Chi stabbed his shovel into the pile of ice. Anger management issues. “I’ll go see if she’s in her office.”
“I’ll come with you,” Parker said. The guy looked offended at the suggestion. Hell of a lot of attitude from someone who shoveled ice for a living.
Chi climbed up on the loading dock, then stood there with his hands on his hips, glaring at Parker. Not the day to have worn the Hugo Boss suit, Parker thought, but there it was. The gauntlet had been thrown down.
Parker boosted himself up onto the dock and dusted himself off, trying not to grimace as he looked at a streak of black dirt on the front of his jacket. His sour-faced tour guide turned and led him through part of the small warehouse space, down a narrow hall to a door marked OFFICE.
Chi knocked. “Aunt? A police detective is here to see you.”
The door opened and a small, neat woman in a red wool blazer and black slacks stared out at them. Her expression was as fierce as her nephew’s, but in a way that was strong rather than petulant.
“Detective Parker, ma’am.” Parker offered his ID. “If I could have a moment of your time, please. I have a couple of questions for you.”
“In regards to what, may I ask?”
“Your car, ma’am. You own a 2002 Mini Cooper?”
“Yes.”
The nephew made a huff of disgust. Lu Chen looked at him. “Please leave us, Chi. I know you have work to do.”
“More than usual,” he said. “Being shorthanded.”
“Excuse us, then,” she said pointedly, and the nephew turned and walked away. She turned to Parker. “Would you care for tea, Detective?”
“No, thank you. I just have a few questions. Is the car here?”
“Yes, of course. I park in back.”
“Do you mind if I have a look?”
“Not at all. What is this all about?” she asked, leading him from the cramped office out the back to the alley.
Parker walked slowly around the car. “When was the last time you drove it?”
She thought for a moment. “Three days ago. I had a charity luncheon at Barneys in Beverly Hills. Then, of course, it rained.”
“You didn’t take it out yesterday?”
“No.”
“Did anyone else take it out? Your nephew, maybe?”
“Not that I know. I was here all day. Chi was here all day, as well, and he has his own car.”
“Does anyone else have access to the keys?”
Now she began to look worried. “They hang in my office. What is this about, Detective? Have I violated some traffic law? I don’t understand.”
“A car matching the description of yours was reported leaving the scene of a crime yesterday. A break-in and assault.”
“How dreadful. But I can assure you, it wasn’t my car. My car was here.”
Parker pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. “A witness copied part of the license plate. It comes pretty close to matching yours.”
“As do many, I’m sure.”
She was a cool one, he had to give her that. He strolled along the driver’s side to the rear of the car and tapped his notebook against the broken taillight. “As the car was leaving the scene, it was struck by a minivan. The taillight was broken.”
“Such a coincidence. My car was struck while I was at my luncheon. I discovered the damage when I went to leave.”
“What did the lot attendant have to say?”
“There was none.”
“Did you report the incident to the police?”
“For what purpose?” she asked, arching a brow. “To garner their sympathy? In my experience, the police have no interest in such small matters.”
“To your insurance company, then?”
“File a claim for so little damage? I would be a fool to give my insurance company such an invitation to raise my rates.”
Parker smiled and shook his head. “You must be something on the tennis court, Ms. Chen.”
“You may call me Madame Chen,” she said, her back ramrod straight. Parker doubted she topped five feet, and still she somehow managed to look down her nose at him. “And I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“My apologies,” Parker said with a deferential tip of his head. “Madame Chen. You seem to have an answer for everything.”
“Why would I not?”
He touched the scratch marks on the Mini Cooper’s otherwise impeccable glossy black paint. “The minivan that struck the car leaving the crime scene was silver. The car that damaged your car was silver also.”
“Silver is a popular color.”
“Interesting thing about paint colors,” Parker said. “They’re particular to make. Ford’s silver paint, for instance, is not Toyota’s silver paint is not BMW’s silver paint. They’re chemically unique.”
“How fascinating.”
“Do you know a J. C. Damon?” Parker asked.
She didn’t react to the sudden change of subject. Parker couldn’t decide if that was genius or a miscalculation. An overreaction would have been more telling, he supposed.
“How would I know this person?” she asked.
“He’s a bike messenger for Speed Couriers. Twentyish, blond, good-looking kid.”
“I have no need of a bicycle messenger.”
“That wasn’t actually the question,” Parker pointed out.
No response.
“J. C. Damon was the person driving the car that was leaving the scene of the crime.”
“Do I seem like the sort of person to consort with criminals, Detective?”
“No, ma’am. But once again, you’ve managed not to answer my question.”
Parker tried to imagine what possible connection this dignified steel lotus blossom might have to a kid like Damon, a ragtag loner, living on the fringes of society. There didn’t seem to be any, and yet he would have bet money there was. This was the car. There were too many hits on crucial points for any of them to be coincidence, and what Madame Chen wasn’t saying was a lot.
Parker leaned a hip against the car, making himself comfortable. “Between you and me, I’m not so sure this kid is a criminal,” he confessed. “I think maybe he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now he’s up to his neck in a serious mess and he doesn’t know how to get out. Things like that happen.”
“Now you speak like a social worker,” Madame Chen said. “Is it not your job to make arrests?”
“I’m not interested in arresting innocent people. My job is to find the truth. I think he might be able to help me do that,” Parker said. “And I might be able to help him.”
She glanced away from him for the first time in their conversation, a pensive shading to her expression. “I’m sure a young man in such a situation may find it difficult to trust—particularly the police.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s true,” Parker said. “A young person with a happy background doesn’t come to be in a situation like that. Life is tough for more people than not. But if a kid like that has someone in his life who can reach out to him . . . Well, that can make all the difference.”
A small worry line creased between her brows. Parker figured she had to be pushing sixty, but her skin was as flawless as porcelain.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a business card. “If for any reason you might need to reach me, ma’am, feel free to call me—anytime, day or night,” he said, handing the card to her. “In the meantime, I’m afraid I’m going to have to impound your car.”
