“What questions?” Lin regretted not taking up the
“You’ll appreciate we don’t get many incidents like this. Oh, they appear from time to time. You may remember the Bobbitt case? Wife attacked her husband with a knife after he beat her. He survived, and surgeons were able to make him whole again once they found his piece. But that was Virginia. We’re a little more civilized here; at least I like to think so. That’s why I was wondering, what with your family coming from China, whether the method of his…execution…was something you recognized? I mean no insult and I apologize if I offend you. But you’ll appreciate we’re investigating a murder. Your answer might give us a significant clue.”
Lin shook his head. It took tremendous effort. “I am neither insulted nor offended, detective sergeant. China is a country of many facets. Not all are pleasing to the eye. But the answer is no. I have not encountered such a thing before.” He had no wish to discuss Lin Jong’s death with these strangers. Enough that he had to answer questions from the Shanghai police who were even more insufferable than their Western counterparts.
Lost Soul Fong said, “You ever hear of Lin Yuk-sang?”
“I don’t know that name,” Lin said, although he did know it.
“It’s a pretty famous incident. Happened in Hong Kong, 1986 or ‘87. Lin Yuk-sang’s wife cut off his penis with a pair of scissors when she found out about his mistress. She flushed it down the john. I guess you’re not related.”
“My family is from Shanghai, not Hong Kong,” Lin said, hating him.
“Sorry for bothering you, Mr. Lin,” Ryker said. “I hope you understand the necessity of our intrusion. Please accept our condolences.”
“Maybe Mr. Lin knows what the message means,” Lost Soul Fong said, stopping Ryker as he turned away. A look passed between them and Lin seized its meaning at once: the
Han obliged by demanding, “What message? What have you not told us?”
Ryker’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly as he surrendered to the inevitable and said, “A message was left on the wall of Lin Dan’s suite at the hotel. It was written in Chinese.” He glanced at Lost Soul Fong.
“
Lin let the words wash over him. They unlocked memories he’d never expected nor wanted to review again. Parts of his life that he’d put inside black lacquered boxes, then put inside other boxes, never meant to be reopened.
“I’m told it translates to ‘No war, no peace,’” Ryker said. “Do you recognize the phrase, Mr. Lin? Does it mean anything to you?”
“I wish it did,” Lin said. “Especially if it has any bearing upon my son’s death. But I’m afraid I have no idea what it signifies. None at all.”
He was afraid that something in his tone might betray him, but to his relief they accepted the lie without comment and allowed Han to escort them out. As soon as they were gone Lin lurched for the door. He only just made it back to his study where he collapsed into his chair gasping for breath. He squeezed the arm rests until his fingers hurt and the room stopped spinning.
He wanted to cry but could not. Tears were a luxury he’d given up some time ago, as one of the many prices he’d paid so his family could survive the horrors of the Cultural Revolution and China’s agonizing metamorphosis into a dominant world power, a process that was still ongoing. How many had died during this bloody evolution? The numbers were huge and without meaning. But Lin remembered every single person whose death he had precipitated. How could he possibly forget? The trick lay in isolating these memories. Consigning them to the black lacquer boxes. Pushing them so far back into the darkest recesses of his mind that their murmurings would never bother him again.
Until something entirely unforeseen rose up to strike him on the face and demand the boxes fly open to reveal their grisly contents.
He opened his eyes and found Alexsey standing there, his massive hands clasped over the swell of stomach that some might easily mistake for fat but was in fact solid overdeveloped muscle, like the rest of his outsized weightlifter’s body.
“Lin Yubo, I offer my condolences on the death of your son.” Alexsey’s coarse Russian accent had benefited from his time in the United States. So had Lin’s business dealings, thanks to Alexsey’s connections with Russian Mafiya and his friends in the military, which had smoothed out certain problems with deliveries and production behind what was left of the Iron Curtain.
“Who was with my son last night?” Lin said.
“I believe he took the usual woman back to the hotel.”
“Did you have anyone watching him?”
Alexsey stared at the floor. “A misjudgment on my part, for which I apologize.”
Lin slapped the top of his desk. “Nonsense. You were not to know someone intended Lin Dan harm. Find the woman. Han knows her name. If she has not fled the city then she will be with her friends, in Chinatown. Call me when you have found her.”
“You believe she killed Lin Dan?”
Lin pondered that question for a moment. “If not then she may know who did. She was with him. The police do not yet know her identity. I wish to speak to her before they do.”
Alexsey nodded understanding. As turned to go Lin added, “She must not be harmed. If it turns out she had a hand in my son’s death, I’ll deal with her myself.” Alexsey left the study closing the door silently, leaving Lin alone with his grief.
But he was not unaware of the duties he still had to perform. He opened the lid of his laptop, typed his password and watched as the screen brightened, returning him to his unsaved e-mail. He read what he had already written, felt dissatisfaction with his poor choice of words, deleted the entire message, and started writing again from the beginning.
CHAPTER 7
Tiburon/San Francisco, California
The electronic gates swung open as Chee Wei’s Crown Vic neared the end of the driveway that led to James Lin’s residence, a sprawling Spanish-style mansion in the exclusive Marin County community called Tiburon. The taciturn guard at the shack at the corner waved them through. Ryker watched the sprawling building recede in his side mirror as he analyzed how he felt about that brief and unsatisfying interview. Lin had given nothing away, nothing at all. They might as well have been talking about the weather as about his son’s death. Did Lin have emotions? Or did he just keep them buried so deeply that nothing showed on the surface, except his very obvious contempt for the police, and for Ryker in particular?
“What did you think about that old guy?” Chee Wei said, zooming through the open gates and onto the road. “He gave me the creeps. Real spooky.”
“Pull over onto the next street,” Ryker said. Chee Wei gave him a funny look but did as he was told. There was another road perhaps two hundred yards down from the entrance to James Lin’s house. Chee Wei pulled the Crown Vic onto the road and turned it around so its grille pointed back the way they had come. The Ford’s Police Interceptor engine purred while Ryker sifted his thoughts.
“What’s up?” Chee Wei asked. “Was it that war and peace thing? Things were a little tense, I thought maybe you forgot to ask him.”
Ryker shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. The old guy. Lin called him his manservant. What does that mean? In Chinese terms.”
