“I’m sorry. You are right. I can’t answer your question. I only saw Truong Van Loc that one time, and I never heard from him or about him again.” There was a noise in the background. Tai quickly muttered, “Just a moment, please,” and covered the mouthpiece of his phone for a couple of minutes. When he returned, he said, “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, I must go back to work.”
“I understand, and I really appreciate the help you’ve given me. Could I call you in the future-in a pinch, I mean?”
This was obviously not something he wanted to hear, which made me wonder if his business interruption hadn’t been a fabricated convenience. “Perhaps,” was all he said.
I therefore pushed my luck a little. “One last question, then. Was Truong Van Loc ever called ‘Sonny’?”
“I never heard it if he was. Good-bye, Lieutenant.”
I hung up the already dead receiver, pleased despite that final disappointment. Regardless of whether the elder Truong had gone by the name Sonny in California, my instincts told me it fitted him well now, far better than it did Michael Vu. And there was something else: If Sonny and Truong were one and the same man, then I was pretty sure of the seething mechanism that was making him tick.
The big question was: If he was hell-bent on avenging his brother’s death, what was he doing in Brattleboro?
14
Dan Flynn picked up his phone on the first ring. “VCIN-Lieutenant Flynn.”
“It’s Joe-who’s your Asian crime contact in Montreal?” I asked him.
“Sounds like you’re in hot pursuit,” he said, laughing.
“Maybe. I’m trying to see if Sonny’s actually Truong Van Loc. I want to find out some more about the hit in Montreal a couple of days after we did that traffic stop down here.”
I could hear him tapping on the plastic keys of his ever-ready computer. “How ’bout Jean-Paul Lacoste? He ran a seminar on Asian crime last year at Rouse’s Point. Big turnout, and everybody gave him high marks. Speaks good English, too, which doesn’t hurt. Plus he shares information.” He gave me a phone number and an address on Hochelaga Street, which he had to spell out.
“You had any nibbles on the BOL you put out on Truong?” he asked me then.
“No, but I just got off the phone with Customs and the Border Patrol. I asked them to make sure his picture’s on top of their pile. You haven’t logged any stops or arrests of an Asian male with a bandage on the back of his right hand, have you? We think he might’ve helped knock off Benny Travers. As soon as we get more details, we’re going to circulate a flyer on him, too.”
Dan hesitated. “We did have an accident involving two Asians about four days ago. An old lady in Rutland pulled out of a parking space without looking, and the Asians’ car wiped out her fender. Everyone was pretty shook up, but that was about it. All the paperwork checked out, the PD didn’t issue any tickets, and none of the names they fed me fit any of yours, so I didn’t think you’d be interested.”
“No, that’s fine,” I reassured him, although at this point almost anything concerning Asians in Vermont was interesting to me.
“There’s been some new activity in Burlington, though,” he added. “My contact at the PD there called me a few hours ago-told me there’d been a turf fight between an old gang and some newcomers.”
“Any names?”
“No, it was pure intelligence. No complaints or arrests, but the specialty involved was alien smuggling. Maybe Sonny-or Truong, if that’s who he is-is grabbing some of the market.”
“What was the upshot of the turf fight?”
“Rumor has it the newcomers won. How close are you folks to nailing something down?”
“We’re getting there, I hope. Some of the pieces are starting to fit, but I don’t think this is a typical gang. If I’m right, Truong Van Loc is more a man with a mission than just a hood on the make. Problem is, the people who work for him are hoods. It’d be pretty ironic if their screwups helped nail him.”
“What did Brandt say about the task-force idea?” Flynn asked.
“Thumbs down. I think Derby likes the idea, but then he’s got nothing to lose. We’re already one man short and Brandt’s not interested in losing me, so I guess we’re out of luck.”
“Too bad,” Dan murmured, and I could tell from his tone that he meant it. The prospect of officially involving VCIN in a specialized federal task force had obviously been appealing. “Well, keep me posted. By the way, did you fly that photo of Truong by Immigration?”
“No,” I answered expectantly. “Why?”
“I just remembered it was one of their customers who said Sonny had arranged his border crossing. If they still have the guy in custody, maybe he could identify Sonny. The INS agent who gave me that is a friend. If you’d like, I can chase it down.”
“Christ, yes. I’d appreciate it.”
“No problem. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“Thanks, Dan,” I said, hanging up as Sammie appeared in my doorway.
“Sol’s back from Keene.”
I rose and followed her across the squad room to the conference area beyond it-a more comfortable setting than my office for any meeting exceeding two people. Stennis was already laying a newly acquired Ident-i-kit portrait on the wide table.
I stood by him, looking down at yet another hard, arrogant young face, a blight on the reputations of a few million other Asians who had shared his troubled past and yet continued to peacefully strive for their dreams.
“That him?” I asked.
“Yup,” Stennis answered, “according to four witnesses. He left an impression, too. He and his buddies scared the hell out of the nurses in the ER.” He quickly held up his hand as I opened my mouth-“No, they didn’t do anything out of line. And, no, I couldn’t get descriptions of the others, except that there were four of them-all males, all young, all Asians. The other three escorted this guy in and then waited outside in the parking lot.”
“Anyone make the car they were in?” Sammie asked.
Stennis shook his head. “No, but I do have some good news.” He laid a couple of documents next to the picture. “This is a copy of the patient form he filled out-one of the nurses gave me that, sort of under the table-and this is a copy of the information concerning his blood sample-the cross-matching report, I guess they call it.”
“Damn,” I muttered, “they did draw blood.”
“Yup. Apparently, he’d lost quite a bit. There was a second cut on the wrist-nicked an artery. So, after they sewed him up, they gave him a pint of blood-couldn’t do that without identifying what type he already had in his system. If you ask me, the doc who worked on him was suspicious. Not that he’d admit it when I put it to him. Still,” he added, his eyes glowing with satisfaction, “he did hand the sample over.” With a slight flourish, he pulled a sealed packet from his coat pocket.
“That’s his blood?” I asked, understandably startled. “How did you get it?”
Stennis’s smile broadened. “Through channels, like you asked. Keene PD applied for the warrant, and a judge issued it, but the whole thing only took two hours-luck of the draw. Everyone was in the right place at the right time.”
“That’s great.” I picked up the patient-information form. “Nguyen Van Hai-he gives the Central Street house as a home address. You’ve both been taking surveillance pictures over there. His face ring any bells?”
They shook their heads, Stennis adding, “While you were on the phone, I passed it around to some of the others. Drew a blank with them, too.”
I stepped away from the table. “All right. Nice job. You might as well get that blood to J.P. so he can send it in for a fast preliminary look-see if we can put Mr. Nguyen with Mr. Truong. Then, if we can actually find either of them, maybe we’ll get a lead on the missing third man.”
“Any ideas how we are going to find them?” Sammie asked skeptically.