Stealing the Dragon

“You mean the Golden Gate Bridge at sunset, the Ferry Building, that sort of thing?”

“How about dead Chinese guys?”

“Oh, that picture,” said Cape. “How’d you know it was me?”

“The envelope had your return address on it.”

“I didn’t want you to worry about a sociopath on the loose.”

“I always said you were thoughtful,” replied Beau. “Matter of fact, that’s what I’ll say at your defense hearing. Your honor, he was stupid, irresponsible, had no regard for the law, but he was one thoughtful motherfucker.”

“I had second thoughts after sending it.”

“How ’bout second thoughts when you were taking it?” The phone almost jumped from Cape’s hand. “You ever hear don’t leave the scene of a crime?”

“Fuck you,” said Cape. “You ever hear of the anonymous tip?”

Cape could hear Beau sigh on the other end, a long whistling through the speaker.

“Where is he?” demanded Beau.

Cape blinked. “Who?”

“I’m not playin’ here,” said Beau. “This is my job we’re talking about. I get a picture of a dead man in the mail, I’m supposed to find the dead man and-this is the important part-find the dude who killed the dead man in the first place.”

“You don’t have the body,” Cape said stupidly.

“What am I saying here?”

“You saw the sign in the photo?” asked Cape. “The Chinese Merchants Benevolent Association, the plaque in the background?”

“Now you’re insulting me?”

Cape frowned. Of course Beau had seen the plaque-that’s why Cape framed the photo that way. Stir things up, get local cops involved again. For all the feds or the police knew, this murder was unrelated to the immigrant ship, so homicide would have to take the lead. And Cape’s real motivation-get the cops talking to Harold Yan, someone with influence in Chinatown who could pull a few strings. Get someone with power to take an interest in solving this case.

“You still there?” Beau’s tone was insistent.

“You talked to Yan?” Cape asked, feeling the answer forming in the pit of his stomach.

“Busy man,” said Beau. “But polite as can be.”

“He never saw the body?”

“Didn’t recognize the guy, neither,” said Beau. “’Course, he thinks we have the body and were just lookin’ for an ID-I’m not advertising a missing body just yet.”

“You press him?”

“You crazy?” asked Beau. “No, wait-let me rephrase that. It didn’t seem prudent to suggest to Harold Yan, the mayoral candidate, that he might be full of shit.”

“Fuck me,” muttered Cape.

“What?” said Beau.

“Nothing,” said Cape, a little too quickly.

“OK, let’s try again,” said Beau deliberately. “Where did the body come from?”

“I found it.”

“Where?”

“In my trunk.”

“Just like that,” said Beau. “Next to the spare tire.”

“Next to the jack, actually. He was on top of the spare.”

“Damn, that changes everything,” said Beau. “Where were you?”

“Talking to Freddie Wang.”

“A-ha.”

“A-ha?”

“You bet your ass, a-ha,” replied Beau. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.”

“We are?”

“You’ve seen him before?”

“Yeah. At Freddie’s, maybe ten, fifteen minutes before I left.”

“Perfect,” said Beau. “Gives me someone to talk to-that’s what good police work is, you know. Talkin’ to people, till somebody says something stupid.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I killed him?” said Cape, sounding a little wounded.

“Why? Did you?”

“No.”

“Then why should I ask?”

Cape didn’t have an answer to that.

Beau said, “You’re gonna have to come in and make a statement.”

“Figured as much.”

“Tonight.”

“OK,” said Cape. “Later, though, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Was stupid to move the body,” said Beau.

“I was trying to get your attention.”

“Well, ’less you want to lose your license, you might want to leave that part out.”

“Got it.”

“Guess I don’t need to ask why you were talkin’ to Freddie?”

“Uh-uh,” said Cape.

“How’s that going?”

“I think someone’s trying to kill me,” said Cape.

“Good,” replied Beau. “Saves me the trouble.”

Then he hung up.

Chapter Forty-one

Hong Kong, 10 years ago

The small house was nestled in the hills behind Causeway Bay, not far from where the boats, junks, and sampans jostled for position beneath the elevated expressway. Generations of families had lived on some of the boats, too poor to pay rent anywhere in Hong Kong but with nowhere else to work.

Li Mei worked in her garden, thinking of her youth on one of those boats. Her parents dead these many years, her brother drowned when he was ten. She was the first in her family to have solid ground beneath her feet at the end of the day. Though still close to the water, she was a world away.

She groaned slightly as she stood, putting her right hand behind her hip for balance. Nothing reminds you of your age like your knees. She took off her gloves and dropped them next to the back door, turning the knob and stepping into relative darkness. She blinked as her eyes adjusted from the morning sun to the cool shade of her kitchen.

“Hello, Li Mei.”

Li Mei gasped and almost fell over, her hands jumping out from her sides. As the sun spots left her eyes, a figure materialized at the small kitchen table, Li Mei’s startled mind matching the voice to the shape before her.

“Sally!”

Sally stood slowly and embraced the old woman, who still looked like the oldest person Sally had ever seen. It had been almost two years since Sally had visited. She’d told herself she was too busy, but realized now she’d been avoiding Li Mei for another reason. It was one thing to look in the mirror, but another to face