Stephen Knight - White Tiger

“I’m afraid Mr. Lin has requested your presence throughout at least the first part of the evening.”

“Huh. Didn’t think this was a party for the working class. Sorry, I’m not letting any valet drive my car.”

Baluyevsky pulled on his jacket. “Very well, if it makes things more palatable, leave it there. I know how you Americans love your automobiles. Come, let’s go for a walk. I will give you a guided tour, I believe it is called.”

Manning followed Baluyevsky out of the cool, darkened room and into the hallway. The big Russian led Manning throughout the lower floor of the villa, pointing out room after room filled with lavish furnishings and stunning artworks. Lin’s taste was hardly eclectic, Manning noticed. He preferred furniture that looked expensive, but was probably uncomfortable for more than occasional use. He was fond of statues from all over the world, and his framed artworks were likely first class, though such things were beyond Manning. Near the rear of the house, there was a windowed gallery where large paintings and wall hangings were on display. The windows overlooked the carefully sculpted gardens and huge patio, and a large swimming pool could be glimpsed past artistically manicured hedges. And the view from the courtyard was simply stunning: from the Golden Gate to downtown San Francisco, it was laid out for all to see. On such a peculiarly clear day as this one, it bordered on breathtaking.

“The view at night is simply lovely,” Baluyevsky stated, as if sensing Manning’s thoughts. “The city and the bridge gleam like jewels.”

“Probably the only things Lin doesn’t own,” Manning replied.

“For now,” Baluyevsky said.

They finally wound up in the large gourmet kitchen, which was full of white-clad staff scurrying back and forth as they prepared the night’s meals. Most were Chinese, but some whites and Hispanics were present as well. Baluyevsky led Manning to a large table off to one side, and motioned to one of the chefs as he sat. Manning sat down across from him.

“Lin doesn’t have any African-Americans working for him?” Manning asked.

“Observant. No, Mr. Lin does not care for blacks. Does this offend you?” Baluyevsky wanted to know.

Manning shrugged. “Lin’s an old guy from China, and most Asians don’t care for blacks anyway. It’s not surprising. I just didn’t think he would care about those things.”

“Mr. Lin cares about a great many things. In his world, perceptions are quite valuable.”

One of the Chinese chefs approached the table, carrying a silver coffee service. On it were two espresso cups made of extremely delicate china. Baluyevsky ignored the chef and picked up one cup by its tiny handle. Manning was surprised the vessel didn’t shatter in his thick fingers.

“Espresso,” Baluyevsky said. “Please help yourself, if you like.”

“Thanks.” Manning brought his cup to his lips and tasted the hot, bitter liquid. It was first rate, of course.

“So tell me of your meeting with the police,” Baluyevsky said.

Manning raised a brow and looked around the busy kitchen. “Here?”

“No one here cares about such things, and if they did, things would go badly for them.”

“You guys really stick it to the little people, huh?”

“I do not know what you mean by that, but no one here is threatened by us. They know what is required of them, and if they cannot provide a specific level of service-which includes discretion-then they are fired. That is all I meant.”

“Ah.” Manning sipped more espresso. “I see.”

He told Baluyevsky of his meeting with Ryker, and what his review of the murder book had revealed. There wasn’t a lot to go on, and Manning surmised that some things hadn’t made it to the book as of yet. Still, it seemed that Ryker and his team were moving ahead as quickly as they could. Solving a murder became substantially more difficult after the first forty-eight hours or so, and even though there was some substantial physical evidence, there was nothing that could offer up a suitable suspect. Manning told Baluyevsky that Zhu Xiaohui had been nominally cleared of any wrongdoing, but that the police were still interested in her.

“And they are protecting her from us?” Baluyevsky wanted to know.

“I got that impression, yes. You were made on the day that you stopped by her sister’s place, which wasn’t particularly wise.”

Baluyevsky waved that aside. “What did you not see today? What was missing?”

“Various interdepartmental forms. Background checks, things like that. I only saw the murder book itself, and while it was pretty thorough, I’m sure there’s stuff that hasn’t made it there yet. I asked for the forms to be shown to me tomorrow. Ryker said someone would handle that.”

“Yes, Ryker…what did you think of him?”

Manning shrugged. “Seemed competent enough. Contentious son of a bitch, but I can understand why. He’s got a bunch of outsiders looking over his shoulder and turning up the heat on his bosses, which doesn’t make things easier for him. He’s probably a very good cop, but he’s being kept on a short leash.”

“How close is he to identifying a suspect?”

“Not very. A lot of people hate Lin, both the son and the father, though the son certainly had a higher profile here in the U.S. I’m wondering if anyone has taken a look at his wife?”

Baluyevsky frowned. “You would think that Lin Dan’s wife killed him, or had him killed?”

“Look, the guy was taken out while having an affair with a much younger woman, right? That would cost a Chinese a lot of face. A lot of face, especially in circles like this one.” Manning indicated the house in which they sat.

Baluyevsky shook his head. “That would be impossible. Valerie Lin is not that sort of woman. She knew of her husband’s infidelity, but she bore it silently. The only action she took regarding that was to bring it to Mr. Lin’s attention.”

Manning was surprised by that. “She took this to Lin himself? That’s outside the box for a Chinese.”

“She has American sensibilities about some things, but you are right, it was a moment of great embarrassment for both of them. Mr. Lin was not pleased to be approached with such a development.”

“So what did he do?”

“He reduced his son’s standing in the business. Major responsibilities were transferred to others not in the family bloodline. And there was no chance that Lin Dan would keep his seat on the board of directors of Lin Industries, in either the U.S. or China.”

Manning thought about that. “I guess it didn’t work,” he said finally. “Lin Dan still had his ladies on the side.”

Baluyevsky sipped from his cup so delicately that it was almost comical. “No, it did not work. Apparently this woman is quite the artist.”

“What do you know of her?”

“Nothing. Only that she is a native Shanghainese, and that she has exorbitant tastes. Lin Dan was literally spending hundreds of thousands of dollars a year maintaining her. It was only when he brought her to California for their liaisons that Valerie Lin found out about Lin Dan’s ‘other life’, so to speak, and took action.”

“So Lin Dan wasn’t a very cool cat, then.”

Baluyevsky blinked. “What do you mean by ‘cool cat’?”

“I meant he wasn’t the paragon of discretion.”

“No. He was obviously not at all discreet,” Baluyevsky agreed.

“Ryker investigated him earlier for something else?”

“Yes. Lin Dan had cost his father much face before. He was an embarrassment to the family and the business more than once.”

Manning sipped some more espresso. “Maybe Lin should send his son’s killer a thank-you note.”