Stephen Knight - White Tiger

“Dude, you really have a thing for conspiracy theories,” Chee Wei deadpanned.

“Hey, this is San Francisco, home of the loony liberal left. Conspiracy theories are what we live on out here.” Ryker waved toward the house. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

The two detectives walked toward the house. The entry was on the second floor, accessible by a winding, stucco-covered staircase. Chee Wei bolted up its length, his Bostonian loafers clacking loudly on the red tiled steps. Ryker climbed it unenthusiastically, his rubber-soled Rockports barely making a whisper. Chee Wei rang the bell as Ryker clambered onto the stoop behind him. A wind chime suspended beneath an ornate glass dragonfly hung beside the door, making small tinkling sounds as the light breeze caressed it.

There was no answer. Chee Wei rang the bell again.

“Think one of us should watch back?” he asked.

Ryker looked through the opaque window next to the door. He shook his head.

“No. Someone’s coming.”

He stepped back from the window and pulled his badge. Chee Wei did the same as the door opened. A security chain prevented it from opening more than five inches, and a thirty-something Chinese female face peered out at them. She was only borderline cute, and had the look of a mother, not a sexpot. There was no way this could be Xiaohui Zhu, Ryker decided.

“What do you want?” the woman asked, her English heavily accented.

“San Francisco Police,” Chee Wei said, showing her his badge. “I’m Detective Fong, this is Detective Sergeant Ryker, from Metro Division. May we come inside for a moment?”

“Why you want to come in?” the woman asked quickly. “I didn’t call the police!”

“We’d like to discuss some things with you,” Chee Wei said. “You’re not in any trouble, but we think you might be able to give us some assistance.”

“I don’t-”

“Do you have a sister named Xiaohui Zhu?” Ryker asked abruptly.

The woman behind the door looked at him, then back at Chee Wei. It didn’t take a degree in rocket science to see that she was trying to decide upon something…like whether to lie or not.

“No,” she said simply, choosing to lie. She started to close the door.

Ryker shoved it back open, slamming the door back against the chain. The woman shrieked a little and jumped behind it and out of view.

“This happens one of two ways,” Ryker said, his voice firm. “You let us in to talk with your sister, or we get a warrant. And some very, very bad people are looking for your sister. If you make us get a warrant, we’ll have to leave, and then they’ll show up before we can come back. Believe me, they’re not really all that interested in talking with her, and the kind of conversation they’ll likely have won’t last more than ten seconds. So you might want to consider letting us in so we can begin to straighten this whole thing out.”

The woman stepped out from behind the door after a moment, wide-eyed and clearly frightened.

“How I know you real police?” she asked.

Ryker reached into his wallet and pulled out one of his business cards. He held it out to her.

“Call the number on the card, but don’t dial the extension. Press three instead, and you’ll get the watch officer. Ask for me. He’ll tell you I’m away from the station.”

The woman regarded the card for a moment, then snatched it out of his hand. Ryker allowed her to slam the door shut.

Chee Wei checked his watch then looked out over the street.

“Well, this could take a while.”

“Patience, grasshopper.”

“Whatever you say, Blow-My-Wand Kenobi.”

The corners of Ryker’s mouth twitched upward slightly, as much of a smile such a comment deserved.

The chain rustled on the other side of the door, and it opened an instant later. The woman looked at both detectives suspiciously for a moment, but it was obvious that at least the question of their identities had been resolved.

“Why you want my sister?” she asked.

“Your sister is a known associate of Lin Dan,” Chee Wei said, pronouncing the deceased’s name with perfect Chinese intonation. “We really need to speak with her regarding her whereabouts last night.”

“I know nothing about this,” the woman protested. She was wearing faded blue jeans and a gray Gap T-shirt, over which was a light blue sweater. Worn slippers adorned her feet. She wore no makeup, and her face was relatively plain without it. A simple gold wedding band reflected the sunlight from her hand.

“Ma’am, may we come in?” Ryker prodded.

After another brief hesitation, she nodded curtly and stepped to one side. Ryker shuffled in ahead of Chee Wei, and the woman closed the door behind them. She locked it and slid the chain back into place. The smell of ginger and garlic was in the air. From deeper in the house, a small dog yapped.

“Why you want to ask my sister about this man?” the woman asked.

“You know of him, then,” Chee Wei said.

“Not me, I don’t know anything.”

“Lin Dan could be a female name as well, but you knew it was a man.”

“It’s on the news,” the woman countered, pointing down the small hallway toward what was probably the living room. “Chinese station.”

Ryker rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“May I have your name, please?” he asked.

“Mabel Chan,” she replied automatically. “My husband, his name is Eugene.”

“And your sister’s name is Xiaohui Zhu,” Ryker continued. “And we have it on some pretty good word that she’s here.”

There was a spell of silence for a long moment. Ryker looked around the small entry hall; white tile, beige walls, Victorian-style crown moldings, and a slightly battered wall table holding up two antique-looking bowls of green glass. Both were overflowing with old mail. He reached out past Chee Wei and snatched up one envelope. Mabel Chan opened her mouth and took a quick breath to protest, but he ignored her. The envelope was indeed addressed to the Chan family. He returned it to the bowl, and turned to face Mabel.

“Mrs. Chan-Mabel? — it’s for the best that we speak with your sister as soon as possible. She could be in some serious trouble, and we need to figure out if she needs help from us.”

Mabel looked from white man to Chinese man and back to white man.

“Come with me,” she said. With that, she led them to a small living room outfitted with two small leather loveseats. One was against another beige wall; the other had its back to the window overlooking the driveway outside. Both were oriented toward a large plasma screen television. On it played a Chinese news program, the volume muted. English captions flashed at the bottom of the screen, and Ryker thought that was odd.

“For my son,” Mabel explained, catching Ryker’s expression. “He doesn’t speak Chinese good.”

“Ah,” Ryker said, biting back a comment regarding Mabel’s imprecise English.

“Please sit.” Mabel waved toward the couches, then vanished down the nearby hallway. Heading for the bedrooms, Ryker figured as he lowered himself onto one of the loveseats. Chee Wei took his place on the second, and glanced around the room. His brow furrowed and he shook his head.

“Beige walls, tan leather couches, and an off-pink carpet,” he observed. “Some people have no grasp of the basic principles behind home decorating.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right, Martha Stewart. This place could really be classed-up some. Maybe some deep red shag carpeting and murals of Cupid being gang-raped by a bunch of Boy Scouts?”

Chee Wei looked at Ryker evenly. He shook his head again after a moment.

“No wonder you’re divorced,” he commented.

“Says the kid who bought a Lexus thinking it would get him a date,” Ryker shot back. “Worthwhile investment after all, huh?”