used to getting what he wants. Just ask Victor Chin.”
“I’ll make the calls. Oh, and stay out of Cueball’s way, he’s pissed as hell, got some crazy idea this is all your doing.”
Ryker left Spider to it and went back downstairs. On the way he remembered Sandra Raymond. He’d meant to call her again but the big meeting with James Lin and the city’s finest minds had derailed his train of thought. She’d missed the morning’s excitement. He called her now, and she picked up after the third ring.
“Detective Raymond. Missed you at the station house. Where are you?”
“Are you kidding me? I’m still at the Mandarin,” she said, sounding weary. “We’ve interviewed over fifty guests. You have no idea. These people have social secretaries. They won’t let me in their rooms without an appointment. ‘Come back later this afternoon.’ I’m like, ‘We’re investigating a murder here, open the fucking door.’”
Ryker squeezed into a corner to let a couple of female cops march a skinny junkie upstairs. “From the tone in your voice, I’m guessing no one saw anything.”
“Damn right.” Raymond sighed into her phone, venting her anger. “Hey, I talked to Morales. He said the surveillance video only showed the Chinese woman and morning room service. You’ve arrested her, haven’t you? So why am I still here?”
“You’re there in case someone reports seeing a ninja assassin climbing down the outside of the building.” Ryker almost missed his footing as the crazy thought solidified and hit him between the eyes. “Sandra, I want you to check with the manager. Find out who’s staying in the rooms beneath the Taipan Suite. Go talk to them.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“It’s worth a shot.”
“No, I mean the CSI team already checked it out. I talked to that guy, Klein? He said they dusted the doors, checked the locks, blue-lit the entire balcony and the balcony below. Nada.”
Ryker reached the holding pen and got himself buzzed in. Raymond’s signal faded as he passed through the doors and headed for Hoffer’s desk, but came back again as soon as he cleared the metalwork. “Can’t do any harm to talk to the occupants anyway, while you’re waiting for your next social appointment.”
“Okay. I got it covered.”
Hoffer had his book open and the envelope with Xiaohui’s belongings ready and waiting. Ryker signed the book and the clipboard that Hoffer held out, effectively releasing her from custody.
“Did Klein say anything else?” Ryker asked Raymond.
“You get brain cancer from these things,” Hoffer opined. Ryker crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out, and headed for the interview room.
“He hit on me,” Raymond said.
“He hits on everyone. Don’t think you’re special. What did you say?”
“I told him I have AIDS.”
“Ouch. But he asked you for a date anyway, right?”
She chuckled, a throaty sound which pleased Ryker no end. Maybe he’d lost the knack of pleasing women, but at least he could still make them laugh.
“Keep doing what you’re doing, Sandra, it’s appreciated. News update, we’re releasing the hooker,” he said. “Not nearly enough evidence to hold her.” He didn’t go into detail about James Lin; plenty of time for that later, and Raymond’s diary was hectic enough at the moment.
“With respect, Sergeant, what am I missing?” Raymond said. “If no one else was in the hotel room, she has to the killer, right?”
Chee Wei stood in the interview room doorway with his hands on his hips, a classic David Caruso pose. All he lacked were sunglasses and a blue Miami sky.
“Roger that.”
Ryker put his phone away and joined Chee Wei. “Just keeping Detective Raymond in the picture,” he said. “She’s feeling lonely. Are we good to go?”
“Anytime.” Chee Wei half-turned to enter the room but Ryker stopped him and motioned him away from the door, turning so Xiaohui couldn’t possibly hear them. A cop walked by carrying a tray with covered plates, he nodded to Hoffer who opened a door for him. Ryker’s nose twitched at the rich food smell; criminals, it seemed, ate better than he did.
“Whassup?” Chee Wei said.
“If I wanted to talk to someone in the Shanghai police? Who would I go through? Any ideas?”
Chee Wei thought about it. “I have a cousin who works for the Hong Kong police. I’m sure he still has contacts in the old country. You want me to ask him?”
“That would be great.”
“Tell me something. Is this about her?” Chee Wei jerked his head to indicate Xiaohui, who had her back to them and stood with her arms folded, almost hugging herself, a picture of insecurity. “Or is it about James Lin?”
“Call me when you get to the sister’s place,” Ryker said. “After that, I want you to check in every thirty minutes. I’ll make sure Debbie knows.” He meant Debbie Price, the department’s administrator/clerk, whose duties included screening incoming calls and passing them to the relevant Homicide detectives. A three-times-married fortysomething, Debbie was too much woman for Ryker, who’d been mildly tempted to pursue a social dalliance until he learned her only interests were her seven cats, and Mexican dramas piped in via cable, a habit she’d acquired from her last husband, a decorated Latino cop who’d stopped a bullet from a Desert Eagle and left Debbie financially secure, if a little eccentric. “Don’t miss a call. You hear?”
Chee Wei nodded. They entered the interview room. Xiaohui turned to face them and Ryker saw she’d been crying. Was it an act to provoke sympathy? He couldn’t be sure, couldn’t read her accurately enough. He’d ask Chee Wei later; he was sure to be tuned into her more. Although hopefully not
“Detective Fong will drive you to your sister’s, Miss Zhu. You don’t have to worry about anything while he’s with you. The investigation into Danny Lin’s murder will continue. I’m hopeful we’ll make an arrest soon. That should satisfy Mr. Lin. He’ll call off his dogs.” Which was bullshit; at this moment Xiaohui was their best and only lead, but he wanted to reassure her that the entire S.F.P.D. was on her side.
She sobbed a thank-you. Chee Wei escorted her to the desk to pick up her stuff. Ryker watched them go and knew he’d done the right thing. Chee Wei’s performance with Victor Chin had swung it, of course; he’d protected the damsel in distress and seen off the evil dragon. If Xiaohui was going to talk at all, she’d talk to Chee Wei. That was the plan, anyway, and while Ryker acknowledged its simplicity, he also thought it might just work.
Which left him alone and wondering what the hell he should be doing next. His rumbling stomach told him. He remembered the effect the smell of food had had on him, and realized how hungry he was. Pity the station house didn’t do room service….
He hurried out and along the hallway, took the stairs three at a time and burst through the doors, startling Johnson who said, “Where’s the fire?” Ignoring the black detective, and the ugly look Wallace gave him, Ryker fired up the DVD player again and used the timer to backtrack to when Danny Lin and Xiaohui arrived at the Taipan Suite and went inside. He fast-forwarded, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen. The minutes and seconds blurred but he kept track of the hour, 3 a.m., 4 a.m., 5 a.m., 6 a.m….
“Found anything interesting?” Spider stood behind him, Wallace by his side, their reflections visible in the upper corner of the screen.
“Playing a hunch,” Ryker said.
“Yuh-huh,” Wallace drawled, before turning and heading back to his desk. Maybe he’d become addicted to John Wayne movies. Ryker wished he’d climb up on his tall horse and mosey on out of town.
As 8 a.m. rolled up, room service arrived, the waiter with the breakfast trolley. Ryker pressed Play and the DVD player went into real time. The breakfast dishes lay hidden beneath silver heat covers, cutlery was laid out on the spotless white tablecloth, there was even a little vase with flowers, plus the slim leather wallet for the customer’s signature. The waiter knocked on the door, paused, knocked again. He opened the door and said
