Mark Gilleo - Sweat

The elderly statesman of the Saipan Police Force was quick to try his rusty, ornery officer routine.

“Who are you?”

“Jake Patrick.”

“What are you doing here?”

“We had an appointment to meet with Lee Chang. These gentlemen are my business associates. Here is the invitation and our itinerary.”

Jake produced documents that would have made Lee Chang wonder if he had arranged the meeting himself. They were perfect forgeries, including an invitation on Chang Industries letterhead complete with the signature of the rapidly cooling Lee Chang.

“You are awfully young to be a businessman.”

You are awfully old to be a police officer , Jake wanted to say, but stifled it. Instead, he went for “good genes.”

“Well, Mr. Patrick you won’t be doing any business here today. A serious crime has been committed on the premises. Turn your car around and get out of here.”

Jake looked at the old officer who hadn’t been on a crime scene in nearly a decade and then looked at the activity on the grounds of Chang Industries. As Al would have said, the police presence was not a “positive development.”

“Sir. I can see you are busy, but it’s urgent that I see Lee Chang.”

“You’ll have to come back.”

“It’s important,” Jake said one more time.

“If it’s important enough, you’ll come back.”

The officer’s radio crackled and Tony jumped in his seat. Officer Moses cut off his radio and looked at Jake. “What are you waiting for? Move out.”

Tony stared straight ahead and waited for the nod from Jake, who was changing mental gears. His call several weeks prior to the Saipan police had proven fruitless. The Saipan Police were in a position to lie without impunity and he would never know the difference. He, quite simply, didn’t know if they were friend or foe.

The elderly officer gave him his answer. “Move your car or I’ll have you arrested for obstruction of justice and interfering with a police investigation.”

“Yes, sir,” Jake replied, throwing in a “thank you” for added politeness.

Tony looked at the flashing police lights in his rearview mirror and felt better with every foot of distance he put between the car and the scene behind him.

“What now?”

“We go to the hotel and check in. I need to make a phone call,” Jake said trying to keep some semblance of a plan. Al’s words and the sight of Chang Industries bounced around in Jake’s head. He tried to force them out. The girl is probably already dead. Al’s comments didn’t seem so melodramatic now. Maybe they had just left the murder scene.

As Tony drove, Jake read directions from a page he had printed off the hotel’s website. After getting lost twice, they asked a middle-aged man out for a run to point them in the right direction. An hour after leaving Chang Industries and taking a tour of some of the finest Saipan residential neighborhoods, the SUV stopped in front of the hotel.

“This place is a dump,” Tony said flatly as Jake got out of the vehicle.

“When you are paying the bill, you can choose the hotel,” Jake answered.

Jake and the small team of pasta lovers approached the hotel’s front desk. An unattractive island native with dark skin and shark teeth smiled over his wire-framed glasses as Jake placed one hand on the desk. “Welcome to The Dunes. How may I help you?”

“My name is Jake Patrick and we have a reservation for three rooms.”

“Mr. Patrick, just one moment please.” The front desk manager vanished behind a doorway and returned a few seconds later. “There is a message for you, Mr. Patrick. Please take a minute to read it before you check in. I was told it is important.”

Jake read the message with a single glance. “Thanks,” he said before turning to Tony. “Back in the car. Change in plans.”

Tony took one long look at Jake and tilted his head toward the car. The Castello brothers started bitching and Tony put them in line. “The sooner we are done here, the sooner our lives get back to normal.”

Chapter 40

“Please have a seat, detectives,” Peter said with a powerful voice. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee perhaps? My secretary Shelly makes a fine espresso. We have a machine right in the breakroom.”

“I’m fine,” Nguyen said.

“I would love an espresso,” Wallace said, not missing the opportunity to create rapport. It was something Nguyen would learn with time on the job. If a person-of-interest in an investigation offers you a dish of fried crickets, you did your best to choke them down.

Peter went to the entrance of his office and gave the order to Shelly from the doorway. He found his seat at his desk and looked over at his guests.

“How can I help you this morning?” Peter asked, knowing damn well what the detectives wanted.

“We want to discuss the photograph we left with you last week.”

“Ah, yes. The photograph. I apologize for not getting back to you sooner. I have been in and out of the country on business.”

“That’s what your receptionist told us,” Wallace said.

“Have to work to pay the bills.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Detective Wallace pulled out a copy of the photo and placed it on the desk. No one needed to be reminded of the photo, but Wallace did it to measure Peter’s reaction.

There wasn’t one.

“I have the copy of the photo right here in my desk,” Peter said.

“Mr. Winthrop, do you recognize the man in the photo?”

“Sure I do. He works for a business associate of mine. A garment manufacturing facility in Saipan.”

“You wouldn’t know his name would you?”

“Detective…?”

“Wallace.”

“Detective Wallace. I only met the man once. He was a new employee. I don’t remember his name. The man who runs the facility in Saipan is named Lee Chang. I can call him first thing in the morning, Saipan time.”

“That would be helpful.”

Detective Nguyen flipped to the page in his notebook from the detective’s interview with the senator. “We met Senator Day last week. He referred to the man in the photo as the ‘Mountain of Shanghai.’ Does this ring a bell?”

“Yes, I do recall the senator gave the man a nickname. He has one for everybody. Unfortunately, his geography isn’t so good. There are no mountains in Shanghai. It’s a port city. Pretty flat.”

Wallace ignored the comments. “Any idea why this man is in D.C.?”

“None. But he works for Lee Chang, and the Chang family has business interests around the world. Not unlike myself. He is probably in town on business, visiting some lobbyist on the K Street corridor.”

“Mr. Winthrop. The night that picture was taken was the night your former secretary had her accident. That photo, as I explained on the note, was taken from an ATM across the street from the Metro station where she died.”

“Are you saying this man had something to do with Marilyn’s death?”

“That is why we are here. We were hoping you could answer that question,” Detective Wallace said.

Peter didn’t flinch.

“I thought her death was ruled an accident?” Peter asked. He spent enough time with lawyers to know how to ask his own questions.

“That was the original finding.”

“Well, detectives, I have been doing business with Lee Chang and the Chang family for years. I assure you they are not interested in killing my secretary.”

Wallace didn’t have an answer for the seemingly simple statement.

“Do you know anyone who would want to harm your secretary? A boyfriend? Disgruntled employee?”

“Not that I’m aware of. She wasn’t dating anyone recently that I know of. As for a disgruntled employee, we are one big happy family here at Winthrop Enterprises.”