“Okay, so the results are in,” he announced, sitting down across from Derek’s desk.
“And?”
“And we’ve got an interesting potpourri of reactions. They’re all nervous wrecks, especially since Rosalyn Burbank’s bodyguard was pulled out of the river with a fatal stab wound in his back. That’s to be expected. But there’s definitely something going on beneath the surface. I’m still convinced it doesn’t relate to a dirty deal or a switcheroo on the Rothberg. But the integrity of the players involved—that’s another story.”
With that, Rich pulled out his notes. “Burbank is the one I have the least problems with. He wasn’t surprised by the fact that Xiao Long’s criminal activities might be tied to a Chinese triad. He agreed that it would explain Xiao’s determination to keep his murdering Cai Wen quiet—to protect whoever he’s working for. Burbank himself offered up the theory that in the final hour, Cai Wen probably tried to squeeze Xiao for more money, which got him killed.”
“What about Fong? Had Burbank heard of him? Had any dealings with him?”
Rich shook his head. “He drew a blank. And he wasn’t lying. The name Henry Fong meant nothing to him. Neither did Daniel Zhang or Zhang Ming.”
“So he has no idea where Dead or Alive went after Xiao Long stole it.” Derek shot Rich a quizzical look. “You didn’t get into Lucy’s story, did you? Because I promised Sloane we’d keep her out of this. As it is, I put security on both her and Zhang. If Xiao is tied to the Fong Triad, and if he sees either Lucy or Zhang as a threat, he won’t hesitate to eliminate them.”
“Lucy’s name never came up. All I said was that the Rothberg was stolen from whomever Xiao Long got it for, after which it was sold to Zhang. That’s all that Burbank, or any of his partners, needs to know.”
“Good. What about the others?”
“Ah, the others. Leo Fox was flying on so much caffeine that he was practically on the ceiling. He kept waiting for me to bring up the file you found him rifling at Sloane’s. Of course I didn’t. It’s better to keep him squirming. He didn’t react to any of the names I ran by him, either. But he’s sitting on something. I’m just not sure whether it relates to Xiao Long or to his partners. He’s definitely the Dear Abby of the group. So if anyone has secrets, he knows them.”
Rich turned the page and continued. “Phil Leary’s an interesting fellow. His professional books are impeccable, but when I brought up how erratic his personal financial statements are, he fell all over himself. After that, he was a basket case. He looked dazed and clueless when I brought up the Fong Triad and Zhang, and when I brought the interview to a close, he spilled his coffee in a race to get out the door. Whatever he does or doesn’t know, his actions are certainly consistent with your findings that he’s a compulsive gambler.”
“Not just compulsive. An addict,” Derek corrected. “I verified the extent of his problem through a half-dozen sources. And, yeah, he’s loyal to his partners, but you and I both know that addicts sacrifice a lot more than just friends to support their habit. I’m on the verge of finding out his bookie’s name. Once I do, I’ll get the scumbag to talk, even if I have to throw his ass in jail.”
“Sounds like a plan. With regard to Leary, I’m tapped out at my end.”
“Fair enough. What about Johnson and Martino?”
“That’s where things get more intriguing. Both Johnson and Martino reacted when I mentioned Xiao Long’s name. I found that to be fascinating, considering they’re the only two partners who weren’t in Hong Kong when Cai Wen was murdered. That’s why we didn’t bother showing them our sketch. And since Xiao is under FBI investigation, we never mentioned his name before now. So any interactions either Martino or Johnson had with him had to be under different circumstances, probably right here in the U.S.”
Derek was all ears. “Did you get the feeling they were in this together or separately?”
“Not sure.”
“Under what contexts did each of them react?”
“Martino wasn’t totally sober. When I asked him about Fong and Zhang, he claimed not to know them. But then he went on to slur a bunch of stuff about being sick to death of all this Chinese organized crime. That’s when I slipped in Xiao’s name. He started shaking and sweating, and looking around like he’d kill for a drink. So I dropped the bomb that Xiao Long was the one who stole the Rothberg and killed Cai Wen. I thought he was going to either vomit or pass out at my feet. He definitely knows the guy. Does that association relate to the Rothberg? It’s possible. As for Zhang and the triad, I’ll run Martino’s name by Daniel Zhang and see what he says. Either way, Martino warrants further investigation.”
“He’s at the top of my list.” Derek’s hands balled into fists. “What about Johnson?”
“Wallace Johnson is a complicated man. Smart. Polished. Quite adept at keeping a poker face. But he made no secret of the fact that he was displeased about holding our follow-up interview, or discussing the ongoing art thefts at all.”
“Any reaction to Fong’s or Zhang’s name?”
“He said he vaguely knew of the Fong Triad, that he’d heard of them during his numerous business trips to China. But he added that he’d never met any of the members personally, Zhang included. I doubt he’s lying. He’s too shrewd not to know I could easily check out his story with Zhang. Then I dropped Xiao Long’s name. Despite his best attempts to cover up his reaction, he was taken aback. He asked me if Xiao was suspected of being part of the Fong Triad. I evaded the question, but told him that Xiao had killed Cai Wen and stolen the Rothberg. Again, he tried to take it all in stride, but he was thrown for a loop. It could be personal. Maybe Xiao screwed him over in an art deal.”
“Maybe. Or maybe Johnson and/or Martino are involved in something illegal.”
“Yeah.” Rich blew out a breath. “Between this information, and the recent home invasions and art thefts, we certainly have our w
ork cut out for us.”
“You’ve done your job with Burbank and his partners. The next step’s mine.” Derek picked up the reports he’d been reading when Rich came in, then tossed them across his desk in disgust. “Three damned break-ins in one week. All at affluent homes. And even though Xiao Long organized them, these robberies were definitely not committed by the Red Dragons. Windows smashed to gain entry. Burglar alarms ignored. Home owners all present, with no attempts made by the intruders to wait for the houses to be empty. All residents held at gunpoint and restrained with Flex-Cufs. Thieves who wore masks, spoke with accents, and were in and out by the time the cops arrived—in under ten minutes, according to the victims. And nothing taken except valuable paintings. Your Black Eagles strike again. With one charming addition, courtesy of Xiao Long.”
“Yeah, the empty fortune cookie left at each home.” Rich scowled. “This burglary ring is not only practicing for their pièce de résistance, they’re taunting us, demonstrating our ineffectiveness at stopping them.”
“Xiao Long knows we’ve linked him to the Albanians. But he’s flaunting our lack of proof.”
“We’ll get some,” Rich vowed. “We’ll nail our triad, and connect them to the Albanians and to Xiao Long.”