I was a little skeptical when Po Po first mentioned the place; she had poured the praise on pretty thick. Understand this: she was the best cook I had ever encountered when it came to Chinese food, better than my mother, and she was quite amazing. I’m talking about traditional, home-cooked meals, not the fancy fusion stuff found in those five-star restaurants—the kind of comfort food that puts you to sleep the minute you push back from the table.
Po Po must have at least a hundred unique dishes filed away in her head; she never wrote anything down or referred to a recipe card. Mental note: Keep bugging her to write down the recipes. It would be a shame to lose them. Her dishes ranged in styles from Sichuan, to Cantonese, to Fujian, to Hunan, to Zhejiang, and many more. Me, on the other hand…I had maybe ten go-to dinners I could cycle through, and I doubted utilizing Hamburger Helper in one of them really counted.
That woman could whip up dishes on the fly. I’d open the fridge and see a box of baking soda. She’d open it, and twenty minutes later, I was stuffing my face with an original fried-rice concoction. I had yet to find any restaurant that could rival Po Po’s noodles, but my belly was always open to the unknown.
On the way to the restaurant, we made a detour to a small park, where the ashes of Ryan and Lucy’s biological mother, Mei, had been scattered after her death. Children’s Park was populated with trees, a rose garden, and a jungle gym for kids to play on.
“I don’t remember coming here,” Lucy said as we strolled across the green grass.
“You just a baby. Too young,” Po Po said, patting Lucy on the head. Unfortunately, the real reason was that her mother died shortly after she was born.
“I don’t remember it either,” Ryan added.
“Mei come many time by herself,” Po Po said as she took a seat on a granite bench. “That why your father chose it.”
Lucy sat next to Po Po. “What does Mei mean?”
“Beautiful plum.”
“Ooo, I like that. It’s a pretty name.”
“Did Peng come here with her?” I asked, curious, as the only time he mentioned the park was when I asked whether Mei was buried or cremated. Peng never spoke to me much about his wife, so this part of our field trip was as interesting for me as it was for the kids.
“I don’t think he come here.”
Her response made me even more curious. Why didn’t they both spend time together here if she liked it so much? The greenery was beautiful. This was one of the few parks that still existed in Hong Kong.
As we sat quietly there, my thoughts went immediately to what else Po Po could tell me about Peng’s relationship with Mei. I had never pressed him for information, and he never offered. There was, however, one detail about their past that I had always wondered about. Whenever I’d asked Peng, he always avoided the subject.
“Po Po, how did Peng meet Mei? It might be interesting for the children to hear the story,” I said.
With her handbag resting on her lap, Po Po looked at the children and then at me before speaking. “They have traditional marriage.”
“What’s that?” Ryan asked.
“It means it was arranged by the parents,” I clarified. I wasn’t expecting that answer. Even though he was a mama’s boy, Peng never struck me as the traditional type. “How did you meet Mei’s family? Did you know them for a long time?”
“Family okay. Good marriage for Peng.”
The fact that his marriage was arranged had me wondering if the reason he remained tight-lipped on the subject was because he was unhappy. Were they both unhappy?
“Peng never mentioned to me that he had an arranged marriage.”
Po Po shrugged and avoided my eyes.
“Did Mei’s parents also live in Shek Kim Mei?”
Po Po shot me a look that skirted the line between disgust and surprise. “No. They are good family. High standing in community.”
Well, her answer didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. What I knew of arranged marriages, classes don’t usually mix. If Mei’s family was well off with a higher status, it was surprising that her parents would have agreed for her to marry Peng. Usually the parents of the daughter were looking for a man with a higher social standing. If my assumptions were right, Po Po had pulled off an amazing feat with that wedding. I had to wonder how much of Peng’s early success was due to his business acumen versus money from his wife’s parents.
“She must have had a lot of suitors,” I said, making it sound like an afterthought.
“Peng was good enough for her. He was good man.” Po Po’s tone hardened a bit. Perhaps I’d pressed too hard.
“I know he’s a good man.” I chuckled. “That’s why I married him. I’m just curious, that’s all. I’m sure the kids are too.”
“Now not time to talk about this. You their mother now.”
That was a first, Po Po acknowledging that I was Ryan and Lucy’s mother. In all the years that I had known her, she had never openly made that declaration. I had unknowingly pressed a button. Well, maybe I kind of knew what I was doing. You would have picked at the peeling paint too.
By then, the kids were hungry and fidgeting. No way I could continue to use them as an excuse to fish for more information. Digging into the past would have to wait.
Chapter 17
With Lee busy adding names to the roster for DNA testing, Leslie decided to take a trip to the demolition site. The case had stalled for the moment, so maybe a visit would spark something.
When she arrived at the site, SEO was still on the scene and had it taped off. From what Lee had told her earlier, a lot of tourists, and locals, were stopping by to take selfies. Policing the area fell upon the SEO staffers. That wasn’t their job, but the department couldn’t afford to station officers there with so much need elsewhere in the city, so looky-loos could easily access the property.
Leslie parked her SUV next to a media van. There were two of them, down from the three that had shown up the night the body was found. To her relief, CNN wasn’t there. Maybe they’re losing interest. Just as she had that thought, a group of young Chinese teens appeared. They stood just outside the taped area and started snapping photos. At least they’re respecting the boundary.
Darren Wong, the investigator in charge of the scene examination, was talking to a few of his men when Leslie approached. He wore a white jumpsuit and had on work gloves.
“Inspector Choi, how can I help you?” he asked after excusing himself from his men.
“Just wanted a firsthand look at the crime scene. I hadn’t had chance to come out here yet.”
“Well, as you can see, we’re still working on it.” He motioned with his head.
“How are things coming along?”
“Slow,” he said, resting his hands on his waist. “We’ve mapped out a grid over the remainder of the building and are now taking core samples from the concrete at one-foot intervals. Hopefully we won’t damage a body should we find another.”
“Sounds like that’s at least a solid week’s worth of work.”
Wong nodded. “Could be more, but we’re moving as fast as we can. We’re attacking the building in teams so we can work around the clock. If we didn’t, this would be closer to a three- or maybe even a four-week process. The good news is we haven’t found any new bodies.”
Leslie glanced back at the group of teens. “Having much trouble with the public?”
“Nah, every now and then a few encroach beyond the tape, and I run them off. They’re harmless.” Wong waved both of his hands. “The problem is that guy walking toward us.”
Wong looked beyond Leslie’s head, prompting her to turn around and see Roger Song approaching them.
“He’s out here every day, harassing me about timing.”
“Inspector!” Song shouted out. His tie was loose, and the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He had both sleeves rolled up to his elbows. As he crossed the uneven ground, he nearly lost his balance twice.
“Not very athletic, is he?” Leslie
said out of the side of her mouth.
Song was breathing hard by the time he reached them. “I’m so glad you’re here to put an end to this investigation,” he said in between labored breaths. “I’ve made repeated calls to your office regarding my predicament. I’m assuming that’s the reason you’re here. Anyway, thank you so much for your understanding.”
Leslie folded her arms. “Mr. Song, I’m glad you’re here as well. I have a few questions for you.”
“Questions? But I’ve told you everything already.”
“You answered my previous questions. I have new ones.”
“You’re not closing the investigation, are you?”
“Sadly, we’re digging in. Expect this site to be shut down for at least month or—”
“A month? You got to be kidding me. I can’t…the money…What do I tell my partners?” Song buried his face into both palms.
Leslie thought the guy would start bawling at any second.
“This is not good. Not good at all,” he continued to whine.
“Let’s start with your partners,” Leslie said as she removed her cell phone from the inside pocket of her jacket and tapped on a note-taking application. “Who are they?”
Song lowered his hands. “Who are they? They have nothing to do with the body. They’re not even here in Hong Kong. It’s a British investment firm, and they’re fronting ninety percent of the financing. Do you have any idea what’s at stake?”
“Are they aware of your delay?”
“Of course they are.” Song pointed at the news vans. “Thanks to those idiots. I spent hours calming their nerves and urging them not to pull the plug.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Who’s financing the other ten percent?”
“I am. And that’s a lot for a guy like me. I’m a one-man operation. I can’t afford the loss. The demolition alone is costing me a fortune.”
“So it’s just you doing the work here? No staff?”
“I do the legwork to put the deal together. Once the project is a go, I hire companies to help me execute.”
“How do you find the properties you develop?”
“Research, talking to people. You know, you hear things.”
“No I don’t know.” I motioned to the building with my head. “Why don’t you tell me exactly how you heard about this place?”
“A real estate agent brought it to my attention.”
“That agent got a name?”
“Peter Song.”
“Song? Any relation?”
He paused briefly. “Peter’s my cousin.”
Chapter 18
Leslie had continued to question Roger Song about others who might be involved, but she already knew she’d want to talk to Peter. Real estate agents tended to follow properties for years, and they also tended to sell and resell the same property over and over. She couldn’t help but wonder at the moment if Peter had also brokered the initial sale to Sheila. If so, he had history with the building, and that made it worth digging deeper.
Roger had provided a phone number and an address to Peter’s office. Leslie decided against calling. No need to scare him off. Always better to just show up. The location was back in Wan Chai, not to far from Roger’s office. On the way there, she phoned Lee to update him on what she had learned.
“So the cousin is involved.” Lee cleared his throat. “That’s interesting.”
“I’m on my way to his office now to question him.”
“Want me to meet you there?”
“I’ll be fine. But go ahead and run his name and his business. It’s called Peter Song Properties. Let me know if anything comes up.”
“Got it. By the way, I was able to collect a DNA sample from Sheila Yang. She was very cooperative. Roger Song has yet to return my call, but since he’s still at the crime scene, I think I’ll take a ride over to the site and just pick him up. I’m sure he’ll want to cooperate if he thinks it’ll end the investigation.”
The traffic was heavy that day, and the drive took much longer than Leslie had anticipated. It was nearly four p.m. when she arrived at Peter Song Properties. She wasn’t sure he would still be around, but parked her SUV anyway.
Peter’s office was on the third floor of a nondescript office building. Bland as it was, it was the nicest building she had visited throughout the investigation. Sheila certainly wasn’t the owner; that was for sure. Unlike Roger, Peter had a receptionist, and she was expecting Leslie.
“Please have a seat while I ring Mr. Song,” she said, directing Leslie to the one chair in the waiting room. The woman looked to be in her mid-forties. She had a pleasant smile and a gentle voice. “He just needs a minute. Would you like a bottled water?”
“No, thank you.”
As the words left Leslie’s mouth, the phone on the desk rang.
“He’s ready. Just head in through that door.”
Peter’s office looked nothing like Roger’s. His desk was larger and made out of a dark wood. He had a matching shelf and credenza to complement it. There was art on the walls—nothing spectacular, but still better than staring at white paint. The walls themselves were a very light sky blue. It had a calming effect.
“Inspector Choi, welcome.” Peter stood and reached across his desk. “I’m Peter Song.”
I took his hand and gave it a prompt shake.
“You’re lucky Roger phoned me. Had he not, I wouldn’t be here. It’s a slow day, and I thought about leaving early. Please have a seat,” he said, pointing at the two chairs in front of his desk. “By the way, I know why you’re here. Terrible thing. Can you imagine being cooped up in a building for that long?”
Leslie curled a few loose strands of hair behind her ears. “Well, considering the person was dead, I’m not so sure he felt the effects of his solitary confinement.”
“Ha! Yes, you’re right.” Peter fashioned his hand into a handgun and pretended to shoot himself in the head.
“Tell me about your relationship with the building.”
“Well, I sold it to Roger, if that’s what you’re asking. I remember when the building was built. A lot of real estate agents were aware of it. I mean, that’s my job: to know about various properties, whether they’re for sale or not. I like keeping a mental vault of the buildings in the city. Anyway, it wasn’t at the top of mind until Roger mentioned to me that he wanted to build a luxury condo. Like Hong Kong needs another one.” He chuckled. “Anyway, when he told me he needed a property near the promenade, I immediately thought of that building. By then, it was dilapidated to its current condition—a total teardown—but the location and the size of the property fit his needs exactly. He agreed when I showed him the specs.”
“And you contacted the owner of the building at the point, Sheila Yang?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Did you know her beforehand?”
“I knew of her, but we had never done business together. That building was the first.”
“Did Sheila disclose any renovations or modifications that were made to the building while under her ownership?”
“No. In fact, she was very vocal about the building being sold as is. Anything found wrong with it would be the responsibility of the purchaser. Maybe she knew about the body and thought the clause in the contract would save her.”
“Mr. Song, did you know the developer of the building?”
He shook his head.
“It wasn’t too long ago you were telling me the nature of your job. Surely if you knew of this building’s existence from the time it was constructed to the present, it would be safe to say you would also know the developer.”
Peter shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Do you know who built the building?”
After a few seconds of squirming and licking his lips, he finally responded. “I don’t know anything about that body. I just brokered the sale. My cousin is innocent in this mess too.”
“I didn’t say either one of you were guilty. We’
re just having a conversation. That’s all.”
“It doesn’t seem that way.” His tone grew defensive.
“Tell you what. If you voluntarily submit a DNA sample, we can make your innocence official.”
“Fine. I have nothing to hide.”
“By the way, how long have you been in business?”
“A little over twenty years. Why?”
“Have you ever heard of company called Lotus Development?”
His eyes shot up and to the left as he thought about her question. “It doesn’t sound familiar. Is that the company that built the building?”
“It is, but the name of the owner is missing from the records.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Why is that?”
“Property development is also recorded and kept on file in the same department with property sales. In the past, I’ve had to go in and revise the records of some of my deals.”
“Why would you need to do that?”
“For a variety of reasons. A wrong name was given or misspelled. Or, on some occasions, an estate agent is so sure that the deal is locked, he files the paperwork. Later the financing doesn’t come through or the buyer’s name changes, and the information has to be changed. It’s more common than you might think. I’m not saying it’s right, but it saves a lot of headache to just revise an old record, if possible, than go through the trouble of producing a new document. That’s probably what happened.”
“Can anyone make these changes?”
“Technically, no. But you know how things work. There’s a price for everything.”
Leslie pursed her lips as she stared into Peter’s eyes. He would never look directly at her for longer than a second or so, always shifting his gaze down or off to the side. It was typical for people to be nervous when being questioned by the authorities. Was that the case with Peter? Leslie straddled the fence.
“Would you mind if I question your assistant?” she asked, rising.
Kowloon Bay (Abby Kane FBI Thriller Book 3) Page 6
