by J. D. Robb
“Looked like he connected,” Peabody said as they cleared the barricade.
“Barely.” Still, Eve wiggled her jaw side to side. Barely, she thought, could still hurt like a bitch.
15
Strong stepped up to the alley entrance.
“Family-owned restaurant, residence in the apartment above. Suzan Ho, female head of household, came down with some recyclables, found the body behind the container, does the screaming thing. Neighbor in the apartment across the alley—Mae-Ling Jacobs—pokes her head out the window, sees the situation, calls in the nine-one-one. Responders checked the prints, ID’d the DOB, secured the scene.”
From the mouth of the alley, Eve took a quick scan. “Ho might be a fairly common name, but it’s not going to be a coincidence the body was dumped in this particular alley. Jones kept banging about Fan Ho—Dragon leader.”
“You’d be right. I haven’t dealt with him myself, but I know the name. I’m pretty sure this is his family’s restaurant.”
They walked as they talked until Eve stopped by the body, one somebody had attempted, poorly, to conceal behind the commercial recycle unit.
On a tangled sheet of blood-smeared plastic, Aimes lay faceup, mouth open as if expressing surprise to find himself dead in a Chinatown alley. Blood from the deep gash across his throat had soaked through and dried over the grinning skull on his T-shirt.
“No spatter, no blood pool on the plastic,” Eve noted. “They killed him somewhere else, half-assed wrapped him in the sheet, dumped him here.”
Beside her, Peabody nodded. “It looks like they more or less rolled him behind the recycler, so he rolled out of the plastic.”
In a hurry, Eve thought, and getting the body here was the main thing.
“Strong, you take Ho, Peabody take Jacobs. I’ve got the body. Peabody, get some uniforms to start a canvass. They had to have transpo to get a DB the size of this one from the kill site. And find out when the restaurant closed last night—the last time anyone used this recycle unit. Strong, notify the sweepers, the dead wagon.”
Recorder on, Eve sealed up, then crouched down to verify the identification. For the record, she read off his data, the location, the names of the witnesses.
She slipped on microgoggles to examine the wound. “A deep slice, no visible hesitation marks. The absence of spatter and blood at the scene indicates this isn’t where the victim died. Dump site. The victim has bruising on his knuckles, some swelling. It looks at least a day old to me. ME to confirm. My take is the bruising’s from beating on Dinnie Duff.”
Methodically, she searched his pockets, came up empty. He still had his shoes, she noted, but they were torn, worn, and worthless.
“Pierced left ear, but no ring in it. Big guy like this? Big, tough guy, he’d have put up a fight if he knew it was coming. Angle of the wound indicates the attack came from the front. If he was facing his attacker, he knew him, didn’t feel threatened. And where’s his sticker? He’d have had one.”
She took out her gauge, got a reading. “TOD one-fifteen. So you didn’t run, did you, Barry? I bet you hunkered down, got stoned. Maybe did some bragging on bagging a couple of kills. Maybe made some demands. So you had to go. Dump site’s deliberate, right on the Dragon leader’s doorstep. Because they’re idiots,” she said in disgust. “And they think we’ll look local for the killers.”
Easier places to make the dump, even if you wanted to point the finger at a rival gang. But somebody wanted to go for the top.
She sat back on her heels, closed her eyes, and imagined it.
“Attack from the front. Maybe, just maybe, a partner moving in from behind to get a grip, hold him still for a few seconds. It only takes a few seconds.
“Did they already have the plastic, already have it worked out, or was it of the moment? Doesn’t matter to you, does it, Barry?” she said, looking down at the young, empty face.
“Roll him onto the sheet, wrap him up because you’re going to transfer him to a vehicle, and you don’t bother with that if you’re going to boost one.”
She straightened up. “No, you had access to a vehicle, and didn’t want to get blood in the back of the truck, the van, in the trunk of the car. You had brains enough for that.”
Calling over a couple of uniforms to help her turn the body, she finished her exam. As she packed up her kit, Strong came back.
“Ms. Jacobs and Ms. Ho are friends, and Jacobs works in the restaurant. So does her teenage son, on weekends. She’d gotten her kids—three—off to school, her husband had already left for work. He’s a medical tech. She heard the screams, ran to the window, saw Ho, saw the body. She said she called out to Ho to go inside, that she was calling the police. Timing jibes.
“She worked last night until ten, but says the rest of the staff—the cleanup—would clock out about eleven. She and her husband went to bed by midnight, and her three kids were home and tucked in.”
Strong looked up at the window, gauged the distance to the body.
“Jacobs thinks she heard some people arguing in the alley and some rattling around, but isn’t sure of the time. She thinks it was around two, but she was half-asleep and can’t say for sure.”
“Okay.”
“I asked her about gang activity. There’s where she got evasive. She made a point of saying how her son—the one who works at the restaurant—is studying to be a doctor. How he’s never been in trouble. Neither have her two girls—ages fourteen and eleven. But there was something.”
“Yeah, there’s something, since she’s friends with and works for Fan Ho’s mother. Let’s see what Peabody’s got.”
They badged through the alley door, started up to the apartment.
“I did a quick run on Jacobs’s son, and he’s clean.”
“It’s going to be the restaurant. That’s the tie-in.”
She rapped on the door. When it opened, she saw the tie-in face-to-face.
She put him early twenties. Strongly built, dark, hard eyes in an action-vid-star’s face. He wore his hair in a single short braid. A red-and-gold dragon tat breathed fire on his right biceps.
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Strong.” She held up her badge. “Are you a member of the household?”
“Fan Ho. A lot of cops to talk to a woman, already shaken, about a body in the alley.”
“How about I talk to you instead?”
He shrugged, dismissive. “The other girl cop’s in the kitchen, pushing at my mother and grandparents, who came to be with her. They live across the hall.”
Eve glanced at the facing apartment. “Anyone else over there now?”
“No.”
“Why don’t we move in there? Detective Strong, you can join Detective Peabody, let her know I’m getting Mr. Ho’s statement in his grandparents’ apartment.”
“Yes, sir.” And as she understood the unstated, Strong took out her PPC as she walked back and began the run.
Ho crossed the hall, tapped numbers into a lock pad, opened the door.
Inside, the apartment smelled of herbs and flowers, and held a quiet order and serenity despite its bold colors, shimmers of gold.
Other than the bold, the decor ran to family photos and a collection of statues of the smiling, big-bellied god she recognized as Buddha.
Ho dropped onto a red-and-gold couch, swiped a hand in the air by way of invitation.
“I already told the other cop I was sleeping. My room’s on the other side of the apartment. I didn’t hear anything until my mother came running in. She woke me up, told me somebody was dead in the alley.”
“And what did you do?”
“I got up, went to the kitchen, leaned out the window to look. It wasn’t anybody I knew, so nothing to do with me. I made her some tea because she was upset. That’s it.”
“Do you work in your family’s restaurant?”
The shrug again. “I pitch in sometimes. It’s not my deal.”
“Where were you this morning between midnight and three
A.M.?”
“Home for most of it. I was out with friends for a while, got home about twelve-thirty, one o’clock. My father was still up, working on taxes or something.”
His tone, clipped, told her he’d talked to cops often enough to know not to elaborate, to give just enough information to cover.
But under it, she read a simmering fury. Someone had brought cops to his door. He didn’t strike her as the type to let the insult pass.
“Did you see anyone?” she began, already knowing how he’d answer. “Anyone around the building?”
“Didn’t see anything, don’t know anything. Is that it?”
“No. What’s your position within the Dragons?”
He leaned back, crossed his leg over his knee. “Who said I have one?”
“So you’re ashamed or afraid to admit your affiliation.”
That got a rise. His eyes fired—killing lights. “Do I look afraid of some cop with tits?”
“Ashamed then of the trouble and dishonor you bring to your family.”
He surged to his feet, and she to hers. Those killing lights flared as he shifted toward a fighting stance.
“It would be a mistake to take me on in your grandparents’ apartment. And your mother’s already upset. I’d hate to tell her I had to haul her son into a cage.”
“You?” He barked out a laugh. “I could get that stunner away from you in two seconds, give you a good jolt with it.”
With her gaze cool against his heat, Eve placed her right fist into her left palm in Bao Quan Li before shifting her own body. “Try, and we’ll finish this conversation at Central.”
She could feel it vibrating from him—the need, almost a lust, to come at her, to cause pain. To win even though, perhaps because, he knew she baited him.
Then he dropped down again, flicked his fingers. “You’re not worth it.”
Some control then, she decided. And maybe some respect for his grandparents, his mother. More, he was more angry and upset about the body on his doorstep than he wanted to show.
“If you looked out the window, as you stated, unless there’s something wrong with your eyes, you saw the Banger tat on the body. And unless you’re an idiot, you knew cops would question you about your gang affiliation, your whereabouts, and whether or not you knew the victim.”
“So you think I killed some Banger trash, then left him where my mother would fucking trip over him? Where it would bring cops to the door?”
“No.”
His eyes sharpened at that, looking for a lie, a ploy.
“I think you know about the body left in the neutral zone, and if you were going to retaliate for that offense, you’d have left a message on Banger turf. Somebody wants you to do just that, and light the fuse that starts a war.”
“Bangers want war, they’ll get one.”
This one and Jones, she thought, same mold.
“I didn’t say Bangers want war. I said somebody. And if you’re stupid enough to take the bait, you’re giving him what he wants. And your family will grieve.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I bet you’ve got cousins, friends with mothers. And there’s a restaurant downstairs that could be a target if you let it go that far. You? I don’t give a rat’s ass about you, but I do about the people who’d get caught up in the violence, and you ought to care what it’ll do to your rep, to your profit margin, to your family’s safety if you light the fuse somebody else primed.”
“Dragons breathe fire.” He tapped a finger on his gang tat. “They disrespected my family.”
“Deliberately. Let it get under your skin, the blood’s going to wash over you, and your family. Let me do my job, and whoever wants that blood will be in a cage.”
“Your job?” He tried for mocking, but the rage won. “You mean nothing here. Whoever wants blood will see their own spill.”
She walked to the door, paused. “I’m not interested in you, today. But sooner or later you’ll come across my screen. If it’s not because you’re already in the morgue, I’ll end up putting you in a cage.”
She walked out, once again knocked on the door across the hall. And wondered how long it would be before she knocked on it to give Fan Ho’s family notification.
* * *
“They’re a nice family, Dallas.” As they drove back to Central, Peabody stared out the passenger window. “Kind, loving, hardworking. It shines through. And I know in my gut, the mother’s first fear when she saw the body was her son had done it. She’s afraid for him, that shines through, too. You have to wonder why he chose the life he has when he comes from such solid people.”
“That’s a Mira question. What I can tell you is, while he didn’t kill Aimes, if he had, it wouldn’t be his first.”
“His given name’s George,” Strong supplied. “He uses Fan, which means lethal in Chinese. Trouble started with him, on record, pretty early. Truancy, destruction of property, fighting. He went after a teacher, laid her out right in class. He was eleven.”
Unsurprised, Eve nodded. “You don’t have to be Mira to see that while he probably loves his mother, his grandmother, outside of family he doesn’t think much of women, and sure as hell doesn’t respect any in authority.”
“No illegals charges,” Strong continued, “nothing on possession, use, distribution, which might be why he hasn’t come across my screen. His sheet lists him as the captain of the Dragons. He did his time as a minor, and since then he’s been pulled in on charges—and slipped the knots of them.”
“He hates cops,” Eve added. “Big surprise. Doesn’t think much of women as actual human beings, and considers Bangers trash. He has a whole pot full of rage, but he does have some control. We’ll hope he uses it while we shut this down.”
“He was born in New York—his parents and grandparents were born here, too. But I’ve got a report here. He has a sister. It’s believed she was seeing some guy she met in school, Hugh Lanigan, non-Chinese. The guy gets jumped one night after taking the sister home. Broken jaw, broken arm—football quarterback who’ll never spiral a ball again. Can’t or won’t identify his attacker. But he broke things off with the sister, finished out his senior year—online.”
“How long ago?” Eve asked as she pulled into the garage.
“Three years. The kid lost a football scholarship. He’s in college in Miami. The sister’s in college in Seattle.”
“Three years and a few thousand miles might be enough,” Eve considered. “Why don’t you talk to him, see if his memory’s cleared? Fan Ho needs to be locked away.”
“Wouldn’t that be sweet?”
“Peabody and I will go at Cohen again. Let’s see if he managed to find a lawyer, and if another dead body shakes him any.”
“Can I use a bullpen desk?” Strong asked Peabody as they walked to the elevator. “I’ll see if I can persuade the sister’s ex to cooperate.”
“I’ll set you up.”
“Is Vending on your level as bad as ours?”
“At least.”
Strong sighed, stepped into the elevator. “Oh well. I’ll risk it.”
“Write this up, Peabody. I need to talk to Reo, update the board.”
Once on Homicide level, Strong scowled at Vending and Eve swung into her office to reach out to Reo.
“I’m still in the house,” Reo told her. “I’ll come to you.”
While she waited, Eve added the new crime scene shots, pinned on Fan Ho’s ID shot, the witnesses.
“Coffee, please,” Reo said as she walked in, and Eve held up two fingers.
“Does your DB relate to the others?”
“He was part of the team who killed Pickering and Duff. They dumped him in the alley behind the family restaurant and residence of the captain of the Dragons.”
“Not even subtle.” Reo passed Eve the coffee and, knowing the dangers of the visitor’s chair, sat at the desk. “Cohen hired an attorney, who came in to speak to his client. Quit in very short order. Cohen’s now back
to being a fool and representing himself.”
“Should make the job easier. Feds?”
“My powers of persuasion?” Reo fluffed at her already fluffy hair. “Are awesome. In addition to that, after some mumbling and claim staking, they liked your plan. Didn’t love, but liked. My awesome powers turned the tide.”
“They’ll leave Eldena Vinn out of it?”
Reo smiled. “Powers of persuasion. Awesome. She’ll have to testify, but I’ve already had a talk with her lawyer. She’s not only willing, she’s eager. Agents should be, as we speak, at her place getting her statement, confiscating Cohen’s electronics and records.”
“Good. That keeps them busy while I lay a third body at Cohen’s feet. This guy?” She tapped Aimes’s photo on the board. “He murdered two people, participated in the brutal beating and gang rape of the woman who assisted in the first murder. He had her earrings, with her blood still on them from where he ripped them out of her ears, in a purse he stole from Rochelle’s closet after murdering her brother.”
Eve looked at Aimes—defiant young face in his ID shot, dead and drained at the dump site. “Lab’s confirmed Duff’s blood and tissue on the earrings. We’d have put him away for the rest of his life. Now he’ll never see eighteen.”
Hissing out a breath, Eve rubbed the back of her neck. “And now I’ve got to send cops and a grief counselor out to the fricking Sky Mall to notify his mother because I didn’t scoop him up, lock him up, before somebody slit his throat.”
“Are you looking at Jones for that?”
“If Jones found out Aimes went around him to kill Pickering and Duff, he’d execute Aimes. But I don’t see him ordering the body dumped at the back door of a Dragon captain.”
She gestured with her coffee. “Jones is a fake. Sure, he’s beating the Banger drum—but he’s cheating his fellow gang members while he’s at it. Banking profits, going into a partnership outside the group to make more. For himself. He doesn’t want attention focused on him, and sloppy murders tend to do just that.”