Michael Connelly - 9 Dragons

Bosch thought about all of this for a few moments before asking the next question.

“She’s sure it was yesterday that she saw him? Saturday morning? What was he doing?”

While Bosch waited for the translation he watched the woman closely. She had maintained good eye contact with Sun during the earlier questions but she began looking away while answering the latest questions.

“She is sure,” Sun said. “She heard a sound outside her door yesterday morning and when she opened it, Peng was there, burning an offering. He was using her altar.”

Bosch nodded but he was sure there was something the woman had left out or was lying about.

“What did he burn?”

Sun asked the woman. She looked down the whole time she gave her answer.

“She said he burned paper money.”

Bosch stood up and went to the door. Outside he turned the ash can over on the walkway. It was smaller than a conventional water bucket. Smoking black ash spread across the walkway. Fengyi Mai had obviously burned a sacrifice within the last hour or so. He grabbed an incense stick from the altar and used it to poke through the hot debris. There were a few pieces of unburned cardboard but for the most part it was all ash. Bosch pushed it around some more and soon uncovered a piece of melted plastic. It was charred black and shapeless. He tried to pick it up but it was too hot.

He went back inside the apartment.

“Ask her when she last used the altar and what it was she burned.”

Sun translated the answer.

“She used it this morning. She also burned paper money.”

Bosch was still standing.

“Ask her why she’s lying.”

Sun hesitated.

“Ask her.”

Sun asked the question and the woman denied lying. Bosch nodded when he received her answer, then walked over to the table. He lifted the dish of salt off the five bills and put them back in his pocket.

“Tell her we pay nothing for lies, but that I’ll pay two thousand for the truth.”

The woman protested after hearing Sun’s translation but then Sun’s demeanor changed and he angrily barked at her, and the woman clearly got scared. She put her hands together as if to beg his forgiveness and then walked into another room.

“What did you tell her?” Bosch asked.

“I told her she must tell the truth or she would lose her apartment.”

Bosch raised his eyebrows. Sun had certainly kicked it up a notch.

“She believes I am police officer and you are my supervisor,” he added.

“How’d she get that idea?” Bosch asked.

Before Sun could answer, the woman came back carrying a small cardboard box. She went directly to Bosch and handed it to him, then bowed as she backed away. Harry opened it and found the remains of a melted and burnt cell phone.

While the woman gave Sun an explanation, Bosch pulled his own cell phone and compared it to the burned phone. Despite the damage, it was clear the phone the woman retrieved from her ash can was a match.

“She said Peng was burning that,” Sun said. “It made a very foul smell that would be displeasing to the ghosts so she removed it.”

“It’s my daughter’s.”

“Are you sure?”

“I bought it for her. I’m sure.”

Bosch opened his own phone and went to the photo files. He scrolled through his photos of his daughter until he found one of her in her school uniform.

“Show her this. See if she’s seen her with Peng.”

Sun showed the phone to the woman and asked the question. The woman shook her head as she responded, putting her hands together in prayer to underline that she was telling the truth now. Bosch didn’t need the translation. He stood up and pulled out his money. He put two thousand Hong Kong dollars on the table-less than three hundred American-and headed to the door.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They knocked on Peng’s door once again but got no answer. Bosch knelt down to untie and retie his shoe. He studied the lock on the doorknob as he did so.

“What do we do?” Sun asked after Bosch stood back up.

“I have picks. I can open the door.”

Bosch could see reluctance immediately cloud Sun’s face, even with the sunglasses.

“My daughter could be in there. And if she isn’t, there might be something that tells us where she is. You stand behind me and block anyone’s view. I’ll get us in in less than a minute.”

Sun looked out at the wall of duplicate buildings surrounding them like giants.

“We watch first?,” he said.

“Watch?” Bosch asked. “Watch what?”

“The door. Peng could come back. He could lead us to Madeline.”

Bosch looked at his watch. It was half past one.

“I don’t think we have time. We can’t go static here.”

“What is ‘static?’”

“We can’t stand still, man. We have to keep moving if we are going to find her.”

Sun turned from the view and looked directly at Bosch.

“One hour. We watch. If we come back to open the door, you don’t take the gun.”

Bosch nodded. He understood. Getting caught breaking and entering was one thing. Getting caught breaking and entering with a gun was about ten years of something else.

“Okay, one hour.”

They went down the elevator and out through the tunnel. Along the way Bosch tapped Sun on the arm and asked him which one of the mailboxes had Peng’s apartment number on it. Sun found the box and they saw that the lock had long been punched out. Bosch glanced back through the tunnel to the security guard reading the paper. He opened the mailbox and saw two letters.

“Looks like nobody got Saturday’s mail,” Bosch said. “I think Peng and his family have split.”

They returned to the car and Sun said he wanted to move it to a less noticeable spot now that they were back in it. He drove up the street, turned around and then parked by a containment wall that surrounded the trash bins for the building across the street and down one. They still had a view of the sixth-floor walkway and the door to Peng’s apartment.

“I think we’re wasting our time,” Bosch said. “They’re not coming back.”

“One hour, Harry. Please.”

Bosch noted it was the first time Sun had called him by his name. It didn’t placate him.

“You’re giving him another hour’s lead time, that’s all.”

Bosch pulled the box out of his jacket pocket. He opened it up and looked at the phone.

“You watch the place,” he said. “I’m going to work on this.”

The plastic hinges on the phone had melted and Bosch struggled to open it. Finally, it broke in two when he applied too much pressure. The LCD screen was cracked and partially melted. Bosch put that part aside and concentrated on the other half. The battery compartment cover was melted, its seams fused together. He opened his door and leaned out. He struck the phone on the curb three times, harder each time, until the impacts finally cracked the seams and the compartment cover fell off.

He pulled back in and closed the door. The phone’s battery appeared to be intact but again the deformed plastic made it difficult to remove. This time he pulled his badge case and removed one of his picks. He used it to pry the battery out. Beneath it was the cradle for the phone’s memory card.

It was empty.

“Shit!”

Bosch threw the phone down into the foot well. Another dead end.

He looked at his watch. It had only been twenty minutes since he had agreed to give Sun the hour. But Bosch couldn’t remain still. All of his instincts told him he had to get into that apartment. His daughter could be in there.

“Sorry, Sun Yee,” he said. “You can wait here, but I can’t. I’m going in.”

He leaned forward and pulled the gun out of his waistband. He wanted to leave it outside the Mercedes in case they were caught in the apartment and the police connected them with the car. He wrapped the gun in his daughter’s blanket, opened the door and got out. He walked through an opening in the containment wall and put the bundle on top of one of the overfull trash bins. He would easily be able to retrieve it when he got back.