“I thought you said that Korean Killers disbanded in the early nineties. My parents were shot in 1995. What dues would they have owed? To Triad? I thought they were Chinese. Do they collect dues from Korean stores too?”
He is glad that Suzy seems to be coming around. The shadow of guilt that had clouded his face is gone. He looks almost grateful when he tells her, “No. New York Triad mostly operates within Chinatown. But these ex-KK guys seem to have been sort of working under them for years, at the bottom of the rung since the breakup of their own group. Who knows, there might’ve been old debts, old scores to settle.”
“What about their claim that it was a setup? Isn’t it odd that they would bring it up only to deny it? I mean, if they’re guilty, why mention it at all, when they weren’t even being accused?”
“That’s why it was a slip. One of them thought that we’d already linked them to the murder, when in fact we had not a clue. He thought that was why he was taken in for questioning.”
“So you’re convinced that it was them?”
“I didn’t say that. But I’ll tell you this, I certainly wouldn’t give much weight to their denial.”
“And you’ve known nothing at all about these three guys until now, until they got raided in the pool hall with enough drugs to spread alarm through the entire New York Narcotics Squad?”
“It’s like this.” He begins pacing around the desk, as if shuffling the bits of information in his head. “KK disbanded nearly a decade ago. We know much more about the other groups, like Korean Power and Green Dragons, who’re both still active in the Flushing area. Korean gangs operate differently from either Chinese or Japanese gangs. They tend to keep a lower profile. They often have links to the bigger international groups, like Triad or Yakuza. They might occasionally do some dirty work for the big guys, but mostly they keep to their own. They raid their own Korean communities, who are infamous for never using banks, just hoarding cash in their homes. Easier for them, since Koreans rarely report gang crimes. The AOCTF calls it a ‘collective shame.’ A sort of responsibility, immigrant guilt for not having properly reared their second generation. You might understand that one better than I can. So, according to the AOCTF, it’s always harder to keep track of the Korean gang movements. They don’t know much about these ex-KK ones except that all three have done time for fraud, extortion, money laundering, the usual stuff. No murder, though; they’ve never been charged with murder. One interesting thing is that they used to call themselves the Fearsome Four. They obviously fancied themselves as a bit of legend in their own little-league way. They once each cut off their little fingers to honor their brotherhood, copying that crazy Yakuza ritual. But it seems that’s as far as their legend ever got. Other than doing a little time here and there, we’ve heard nothing about them until two weeks ago.”
“What happened to the fourth one?”
“Which fourth?”
“The Fearsome Four. If only three have been arrested, what happened to the fourth one?”
“Oh, he faded out of the picture long ago.”
“How?”
“Deported. Gone without a trace. He seemed to have split from his brothers soon after the KK breakup; anyway, it’s all hazy, who knows, maybe it was Maddog or one of his many ‘brothers’ who dropped a dime on him. But somebody reported him, and the INS tracked him down at a motel on Junction Boulevard and packed him home. Turns out the guy never even had a green card. One of those orphans who’d been shipped into the country, probably through the KK’s adoption fraud of the early seventies.”
“Which was?”
“The typical trick. They’d charge between ten and twenty grand for each Korean orphan adopted by an American couple, and then, once the deal goes through, pocket the money and sneak the kid away.”
“Why the kid too?”
“Human resource. Child labor. They usually traded boys over the age of four. I guess the younger ones proved useless. You can’t really stick two-year-olds into sweatshops, can you?”
“But why would the orphans be left without a green card? What about the visa that had been issued to them to begin with?”
“Please—there never was an orphan, don’t you see? The orphans weren’t real. Those were just some random kids kidnapped off the streets of Seoul or wherever they were taken from. Whatever papers they had with them were all fake anyway. The visa was only useful to smuggle the kids into America. After that, these kids filtered through the system as nonentities. They truly became the orphans of the world, no name, no nothing, which was exactly what the gang wanted. To pin these kids with nowhere to go. These were the very ones recruited as the next generation of KK. The true brothers. The little boys with no ties in the world except for their gang brothers. Desperation. That’s what pulled them together, which is why it’s so hard to get any of them to speak.”
“When did you say that he was deported?”
“November ’95. Roughly five years ago. He was in his twenties. I guess he should be about your age now. Why? You think you’ve heard of him or something?”
“No, all of this is news to me. What was his name anyway?”
“They all called him DJ. No last name. None of them ever have real names.”
An orphan kid smuggled into the country.
No one except for his gang brothers.
She must be getting tired. The day may have dragged on too long.
“Two possibilities, assuming we’ve got the right boys.” Detective Lester suddenly stops pacing. “Either the gang acted on their own, or they were hired by someone. But gangs don’t kill for debts. They might threaten or hurt the victims, but they wouldn’t just get rid of them. What would be the point? Where would they get the money? So let’s assume that they were following someone’s order. Then we’ve gotta start looking around at the people your parents knew. Employees. Other store owners. People with enough reason to want them dead. Can you think of anyone with a grudge against your parents? My men doing rounds among the Korean markets might find something. But Koreans don’t tend to trust policemen. They don’t wanna tell us anything, which unfortunately doesn’t help your parents’ case.”
Kim Yong Su. And the other witness at the deposition, Mr. Lee. Even Mr. Lim, who’d had a falling-out with her father, who resembles the strange man in Montauk. In fact, the entire Korean community might be filled with people who had hated her parents. Yet no one will talk. No one will cooperate with the investigation. No one wants the murderer to get caught.
“No, I don’t know anyone with a reason to kill my parents.” She may be like the rest of them. She won’t confide in police. She may even be shielding the killer.
“Well, if you remember anything, call me.” Detective Lester extends his hand with a smile. If he suspects her of withholding anything, he does not show it. Instead, he asks, “So where’s your sister?”
“She’s… away.”
“Vacation?”
“Something like that.”
“Funny, she didn’t mention it on the phone.”
“You spoke to her?”
“Just last week. I told her it was perfect timing.”
“She called you?”
“Sure, she was just checking in, she’s done that before,” he muses, as if to say, What about you? “She wasn’t much help either. I was hoping to see both of you here today.”
So Grace knew about it already. Grace was told.
“When did she call last week?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Friday maybe?”
Grace showed up in Montauk the same day. Bob the bartender seemed to think that she then returned to the city. On Sunday, she called Ms. Goldman to say that she was not coming in.
“Well, tell her to stop by when she gets back. She’s older, right? Maybe she’ll remember more.” He shows her to the door. It is not much of a door. A narrow crack, just like the window. The whole building is tightly woven. No sound, no bullet, no room for escape. Before shutting the door, he says, almost in passing, “You look different from how I remembered. I don’t know what it is. I can’t quite put my finger on it.” Then, gazing at her once more, he adds, “Don’t worry. It’ll come to me.”