The Ying on Triad (21 page)

"Right"

"That meant the killer had to have had another exit. A
window in the executive lounge that opened onto a fire
escape or something"

Janice considered my explanation. "What if there is no
window or what if the killer hid until she left to call the
police and then slipped out?"

I rolled my eyes. "I don't even want to think about that.
If there is no window, it could be all over for Bobby
Packard" But, I thought, there has to be a window
Otherwise, how did the Asian hit man make his escape?

"Where are we going now?"

"Now we head for the library, and if I find what I hope
to find, then we'll head for Hastings' Real Estate."

The John Winston Public Library had none of the
musty odor usually associated with libraries. Instead, its
modern, cavernous rooms had the antiseptic smell of a
hospital.

I led the way back to the archives.

Janice glanced up at me. "You've been here before,
huh?" she spoke in hushed tones.

"It's my second home," I chuckled.

"Do you think it'll take long?"

"It shouldn't. According to Floyd Holloman, Tompkins
disappeared October 3"

"The day before Hollomon's wife's birthday," Janice
smiled.

"You remember, huh?"

"That's hard to forget"

"Anyway, we'll start at October 1. Look through the
obits until we find whoever was buried by Kwockwing
Funeral Home on the third."

"And then ...?"

Without breaking stride, I replied, "And then we dig
them up"

Janice jerked to a halt. "We what?" Her voice carried,
causing several patrons to look up. She pressed her fingers to her lips, and gasped in disbelief, "We what?"

I gestured for her to follow me. "We dig them up," I
whispered. "How else am I going to find the tape?"

She gurgled in disbelief once or twice, then hurried
after me.

We entered a large room containing a dozen microfiche
readers that looked like computers with an anemic keyboards and monitors overdosed on steroids. "Go on over
there. I'll get the microfiche"

Swapping my driver's license for the October, 1994,
Austin Daily Press microfiche, I returned to Janice and
inserted it into the reader.

October 1 obits listed seventeen deaths. Only one was
serviced at Kwockwing Funeral Home, a Robert L. Hsu.
Burial was at the Golden Threads Cemetery. The next
day's obituaries listed two more, Lau Gai Chin and
Joseph N. Lam, both interred at Queen's Park Cemetery.

All three interments were scheduled October 3, 1994.

I crossed my fingers.

Red Tompkins had to be in one of those graves.

Our first stop was the local drug store where I purchased a throwaway camera. Our next stop was Queen's
Park, one of the oldest cemeteries in Austin. As we pulled
through the main gates and headed for the office, Janice
glanced out the rear window. "It's peaceful out here," she
said softly.

I suppressed a wisecrack. "Yeah"

The main office was a solemn red brick structure
smothered with English ivy. Inside, a plump woman in
her mid-forties or so greeted us with the bright smile of
an accomplished salesperson.

Glibly, I explained that my wife and I were passing
through from San Francisco. Some of our neighbors
asked us to snap some pictures of their relatives' graves.

The smile on her face flickered, then held despite no
hope for a sale. "Here are their names," I said, handing her
the sheet of paper. "If you could tell us the plot number
and point us in the right direction, we'd be most grateful"

"Certainly," she replied, slipping in front of the computer. She looked up in surprise. "These are Chinese names"

Janice smiled sweetly, "Yes, our neighbors are Chinese"

I grinned at her. She was learning to lie with the best
of us.

"Certainly, certainly," the saleswoman replied, hastily
typing in the names. "They'll be in the Chinese
Cemetery," she said over her shoulder. "Straight down the
drive out front and right on Oriental Lane" She hit the
print button and leaned back while the laser printer spat
out two sheets of paper.

She scanned them, then looked up at me. "You did say
Lau Gai Chin and Joseph N.Lam?"

I cut my eyes to the two sheets in her hand. "Yes. Is
something wrong?"

"Oh, no. Not at all," she handed me the two pages. "It's
just that they were both cremated"

Cremated! I maintained my composure. "I understand"

She added, "Their ashes are contained in the sealed
urns which are part of their headstones"

Back in the Silverado, Janice lifted her eyebrows.
"Now what? If Tompkins was in either of those caskets,
whatever he had is ashes now."

Shaken by the news, I nodded down the drive. "Let's
keep up the pretext anyway. We said we wanted pictures,
let's get pictures"

All of the headstones in the Chinese Cemetery faced
east, which I figured was part of a tradition. We were
lucky to have the row and plot number since the headstones were written in the traditional Chinese characters.

Each of the graves had a funerary burner nearby, a
brick oven that served as a safe place for the ritualized
burning of spiritual tributes to the dead.

I snapped a couple pictures while Janice remained in
the truck. When I climbed back in, she nodded across the
cemetery. "Maybe I'm getting paranoid, Tony, but do you
see that tan car over there" She nodded across rows of
headstones to a small Honda a couple hundred yards
away.

"What about it?"

"It might be nothing, but they followed us into the
cemetery. They've just been sitting over there. Do you
think-" She hesitated, grimaced, then shrugged. "I'm
just jittery. I guess it's being out here, you know, with
dead people and all"

I didn't laugh. "Probably visiting family or idle curiosity. Some people get kicks out of reading headstones" I
shifted into gear. "Still," I added, "let's keep watch"

As we pulled out of the cemetery onto the street, Janice
exclaimed, "The car's following us, Tony!"

I drove below the speed limit. "Just keep watching."

Two blocks later, I turned right. Janice caught her
breath when the small car followed.

Keeping my eyes on the rearview mirror, I held
my speed. Finally, the Honda turned left. Janice sighed
with relief, "He's gone. I guess it was just my imagination."

"Maybe, but we'd be smart to keep a sharp eye."

We rode in silence for a few minutes, winding through
the late afternoon traffic across town to the Golden
Threads Cemetery.

"What if this one has been cremated too?"

I gripped the steering wheel tightly. "Then it's over for
Bobby Packard."

"Is that something traditional about the Chinese? I
mean, cremation?"

"I have no idea," I said remembering what Joey Soong
had told me. "It might be among the older generation but the person I know is just like us" I hesitated and grinned
crookedly at her. "Well, like me ... not like you little rich
girls"

She pouted her lips and slapped playfully at my shoulder. "You know better than that"

Despite the palpable apprehension in the cab of the
pickup, we both laughed.

Golden Threads spread over rolling hills lush with
grass, flowering bushes, and stately trees. I went inside
the office while Janice remained in the pickup, her eyes
fixed on the road leading into the cemetery.

I used the same pretext at Golden Threads, and the
salesman was just as helpful. Ten minutes later, we were
snapping pictures of the weathered headstone of Robert
L. Hsu at Row H, plot ElO. The traditional funerary burner, this one shaped like a miniature pagoda, sat next to the
headstone.

To my delight, the grave was within a hundred feet of
the tall privet hedge around the perimeter of the cemetery.
"Things look good," I muttered, smiling down at Janice.
"Now, let's see if there is a window in the executive
lounge at Hastings'"

During the drive to the Hastings' Real Estate Building,
I kept a close eye on the rearview mirror. Were we being
followed? I couldn't tell. I'd pick out a vehicle, and
moments later it turned off. I finally decided I was becoming too suspicious for my own good.

We parked outside the ten-story red brick building. I
looked up. My pulse raced. There was a fire escape on the
north side of the building. I crossed my fingers. "I'll be
right back"

Janice smiled. "Good luck" She held up crossed fingers.

I took the elevator to the top floor. A matronly receptionist looked up at me quizzically, "Yes, sir?"

I identified myself. "Mrs. Hastings was to tell Mr.
Norville I was on the way over."

Her eyes lit with wary recognition as her lips twisted in
distaste. "Oh, yes. Something about the executive
lounge"

"Yes, Ma'am. It'll only take a moment"

She indicated a set of double doors to her right. "It's
right through there. The lounge is the first door on the left.
I unlocked it for you"

As soon as I opened the lounge door, I spotted the window. Though it was opaque, I spotted a shadow beyond. I
crossed my fingers, hoping the shadow was the fire
escape.

Throwing open the window, I wanted to shout.

There it was, in all its glory. The fire escape, the route
the killer had used to leave the building.

Back in the pickup, I grinned at Janice. "Believe it or
not, a piece of my theory just proved true"

"Would you look at that," I muttered as we turned onto
Payton Gin Road just down the street from my apartment.

"I don't believe it," Janice said when she spotted my
old man sitting in the midst of cigarette butts and empty
beer cans on the front porch. In one hand he held a can of
Old Milwaukee and in the other a Camel cigarette.

"I told you," I said, shaking my head as I turned into the
drive. "Nothing he does surprises me any more"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Boudreaux," Janice said brightly
as she climbed out of the pickup.

My greeting wasn't as pleasant. "Where did you disappear to this morning?"

He shrugged and took a drag off his cigarette.
"Friends," he replied in a raspy voice, his eyes fixed on
the street in front of us, "I got friends. You don't got to
worry none"

Angered by his obvious indifference for any concern
over him, I stared down at him, at a complete loss for
words. I clenched my teeth.

Janice tugged at me. "Let's go inside and see what we
can whip up for dinner."

Once inside, I growled, "I don't know if I can stand him
until Thanksgiving."

She laughed brightly. "Sure you can. Now, how do we
go about tonight?"

I thought you were hungry"

Glancing briefly at the front door, she replied, "I just
wanted to get you inside. I could see you were getting
angry. But now that you mention it," she added, "I am
hungry. What do you have to eat around here?" She opened
the refrigerator and whistled. "Do you think you bought
enough beer for your father?"

"I haven't bought him any beer since that case Saturday
night"

She opened the door wide, inviting me to take a look.
"Someone has"

The shelves were stacked with cans of Old Milwaukeeenough to last the average tippler a month, but my old man,
probably two days. "Someone certainly has!" I glanced
around the kitchen, but all the appliances were in their
places. I couldn't help wondering where he had found the
money for beer.

Janice opened the small chest freezer next to the refrigerator and rummaged through the TV dinners. "Let's see.
We have a broad choice of fried chicken, chicken nuggets,
sliced chicken, or lemon chicken," she announced, staring
into the condensation billowing from the open door.

"How about the lemon chicken," I replied, closing the
refrigerator door. "I feel like something exotic tonight." I
winked at her. "In fact, if I had some Thunderbird wine,
we could have it with the chicken"

She shivered at the thought of cheap wine. "Sorry, but
you'll have to make do with hot coffee" She pulled out a
third dinner. "I'll prepare one for your father. He might be
hungry, too.

I snorted. "With all that beer? I doubt it." I reached for
the telephone. "I'll call Jack while you nuke the dinners."

"Jack? Edney?"

"For tonight. When we start digging, I want to dig fast"

She closed the oven door. "But, I can help you dig"

"I mean to dig fast. I doubt if there is any security out
there, but we could run into some parked teenagers or
who knows, even some vampires," I said, baring my teeth.

I arranged to meet Jack at the corner of Jain Lane and
Perry, four blocks from Golden Threads Cemetery, at
1:00 A.M. "I need help, Jack," I explained. "I'll tell you
more, but if you help me on this, I'll run your campaign
for city council."

He jumped at the offer. "Can I bring Diane?"

'No"

John Roney preferred Old Milwaukee to a chicken dinner. After a couple bites of lemon chicken, I thought
maybe he had made the wiser choice. On the other hand,
had I taken a beer, I would have been saddled with guilt.