Ridley Pearson - The First Victim

‘‘I speak Mandarin,’’ she reminded. ‘‘We’ve seen the tape twice.’’

‘‘What I need- we need-is to be inside Melissa’s head. Her thoughts. Emotions. Why is it she dwells so much on the ship’s conditions, when we’re assuming all they saw was the inside of that container? She mentions the ship over and over. We need all that subtext.’’

‘‘The second?’’

‘‘I need you to craft a smear piece. I need you make someone look pretty damn bad.’’

‘‘I don’t know how I can get by putting something on the air that’s pure fantasy.’’

He hesitated, needing her, and said, ‘‘Nothing libelous, but bad enough that she’ll squirm.’’ He asked, ‘‘How long does something like that take?’’

She considered all this, her face a mixture of curiosity and concern. She answered reluctantly, ‘‘Anywhere from a couple of hours to a couple of days. Depends on who the subject is, what kind of existing footage we have.’’

‘‘It doesn’t have to be long, just powerful.’’

‘‘You’re sounding more like a producer than a cop.’’ She tried to smile, but her face only found a grimace.

‘‘You know a woman called Mama Lu?’’ Boldt asked.

She arched her back, opened her eyes and said sarcastically, ‘‘The crime lord? You really do want me killed.’’

‘‘Former crime lord,’’ he corrected. ‘‘More of a politician these days. She’s the one. She has the answers.’’

‘‘She’s behind the disappearance?’’ Stevie asked. ‘‘She’s who Coughlie’s protecting?’’

‘‘We don’t know anything for certain. My gut says Mama Lu has the answers. Some of the answers? All of the answers? I don’t know. But I’ll never get any of them without some way to open her up. She’s getting older. She wants acceptance in the community. That’s her pressure point.’’

‘‘Let me check the clip files,’’ Stevie said, committing to helping him. ‘‘How soon do you need it?’’

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 115 DAYS MISSING

Mama Lu’s empire included the largest Asian food distributorship in King County and partial ownership in Asian restaurants in the city, one of which was the unmarked noodle shop where Boldt found her engaged with a bowl of brown broth, shrimp, green onion and ginger, the smell of which encouraged him to accept her offer of a bowl for himself, though he made it clear he was required to pay for this out of pocket, a condition she tolerated.

Dressed in a blue cavalcade of cotton, her flesh inflated from joint to joint, wrist to elbow, so that if he reached out and touched her, the skin would feel taut and ready to burst. When she smiled, her eyes fell into shadow, elongating to thin black slivers like chips of coal in the face of a snowman; her lips, too, grew long and thin, stretched like a rubber band across her false teeth.

The soup was delicious.

‘‘How is your wife’s health, Mr. Both?’’

Boldt considered the number of times he’d been asked this question over the past eighteen months and the hundreds of variations and forms it took, from sympathetic expressions to probing curiosity. But from the mouth of this woman, the inquiry sent a chill through him.

‘‘Do the Chinese have any sayings about coincidence?’’ Boldt asked, attempting to change the subject.

‘‘I not Confucius, Mr. Both. Humble businesswoman. You no want talk of wife? How about the children?’’

‘‘It’s not a social visit, I’m afraid,’’ he answered, his skin prickling. He would not put his family at risk; he had been through that, had learned the hard way. But he thought back to her day-care center and his children as something they had in common. ‘‘My children are the light of my life. There is so much wonder through their eyes, so

much is new. I learn something from them every day.’’

‘‘Children are windows to past and future. Much to learn.’’

‘‘And your children?’’ he asked. ‘‘The ones I met?’’

‘‘Yes. .’’ she said, sipping grotesquely from the Chinese spoon and spreading her smile onto the table.

They ate in silence then, for Boldt could not salvage any more common ground between them; they ate like lovers, talking only with their eyes. By the end of the brief meal Boldt felt oddly confident.

She pushed the bowl aside with her forearm, dabbed her large mouth with a paper napkin and burped softly. ‘‘Good enough to savor twice,’’ she said.

Boldt finished and placed his bowl aside as well, perceiving correctly that so placed the bowls could no longer capture the words spoken between them and thus business could now be discussed. She supported this notion with her inquiry.

‘‘Now, what accounts for your visit?’’ she asked.

Collecting his thoughts, he bowed his head. ‘‘We-the police, that is-investigate the ship’s captain and he drowns; we inquire after the manager of the equipment rental, and his forklift explodes; we hear of a government worker selling counterfeit driver’s licenses and she sucks oven gas-all convenient coincidences to whoever is profiting from the transportation of illegals.’’

She said only, ‘‘Trouble comes in threes.’’

‘‘It doesn’t require a great leap of faith to suspect that someone with inside knowledge is remaining one step ahead of us.’’

‘‘Change begins in our own house,’’ she said. She touched her enormous chest. ‘‘Inside ourselves.’’

‘‘We, the police, that is, have shared each step of our investigation with Immigration and Naturalization.’’

Her eyes became darker, if that were possible.

‘‘And only them,’’ he continued.

‘‘You have shared much with me as well,’’ she offered, testing to see where his suspicions lay.

‘‘The government does not pay its workers well,’’ he said. ‘‘One can easily imagine a dissatisfaction with the system, an openness to the persuasion of corrupting influences.’’ He continued cautiously. ‘‘You, Great Lady, might have heard of such a government employee, and whereas I would understand, even respect your reluctance to mention any names, I thought perhaps were I to speak the names, you might be able to show some indication, make some sign to me that might prevent me from wasting my time.’’

‘‘You overestimate me, Mr. Both. I humble businesswoman. A few investments here and there.’’

With the carrot failing, he decided to try the stick. ‘‘A certain television station intends to run a series on power and influence within the International District and the Asian community and its relationship to the flow of illegal immigrants into the city.’’ Boldt pulled the VCR cassette from his coat pocket and set it on the table. ‘‘You may want to see some of the footage they intend to use. Arrests that didn’t need to happen. Courtroom trials that ended in hung juries.’’ He met eyes with her and said, ‘‘It’s so unfair the way the press can air our dirty laundry, trials that have long since been forgotten by most.’’

‘‘You have influence with this station,’’ she suggested calmly.

‘‘Influence might be too strong a word. They are as hard on the police as they are on the innocent businesswoman. In their search for the guilty they stop at nothing. The rules are so different for the police.’’

Mama Lu kept quiet, mulling over what Boldt had told her. When she spoke, she sounded happy, as if not bothered by any of it.

‘‘Do you take any pride in a knowledge of astrology, Mr. Both?’’

‘‘As ignorant as a babe,’’ he confessed.

‘‘Do you pay any attention to the calendar, professionally, personally?’’