“Make sure that the chain of evidence begins and ends with NYPD. I don’t mind if Zugg observes, but I don’t want to get any flack from Shearson.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Ambler said. “Zugg’ll just watch while the boys in blue do the heavy lifting.”
“I’m honestly more concerned with the second bedroom, the empty one. We already know what happened in John Doe’s room. I’d like to know if Paul Liu was the occupant of the other room.”
“Our perp didn’t exactly do a meticulous job of cleaning up before he left,” Lido said. “The lab boys will be at it for days.”
“Our perp got the hell out of there the moment he realized that Doe had escaped. Hard as it is to believe, I will tell you that I’m encouraged by what I saw up there. It looked like the other room was a holding room. I’m hoping that Paul Liu was waiting on deck in the other room until the perp was finished with Doe; never expecting him to escape.”
“He got sloppy,” Ambler said.
“If that’s the case, Liu may still be in decent condition. Let’s hope so.”
“The question is where has he been moved to?” Lido asked.
Ambler put his big paw on Gus’ shoulder. “This is where the rubber meets the road, my friend. We’ll find him. This case may be among the strangest I’ve come across, but our perp doesn’t strike me as one of the brightest.”
Lip scum, (snicker) Lipscomb clip-clopped down the stairs behind us. “Whoopsie on the second floor—it’s an office and bathroom, leased to the restaurant. Now they need a new door. The restaurant manager arrived just a couple of minutes too late—he’s in a really bad mood. You’d think they would’ve said something in the restaurant before we provided permanent air conditioning.”
“Maybe you didn’t notice, but the morning staff doesn’t speak much English. They’re mainly here for set up and deliveries.”
“Right,” Lipscomb said. “That’s why you’ve got the gold badge and I handle the battering ram.” He tipped his cap at me. “Give me a call, Chalice, let’s catch up on old times.”
Can’t wait. “I’ll do that. Take care.”
I waited until Lipscomb was out of earshot. “Hear that,” I said to Lido. “He wants to catch up on old times. You know what that means?”
“Sure, the knuckle dragger wants to invite you out for a case of Budweiser, to tearfully reminisce about your days in the academy while he makes a booty call. I don’t see how you can resist.”
“I hear steroids aren’t too good for the old braciole,” Ambler quipped.
Lido and I snorted. It wasn’t the kind of joke you’d expect from Ambler. He really caught us off guard. I was going to follow up with a comment about Lido’s braciole, but my off color praise for Lido’s manhood was preempted by an irate Oriental man, shouting what I imagined to be obscenities as his little feet scrambled down the stairs. I’m not kidding. He had the smallest feet I’d ever seen.
“What you do?” he ranted, coming toe to toes with the three of us. “You break down door. What you do?”
“We’re sorry about that, Mr.—”
“Pakpao, Pakpao, why you break down door?”
“We’re sorry, Mr. Pakpao. Are you the manager?”
“Yes, manager. Why you break down door?”
“We believe the upstairs apartments may have been used in the commission of a crime.”
“Upstairs? No one live upstairs. Why you break down door?”
The first question I was going to ask my incensed friend was, who lived on the third floor—now I didn’t have to. “You say that no one lives on the third floor? You’re sure of this?”
“Never see anyone go in or out. You still not answering question—why you break down door?”
“It was part of our investigation,” Ambler said. “Your staff didn’t indicate that the second floor space was your office. As the detective said, we’re very sorry. The City of New York will compensate you for the broken door—save your receipt.”
Pakpao seemed to calm down after hearing that he wasn’t going to have to eat the cost of replacing his office door. He turned to me and just sort of looked me all up and down. “This lady is cop? Lawan kanya. You like Thai food? You come back, Pakpao make you special dish: oysters in fiery rice with long black mushroom.”
There was absolutely nothing lost in translation. I didn’t need an introduction to Thai cooking to know that Pakpao was offering me the cultural equivalent of Spanish fly—I’m surprised he didn’t intend to enhance the recipe with rhino horn. Part of me wanted to tell him off in no uncertain terms, but the man wasn’t worthy of the effort. It was better to ignore his inept attempt at seduction and redirect his thoughts from yours truly back to the case at hand. “Are you the landlord?”
“Landlord? No.”
“Who is the space leased from?” Lido asked.
“Atlas Management.”
I was familiar with the name. Atlas was a large commercial real estate management company in the city. They handled hundreds of buildings and likely had never met the party that actually owned the building, nor had any of their current employees met the tenant of the third floor torture chamber—the place had a reputation for being a revolving door. I was hoping that the owner handled the building on his own and knew his tenants personally. Alas, this was a break we were not about to catch. “Mr. Pakpao, do you have any idea how the upstairs window got broken or how the gutter got torn away from the building?”
“Sure I know; kids. The fucking kids do it. American children have no respect. I point them out for you.”
I doubted Pakpao was even remotely close to the correct answer. We already knew within reasonable doubt that John Doe had broken the upstairs window in order to escape from his bedroom-cum-torture chamber, and likely tore the gutter away in his attempt to get down onto the ground. The crime lab would likely confirm our suspicions in short order. “I take it you’re not the restaurant’s owner. You’re not the one who established the relationship with Atlas, are you?”
“No. Owner live in Bangkok. He not come here much.” Pakpao sneezed and pulled a well used handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe his nose. “Excuse, I have running on the nose.” Apparently Mr. Pakpao had never been to Berlitz.
Bangkok, the name of the Thai city rang out to me like a position out of the Karma Sutra. From what I understood, it all began back in the sixties, when the Thai government agreed to provide rest and relaxation facilities for American soldiers during the Vietnam War. What was supposed to be R & R quickly became known as I & I, intercourse and intoxication. Today, almost ten percent of Bangkok’s women are prostitutes. Sadly, life in many Third World countries held little promise for impoverished women. As much as we have to gripe about in the states, we’re still head and shoulders above most of the world in terms of rights, liberty, and opportunity. As Dorothy so aptly said in the Wizard of Oz, “There’s no place like home.”
“So, when you coming back for dinner? You bring your girlfriends. Pakpao make you feast.”
Thank God I had taken a mental oath not to accept any more dinner invitations or offers to participate in meaningless group sex, thinly disguised as an invitation to an Oriental buffet. “I’ll have to take a rain check, Mr. Pakpao, I’m on a very strict diet.” It didn’t include long black mushrooms or sleazy Asian men. Lido was snickering and Ambler was fighting to divert his eyes—they knew exactly what was going on.
My refusal must have turned Pakpao off. Just as well, he was about as useful as a rabbi on a pig farm. He shook his head with disappointment. “How Pakpao get money back for door?”
“We’ll leave you the information,” Lido said. With that, Pakpao threw his hands up in the air and stormed off into the restaurant.
“I thought he’d never give up.”
“Don’t sweat it, Chalice,” Ambler said, wiggling his pinkie. “I hear Asian men aren’t much in the braciole department either.”
We enjoyed a sorely needed laugh, and then I heard an unexpected sound. I
t started as an odd sounding murmur, but quickly grew into a diffuse and very loud noise. What Asian men may or may not have lacked on an individual basis, they more than made up for in number. Coming towards us was an angry mob of Orientals.
Twenty-Seven
I quickly called for reinforcements. The gathering mob looked to be several hundred strong. For what reason they had assembled was not yet clear. One thing for certain, they were heading directly for us and they did not look happy.
So far, The Nine Circles Restaurant had lived fully to its implied reputation. Nothing good had happened here. It had been the scene of a heinous crime, a place where John Doe had been abused and tortured. It may have been the place where Paul Liu had been held captive and where Kevin Lee may have been murdered and decapitated. All this from a place that was renowned for its Pad Thai noodles and spicy nam prik. I’m talking about a dish made with chili sauce, not Mr. Pakpao.
“What the hell is this?” Ambler asked.
Ambler’s question was rhetorical. I only hoped that reinforcements arrived in time, with lots of barricades in tow. Lido rushed into the restaurant to redirect the activities of all the available cops inside—they were hitting the street one by one, ready to take on the angry mob.
“You got any idea what we’re up against?” Lipscomb asked.
“Haven’t got a clue. Have your men form a line in front of the restaurant. Let’s try to keep the mob at bay until reinforcements arrive.”
“You called it in?” Lipscomb asked.
I nodded. You bet your steroid pumped up ass I did.
The mob was about a block away when a Mercedes sedan came around the corner on two wheels and pulled to an abrupt stop in front of us. The windows were tinted, but the diplomatic plates were a giveaway. A well-groomed Chinese man sprang from the back seat.
Ambler ID’d him immediately. “That’s R. C. Liu, Paul Liu’s father.” A second oriental man with a goatee and scarred cheek emerged from the rear passenger door and hastened after Liu.
The Chinese ambassador strode briskly up to Ambler, ignoring the forming police line. I wasn’t sure how he had learned about this development so quickly. Men with Liu’s power enjoy several channels of communication. His accent was British and his diction was impeccable. He had undoubtedly been educated in London. “Ambler, I understand there’s finally been a development in my son’s case.” You could see that the man was full of himself.
God bless Ambler. The man didn’t know the meaning of the word intimidation. He glanced at the assembling mob, which was already uncomfortably close. “There seems to be an angry mob behind you, Mr. Ambassador. I certainly hope you know nothing about it.”
Liu glanced back, regarding the mob as he would a gnat that had landed on his shoulder. He pointed at the crowd. In an instant, the scarred man had turned and was moving toward the crowd, shouting at them in Chinese. They stopped immediately. It was as if we were watching a film and the director had frozen the frame.
“Thank you, Mr. Ambassador,” Ambler continued. “We’ve found a crime scene, nothing more. It’s too early to know if there’s a tie in to your son’s case.”
“I understand that this is where the unidentified man escaped from, the one that was found with Kevin Lee’s skull. I’d like to take a look.” Without waiting for a response, Liu snapped his fingers. The man with the scarred cheek turned away from the crowd and walked briskly toward the apartment’s entrance.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mr. Ambassador.” I gave Lipscomb a head nod. In an instant he and two other officers had blocked the man’s entrance.”
“Who is this?” Liu asked without diverting his gaze from Ambler.
“Detective Stephanie Chalice, Mr. Ambassador. We’re in the process of collecting forensic evidence from the crime scene. I’m afraid it’s not possible for you or your colleague to go inside.”
Ambler grinned, happy to see that I could stand up for myself.
I had heard that women are thought of as subservient in the Far East. Liu turned to me with a forced smile on his face. He was, however, unable to disguise his sentiment. He was looking at me in the same manner that he had regarded the crowd, as if I were an insect, barely worthy of his attention. “Detective Chalice, I have been quite patient up to now. Certainly you would not expect a father to stand idly by when he is perfectly capable of assisting in his son’s rescue.”
I had no doubt that Liu had access to New York’s Chinese underworld and not been as patient as he implied. The fact that he had not interfered until now made me reasonably certain that his sources had thus far come up empty. “We’re on the same page, Mr. Ambassador. Allowing your men to trample our crime scene would only hinder our investigation and possibly invalidate evidence. With all due respect, I ask you not to interfere at this important juncture. We’ll report to you immediately, the moment we have news.”
“I have to agree with the detective, Mr. Ambassador. Please give us the opportunity to do our job. Your son’s safe return is our first and only priority.” Ambler’s voice was a controlled blend of authority and humility. “We have our very best men investigating the crime scene right now—interfering will only delay the resolution of this very important case.”
Liu was momentarily silent. I could almost see him counting in his head as if making a conscious effort to make a patient and wise decision. He turned to me. “I have only one son, Detective Chalice. He is everything to me. I will give you this singular opportunity to follow protocol in the hope that you will have good news for me shortly. I trust you will not disappoint me.” He didn’t wait for a response. He turned back toward the car. His associate raced back, closed the door for Liu and then hurried to the other side of the car and got in himself.
The Ambassador’s car turned and rolled slowly toward the crowd, which was silent, waiting for instructions. Liu rolled his window down and spoke to the crowd in Chinese. His car screeched away. Within seconds, the crowd began to disperse.
“You did well,” Ambler said. “He spoke to you directly.”
“Forgive me if I’m not impressed.”
“Chinese men at his level rarely recognize or have respect for women. The fact that he recognized you and accepted your advice is huge.”
“He played ball because we’ve got the power. Despite his lofty position and access to information of every variety, he’s been unable to find his son on his own. Trust me, he did what he did out of need.”
“It’s all the same to me. Who do you think tipped him off about this place?” Ambler said.
“I wouldn’t hazard a guess at this point. A man with that kind of influence can find out just about anything he wants to.”
“I just hope Zugg finds something useful in that pile of crap upstairs,” Ambler said.
“Me too, my friend. Me too.”
Twenty-Eight
I checked my watch. It was a Bulgari by the way, a very extravagant present from Gus. It was nearly 8:00 a.m. and I was quickly running out of steam. We had survived a very interesting night. Although inconclusive, we had likely found our perp’s lair, and if we were lucky, clues that would lead us to Paul Liu before he followed the same grisly path out of this world taken by his friend Kevin Lee.
Ambler had gone back to Bureau headquarters and Lido was taking a short break. I was sipping on a Starbuck’s double espresso. Don’t ask—you know the reason why. I was making a notation in my notebook when Zugg emerged from the building. “Got a minute?” He looked worn, but I could see on his face that he was on to something. I gulped down the espresso and tossed the cup in the trash—we all have to do our bit to keep the Big Apple bright and shiny.
“Sure. What’s up?” It was a clear morning with a light breeze. We began to stroll—I think we both needed the fresh air.
“We checked the apartment from top to bottom. There’s no doubt in my mind that the lab will confirm our beliefs about the case. Everything’s on its way back to the NYPD crime lab now.”
�
��Super job, Dr. Zugg. How are you holding up?”
“I’m exhausted, but exhaustion is good. With any luck, I’ll be too tired and too distracted to do anything but pass out when my head hits the pillow tonight.”
Zugg gave me a weary smile. Please God, I prayed, give this man a reprieve. I had become quite a spontaneous prayer during my father’s fight against diabetes and often rattled off a quick blessing—it couldn’t hurt. “I really hope so.”
Zugg pulled a plastic vial from his pocket. It contained a bug. I knew exactly what it was. “Have you ever seen Dermestes Maculatus in the flesh?”
Zugg’s double entendre didn’t go unappreciated. “I’ve seen them eating through flesh, rotted flesh to be exact. Those are the critters they use to clean bones. I got a crash course at the FBI crime lab.”
“I see they’ve left an impression. I found about a dozen of them in the upstairs apartment.”
“So you think it’s possible that Kevin Lee’s skull was cleaned in the upstairs apartment?”
“I’m not sure. It’s a small apartment, and I don’t know where they’d house the bug-cleaning tank. They’re very adept at escape. I think I’d have found a great many more had they been physically housed in that apartment. Moreover, Dermestes Maculates need to eat all the time. If they’re not busy cleaning bones, you have to feed them scraps of rotten flesh or they’ll die. I didn’t find any evidence of rotted flesh in the upstairs apartment.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“The skull may have been cleaned nearby or the beetles might simply have been transported back to the apartment on someone’s clothing. Dermestes love wool, cotton, and hemp. They’re worse than moths.”
I made a mental note to strip in the hall before I returned home to my apartment. God forbid they got into my closet and made a meal out of my Roberto Cavalli jeans—suicide would not be out of the question. “Not to mention the Thai restaurant downstairs. Who knows what they’re cooking in that kitchen.”
Zugg smiled. “You joke, but the point’s a good one. All restaurants have garbage and scraps; enough I’m sure to maintain a small population of carrion feeders. Aside from which, insects are a staple of the Thai diet. I’ve been all over the Far East. The first time I was in Chiang Mai, I was served what I thought was a dish of French fries. I ate a few before I realized my French fries had eyes.”
The Brain Vault (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 3) Page 12