He talks fast, too fast for her. Ice. Triad. None of it rings a bell, except for Korean Killers. They were notorious around Queens high schools, although nobody Suzy knew had ever met one.
“During one of the all-nighters, your father’s name popped up.” He stares straight into her face. “Got any idea why?”
She stares back, not clear whether he expects an answer. He does not budge. Nothing on his face. No help there. Finally, she breaks: “No.”
“Neither do we.” He rises suddenly from the chair, as if needing fresh air. “Mind if I smoke?” he says, lighting one of his Lucky Strikes. “What’s funny, or I shouldn’t say funny, okay, what’s peculiar is that one of those KK boys brought up your parents’ killing from five years ago. The one called Maddog, the ringleader. Maddog kept saying that they didn’t do it. He swore that they had nothing to do with it. He claimed that when they arrived at the store your parents were already dead. He even went on to say that it was a setup, a conspiracy. Then he just clammed up. He realized that he’d slipped up. The squad had no idea about any of this, of course. They knew nothing about your parents’ case. Their sole interest was the source of that bucket of ice they found. But now they’ve got possible murder suspects on their hands for an unsolved five-year-old crime. So I’m the man they turn to, and I go over there and sit up with those assholes for three straight nights, and nothing, none of them will say a goddamn thing, especially Maddog. These are hard boys. Triad. Korean Killers. Any idea what they do to the one who squeals? These boys have been trained to shut their mouths. They’d rather die than betray their honor. Honor, my ass, their monthly paycheck revolves around trafficking either drugs or counterfeits or women. Still, these Asian gangs mean business. They’ve done their homework. They’re even more tightly organized than the Italian mobs. Nothing in the world can get a word out of them at this point, which is why I called you a few days ago.” He sucks hard on his Lucky before stubbing it out, as though the monologue has brought him beyond a point of frustration.
“Because?” Suzy is at a loss. Asian gangs. Her parents shot at the store. Anything is possible.
“Because you might know something. Because you might remember if your father had owed the KK a few thousand dollars, or if he’d used their service for one thing or another, or if he had some secret drug habit, or if he’d gotten himself on their bad side for whatever…”
“Excuse me, Detective, but I know nothing like that.”
Five years of silence, and now a gang connection. Except her father might not have been so innocent.
“Think, though. Was there any point at which you might’ve seen something or heard something? Did you ever see any strange set of people coming in and out of your house? Did your parents ever talk about a private loan from somewhere?” He is groping for a clue. No more Mr. Deadpan. Each question is a bit more heated. Each question resembles a threat.
“Nothing at all.” She can barely contain the anger rising within her.
“Work with me, Suzy. We might’ve found the answer. These boys vehemently deny any involvement, which can only mean one thing, that they were involved somehow. It’s got KK fingerprints all over it. The way they do away with their enemies. The exactness of the shooting. Did they do it? I don’t know yet. But I sure am gonna find out. So you’ve gotta cooperate. Try to remember something, anything.” He is turning into the nice uncle again. He is pleading with Suzy. He wants desperately to pin the murder on these boys. Why not? It’s the only lead he’s got.
“No, I can’t help you. I remember nothing.” Suzy is tempted just to get up and walk out, but she continues, “What I’m curious about is why you didn’t see any of this five years ago. If the shooting method seems so familiar, why didn’t you suspect them then? Why did you call it a random shooting and ignore it for five years?”
Turning his back on her, Detective Lester faces the window, a tiny slit between the metal filing shelves which Suzy has not even noticed until now. He stays silent for a while with his arms folded across his chest, and then, without turning around, he says, “I’m not surprised that you’re upset. But we’re not God here in the Police Department. We’re not Sherlock Holmes. We might not always get to do the right thing. Several hundred murders in the borough every year, it’s hard to go after each one.”
The last bit gets to her. Hard to go after each one. So they haven’t even tried. It’s taken five years to look for a motive. This incompetent detective. This idiot of a man who called the execution random. And the murderer still somewhere loose, still so far from their grip. But nothing is fair. Nothing has been fair for so long. Five years. Why?
“I just don’t understand why you’re suddenly so interested in finding my parents’ murderer. The Asian Organized Crime Task Force. The Narcotics Squad. All of that means nothing to me. Are the stakes bigger now? Now that gangs and drugs spice up what happened five years ago; now that all the higher branches of your police force are having a field day with whoever might’ve murdered my parents; now that my parents might be more than just a middle-aged Asian couple shot dead in their store? Tell me, Detective, do you get a medal if you score this one? A promotion?”
He must be used to such outbursts. He may even expect them. When he finally turns around and faces her, the furrows between his eyebrows look deeper. He does not like doing this either, she can tell. It is a hard job, to pick up after the most hideous of all crimes. “We didn’t ditch them cold, Suzy.”
A sudden fatigue washes over her. Nothing more will come out of her. Everything seems to be crashing down at once. Damian, she misses him infinitely. Damian, what happened to Damian? Wasn’t he supposed to take her away from all of this? Wasn’t that why she lay in his matrimonial bed at twenty, letting the blood trickle down her legs? Wasn’t that why she went with him despite everything, despite her youth, despite her then-living parents, despite her Ivy League college, despite all good common sense that had told her to stay still, stay where she was, stay in her rightful spot as the good Korean daughter? Wasn’t that what she had wanted after all? To run away from all of this?
“Listen, Suzy, we’ve gotta work together on this one. Your father, whether you wanna face it or not, must’ve had some gang connection. It might not even have been a bad one. Many immigrant store-owners pay dues, for protection or whatever. Your father might’ve just been one of many victims. He might’ve owed them some money. Maybe business was slow, and he took a loan and couldn’t pay. Something as little as that. But we need evidence. We need some concrete motive. You’ve gotta think, and think hard. You’ve gotta try to remember everyone your parents knew or had dealings with. Someone somewhere must know something. I’ve already sent some men over to the Hunts Point Market and the Korean Grocers Association. Something’s gotta give. It’ll just be faster if you can recall some names, so we can finally resolve your parents’ deaths.”
He is making sense, of course. He is even convincing. But Suzy is not sure. She still cannot buy into such sudden enthusiasm. Five years is a long time to do nothing. Any evidence must have long been erased.