.

  “I did a little digging,” she confessed, and held up a hand to halt Edmondson’s expected interruption. “And before you ask, I’m happy to share what I learned. But first, I need coffee in the worst way. In fact, why don’t we all adjourn to the conference room? We’ll be more comfortable and the caffeine will be in easy reach. I’ll tell you what I found and then we can conference Thorton and Mitchell in and go over the plans for the week.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Garfield agreed. “I wish we had some of those little pie things from the party. “

  “The fridge is full of them,” Toby assured her. “Since things wound down unexpectedly early last night, there’s a lot of leftovers.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Lead the way.”

  After they were well fortified, Melba took a seat at the big table and opened the file.

  “Vassily Grokov was born in 1944 in Russia, right after the end of the second World War. His father was Russian, and his mother was Greek. His sister, Jocasta was born about six years later. There isn’t a lot of information available about his early years—at last not to us.” She glanced meaningfully at Edmondson, who chose not to comment. “He entered the States in 1969,” she continued, “on some kind of business visa. He apparently decided he liked it here, because he never went back.”

  “He defected?”

  “I don’t know, Agent Garfield. I suppose it’s possible, and it might make sense. However, he didn’t have any trouble bringing Jocasta over a few years later. I’d think if he’d defected without his government’s permission, there would’ve been difficulties with that. Instead, it looks like everything was smooth sailing.”

  “That’s mighty interesting. The Cold War was still going strong.”

  “Yes, I wondered about that too. It seems clear there was some reason the Russians were willing to let him settle here.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her last comment captured Edmondson’s interest. He pulled out his phone and began typing. “Anyway, he was involved in several business ventures around that time, involving real estate and development—mostly small, commercial stuff. The projects gradually grew larger, and he became quite successful in a relatively short amount of time. The interesting thing is, I wasn’t able to uncover where his funding came from. Even though his first efforts were mostly small shopping centers and office parks, we’re still talking about the need for several millions of dollars. There’s not a single record of a bank loan, or any indication of public investors. I guess he could have had private investors, but there should still be a money trail of some sort, even if it’s muddled.”

  “Any criminal record?” Garfield asked.

  “No, other than one charge of racketeering, which was later dismissed. There was also some issue with customs in the early nineties, but that seems to have been resolved. In fact, there aren’t even any records of civil suits making it to trial, which I think is really odd.”

  “Why is that strange?”

  “Good question, Toby. I didn’t notice it at first, but then I started thinking about how he made his money. It’s unusual because of the nature of his business. Contractors and developers seem to become involved in more than their fair share of lawsuits. Failure to meet agreed schedules, faulty workmanship, liens, and failure to pay for equipment or supplies are common complaints. When I dug around to find something like that involving Vassily Grokov, I came up empty handed. Zip. Ziltch. Nada. Not a single civil suit has made it to court.”

  Edmondson looked up from his phone. “Did you find record of any complaints?”

  “Yes, I did. It took some digging, and all I can say is, I’m thankful for whoever decided back issues of newspapers needed to be digitized and indexed. I was able to track down about two dozen complaints, filed in various counties in Georgia, Florida, Louisiana, the Carolinas—both here and our neighbor to the north—and Tennessee. Apparently, they were all settled.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes. I made a list of the individuals and companies who filed, but I haven’t had time to do any more digging. But…”

  “You have a suspicion he strong-armed them.”

  “Yes, Agent Edmondson. Either that, or he paid them off.”

  “Okay. I guess it’s a possibility. Probably a good one. What else did you find?”

  “Not much. Grokov doesn’t like publicity. There are very few articles about him and the only interviews are about his nephew, Jake Anthony, and how happy Grokov was to support him in the early years. Basic family stuff. Other than that, the only item of note is the current range of his business empire. It’s pretty impressive, although the focus is on small projects, some transport ser
vices, and substantial real estate holdings in various mid-sized cities.”

  “Like this one.”

  “Exactly, Toby. He has several properties here. A few key locations downtown, and some in the northern and eastern parts. He owns most of the block where his niece’s theatre is located. All of it, in fact, except for the corner building, which is owned by Zhou Li.”

  Toby nodded. “That’s right, I remember he said something about wanting to buy it.”

  “Yes, he did. And she said she’d never sell to him. As a matter of fact—”

  The knock on the door interrupted her train of thought.

  “Melba, I’m sorry to bother you,” SarahJune apologized when she stuck her head in the door. “But there’s a Joel Phillips to see you. He said Lindsi sent him over here.”

  “Lindsi?”

  “Yes. She’s watching Green Dragon this morning.”

  “Okay, I guess I’d better find out what he wants, although I’m not sure why she sent him over here. I don’t even know who he is.” She excused herself and followed SarahJune to the reception area. The minute she saw who was waiting, she recognized him as Zhou Li’s contractor. She quickly pushed the mental image of his sagging britches and the inch or so of butt crack from her mind.

  “Mr. Phillips. Good morning. I understand Lindsi sent you over?”

  “Yes, she did. I need to talk to Madame Zhou, but the young lady behind the counter told me she was in the hospital. She sent me here when I told her it was an emergency.”

  “I’m not sure I can help. Can it wait until Madame Zhou’s back? I think she’ll be released tomorrow.”

  “I wish it could. You see, there’s an army of city inspectors crawling all over the job. They arrived bright and early this morning, and they shut me down just a while ago. Said there were big problems with the electrical wiring and they found some trouble with the foundation. I think it’s all bull, since the fella’ I usually work with already did a thorough inspection. I pulled the paperwork, but they said there’d been a mistake, and he’d missed some things.”