She shook her head. “I don’t know. I suppose he could be in his twenties.”
“On the off chance he was underage, put a description out to all juvenile-detention facilities. Maybe you’ll get lucky. Also, you could try running those letters by the various anti-gang task forces, organizations, and whatnot. They might stand for some known group.”
“Or his mother’s initials,” she muttered bitterly.
My mind wandered back to my earlier conversation with Derby and Brandt, and the potential usefulness of any federal violations. “Anything on the weapons they used?”
She shook her head. “Nothing so far. They’re not on any hot sheets I’ve consulted. I still have feelers out, though. It’s all pretty early yet… Plus, any inquiry from Brattleboro, Vermont, pretty much gets hind tit, especially from the feds.”
“It would help if these gangs weren’t so mobile,” I added. “You might want to push the Canadians for something on Lam. When I talked to him during that traffic stop, he implied he lived around a lot of snow. That may have meant Boston, but you never know. What about Vince Sharkey? Have we traced his last movements?”
Her expression brightened. “We found out where his gun came from, at least, and there were a couple more at his apartment-all from the Paul’s Guns and Ammo heist last year. Willy was working on why Vince went after Vu when he did, but I asked him to help the others on the restaurant-motel detail. He’s pretty pissed off about that-just so you’re prepared.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I counseled. “What had he dug up till then?”
“That Vince was sniffing glue and blowing dope all last night with some friends, getting weirder as he went. But he talked more about doing you in than Michael Vu.” She gave me a suddenly wry expression. “Of course, you have to consider our sources-Christ knows what he really said.”
“Interesting that while I yanked Vince’s chain about Sonny, he went after Michael Vu. I didn’t even mention Vu.”
Sammie looked at me, not knowing what to say.
I checked my watch and then added nonchalantly, “You interested in being my second till Ron comes back? He’s taking a few days off. Might help you in dealing with Willy.”
She didn’t try hiding her pleasure. “You bet.” She hesitated then and asked, “Is Ron okay?”
“Between you and me? I don’t know. Wendy says he took it pretty hard. It might take some time.”
The sudden silence emphasized the unasked questions, and the equally elusive answers. “Has anyone interviewed Peter Leung yet?” I finally asked.
“VSP did, but only about the shooting,” she said quietly.
“Okay-if anyone wants to know, that’s where I’ll be.”
Peter Leung was still in the hospital, the focus of a lot of medical, legal, and media attention. I doubted he’d be in any better state of mind than when I’d seen him last, when a real gun was to his head, but I was hoping he’d remember me as the one who’d pulled him clear and helped save his wife from further harm.
I found him on one of the upper floors, in a private room guarded by a state trooper, but knowing the trooper personally, I was allowed inside with no more ceremony than a nod of the head.
I knew from the medical report that Leung’s right femur had been broken by one of the bullets, and his right forearm grazed by another, so it was no surprise to see him trussed up in plaster, with his leg in traction. He gave me a forlorn expression as I entered. His wife was sitting quietly in a far corner of the room.
“Mr. and Mrs. Leung? Joe Gunther-good to see you again. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”
“You spoke to the other officer?” Leung asked hopefully, obviously wishing I’d quickly nod and disappear. His wife merely watched me in silence.
“Yes, I did, but he’s interested in the shooting. I’m interested in what led up to it.” I didn’t add that the state-police investigator had found both Leung and his wife incredibly frustrating to interview.
I pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. “I realize all this makes you uncomfortable, and I will try to respect your privacy as much as possible, but we’ve got to have some clear answers from you.”
He remained silent.
“You were seen removing a large amount of cash from the bank. Did the men in your house threaten to harm your wife if you didn’t pay them the money?”
“To kill her.”
“Why do you think they picked on you?”
“They thought I keep our money at home. Many Chinese do.”
“So they were hoping to rob your house while you were at work?”
“Yes. They called me when they found no safe.”
“Does the name Henry Lam sound familiar?”
“No.”
“Do you know who the other two men were?”
“I had never seen them before.”
“Did any of them refer to one another by name?”
“No.”
I turned to his wife. “Mrs. Leung? Did you hear any names mentioned?”
She slowly raised her eyes to her husband, and I realized then that I’d merely increased their anxiety with no counterbalancing reassurances. The fear on her face was as real now as I remembered it being twenty-four hours earlier. No was all I was going to hear unless I tried a different approach.
“Let me say something first,” I added quickly. “I know a little about what you’ve both been through, and I know you were threatened with reprisals if you spoke to the police. But things have changed since then-one is that all three of the men who made those threats are now dead. And because of the shooting, everyone knows what happened anyway. The general assumption will be that because the police are involved, the identity of the people who terrorized you will have come from police sources-criminal records, fingerprints, and the like. No one will know that you gave us any information. Do you both understand what I’m saying?”
“We will not be involved?” Peter Leung asked. “We will not appear in court or be mentioned in the newspapers?”
“Not as sources of information, and there’s no reason for you ever to appear in court, since there’s no case to try. Your wife’s probably already told you that the newspapers published your names this morning-but only as victims of a sensational crime. As far as I know, you’ve refused to speak to them, and you can continue to do so. None of them will ever find out that we’ve spoken.
“I should warn you about one thing, though,” I added, wishing I didn’t feel honor-bound to do so. “If you do mention other people by name to me-people who are still alive-then that could make you a witness in a legal case we might bring against that person at some future date. I am hoping you’ll overcome your fears and be as forthright as possible, but I don’t want you to think I’m trying to trick you in any way. Of course, your best defense is to help us catch them. But I won’t push you on that.”
I saw them exchange glances. Peter Leung then nodded slightly. “We will try to help. This is our new country. We have done well here and we would like to repay our debt. But we come from a country where the police are not our friends, and where to speak to them is to call for your own death.”
“I understand that,” I answered. “Does this mean you do have some additional information?”
“Yes. The leader was called Henry by the others. He didn’t wish only to rob us. He wanted me to use my business to clean his money. The robbery was to show he was serious, and he was angry I had no safe.”
I felt a tingle of excitement at the nape of my neck. From the research I’d gleaned from interagency intelligence bulletins, I knew that standard Asian home invasions are fast and uncomplicated, and usually conducted by people from far outside the region. It was one of the routine ploys that Asian gangs used to avoid detection-exploiting the loose, and therefore flawed, informational-exchange systems between law-enforcement agencies, counting on the fact that any fingerprints or identifications made at the scene wouldn’t find a match elsewhere for months or even years.