Mandarin Yellow (Socrates Cheng mysteries)

by Steven M. Roth

  The implication of this was clear to Socrates. This effectively brings an end to my participation, he thought. No matter what else happens, the stolen objects will be tagged as evidence and left sitting in lockdown in the 2D’s Evidence Control Branch. The stolen objects will not be in the exhibit when it opens next week. Socrates took a deep breath and reflected on the futility of all his efforts. So much for restoring Bing-fa’s face and earning my way into his good graces. I’ll have to break the bad news to Jade.

  “What about Eldest Brother?” Socrates said. “You said you picked him up?”

  “Of course we did. And we questioned him and eventually cut him loose. He had nothing to say to us and we didn’t have enough to hold him. Just your general allegations.”

  Socrates frowned. That didn’t make sense. “My statements weren’t too general, Detective. You were able to get a warrant with them,” he said. “Eldest Brother is involved all right. He pulled the strings and manipulated the Twins.” Socrates waited for Harte to say something, but Harte didn’t respond.

  “You should’ve held on to him, Detective. Now you’ll probably lose him too.” Even as he said this, Socrates realized he probably had just overreached with the detective.

  Silence hovered between them for almost half a minute.

  Harte finally broke the silence. “Listen, Cheng, unless you know something we should know, something you held back, I don’t appreciate your attitude, and that includes you lecturing me.” Harte waited a few seconds for Socrates to confess that he’d held back information. Then he said, “Do you?”

  “Do I what, Detective?”

  “Know something else we should know, something you should have spilled before?”

  “No, Detective, I don’t. I wish I did.”

  “If you want us to pick him up again, that older brother, and be able to hold him this time, I need something concrete we can take to a judge.”

  “Okay,” Socrates said. “How’s this for concrete? Bing-wu threatened me, more than once, said I’d be sorry if I continued my role in the investigation. I think he even left me a threatening note the first time he broke into my home, before I was attacked on 19th Street. I still have the note.”

  Socrates expected Harte to congratulate him for offering the evidence the police needed to go out again and take Eldest Brother back into custody. Instead, Harte said nothing. After ten seconds of strained silence, Socrates said, “It wasn’t my imagination, Detective. Those were threats he made. And the note’s real. He’s probably also the guy who assaulted me and pinned the catalog cover to me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the one who murdered my friend.”

  Socrates paused again to let Harte respond. When the detective still didn’t say anything, Socrates said into his cell, “That should be enough for you, shouldn’t it, enough to pick him up and hold him this time?”

  “When did this break-in happen?” Harte asked.

  Socrates brought Harte up to date. He admitted, when pressed by the detective, that he hadn’t filed a police report with respect to the first break-in and that he had no proof Eldest Brother was responsible for either break-in or for the note or catalog without its cover, just his suspicion. He also admitted it might have been the Triad, not Eldest Brother, but in that case, Socrates insisted, the Triad likely was acting under Eldest Brother’s orders.

  When Socrates finished, Harte said, “It would’ve helped if I’d known this before we picked him up the first time.” Harte clearly was annoyed. “Are you prepared to swear out a formal complaint against him? Or are you just blowing smoke up my ass again?”

  When Socrates didn’t answer, Harte said, “These are serious allegations, Cheng, if they’re true. Don’t waste my time with just your word against his. Were there witnesses?”

  “His sister, Jade Li, saw the note and she was there when he threatened me at her condo.” He paused, then said, “I’ll swear out a complaint, if you think it’ll help.”

  Socrates didn’t want to file a formal complaint if he could avoid it. Having Eldest Brother arrested based on his formal arrest complaint would not sit well with Jade or Bing-fa. On the other hand, agreeing to file a complaint could have some immediate collateral benefits for him with the cops, and that was a sufficient reason for him to seem to agree to do it even if he had no intention of following through.

  “Come back to the 2D, Cheng. We’ll do the paperwork,” Harte said. “Then we’ll bring this Wu character back in for some specific questioning.”

  “Actually, Detective, it’s ‘Li, not Wu,” Socrates said. “Wu is part of his first name, Bing-wu, with a hyphen. Li Bing-wu’s his full name.”

  “Whatever,” Harte said, his impatience clearly noticeable in his tone. “You know who I was talkin’ about.”

  “Tomorrow, Detective. I have some things I’ve got to do today. I’ll come by tomorrow and file the complaint.” Socrates ended the call before Harte could object.

  Those twenty-four hours, Socrates hoped, would buy him all the time he needed to accomplish what he had in mind.

  AFTER SOCRATES ENDED his call with Detective Harte, he headed to his desk. He knew, based on his experience when he was a fledgling lawyer, exactly what he needed to do at this stage of his inquiry to move his investigation along and to give him perspective. He would follow the advice he had received as a young lawyer, just weeks out of law school, when he’d complained to a senior partner in the law firm that he could not see any pattern in the complicated facts of the legal problem he’d been assigned. The partner had stared briefly at him as if making up his mind how to advise Socrates, then merely said, ‘Follow the Titans.’

  Young Socrates’ response had been to think, What’s he talking about, telling me to follow a professional football team? But he didn’t say that. Instead, Socrates responded, ‘What do you mean, Sir?’

  The partner smiled condescendingly, and said, “Not the football team, young man, the ancient Titans, the Greek gods who ruled the cosmos before Zeus and the other Olympians came to power. Specifically, follow Kronos, the Titan god of time.”

  That was all he said, and he left Socrates standing there feeling as if he’d somehow missed out on an important part of his Greek heritage and education. Later that night when he used Google and Wikipedia to research Kronos, whose name gave us the word chronology, Socrates understood the partner’s advice.

  Socrates followed the advice and prepared a chronology of all facts and events in the legal transaction, the chronological and temporal equivalent of the contemporary investigatory strategy known as follow the money.

  Now, today, following this same strategy, Socrates settled in at his desk and wrote out a detailed chronology of everything he knew about the burglary and the murders. It took him fifty minutes and several discarded drafts before he had prepared a timeline that satisfied him. He read the final draft several times, made some minor refinements to it, thought about what the timeline revealed to him — which was much more than he’d expected — and placed the paper in the desk drawer for now.

  That’s step one, he thought.

  Next, Socrates called Bing-fa and asked to meet with him. Bing-fa, Socrates thought, did not sound very enthusiastic about meeting.

  WHEN SOCRATES AND Bing-fa were alone, Bing-fa said, “I have lost my middle sons because of you. Bing-hao and Bing-luc are gone from my life.”

  Socrates acknowledged he was aware of this from his recent conversation with the police. He didn’t know what else to say that wouldn’t sound as if he was making excuses for exposing the Twins, or not sound as if he was gloating that he’d flushed them out. So he merely said he was sorry things had turned out the way they did with the Twins, but he didn’t feel he was to blame for any of it.

  “I didn’t involve them in the burglary or murders,” he said. “Eldest Brother did that. And besides, the Twins had choices. They could have said No.”

  Bing-fa shook his head. “I should not have allowed you into our family’s matters.”

&n
bsp; “I don’t think it would’ve made any difference in the long run, with or without me, Bing-fa. That’s the reality of it,” Socrates said.

  “I no longer require your services,” Bing-fa said. “I will arrange to have the Embassy deliver the promised gift to you. We will then be finished with each other.”

  Socrates felt his face grow hot. Bing-fa’s abrupt dismissal of him did not sit well with him. He didn’t warrant this treatment.

  He reined in his anger, and said, “Eldest Brother’s part of this, too, Bing-fa. A big part. You can’t hide from that by blaming me and getting rid of me. Bing-wu’s role is going to come out, one way or another.”

  Bing-fa adjusted his arms up his gown’s sleeves and seemed puzzled. He frowned and stared at Socrates. “Explain yourself.”

  Socrates explained to Bing-fa that he believed Eldest Brother had maneuvered the Twins into arranging the burglary through their Triad, then led them into committing the murders.

  Bing-fa listened without interrupting. When Socrates finished, he said, “Why would Bing-wu do these things you accuse him of?”

  Socrates considered how blunt he wanted to be in responding to Bing-fa’s request. The answer came easily to him as he remembered he’d just been fired and would never be able to ingratiate himself with Jade’s father.

  “I suspect Eldest Brother acted under a misguided sense of tradition and family honor, is why,” Socrates answered. “He probably hoped to prove his worthiness to you by seeming to recover the stolen objects from the burglars, who he’d set in motion, in time to restore your face and your family’s diminished honor. That way he could be your hero, Bing-fa, if not in your eyes, then maybe in some perverse way, in his own eyes.”

  Socrates paused to consider whether to pursue the other aspect of Eldest Brother’s motivation. Raising it now might be tantamount to him thumbing his nose at Bing-fa.

  What the hell, he thought, this is no time to tiptoe around the issues.

  “I also believe Eldest Brother thought it was a desecration of tradition for Bing-jade to be romantically involved with me,” Socrates said. He paused to see if Bing-fa would deny this. Bing-fa remained silent.

  “You, in particular, should understand this point, Bing-fa,” Socrates said. “After all, you set the tone for your children. You consider me to be low faan.”

  Bing-fa remained silent. He continued to stare at Socrates.

  Socrates described the two break-ins at his condo and the threats Eldest Brother had made against him. This time, he described the threats in more detail than he had when he first alerted Bing-fa to them earlier in the week. He stressed he was not speculating about the nature of the warnings. “They were threats,” Socrates said.

  Bing-fa shook his head and said, “Bing-wu should not have threatened you. That is not the way of a devout Taoist. He has brought additional shame upon me.” His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. Socrates watched Bing-fa’s cheeks and forehead redden.

  Socrates was taken by Bing-fa’s formality when speaking with him now. Bing-fa either was very worried about his three sons or was very angry with Socrates for what he perceived to be Socrates’ role in their current situations. Or, most likely, both.

  Bing-fa changed the subject.

  “Do you know where we can find the genuine Mandarin Yellow writing instrument, the original one, and the stolen art and documents? I remain anxious to return everything in time for the opening of the exhibit next week.”

  “The police have most of the stolen objects. They recovered them from the Twins’ apartment. Everything’s official evidence now. You’ll have to deal directly with the cops.”

  Socrates deliberately didn’t mention his own role in helping the police take possession of the contraband. Nor did he tell Bing-fa that the likely effect of this was that the stolen objects would not be released in time to be included in the opening day of the exhibit. He reached into his pocket and retrieved Detective Harte’s business card from his wallet. He handed it to Bing-fa.

  “Call this detective. He’ll help you.”

  Bing-fa looked at the card, looked up at Socrates, then again read the card. He placed it in a fold inside his gown.

  “One thing you should know,” Socrates said. “Although the police have possession of most of the stolen items, they don’t have the Xi’an Agreement or the two Secret Protocols. They don’t even know about them. I have them. The Twins left these three documents with me.”

  Bing-fa wrinkled his forehead, genuinely confused. “You are mistaken. There is only one Secret Protocol, not two.”

  Socrates nodded at Bing-fa. “I know that, Bing-fa, and you know that.” He paused a beat, then said, “But the fact is, I have two of them.”

  SOCRATES LEFT HIS meeting with Bing-fa, toting mixed feelings home with him. He certainly didn’t like being fired, but he understood why he had been. He hadn’t achieved the one thing Bing-fa had brought him on board to do — recover the stolen Mandarin Yellow and the stolen art and documents in time for the rescheduled opening and in time, therefore, to rehabilitate Bing-fa’s tarnished image. He also had exposed the Twins’ criminal activity and made some serious allegations against Eldest Brother. None of this was calculated to win Bing-fa’s favor. Nonetheless, Socrates felt wrongly used, discarded and unfairly judged.

  SOCRATES WAS IN his kitchen making a grilled cheese sandwich when his cell phone sounded. He looked at the digital readout to identify the caller. The LCD screen displayed the phrase, ‘Unknown Caller.’ He answered the called anyway.

  “Mr. Cheng. This is Revenue Officer McCants. I’m calling about your father.”

  “Ms. McCants?” Socrates said. “That was quick. I just submitted my installment payment proposal to you yesterday. I didn’t expect such a quick turnaround.”

  “I’m not calling about your proposal,” she said. “A new problem’s come up. I certainly hope you didn’t know about this when we met, because if you did . . . .”

  “What new problem, Ms. McCants? I did exactly what you said to do. How can there be . . . ?”

  “Your parents haven’t filed a personal income tax return for the last three tax years, Mr. Cheng. That problem.”

  This news hit Socrates hard. He felt as if he’d been blindsided by a sledge hammer after the bar fight was over. His stomach twisted into tight knots.

  Socrates slumped back against the kitchen wall and slowly slid down to the floor. He rested his forehead against his raised knees, and closed his eyes as he considered the import of what the revenue officer had just said.

  How could this possibly be right? What the hell was going on with his parents? he wondered. No, make that, what was going on with his father since his father always prepared his parents’ joint returns? Three years, maybe more, without filing their taxes?

  Socrates’ thoughts drifted back to his mother’s recent comments concerning his father’s nascent dementia, about her growing concern for her husband and his decreasing ability to function on a day-to-day basis.

  Had this been going on for three years or more? If so, how had he and his mother missed it for so long?

  “Mr. Cheng, are you still there?” Revenue Officer McCants said. There was a hint of annoyance in her voice.

  Socrates snapped out of his wandering thoughts. “Sorry. Yes, Ms. McCants, I’m here. I was thinking about what you said and the poor state of my father’s mental health.”

  He thanked the revenue officer for alerting him to the problem. He told her to forget about the installment plan proposal he’d just filed, and assured her he now would make arrangements to promptly pay off the entire payroll related tax debt in one payment, then would address this new problem.

  After he ended the call, Socrates telephoned his former law partner, Maxwell Pogue, the new firm’s tax specialist, and set up a meeting for later that afternoon for himself, Pogue, and his parents. Next, he called his father. He didn’t go into any detail, but told his father to be ready to go to lunch with him, to wear a sui
t and tie, and to be prepared to be tied up all afternoon on a new tax matter that had just come up. As backup, Socrates spoke with his mother, passed along the same message to her, but also explained the situation to her based on his conversation with the IRS.

  When he finished with the call, he went for a short, furious run to unwind.

  AFTER MEETING WITH Max Pogue and his parents, Socrates walked his father and mother back to the Westin Grand. He waited until his father announced he was going up to the room to take a nap, then suggested he and his mother talk. They settled into chairs in a small furnished alcove away from the hotel’s main lobby so they could have privacy.

  “I don’t understand how I missed this the past three years,” his mother said. “I should have seen it coming. Maybe I didn’t want to.”

  “No point beating yourself up, Mom. It is what it is. We’ll deal with it and get through it,” Socrates said. At least he hoped they would. He spoke with more confidence than he felt.

  “Do you think we could go to jail? Or, your father might? Isn’t it a crime not to file taxes?”

  “No, not in this case,” Socrates said, “not given dad’s medical condition. Max will work something out. Jail’s not going to be part of this.” He didn’t say everything he was thinking, that what really worried him was that although dementia should be a good defense against jail time for his father, how would Max rationalize for the United States Attorney that Socrates’ mother hadn’t questioned why she hadn’t signed a tax return for at least three years? What could her defense possibly be?

  AFTER HE LEFT his mother, Socrates returned home and called Jade. They hadn’t spoken for a while, although not from his lack of trying to reach her. He had left messages on her landline voice mail recorder at her condo, two on her cell phone voice mail, and several on her office phone voice mail, but Jade hadn’t returned any of his calls. Jade clearly was avoiding him.