“Why you old dog,” Chee Wei said with a huge, shit-eating grin.
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on! I saw you talking to her on the phone. Getting all tender. And wearing a suit on a Saturday morning? Dude, you were out doing some serious partying with the lady, weren’t you? Did you”—Chee Wei rose and pumped his hips—“get your love on?”
Ryker rolled his eyes. “Let’s grab some lunch and then head up to Tiburon. I want to chat with Lin and his house guest.”
CHAPTER 24
The high rise office building was mostly vacant, save for maintenance and janitorial workers. Few tenant employees were about, which made things a bit easier; there were fewer people to see Manning hustle Lin inside through the parking garage. He was stopped at security, and he was surprised to see the same two security guards who had greeted him on his first visit.
“You guys work around the clock?” Manning asked.
“Ha. We work in shifts,” the 20-something said. He looked at Lin and nodded respectfully. “Hello, sir.”
Lin nodded back, but that was it.
“We’re going to forty-five,” Manning said. “We’ll probably have some food deliveries and stuff like that. If anyone else comes in with access to that floor, please let us know. You can call Mr. Lin’s office direct, and I’ll answer the phone.”
“Something going on?” This came from the older guard. He slowly edged toward them from behind the lobby desk, his eyes flat and expressionless. The eyes of an ex-cop.
“Mr. Lin has some serious issues with a business unit in China. He needs access to the corporate network, including secure files and the like which aren’t accessible from his home. And some of that work is classified. He wants to be notified if anyone enters the floor.” Manning looked from one guard to the other. “Is that going to be a problem?”
The older guard ignored Manning and looked at Lin. “Mr. Lin, is everything all right?”
Lin looked properly indignant. “Yes, yes, everything is fine! Please do as my man tells you!” He then turned and marched for the elevator bay.
The older guard nodded sourly and directed Manning toward the metal detector. “You know the drill.”
“I have a building permit allowing me to carry my weapon in the building.” Manning pulled the plastic card from his wallet and showed it to the two guards. The older one examined it critically.
“I’ll be back with this.” He moved to a computer station on the other side of the long lobby desk and started tapping keys. After a time, he was returned and handed the card back to Manning. His expression never changed. “Okay, you’re clear. You expecting any shooting?”
Manning put the card back in his wallet. “I always expect shooting, chief.”
The elevator ride to the 45th floor was uneventful. Manning preceded Lin out of the elevator and ensured everything outside the elevator bay was secure. Lin swiped his access card at the lobby doors, and Manning stepped into the office beyond. He reconnoitered the immediate area, but he couldn’t look in each and every cube and leave Lin alone in the elevator bay. He waved Lin inside, and the lobby doors clicked shut behind him, the magnetic locks doing what they were supposed to do.
“Where’s your office?”
Lin pointed to the far side of the floor. “That way. In the corner.”
Of course. Manning conducted Lin to his office immediately, keeping one hand on the man’s bony shoulder and the other on his sidearm. There was a fair amount of territory to cover, but most of the floor was open; the cubes were up front, where support staff met. Manning ushered Lin down a hallway lined with lustrous mahogany wood and a subtle veined marble-tiled floor. As they passed the darkened executive offices, Manning marveled at the absolute luxury each office embodied. It was obvious that Lin and his people lived life on the high side.
Lin’s office was bordered by a secretary station and a waiting room complete with rich leather chesterfield chairs. Unlike his sumptuous home, Lin’s office was surprisingly minimalist; a small meeting area, a leather couch, a wide desk and a single high-backed leather chair. The furnishings were all top-class, but there was something cold, antiseptic about the office. Manning thought it was an accurate reflection of the man himself. The vertical office blinds were open. He steered Lin toward his desk and looked for a way to close them.
“Here.” Lin pressed a button on his desk, and the blinds automatically closed. Manning nodded and checked the ensuite restroom, noting that it was complete with a shower and bidet in addition to the requisite toilet and sink. He was almost surprised to see the commode wasn’t fashioned out of gold. He went through the linen closet there, and then the coat closet in the office. Despite the size of the office, it didn’t afford an assassin many places to hide. Just the same, he executed due diligence and checked behind the couch and the credenza that sat along one wall.
“Is that completely necessary,” Lin asked.
“It’s your life, Lin Yubo. You tell me.”
Lin sighed and started to pull out his desk chair to sit down, but Manning was at his side in an instant. He pushed Lin away and checked beneath the desk, and then checked the chair itself. Lin watched this with some amusement.
“You think my sons’ killer is inside the chair?”
“I think your sons’ killer is crafty, and might have taken a page or two from the terrorism playbook. Booby trapped furnishings is about as old as dirt.”
“I see,” Lin said.
Manning went through the desk drawers carefully, ignoring Lin’s disapproving stare. He moved quickly but efficiently, not caring about the specific contents. He found no tripwires, no electronics, no detonators or plastic explosives—the most menacing thing he found was a letter opener crafted from pure silver.
And a small Walther PPS pistol. Manning looked at Lin as he pulled the weapon from the drawer and inspected it.
“Do you know how to use this?”
Lin’s voice carried the requisite affront. “Do you think I’m a fool, Manning? For what reason would I have something I did not know how to use?”
Manning ejected the magazine and looked at the ammunition. The pistol fired .40 caliber rounds, and all looked fairly new. He slapped the mag back into place and pulled back the slide. A round was already in the chamber. Manning released the slide and placed the weapon on the desk.
“Keep that on you.”
“You think I’ll need it? Aren’t you here to guard me?”
“If you need it, I’ll be dead.” Manning waved toward the chair. “You might as well have a seat. And think about where you want to order lunch from.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Manning checked his watch. “You will be later, and this is going to take a while.”
Lin sat in his chair and slid it toward his desk. He picked up the Walther and turned it over in his hand, examining it closely. He put it back on the desk after a moment and looked up at Manning.
“My secretary orders for me.”
Manning pointed to the computer on Lin’s desk. “Then start surfing the web, Lin Yubo. Find a place that delivers…but not one that’s too close. Just in case.”
Lin sighed again and switched on the computer. Manning left the office and stepped into the secretary’s area. He closed the outer door, then dragged the secretary’s rolling chair inside Lin’s office and closed the door behind him. He rolled the chair over to Lin’s desk and sat down at one end, and started playing the waiting game.
###
Chee Wei drove his sparkling Lexus up Interstate 101 as if it was a fighter jet and he was hot on a bogey’s tail. Ryker sat in the passenger seat, fairly terrified as the young detective weaved in and out of the light traffic, pushing the car hard, even across the Golden Gate Bridge. He tailgated incessantly and changed lanes without even touching the turn signal, all the while listening to blaring, saccharine-sweet Canto-pop music that did nothing to ease Ryker’s tension. All Ryker could do was sit like a statue in his lea
ther seat and try not to shit his pants.
It got worse across the bridge, when Chee Wei accelerated up the twisting roads like he was trying to win the Nextel Cup, blasting through the shifts, cutting over into the opposite lane so he could pass slower-moving traffic. When he narrowly avoided hitting a moving truck head-on, Ryker reached out and turned down the music. He heard the truck’s blaring horn fade behind them.
“Isn’t this car great?” Chee Wei said before Ryker could speak. He grinned like a school girl after her first kiss.
“You know, we’re not going to get any answers if we roll up to Lin’s place dead.”
Chee Wei looked over at him while still accelerating, and Ryker pressed himself back in his seat as the rear bumper of a minivan loomed seemingly just outside the windshield. Chee Wei stood on the brakes and slowed the Lexus suddenly, a look of disappointment on his face.
“Shit, Hal. You’d think you were scared, or something. Live a little, pal!”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do—live. Now please…drive like a sane person. Okay?”
Chee Wei looked properly downtrodden. “What the hell do I look like, a grandmother? This is a Lexus sports car, man! It’s an IS F!”
“As if that means anything? What, if we crash, we won’t die?”
Chee Wei pouted and did as Ryker asked, keeping the Lexus high-performance sedan traveling at a more leisurely pace. But just to demonstrate his angst, he turned up the stereo and sang with the music. Thankfully the music was so loud that Ryker couldn’t really hear his warbling voice.
Eventually they made it to the Lin estate. The guard manning the gate looked at the Lexus with a dour expression. He wore a sharply pressed gray uniform and walked with military precision. He was also armed, and had a radio transceiver clipped to one shoulder epaulet.
“Help you?” he said.
Chee Wei showed him his badge. “Detective Fong, S.F.P.D., along with Detective Sergeant Ryker. We’re investigating the Lin Dan murder.”
“So?”
“So? So? So open the gate, huh?”
The guard looked at Chee Wei’s identification card, which was next to his badge. “S.F.P.D.? A little outside of your jurisdiction, right?”
Ryker leaned toward Chee Wei and caught the guard’s eye. “Maybe you should call the house. Tell Lin we’re here to see him. After all, it was his son who got killed. Maybe he wouldn’t take too kindly to you holding us up?”
“Yeah well, maybe. Of course, he’s not here.”
Ryker frowned. “Where did he go?”
“Didn’t say. He doesn’t exactly report to me, you know.” The guard put his hands in his pockets.
“What about his guest? Mister Ren.”
“What about him?”
“Listen, we don’t have a lot of time. We need to get inside. You going to open the gate?”
“You have an appointment?”
Ryker unfastened his seat belt and got out of the car. Chee Wei started to say something, then closed his mouth. Ryker looked over the car’s roof at the guard with steely eyes.
“Do yourself a favor. Call your boss. Tell him who’s here. Tell him we need access to Mr. Ren. Because if you don’t, rent-a-cop, I might just have to break my foot off in your ass.”
The security guard glared at Ryker for a long moment, then shot him a crooked smile. He reached for the radio at his shoulder and spoke into it as he walked back to his little shack. Ryker didn’t hear the answer, for he stepped inside the structure and pulled the door halfway closed. Ryker kept standing outside of Chee Wei’s idling car.
The gate slid open, and the guard waved them through. Ryker got back into the car without thanking the guard, and Chee Wei accelerated the Lexus up the driveway.
“Gosh Hal, think you were a little harsh on the guy?” he said.
Ryker chuckled. “Never underestimate the power of the po-po.”
Chee Wei pulled up into the huge drive in front of the mansion and slipped the Lexus’s transmission into park when the front door opened and a man in a suit stepped out of the house. Ryker made out the telltale bulges of a radio and a sidearm under his jacket immediately. He threw open his door and stepped out of the car. The man walked toward the vehicle and stopped by the front left fender as Chee Wei got out himself.
“Gentlemen, I’m Christian Nyby. How can I help you?”
“Ryker and Fong, San Francisco Police. We’re actively working the Danny Lin murder case. I’m sure you know about that.” Ryker looked from the man to the imposing mansion behind him, eyes scanning the windows, looking for anyone who might be watching. He caught a glimpse of movement in one of the second story windows as someone pulled open a drape. And there was Ren Yun, glaring down at Ryker and the others as if they were nothing more than putrid waste that hadn’t gone down the toilet on the first flush.
“I do know that, but I’ll still need to see your identifications, if that’s all right,” the security man said.
Chee Wei pulled his and handed it over. Ryker slowly walked around the car and reached for his. Nyby checked the IDs, then handed them back. He looked at Ryker for a long moment, and Ryker looked back.
“What?”
“Weren’t you wearing that suit last night?” Nyby asked.
Ryker ignored the question, and Chee Wei’s inquisitive expression. His only response was to stare at Nyby as if he was a common hood. Nyby got the message.
“Anyway, Mister Lin isn’t here. So I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.” Nyby smiled sympathetically, but it looked 100% false. “Maybe next time, you can call ahead, save yourself some trouble.”
“We need to speak with Ren. Is he still here?”
Nyby didn’t miss a beat. “Mr. Ren isn’t available, I’m afraid.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Ryker nodded to the second floor window where Ren stood watching them. He was now smoking a cigarette. “Seems to me he’s pretty free at the moment.”
Nyby turned and looked up. His expression didn’t change a bit when he faced the policemen again.
“As I said. Mister Ren is not available.”
Ryker put his hands on his hips. “Let me talk to your boss. What’s his name, Baluyevsky?”
Something flickered behind Nyby’s eyes at the mention of his boss, and Ryker caught it like a shark seizing a fish in its teeth.
“What happened to the Russian?” he asked.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nyby said.
“That’s bullshit.”
“That’s total bullshit,” Chee Wei added. He must have seen the flicker as well, and he took a couple of steps toward Nyby. “What are you hiding, Nyby?”
Nyby stepped back, keeping both men in sight. “I’m hiding nothing. No one is available to speak with you gentlemen now. Next time, please call ahead, or bring a warrant.”
Chee Wei’s cell phone was in his hand in a flash. “I’ll get a telephone warrant right now. Marin and San Francisco counties have full reciprocity, did you know that? I can get a Marin county judge to sign off on a warrant, and a Tiburon detective will deliver it.”
“Fuck that.” Ryker walked directly to the house. Nyby started to reach out and stop him, but thought twice about it. He tried to put himself between Ryker and house instead.
“You can’t go in there. It’s private property, and you’re not even in your jurisdiction! We’ll have your badge for this!”
“And I’ll have Danny Lin’s killer. A suitable trade, right? Now get out of the way, pencil neck.” Ryker slipped past Nyby as Chee Wei approached him from the other side, his hand already resting on the butt of his pistol. Nyby saw the stance and kept his hand well away from his own weapon, but he continued to try and block Ryker.
“You can’t go in there!” he said.
“Then call the police. I think you’re hiding something, so I’m pretty sure you’ll be happy to have them roll up, right?”
Nyby faltered slightly at that
, and Ryker pushed past him. He threw open the great wooden door and walked into the house, his footfalls echoing loudly in the granite entry hall.
###
“What is it that you want with me,” Ren said. Ryker determined his manner to be a combination of imperious, surly, and just plain nasty as they sat in second floor library. The same room Ren had looked down at them from. If he’d known Ryker and Chee Wei had been looking for him, Ryker was certain he wouldn’t have exposed himself at the window.
Chee Wei translated the statement into English for Ryker. Ren maintained he didn’t speak English, so Chee Wei was stuck with the translation duty. The suited Ryker fine; at least he could trust his own partner. Another Chinese man and Nyby stood in the room as well. The Chinese man hadn’t been introduced, but he was one of Lin’s people. Not a security guard, probably more of a personal assistant, Ryker guessed. He had offered to translate on behalf of Ren, but Ryker had refused.
“Tell him we’re going to talk about the days in China when he was with the Communist party. Specifically, tell him we’re going to talk about his meeting with Lin Jong before coming to the United States.”
Chee Wei looked at him oddly. “This guy—?”
Ryker nodded. “This guy was meeting with Lin Jong around the time he was iced.” Behind him, Ryker heard both Nyby and the Chinese man stir uneasily.
Chee Wei told Ren what Ryker had said. At the mention of Lin Jong’s name (this time with the proper intonation, something that had escaped Ryker completely), the old man’s eyes grew even more hooded. He lit another cigarette with a cheap lighter and flicked ashes into the standing ashtray beside his chair. Chee Wei translated his replies for Ryker.
“What business is that of yours?”
“The murder of Lin Jong directly relates to the murder of Lin Dan. This makes it our business.”
“Talk to the Shanghai police.”
“They’re not interested in sharing the details of a murder case they are actively investigating. And I don’t think they could tell me what you can tell me, Mister Ren.”
Ren snorted and blew smoke from his nostrils. “And what makes you think I’ll tell you anything? Why should I even talk to you? Have I broken any of your laws?”
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