He didn’t speak, he didn’t move. I had to watch him closely to even see him breathing.
“You’re in serious trouble, whether you talk or not. You can keep quiet through the arraignment, through every conversation with your lawyer, through the trial, and even when they throw the book at you. The end result will be the same-you’ll be in jail, where you’ll stay for a very long time.”
He blinked-once-which made me wonder if that had been the first time his eyes had moved since I’d sat down, or just the first time I’d noticed it. The very question irritated me, and made me realize just who was psyching out whom.
I shifted in my seat lazily, recrossing my legs. “Of course, that’s the worst-case scenario. It doesn’t have to be that bad. Unlike in the old country, we tend to bargain with our prisoners… Something,” and here I pulled the rap sheet out of my pocket we’d just been wired from NCIC, “I see you already know about.”
I paused and reexamined the contents of the sheet-a complete listing of increasingly nasty activity in California, Florida, Massachusetts, and Canada, which was mentioned as his initial port of entry. He was thirty years old, and yet had already spent more than half his life as a gang member. My private frustration was that the pure data of the report gave me no inkling of where he might have hooked up with Truong, Vu, or Henry Lam.
I shook my head and whistled softly. “Boy, the State’s Attorney’s going to want to bury you alive. He’s a politician, after all, and putting you away’ll be like putting votes into the bank.”
All of us had been through practice interrogations before where the fake suspect essentially plays dead. It was a good way for us to examine the various ways of getting under a suspect’s skin. But in none of those sessions had I ever received as little feedback as now.
“Still,” I kept trying, “they say there’s always room to move, and we don’t have all the answers. For example, we’d like to take a look at the car you drove that day, and I wouldn’t mind having a chat with Truong Van Loc. Anything you could give us on him would help your case-perhaps a lot.”
I was looking directly into his eyes as I said that name and saw absolutely nothing. My mind went back over what we’d learned of Benny Travers’s death, and of the role the man before me must have played in it. Standing in that kitchen days ago, seeing all that blood, the cut pants, the crimson outline of the fillet knife on the table-used again and again on a man who must’ve been screaming his lungs out, his head trapped inside a plastic bag-I’d been shaken at the cool savagery of it all, and I’d wondered about the men who’d acted it out. Now, looking at Nguyen Van Hai’s silent, unrepentant face, I was left baffled and disappointed-as if I’d just unwrapped a gift box and found it empty.
I stood up. “Mr. Nguyen, welcome to the judicial process. I’ll get out of your way right now. But keep in mind, if you ever get the urge to make things a little easier on yourself, ask for me-the sooner the better.”
His eyes didn’t even follow me as I left the room.
15
"So," Tony Brandt said, taking a seat in my guest chair. “What did you get out of Nguyen?”
“Not a word,” I answered truthfully, counting on his good humor to still be intact.
We were in my office for once, and he looked around uncomfortably for somewhere to stretch his inordinately long legs. He seemed chronically incapable of merely sitting in a chair with both feet planted on the ground. “Well, at least we nailed somebody. That might be enough to keep the wolves at bay.”
“The governor call back?” I asked.
He finally settled for resting his left leg along the top of a stacked row of cardboard file boxes lining the wall. “Closer than that. Having a special-weapons team land on a guy like a brick on a bug-in front of a building full of feeble-hearted patients-aroused some local attention. The newspeople are back on our doorstep, and the only selectman who hasn’t called me is out of town on a business trip.”
He was smiling when he said it, so I wasn’t prompted to defend my actions. “What’re you going to do?” I asked instead.
“Not much-stage an unscheduled press conference. I think this latest coup has made Mr. Derby a little more optimistic since our last chat, so he’ll probably be joining me in the limelight. Should be a good show, if I can think of something to say.”
“Which is why you’re here,” I finished.
“Just give me the good stuff.”
I steepled my fingers in front of my chin, concentrating on how to reduce what I had to headline length. “First, on Benny’s murder, I think we can now publicly say it was committed by three Asian males. One of those, Nguyen Van Hai, is now under lock and key; another, Truong Van Loc, has been identified but is still on the loose; and the third is still unknown and at large. We have pictures if you want them. That ought to titillate the crowd.”
Brandt shook his head. “They’ll want more about the shoot-out with you and Ron. Benny’s already old news.”
“Okay. We have photos of those three as well. You can expand on Henry Lam a bit-I wrote up a report on his background. You can also milk…” I paused to paw through some papers on my desk, “Chu Nam An. He was the shooter Ron nailed. Dan Flynn reported a car crash in Rutland involving Asians, and Hillstrom picked up on a recent seat-belt bruise on Chu’s chest. I’m planning on going over to Rutland tomorrow to see what else I can chase down, but it looks good.”
“So Chu wasn’t alone in the car?” Brandt asked.
“No, he had someone with him-no name given or asked for. Chu’s license and registration listed an address in Lowell, Mass., but the Rutland investigating officer also got a local address. Sol asked them to check it out, but the place was empty. Still, I thought I’d poke around a bit. If Chu and some of his pals lived there long enough, maybe the neighbors can tell me something.”
Brandt nodded. “Okay. What about the guy with the tattoo?”
“Still checking. First name’s Ut, he’s got ties to California, but we haven’t heard back from the police there yet.”
“Your last memo mentioned Truong got his start in California. You really think Truong and Sonny are one and the same?”
I raised my eyebrows equivocally. “It’s pure theory right now, but it fits. Dan Flynn’s looking into it for me. It sure would explain what’s driving him.”
“The dead brother?”
“Yeah. But I’m still working on the whys-why here, why now, why this particular approach. If revenge instead of profit is his motive, I have no idea who his target is, and I can’t explain why he seems so profit-oriented.”
“Which brings up the overriding question I’ll guarantee I’m going to hear-do we have a gang problem in town?”
I thought about that for a moment. “The short answer is yes, which actually might stimulate people to face it. Besides, the grapevine has it that Alfie Brewster’s imported some muscle to watch his back, so if something blows up, your butt’ll be covered if you’re already on record.”
Brandt looked at me closely. “Why’d he do that?”
“I don’t know yet. Could be he used the Leung home invasion to set up Sharkey and Vu. That’s what Sally Javits thinks, more or less. I’ve got Willy looking into it, but as usual, he’s disappeared…”
“Right.” He stood up, checking his watch.
“That it?” I asked him.
“Yup. I’m not going to complicate my life right now by mentioning the Canadian connection. The local angle’s enough. Besides, I’m due in ten minutes.”
I shook my head at this blessedly familiar nonchalance, knowing full well how much he put into protecting the department’s image. Years ago, I’d pulled a six-month stint as acting chief, and had hated it so much I’d insisted on a corporate shuffle that made Billy Manierre Tony’s next in line.
Tony paused at the narrow doorway to let J.P. Tyler squeeze by, who muttered, “Hi, Chief,” with his eyes downcast. Tony was perpetually amused at Tyler’s discomfort around anyone with a title, and merely shook his head with a smile before giving me a small departing wave.