White Tiger (34 page)

“Okay. I got it covered.”

Hoffer had his book open and the envelope with Xiaohui’s belongings ready and waiting. Ryker signed the book and the clipboard that Hoffer held out, effectively releasing her from custody.

“Did Klein say anything else?” Ryker asked Raymond.

“You get brain cancer from these things,” Hoffer opined. Ryker crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out, and headed for the interview room.

“He hit on me,” Raymond said.

“He hits on everyone. Don’t think you’re special. What did you say?”

“I told him I have AIDS.”

“Ouch. But he asked you for a date anyway, right?”

She chuckled, a throaty sound which pleased Ryker no end. Maybe he’d lost the knack of pleasing women, but at least he could still make them laugh.

“Keep doing what you’re doing, Sandra, it’s appreciated. News update, we’re releasing the hooker,” he said. “Not nearly enough evidence to hold her.” He didn’t go into detail about James Lin; plenty of time for that later, and Raymond’s diary was hectic enough at the moment.

“With respect, Sergeant, what am I missing?” Raymond said. “If no one else was in the hotel room, she has to the killer, right?”

Chee Wei stood in the interview room doorway with his hands on his hips, a classic David Caruso pose. All he lacked were sunglasses and a blue Miami sky.
Xiaohui must be coming in her pants,
Ryker thought. “Don’t worry, Chee Wei’s going to be keeping a close eye on her,” he said into his phone. “Got to go, call me if anything exciting happens.”

“Roger that.”

Ryker put his phone away and joined Chee Wei. “Just keeping Detective Raymond in the picture,” he said. “She’s feeling lonely. Are we good to go?”

“Anytime.” Chee Wei half-turned to enter the room but Ryker stopped him and motioned him away from the door, turning so Xiaohui couldn’t possibly hear them. A cop walked by carrying a tray with covered plates, he nodded to Hoffer who opened a door for him. Ryker’s nose twitched at the rich food smell; criminals, it seemed, ate better than he did.

“Whassup?” Chee Wei said.

“If I wanted to talk to someone in the Shanghai police? Who would I go through? Any ideas?”

Chee Wei thought about it. “I have a cousin who works for the Hong Kong police. I’m sure he still has contacts in the old country. You want me to ask him?”

“That would be great.”

“Tell me something. Is this about her?” Chee Wei jerked his head to indicate Xiaohui, who had her back to them and stood with her arms folded, almost hugging herself, a picture of insecurity. “Or is it about James Lin?”

“Call me when you get to the sister’s place,” Ryker said. “After that, I want you to check in every thirty minutes. I’ll make sure Debbie knows.” He meant Debbie Price, the department’s administrator/clerk, whose duties included screening incoming calls and passing them to the relevant Homicide detectives. A three-times-married fortysomething, Debbie was too much woman for Ryker, who’d been mildly tempted to pursue a social dalliance until he learned her only interests were her seven cats, and Mexican dramas piped in via cable, a habit she’d acquired from her last husband, a decorated Latino cop who’d stopped a bullet from a Desert Eagle and left Debbie financially secure, if a little eccentric. “Don’t miss a call. You hear?”

Chee Wei nodded. They entered the interview room. Xiaohui turned to face them and Ryker saw she’d been crying. Was it an act to provoke sympathy? He couldn’t be sure, couldn’t read her accurately enough. He’d ask Chee Wei later; he was sure to be tuned into her more. Although hopefully not
too
tuned.

“Detective Fong will drive you to your sister’s, Miss Zhu. You don’t have to worry about anything while he’s with you. The investigation into Danny Lin’s murder will continue. I’m hopeful we’ll make an arrest soon. That should satisfy Mr. Lin. He’ll call off his dogs.” Which was bullshit; at this moment Xiaohui was their best and only lead, but he wanted to reassure her that the entire S.F.P.D. was on her side.

She sobbed a thank-you. Chee Wei escorted her to the desk to pick up her stuff. Ryker watched them go and knew he’d done the right thing. Chee Wei’s performance with Victor Chin had swung it, of course; he’d protected the damsel in distress and seen off the evil dragon. If Xiaohui was going to talk at all, she’d talk to Chee Wei. That was the plan, anyway, and while Ryker acknowledged its simplicity, he also thought it might just work.

Which left him alone and wondering what the hell he should be doing next. His rumbling stomach told him. He remembered the effect the smell of food had had on him, and realized how hungry he was. Pity the station house didn’t do room service....

He hurried out and along the hallway, took the stairs three at a time and burst through the doors, startling Johnson who said, “Where’s the fire?” Ignoring the black detective, and the ugly look Wallace gave him, Ryker fired up the DVD player again and used the timer to backtrack to when Danny Lin and Xiaohui arrived at the Taipan Suite and went inside. He fast-forwarded, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen. The minutes and seconds blurred but he kept track of the hour, 3 a.m., 4 a.m., 5 a.m., 6 a.m....

“Found anything interesting?” Spider stood behind him, Wallace by his side, their reflections visible in the upper corner of the screen.

“Playing a hunch,” Ryker said.

“Yuh-huh,” Wallace drawled, before turning and heading back to his desk. Maybe he’d become addicted to John Wayne movies. Ryker wished he’d climb up on his tall horse and mosey on out of town.

As 8 a.m. rolled up, room service arrived, the waiter with the breakfast trolley. Ryker pressed Play and the DVD player went into real time. The breakfast dishes lay hidden beneath silver heat covers, cutlery was laid out on the spotless white tablecloth, there was even a little vase with flowers, plus the slim leather wallet for the customer’s signature. The waiter knocked on the door, paused, knocked again. He opened the door and said something.
Sir, are you there? I want my gratuity.

“It can’t be him,” Spider said. “Time of death—”

“Watch the tape.” Ryker compressed a whole bundle of irritation into that short phrase. Spider sighed, and Ryker sensed the impatience the lieutenant radiated like stale after-shave.
Screw you, Spider, we’re all impatient.
Wallace moved files around on his desk, lifting and dropping them so they made a slap-bang noise. He was like some kid told he couldn’t have candy for being naughty. Ryker mentally reviewed the rest room incident and decided his only mistake was failing to break Wallace’s fucking arm, yuh-huh.

He chided himself for being so stupid. He wasn’t mad at Wallace, he was mad because James Lin thought he could pull everybody’s strings, and Ryker didn’t like being pulled.
Well, of course, that all depended on who was doing the pulling.
He’d met several suitable candidates over the past couple of days, none of whom knew he existed, unfortunately.

On the TV screen, the waiter entered the room. Ryker knew what was coming next. He pressed Fast Forward again and time rolled on. The duty manager and two hotel employees blurred out of the elevator and into the room like characters in a Benny Hill TV show; all that was missing was the music. They came out again with the waiter and had a brief conference in the hallway. Security beamed down seconds later and put a man on the door. Hotel blazers came and went. The breakfast trolley disappeared. Ryker stopped, rewound, watched the same sequence again.

Hotel blazers came and went. Three of them stood between the trolley and the camera, talking. Ryker played it again. Spider leaned forward, his pale blue eyes unblinking, his lips forming a tight line. Three hotel blazers stood talking. Four hotel blazers went their separate ways. Ryker hit Rewind, then hit Play, then hit Freeze. Four hotel employees, when there should only have been three.

Two of the four faced the security camera. The other pair had their backs to the lens. Ryker pressed Play. One of the unknowns turned his head, revealing himself as a Caucasian man. The last member of the group was smaller, a woman, race undetermined. Ryker dismissed the man, whom he judged to be around six feet and one-eighty pounds, and focused on the woman. Not once, as she walked along the hallway and out of shot, did she show the camera anything except the back of her head. Another employee took the unwanted breakfast trolley away. Just before he passed out of shot he stopped, bent down, lifted the tablecloth, and looked underneath. Then he straightened and continued on his way.

“Some hunch,” Spider said.

Ryker was already dialing Sandra Raymond at the Mandarin Oriental. Two rings later she said, “Detective Raymond.” Her exasperation came through loud and clear. Maybe she thought Ryker was stalking her. Maybe he’d like to.

“Detective Raymond. This is Detective Sergeant Ryker.” He said it for Wallace’s benefit. “The room service guy brought a breakfast trolley to the scene at zero-eight-hundred. It sat outside the door for twenty minutes. Nobody was in the mood for scrambled eggs, someone took it away. Find out who, and what happened to the trolley.”

“How important is this?” Raymond asked.

Ryker sensed he had the attention of everyone in the squad room. “It’s looking like the killer sneaked out when the room service guy wasn’t looking, and hid in his trolley until other people arrived. At an opportune moment, she just up and walked away while wearing a hotel blazer. Talk to Klein. We’re looking for fingerprints, trace, DNA.”

“She?”

“I’d say somewhere between five-zero and five-six, ninety to one-twenty pounds.” Bigger wouldn’t fit the trolley. “When she climbed out she was wearing the blazer and black pants. Perfect camouflage for the terrain.”

“She could be an employee,” Spider said softly.

Ryker didn’t respond; just as equally the killer could be impersonating an employee. He told Raymond, “She knew the position of the security camera. We’re missing a shot of her face.”

He waited a few seconds, wondering if Raymond would get it, and he wasn’t disappointed. “So she stayed in the suite with the body until morning? Jesus.”

“Yep, she was in there all night, until the room service guy opened the door.” Ryker glanced at Spider, who shook his head in disbelief. “She knew Danny Lin had booked a wake-up call and breakfast. She might already have been hiding in the suite when he called room service. How long was the suite empty before Danny Lin arrived? Who had access? Find out. We know the killer has patience. Maybe we need to go further back with the tapes. Related subject. Hotel lobby security, from eight-twenty to eight-thirty. If anyone came downstairs and exited the hotel during that time frame, I want a Kodak moment. Also check with staff, see if anyone’s missing some clothes, ask if they can remember when the clothes walked, who might have been around, anything.”

“It’s my sister’s kid’s birthday next week, she’s seven years old. She’s having a party. I’d like to go, if that’s okay.”

Raymond’s unveiled sarcasm slapped him hard. He did his best not to smile, which wasn’t easy with Spider standing there. “I’m with Lieutenant Furino. We’ll see about sending some cavalry. Get things moving, Sandra.”

“Will do.” She hung up before he did.

“So what have we gained?” Spider asked.

Ryker stopped the video. “Maybe a face, if we’re lucky. Maybe someone will remember something. The more questions we ask, the more chance of getting an answer. I’m putting Morales in with Raymond.” Maybe that would put a smile on Morales’s sour face. Ryker remembered something else. “There were a couple of Bay area cops at the hotel when we got there. Jackson. And Blacque, spelled with a ‘q.’“
Jesus, maybe my memory isn’t so bad after all.
“Can you give their boss a courtesy call, ask if they can drop by the hotel?”

“I’ll see what I can do. Anything else?”

“You arranged cover for Chee Wei?”

“It’s solid,” Spider said. “But if that hooker hasn’t opened her mouth this time tomorrow, we deal the cards another way. I’m bent over my desk on this one. Pants around my ankles.”

“Hell of a picture, lou,” Ryker said.