Roosevelt is in no mood for banter with the talkative PI. “Outside,” he says.
“Whatever you say.”
The claustrophobic room is furnished with a table and four chairs and smells of a rank combination of stale coffee and cigarette smoke. Rosie and I take the two open seats. Roosevelt stands guard by the door.
I nod politely to Amanda Wong. “Nice to see you again,” I say.
She responds with a guarded nod. She turns to Roosevelt. “Can we leave now?” she asks.
“Not yet,” he tells her.
A petite young woman is sitting in the other chair. She’s staring intently at the wall. Her black hair is cut short. Her eyes have a soulful sadness.
“I’m Mike Daley,” I tell her.
“Heather Tan,” she whispers.
Roosevelt interrupts her. “With Nick’s help, our people found Ms. Wong and Ms. Tan while I was with you and Pete,” he explains. “Ms. Tan lives in an illegal residential unit on the second floor of the building. Ms. Wong went to see her last night.”
I say to Tan, “Are you in the habit of receiving visitors in the middle of the night?”
She looks straight down. “It was an emergency.” She doesn’t elaborate.
Roosevelt picks up again. “Ms. Tan used to be known by another name.”
“Would that be Jasmine Luk?” I ask.
There’s a pause. “Yes,” she says.
My heart beats faster. Pete was right after all. It may be the break we’ve been hoping for. I turn to Wong. “I take it that you went to warn your great-niece that we were looking for her?”
“Yes, I did.”
It’s a little cloak-and-dagger for my taste. “Why didn’t you just call her?”
“Telephones can be bugged, Mr. Daley.”
# # #
It takes the former Jasmine Luk just a few minutes to give us an abbreviated version of her autobiography. She did in fact assume a new identity after the events at the Golden Dragon, using counterfeit papers provided by her aunt. She’s been living under her new name in the apartment on the second floor of the Sunshine Printing warehouse ever since. She says she’s paid her bills by working as a bookkeeper for her great-aunt’s company.
Rosie summons a maternal tone. “Why did you run?”
“They killed my friend Eugene.”
“Who killed him?”
“I don’t know. I was scared. I couldn’t stay in the city.” She shoots a glance at her great-aunt. “There were other issues.”
“What kind?” Rosie asks.
No response.
I turn to Wong. “What’s going on?” I ask.
“We can’t talk about it.”
Rosie summons a sympathetic voice. “You’re only going to make it worse if you don’t cooperate,” she says.
“It’s complicated,” Wong says.
“We’re prepared to represent you and Ms. Tan. Everything you tell us is covered by the attorney-client privilege.”
The stuffy room is completely silent for a long moment as Amanda Wong ponders her options. She looks at Roosevelt and says, “I’m not comfortable talking about this in front of Inspector Johnson.”
“Everything we say here is off the record,” Roosevelt replies.
“No, it isn’t,” I snap. “Could you excuse us for a minute? We’d like to talk to our client.”
Roosevelt scowls. “I’ll be right outside the door.”
“Thank you.”
As soon as the door is closed, Wong speaks for her great-niece. “There were some issues with Heather’s immigration papers when she came over from China.”
“What kind of issues?” Rosie asks.
“They were phony. We got quite adept at putting together counterfeit paperwork. I want to assure you that we only did it to help our family. We never made a profit from selling counterfeit papers.”
Of course not.
Wong nervously fingers the small pendant hanging from a gold chain around her neck. “Heather and her mother came to this country illegally,” she says. “We were afraid Heather would be deported if she talked to the police. It was too dangerous for her to stay in San Francisco. That’s when we brought her over to Oakland.”
“Why weren’t the police able to figure this out?”
Wong gives us a knowing look. “We gave her a new identity.” She shoots a loving glance at her niece. “Heather was also very careful.”
Or the cops didn’t try very hard. Or maybe they didn’t try at all.
Rosie offers a practical way out. “We’ve handled a number of immigration cases. We’ll make sure Heather isn’t forced to leave the country, but there’s something we’ll need from you.”
“Which is?”
“Full cooperation––including her testimony––in the Fineman case.”
Wong raises her hands in a defensive posture. “That’s out of the question. We aren’t going to put Heather in danger again.”
Rosie addresses Tan in a softer tone. “You have to trust us.”
“Why?”
“Because you have no choice. There are some very bad people out there who know where you live. They’ve been following us and they’ve already shot our investigator. We’ve been threatened and we’re living with police protection. We can protect you if you cooperate. No one can protect you if you try to run now.”
The former Jasmine Luk looks to her great-aunt for guidance. The street-smart Wong realizes the game is over. “We have no choice, honey,” she says. “You’ll have to tell them everything.”
The former Jasmine Luk–turned–Heather Tan swallows hard.
Rosie doesn’t miss a beat. “You walked home with Eugene Tsai on the night that three people were killed at the Golden Dragon, didn’t you?”
Luk’s eyes are looking straight down at the table. “Yes.”
“Did you hear any shots?”
“No.”
“Did you see anyone in the alley that night?”
She doesn’t respond.
Rosie mentally counts to three before she tries again. “You and Eugene saw a man in the alley, didn’t you?”
Tan pauses. “Yes,” she whispers.
Yes!
“Where were you when you saw him?”
“Standing in the doorway of my apartment building.”
“Was Eugene with you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you get a good look at the man in the alley?”
She closes her eyes and nods.
“Did he say anything to you?”
“No.” Her hands are shaking. “He stopped right in front of me and pointed his finger. He made a threatening gesture.”
“What type?”
“He pretended to slit my throat.”
“Then what did he do?”
“He ran out of the alley.”
That’s memorable. I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out a dog-eared photo of Bryant that I’ve been carrying with me for the last couple of days. “Was this the man?” I ask.
She studies it for a moment. “It could have been,” she finally decides.
I was hoping for something more definitive. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure. It was a long time ago.”
It’s the best we can do. “You talked to the police, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell them?”
She takes a deep breath. “That I didn’t see anyone.”
“You lied?”
“I was scared,” Tan says.
I can understand why.
Rosie touches Tan’s shaking hand. “We need you to testify.”
There are tears in Tan’s eyes. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Our client has been on death row for ten years. He’s going to be executed in two days. You can change the outcome.”
“The man who killed Eugene is still out there.”
“Give me just a moment,” I say. I open the door and find Roosevelt standing in the hallway. I s
hut the door behind me. “We’ll need protection for Ms. Tan,” I tell him.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’ll have to do more. She’s prepared to ID Bryant in the alley behind the Golden Dragon. I need to be sure that she lives long enough to do it.”
He eyes me steadily. “Do you believe her?”
“Yes.”
His worn face transforms into a pronounced frown. “I want to talk to her,” he says.
He starts to walk around me and I stop him. “No,” I say. “She’s my client. I will instruct her not to say anything to you unless you agree to protect her.”
“I can’t provide protection until I evaluate her credibility.”
“I’m not going to let her talk to you or anybody else until you provide protection. I need you to fix this right now.”
“I’m doing everything I can, Mike.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve been dragging your feet from the day we were hired. I don’t know who you’re protecting, or if you’re just trying to cover your ass. Either way, I’ve had more than enough.”
“Calm down, Mike.”
“I’m not going to calm down, Roosevelt. My brother has been shot. My family has been threatened. I’ve been working around the clock and I’ve just found a witness who can place Bryant at the scene.” I point to my watch. “You need to decide if you’re going to do the right thing. If somebody else gets hurt, it’s going to be on your conscience.”
The old warhorse inhales the stale air. His eyes turn to steel. “We’re going to fix this right now,” he says.
I open the door and follow him inside.
“Ms. Tan,” Roosevelt says, “I understand that you have some important information concerning the events at the Golden Dragon ten years ago.”
Tan looks toward her great-aunt, who nods. “Yes,” Tan says softly.
“Is this information different from the statement you gave me when we last spoke?”
“Yes.”
“So you lied to me?”
Tan looks down. “I’m sorry, Inspector.”
“Are you prepared to testify?”
Wong responds for her. “Only if you’re prepared to provide protection.”
“I am.”
Tan isn’t convinced. “You promised the same thing to Eugene.”
“As long as you promise to testify truthfully,” Roosevelt says, “you will remain under my protection. I will personally guarantee your safety.”
Most homicide inspectors don’t double as bodyguards.
Tan’s eyes show tentative signs of interest. “Where?” she asks.
“We can find you a place to stay here at the Hall of Justice.”
“No way.”
Roosevelt considers his options. “You can stay in the spare bedroom at my house. There will be at least two officers with you at all times, and a police car in front of the house twenty-four hours a day. You’ll have a police escort to court.” He nods toward Wong. “You can keep your great-niece company.”
“I will.”
Tan asks another practical question. “What happens after this is all done?”
Rosie answers. “We’ll work out your issues with the immigration authorities.”
“Then what?”
It’s Roosevelt who responds. “Your great-aunt and I will arrange for you to disappear again. This time, not even Nick Hanson will be able to find you.”
# # #
A small convoy of squad cars escorts Tan and Wong to Roosevelt’s house in the Sunset. Rosie and I head back to Oakland to visit Pete and Donna at the hospital. His spirits rise noticeably when I tell him that he found Jasmine Luk.
Rosie and I return to the office late Thursday night to put the finishing touches on a new set of habeas petitions that will reflect the discovery of a new witness. We alert Ted Prodromou and Ken Conroy to be on the lookout for our filings on Friday morning. We hint that we have big news, but we provide no details. They promise to begin their reviews as quickly as possible. We’re down to the final forty-eight hours.
It’s almost midnight when Rosie walks into my office. Her hair is disheveled and her eyes are tired, but she still looks beautiful to me. “Are you finished with the petitions?” she asks.
“I want to go through them once more.”
“You’re going to be up all night, aren’t you?”
“Probably.”
Her lower lip juts out. “It’s been quite a day.”
“Yes, it has. At least it looks like Pete is going to be okay.”
“Thank goodness.”
“And we now have a witness who can place Bryant at the scene—if she’s telling the truth and if she can maintain her composure on the stand.”
Rosie allows herself a hint of cautious optimism. “We might have a chance after all.”
“Maybe. Her ID is still pretty tentative. It was a long time ago on a rainy night in a dark alley. It’s awfully hard to prove freestanding innocence.”
“Yes, it is. Do we have anything else?”
I point to a large manila folder on my desk. “Those are some bank statements for East Bay Scavenger and Bayview Construction around the time of the shootings,” I say. “There’s also some financial information from Little Joey’s business. They were in the trunk of Pete’s car.”
“Anything we can use?”
“I’m going to look at them tonight.”
46/ WE WAIT
Friday, July 17. 8:00 a.m.
1 day, 16 hours, and 1 minute until execution.
“Long time no talk,” Edwards wheezes.
Not long enough. “I’ve been busy,” I tell him.
I’m standing outside the main entrance of Highland Hospital. I stayed up all night reworking our habeas petition, then came over to see Pete. He’s improving. I took the opportunity to use his bathroom for a shower and shave. The cup of bitter hospital coffee in my hand won’t stop the ringing in my ears or cure my sore throat.
He starts with sugar. “I’m glad your brother is going to be okay,”
he says.
As if you really care. “I got a message that you were trying to reach me.”
“I hear you’re filing a new petition this morning.”
“That isn’t a news flash. We’ve filed papers every day this week.”
“Is this about the missing file?”
“It’s still missing.” At this point, nobody is looking for it. Realistically, it isn’t going to be a factor in our investigation.
“I heard you found a new witness in Oakland on Wednesday night.”
“We did.”
The phony engaging voice disappears. “What’s going on?”
I want to pique his interest, but I don’t want to identify Jasmine Luk. It was hard enough to persuade her to testify. She may change her mind if a horde of reporters starts hounding her. “We’re filing new habeas petitions at nine o’clock,” I tell him.
“On what grounds?”
“We have compelling new evidence that was not revealed at the trial.”
“What evidence is that?”
“We’ve found a witness who is going to place Bryant in the alley behind the Golden Dragon.”
“Does this witness have a name?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to tell me what it is?”
“No.”
“You found Jasmine Luk, didn’t you?”
“In due course, Jerry.”
# # #
“How’s your houseguest?” I ask Roosevelt.
He isn’t amused. He’s sitting at his desk in homicide at ten-fifteen on Friday morning. He takes a sip of cold coffee and responds with a terse “Fine.”
I take a seat in the beat-up swivel chair opposite his desk. “Did Jasmine have a good night?”
“Yes. I now live in the safest house in the Bay Area.”
“I need to talk to her again.”
“If it’s absolutely necessary.”
“It is. I have a client
who is set to receive a needle in less than two days.”
“Understood.” His voice fills with frustration when I ask him if he has anything about the guy who shot Pete. “I just got off the phone with Oakland PD. No leads yet, but they tell me that they’re looking hard.”
I open my briefcase and hand him a peace offering in the form of a grainy old photo that I brought from home, in which Roosevelt is standing next to my father on the steps of the Hall of Justice. Roosevelt was wearing a business suit. Pop was in uniform. “It was taken during the Fineman trial,” I tell him. “You were good-looking guys.”
His expression turns melancholy as he looks at the picture. “Your father was a fine cop,” he says.
Pop always said Roosevelt was the best cop he ever knew. “So are you.”
“I just work behind a desk.”
“You know that isn’t true, Roosevelt.” I point to the photo. “Do you remember what you were talking about?”
He’s still staring intently at the old black-and-white––almost as if he’s trying to get his old friend to talk to him. “It was a long time ago, Mike. I don’t recall.”
He tries to hand it back to me, but I stop him. “Keep it,” I say.
“Thanks.”
I pull out a manila file folder. “These are copies of the bank statements that were in Pete’s car.”
“Anything useful?” he asks.
“I couldn’t find any direct financial link between Aronis and Bryant around the time of the shootings,” I say. “It’s possible that they were smart enough not to leave a trail.” I hand him a small stack of computer-generated printouts that I’ve tabbed with yellow Post-its. “These are from Little Joey’s currency exchange.”
He studies the paperwork with the tiny numbers. “So?”
“I spent half the night going through this stuff.” I point to an entry on the first page. “There’s a recurring monthly deposit of ten grand that comes in by wire transfer from an unidentified source. The payments started right after Joey opened his business.”
“It’s probably from one of Joey’s customers.”
“Maybe. Ten grand a month seems like a lot of money in a nickel-and-dime business like Joey’s.”
“You think somebody is bankrolling Joey?”
“Maybe.”
“What does this have to do with your case?”
I answer him honestly. “Maybe nothing. I’d like you to find out where the money was coming from. Can you do it?”
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