Hong Kong Island
REPORT
Arrived Hong Kong. Stevie Nichols and I are scheduled to meet Peter Lombard at his hotel in one hour, independent reports to follow as instructed. Additional information: Francesca Leigh is the legal attaché at the embassy who’s been coordinating with local law enforcement. Senior Inspector of Police Alan Tsang is leading local efforts at his precinct in the Wan Chai District. Any information you can provide about either welcome.
Jake looks up from his laptop at Stevie, sitting cross-legged on the narrow apartment’s single bed. She files a broken nail intently, seemingly oblivious to his scrutiny.
Her legs are encased in shredded skinny jeans. An oversized turquoise sweater slips off one bony shoulder, exposing a purple bra strap. Thick makeup rings her eyes. A shaggy mane of black hair tumbles around her shoulders. His sensitive nose can scent hairspray even feet away from her. She looks like a suburban mall rat. What is Catherine thinking?
He’s only worked with Catherine before. Until Dakota Harris, his first solo run. But that had been a simple extraction. This is an investigation. And he’s been paired with this janky-looking character? Catherine must know what she’s doing. At least I hope so. Catherine claims to have logic behind every decision and methodology, but still Jake worries about their pairing.
“We should get ready to go over,” he offers.
“Right.” Stevie springs from the bed and slips on a pair of silver booties. “Ready.”
Jake can’t help but smile at her. Points for good attitude. It’s odd; he suspects Stevie might be chronologically older than he is, but there’s something young and eager about her, even with her tough-looking exterior.
“Give me a minute.” He hits SEND on his message to Catherine. As he does, the sky cracks open and gobs of rain pour down, blurring the vista. “Might want a coat.”
As Stevie digs in her suitcase, Jake shrugs on his own jacket and grabs one of the two oversized umbrellas sitting in a stand by the front door. Common Hong Kong courtesy or Catherine’s usual meticulous attention to preparation? Who knows?
He’s fighting jet lag. He’s never had so little time for preparation and research. He’s on the other side of the fucking world in a country and a culture he knows little about, despite the cram course he gave himself on the flight over. And a woman’s life could hang in the balance. I need to get my shit together.
He runs a mental checklist of the basic tenets of interviewing:
1. Be a good listener.
2. Don’t presume the answer to any question.
3. Pump up the Target; make him or her feel confident about speaking to you.
4. Never “one-up” the Target or make the Target feel foolish.
5. Don’t disagree often and when you do, use disagreement tactically to move the interview in another direction.
6. STAY ALERT and FLEXIBLE.
There are nuances of course, and every interview subject brings his or her own circumstances and psychology into play, but these six core principles have led him to the unexpected successful extraction of information on multiple occasions. Jake has a deserved burgeoning confidence in his techniques as an investigative interviewer.
He’s going to do the asking, as per orders, but both he and Stevie will write down their impressions of Lombard and his responses. He’s grateful he’s the one tasked with the interrogation; Stevie Nichols looks like she’s more likely to smack an answer out of someone than elicit one through verbal probing.
The winds whip the torrential rain sideways, instantly turning their umbrella inside out and upside down, and they arrive at the Four Seasons Hotel soaked to the skin. Black mascara streaks down Stevie’s face, giving her the look of a weeping clown. They stumble inside the hotel lobby, nodding at the uniformed doorman who opens the door for them. Hotel guests burst inside after them, laughing as they escape the downpour; others huddle by the revolving doors, debating if they’re willing to brave it.
Jake’s prior study of the layout of the hotel pays off as he confidently glides directly over to the bank of elevators leading to the guest floors. He silently hands Stevie a cotton handkerchief and gestures that she should clean up her streaming face.
“A hanky? You are fancy.”
Jake ignores the barb and fishes a generic gray key card from his jacket pocket.
ACCESS BY HOTEL KEY CARD ONLY is etched on a brass plaque in English in front of the elevator bank. Jake presumes the Chinese characters below the words say the same thing. He finds himself holding his breath as he waves his card before the sensor, but the elevator lights flash to life and indicate car number 5 is descending to the lobby level. Catherine’s shit always works. He doesn’t know why he was nervous.
They ride upstairs in silence. When the elevator doors open on the thirty-second floor, they face a console table adorned with tall white orchids and a gilded mirror hanging above. Jake contemplates their shared reflection.
“Hang on a second. Let’s clean up.”
They do the best they can, finger-combing their hair and straightening their wet clothes. Stevie dabs the rest of her mascara away and suddenly looks younger, vulnerable and pink-faced.
“You ready?” Jake asks. Stevie gives him a quick nod and they walk down the quiet corridor, make a left, and find themselves at the door to the corner suite Peter Lombard had rented for his anniversary trip.
Jake raps on the door. Lombard opens it immediately, as if he’s been waiting for them. Perhaps he has.
First Impressions of Interview Target: Peter Lombard is red-eyed and haggard-looking, unshaven stubble rims his jaw. His hair is greasy. He smells ripe.
“You’re the people Forrest sent?” Lombard slurs, his incredulity apparent. “You’re a couple of kids!”
“My name is John Bernake and this is Stevie Nichols. And yes, Peter, we’re here at the request of your employer.” Jake shoots him a disarming smile. “Looks can be deceiving, you know that. Can we come in? Get started? What do you say, Pete? Is it all right if I call you Pete?”
Repetition of the Target’s first name is calculated to build rapport.
Lombard opens the door a little wider and ushers them in. Through the far window of the sitting room the storm lashes on, ribboning the plate glass with glossy streaks. Jake quickly assesses the room’s contents: a small round table with two dining chairs at one end, a long beige sofa with a TV hung opposite, two red club chairs, and a blocky wooden coffee table, on which sit the remains of a savaged club sandwich and a bottle of beer. The sitting room of this suite is larger than the entire apartment he and Stevie are sharing in Kennedy Town.
“We’ll get right to it, Peter,” Jake says, angling his wiry frame into one of the two club chairs. “Have a seat.”
Stevie takes the other red chair and Lombard settles back down on the sofa, takes a swig of his beer. “Well, kids or no, and I meant no offense by the way, I’m damn glad to see you.”
“Why is that, Pete?” Jake and Stevie both extract small notebooks and pens from the depths of their pockets. Surreptitiously, Jake switches the power button on the voice-activated recorder that stays there.
“You know why! My wife has vanished. It’s been four days. No one seems to know shit.”
Jake notes the collection of beer bottles in the waste can in the corner. “Okay. Let me start by asking you to tell us about the last time you saw your wife.”
Lombard groans. “I’ve done this over and over again! How can a woman just disappear?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out, Pete. So just take us through it. I know you’re frustrated, but it’s essential that we hear directly from you about every detail. We never know what might be important.”
Lombard takes them through the timeline of his and Eva’s arrival in Hong Kong, his missing bag, their arrival at the hotel, and her s
ubsequent bath while he drugged himself to sleep. He walks them through awakening in the middle of the night and finding her missing.
“And after you realized she was missing? What did you do next?”
Lombard’s face flushes a deep red. “I waited for her for a while. Tried to call her. When she didn’t answer, I went shopping.”
Jake knows this fact already. And the credit card charges support Lombard’s claim. So, unfortunately for Lombard, does the Burberry shop assistant’s story that he was flirting with her when he purchased a scarf.
Who flirts when his wife is missing? A suspect. Or at least an asshole. Jake knows that’s likely what the local police are thinking. He and Stevie both make notations on their pads.
“What are you writing? Everybody is fucking taking this wrong.”
“Taking what wrong, sir?”
“Oh, now I’m sir? What happened to your buddy Pete?”
Jake braces his shoulders. Lombard may be drinking, but he’s sharp. He moves on to his next question.
“We’ve heard that there was some tension, arguing even, going on with you and your wife before she disappeared. Can you tell us about that?”
“Just a stupid argument. Nothing serious.” Lombard laughs bitterly. “Although the way they’ve been looking at me around here, it’s clear nobody believes that.” He runs both his hands through his thick black hair.
“What was the argument about?”
“She was pissed that I surprised her with a trip to Hong Kong. I know, right? Ridiculous. Truth is, we’ve just been…I don’t know, not connecting lately. It’s why I planned this trip. To get us back on track.”
“But Eva didn’t look at it that way?”
“Eva…She’s been having a hard time since we moved to London.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Eight, nine months.”
“You don’t know for sure?”
A rueful look crosses the other man’s face. “Nine. It’s been just nine. But truth is, I’ve been working so hard it’s all a blur.”
“In what way were things hard for Eva?”
“She was lonely. She wasn’t working because we were trying for a baby, and, well, that left her feeling isolated.”
“That must have been hard for you,” Jake offers sympathetically. “Balancing the pressures of your own work with an unhappy wife.”
“Too right that. And I’m working this hard for us, for our future, which she well knows.” Irritated frustration limns his words. “I know I come across as angry,” he admits. “I’m just worried out of my mind.”
“Tell us about the stranger. The one your wife said she was uneasy about.”
“I still believe she was mistaken. I mean, what are the odds? I only even mentioned it, well, because…you know, like you said, anything that might help…” Lombard trails off. Takes a swig of beer.
“Tell us.”
Lombard complies, sketching out the details Jake already knows.
“Do you have any idea who the man is that she was referring to?”
“No. Not a clue. But I’m sick I didn’t take her more seriously. After the attempted break-in and then my suitcase…”
“You say it was searched?”
“Not just searched!” Lombard springs to his feet and grabs his now empty suitcase. “Look at this!”
The silky lining of the suitcase is slashed to ribbons.
“Does your wife know anyone in Hong Kong?”
“A few people from when she lived here. I gave their information to the police. I’ve reached out to them too, through Facebook, but no one has seen her.”
“We’d like their names as well.”
Lombard nods. “Sure.”
“Are there any spots in the city that your wife liked to frequent?”
“Man Mo Temple. And she’s a big fan of the aviary in Hong Kong Park. Most of the stuff she told me about was the usual touristy spots for the most part. Peak Tram. The Star Ferry. All that shit. And a few lesser-known places that locals had turned her on to, restaurants and such. Hiking trails.” Lombard snaps his fingers. “One of them was Dragon Tail, something like that? Does that help?”
“Everything helps. We’d like a list, if you could write it up for us. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“How are you feeling about the law enforcement response?”
“Just great,” Lombard answers sarcastically. “They’re practically printing placards reading ‘guilty’ to hang around my neck. Forrest had someone from our Hong Kong law firm come by, but he’s an M&A guy, for Christ’s sake. And that bitch.” He shoots a look at Stevie. “Sorry. That woman from the embassy? Useless.”
“Why do you think they’ve focused suspicion on you, Pete?”
Lombard’s thick black eyebrows draw together. “Isn’t it always the husband?” He exhales another bitter snort of laughter. “And people heard us fighting, I guess. But what couple doesn’t? And that I went shopping.” His cheeks mottle red once again. “It wasn’t that I wasn’t worried. I just thought she was trying to make a point. So I thought I’d make one too.”
Jake lets silence hang in the room for a good long time. Catherine’s taught him just how badly most people feel compelled to fill that empty space.
Stevie shifts position, a move Jake catches out of the corner of his eye as he steadily keeps assessing Peter Lombard. He silently wills Stevie to be still. He needs Lombard to fill the void.
Lombard examines his fingers. Clasps his hands and cracks his knuckles. Meets Jake’s eyes and shrugs.
Jake finally leans across the wooden coffee table, his eyes beseeching. “Peter. What do you think has happened to your wife?”
“I have no fucking idea! You tell me. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
RING OF TRUTH
Stephanie Regaldo, aka Stevie Nichols,
Hong Kong Island
REPORT
Yo, boss. All good here in this crazy-ass city, although this place you’ve got us staying in is one tiny squat. Good thing I’ve deduced my roomie bats for the other team, since we’re right on top of each other; keeps us both out of trouble. Ha!
I know you want me to keep to business in these reports so here goes:
Peter Lombard appears to be a relatively healthy man in his mid-thirties. When interviewed, he showed evidence of anxiety in his speech patterns and also through his overall lack of attention to grooming and red eyes. No determination yet as to whether or not those symptoms are real or contrived. Lombard drank beer during the interview and appeared to have been drinking for some time, based on the bottles in his trash. I wouldn’t assess him as drunk, but certainly “loose.”
He answered the questions presented to him in a clear and consistent manner, and his replies generally conformed to the information he’s given previously to the authorities.
Lombard’s body language and involuntary physiological responses (use of defensive posture, reddening of complexion, etc.) indicate he’s uncomfortable discussing his wife and their relationship, but he also freely admits to them fighting the day they arrived in Hong Kong and claims it was trivial in the overall nature of their marriage. There are definitely some weirdo details in his story, but they’re just odd enough that they might have the ring of truth. After all, we both know that truth can be stranger than fiction, don’t we, boss?
As for the kid you’ve partnered me with here, and I mean kid, why is he lead? You ask me, he seems soft. And that’s one thing you know I’m not, right? I hope you find this report more professional, like you asked.
Awaiting instructions.
“Stevie”
HOLLOW SUITS
Jake Burrows, aka John Bernake,
Hong Kong Island
Straightening his tie, Jake enters the square concr
ete block housing the United States Consulate General Hong Kong & Macau. His sharp suit fits like it was made to order for him because it was. His shoes cost almost a grand. His wardrobe is a suit of armor, an announcement of privilege and entitlement. He’s right on time for his appointment with Francesca Leigh, the legal attaché, or legate, liaison for the Eva Lombard disappearance.
After clearing security with his false identification and passing through the metal detector, Jake gives the expected name to the petite, raven-haired receptionist. She offers him a seat. He declines. Looks at his watch. A silver-haired woman strides toward him with a flinty smile. She wears a neatly fitting dove-colored pantsuit, a white silk blouse, and a classic strand of pearls. Pearl studs adorn her earlobes.
“Hello. Mr. Bernake? I’m Francesca Leigh. Follow me and we’ll go into my office.” Her voice has the faint telltale lilt of a Southern upbringing. She pivots in her black suede pumps and moves briskly away. Jake falls into step beside her.
Once they’re seated in Leigh’s functional office, the niceties of coffee offers and observations about the humid weather behind them, Leigh fixes Jake with an evaluating stare as she slides her business card over to him. He doesn’t pick it up or offer to reciprocate. Leigh’s eyes narrow.
“Thank you for seeing me,” he launches in smoothly, determined to control the flow of conversation. “As you know, our firm represents many of Holcomb Investments’ interests here in Hong Kong. And of course, Peter Lombard works for Holcomb in London. I’m here to see if there is support of any kind we can offer. And also to inquire as to the status of the investigation, to the extent you have information you can share with me.”
Francesca Leigh’s icy blue eyes meet Jake’s. A current passes between them. It carries the shared knowledge of the billions of dollars of Holcomb money that pass through Hong Kong. Leigh is a career diplomat; the twisted braid of money, politics, and diplomacy is one she must know well. It’s why Jake led off the way he did, why his cover is that of an attorney working for Holcomb’s Hong Kong firm.
The Empty Bed Page 10
