Murder on Bamboo Lane Page 19

  Why would you? I wonder. Most don’t have any money! At least I didn’t when I was in college. Maybe the store wants them all to find wealthy partners to participate in some Fifty Shades of Grey fantasy.

  “I have some questions about the panty gift pack,” Nay continues.

  “Of course.”

  “How many do you sell a year?”

  “Five thousand, I think. It’s our premiere item, that’s for sure.”

  Wow. And no serial number on the box. No way to track down the individual buyer. I notice the MADE IN USA label and point to it. “I see that these are made here.”

  “Yay, go USA,” Nay chants, trying to show her patriotic colors.

  “Yes, they’re custom-made right here in Los Angeles, in fact. By a swimsuit manufacturer, Blue Flag Swimwear.”

  I know Blue Flag. Their factory is on Maple Avenue, just on the outskirts of the Fashion District. It’s in a tall blue building that I’ve circled numerous times on patrol.

  “We are actually thinking of playing that up more,” says our Audrey Hepburn clerk. “Buy local. Buy LA.”

  “That’s Garrett Mancuso’s company,” Nay whispers to me.

  “Who?”

  She says that she’ll tell me later.

  • • •

  “You haven’t heard of Garrett Mancuso?” Nay, knower of all things tawdry and sensational, asks me after we convene back at my house.

  I have not. But when I look up his photo on my computer, I immediately recognize him. He’s the man that Captain Randle was having a heated discussion with on that Sunday at the station. I think that I may have also seen him in the Metro Club in the library.

  “I’ve seen him around.”

  “He’s the bad boy of fashion,” Nay says. “He’s been served with at least three paternity suits. Charged with sexual harassment in the workplace. And even dated some swimsuit models.”

  “Ugh,” I say. I print out his head shot. He’s a balding guy in his late fifties with dark curly hair and mottled skin. He’s not handsome, not by a long shot. “I guess he’s just not my type.”

  “What is your type? Hunky? Or emo?”

  “C’mon, we’re not talking about me, okay?”

  “Actually, I know a girl at PPW who’s been in one of the Blue Flag ads.” That doesn’t surprise me. Blue Flag is notorious for its provocative billboards and website banners. As part of its marketing campaign, instead of professional models the company uses everyday people, many of them coeds from local colleges.

  “Yeah, she told me that Mancuso was a total lecher, a pervert,” Nay continues.

  I cross-check his name with the list of commissions and those on the trade mission. “Well, this pervert is on the redistricting commission. And he was in Vietnam with the mayor, too.”

  Nay writes something on the printout of Mancuso’s head shot and then secures it on my bare refrigerator door with a pizza delivery magnet.

  I get up to get a closer look. She wrote, “WANTED: Suspect No. 1.”

  • • •

  On Monday, I actually wake up early to not only wash my hair but properly blow-dry it. I even use an eyelash curler and apply a couple of swipes of mascara. I am meeting Cortez at City Hall.

  Before our appointment, I report to the station. Detective Harrington is talking to Captain Randle in our so-called lobby.

  “There she is,” Captain Randle says, beaming. I’m like his favorite grandchild these days. I wonder if, like most grandparents, he doesn’t really know what the hell his progeny are up to, and if he did, whether he’d be able to handle the truth.

  “Harrington just told me that we got a favorable ruling in a robbery that occurred late last year. His report was instrumental in the prosecution of that case, and he tells me that your editing feedback helped.”

  “Oh, wonderful, glad to hear it,” I say. My instinct is to say, “It was nothing,” but I’m trying to learn not to undermine myself that way. It’s taken me a while to accept compliments, but I’m working on it. Harrington grins and nods his good-byes, leaving me alone with Captain Randle.

  “Perhaps you can take a look at some other reports?”

  I’m flattered, but I also know what this means. More work after hours, probably no OT pay. This request for a favor emboldens me for a moment.

  “Captain Randle, I noticed you talking to the Fashion District rep, Garrett Mancuso, the other weekend.”

  “You call that talking?” Captain Randle says sarcastically. Sarcasm is not his thing, and he doesn’t wear it well. “A strong difference of opinion is more like it. Mr. Mancuso and I share a long, contentious history. I was a detective assigned to the station when he started his swimsuit company fifteen years ago.”

  I link my hands behind me as I listen intently.

  “He was accused of assaulting one of his models, and although she eventually dropped the charge, I was the one who originally arrested him. Ever since then, he’s had it out for me. When I was assigned to be captain of the Central Division, he befriended Councilman Beachum to try to get me out. He’s been unsuccessful so far.” Captain Randle stops himself, realizing that he has revealed too much. “Why do you ask?”

  I give him a quick rundown of Father Kwame’s conversation with Jenny’s aunt in Vietnam. I’m hoping for an attagirl, but Captain Randle’s face turns ashen gray. “You need to dot your i’s and cross your t’s on this one, Ellie. There’s no room for mistakes.”

  • • •

  City Hall reminds me of the kind of retro building that could be in a Superman comic book. (It actually has, according to Noah.) On the outside, it’s shaped like a rocket; inside, it’s all hushed corridors, arched walkways and stone mosaic floors. And narrow elevators that are always too crowded.

  After meeting Cortez in the lobby, we ride up together to the fourth floor. He has to press against me as more and more paper pushers squeeze into the elevator car. I smell his cologne and notice that he has nicked himself underneath his chin shaving. He glances down at me, then we both avert our eyes.

  We get off at the fourth floor to meet with Teena Dang. Cortez has made an appointment, and I’m surprised that he got us in so quickly. Usually, these aides have breakfast events, press conferences and meetings with high-level constituents. No time for a wandering LAPD detective and a bicycle cop.

  As she has been every other time I’ve seen her, Teena Dang is flawlessly groomed. Not a hair out of place, perfectly manicured nails, no drops of spilled coffee or random city ickiness on her light-colored blouse. It amazes me that some people, especially someone close to my age, can pull themselves together so beautifully every single day.

  Teena is on the phone and lifts one of her perfectly buffed nails up as a signal for us to wait.

  I see how Cortez checks out her entire body, from her polished high heels to her shiny black hair. I feel a pang of jealousy. I’m totally out of her league.

  “Sorry about that. You must be Detective Williams,” Teena says, hanging up the phone and extending her hand to Cortez. I notice that he holds it a little too long.

  She then looks at me, her eyes vacant.

  “We’ve met before, at the Metro Club,” I say to attempt to jog her memory. “I was with Cheryl Toma. I’m Officer Ellie Rush.”

  “Of course, of course. Well, sit down. How can I help you?”

  Seated, Cortez straightens his tie. “Ellie, go ahead.”

  Me? I’m not sure why Cortez is making me speak.

  “Well, I—we were referred to you by Missy Kim.”

  “Yes, I know Missy.”

  “We are investigating the Jenny Nguyen murder. Her body was found in Chinatown on the day of the parade.”

  “Of course. It happened here in our district. I trust that the investigation is going well. We heard that you had a potential suspect?”

  “We did, but he has an alibi.”

  Hearing the word alibi, Teena blinks twice, then clears her throat. “Any other suspects?”

  “We
ll, Missy mentioned that Jenny may have spoken to you about someone on the redistricting commission. A man. She could have been asking questions about his personal life.”

  Teena runs her fingers through her long hair. “You know, I really don’t recall. That must have been a long time ago.”

  She’s clearly not going to “remember” anything on her own. I decide to push. “I’m wondering if she could have been asking about Garrett Mancuso.”

  Teena gets up from her chair. “I’m confused. What are you trying to imply? That Mr. Mancuso was somehow involved in Jenny Nguyen’s death? That’s ludicrous. I wouldn’t be spreading rumors about an esteemed business leader in our community.”

  Cortez rises, too. His voice is conciliatory; he is a born peacemaker. “Please don’t misunderstand Officer Rush. We’re just following up on some leads. We want to solve this case as much as I know you and Councilman Beachum do. We don’t want anyone to think that Chinatown isn’t a safe place to visit. The community wants this case put to rest.”

  “That doesn’t mean creating suspects out of nothing.”

  “Of course not. We’re just asking questions.”

  I know that Cortez wants to end our meeting on a positive note, but I’m not sure when or if I’ll have another opportunity to interview Beachum’s aide again. “Did you go on the mayor’s trade mission to Vietnam?”

  “I wish. But I had to stay back and attend some special events in LA on behalf of the city councilman. You can check, if you’d like.” She fingers a paperweight on her desk. “What does that has to do with the investigation into the girl’s death?”

  “Apparently, her mother was killed last October in Ho Chi Minh City, about the same time the Los Angeles delegation was there. It’s still an unsolved murder.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. But again, I don’t see the relevance.” Teena then checks her watch and apologizes that she has to go to another meeting.

  Before she leaves, Teena slips something into Cortez’s palm. “Here’s my card, Detective. If I can be of any further help at all, please call.” Of course, there’s no offer of a card to me.

  “She sure knows the right things to say,” I comment as we head back to the narrow elevator.

  “She’s just protecting her constituent.”

  We remain silent on the elevator ride back to the ground floor.

  “We wouldn’t have to prove that Garrett Mancuso actually killed Cam Hanh, only that Jenny suspected that he did,” I say to Cortez.

  “We have no proof, Ellie.” Our feet tap down the concrete steps. “I really appreciate all this work that you’ve put into this, but we really don’t have anything that the DA can work with.”

  I jump over a dead palm tree frond that has fallen on the sidewalk. “We don’t have Jenny’s cell phone. Her computer. She didn’t really tell anyone about what she was up to.”

  “Well, if the roommate cooperated with us . . .” Cortez raises his hands. He’s right. Susana needs to come forward. She may be the only person in Jenny’s life who has some information that could actually help.

  “Listen, I need to tell you something,” Cortez says when we reach police headquarters. I brace myself for bad news. “I’ve been assigned another homicide case. There’s only so much time that can be spent on this, and I was informed that this was the last day that we’d be working together. My partner, who’s been in court, will be taking over.”

  “Are you saying that this case is closed?”

  “Of course not. The department is committed to apprehending and charging the perpetrator.” I give him a look. That’s just a bunch of department BS, and we both know it.

  “I’m sorry, Ellie. But this is how it works sometimes.”

  NINETEEN

  AVENUE 26

  My landline rings, and both Shippo and I stare at it for a moment before I pick up.

  “Hello?” I ask tentatively, afraid that it’s going to be my dad again.

  But instead, it’s a female voice. “Hello, heeellooo.”

  “Hi, Grandma,” I say.

  “Hello, Ellie?”

  “Yes, Grandma, it’s me.”

  “Oh, Ellie. Hello.”

  “Hello, Grandma.”

  “Do you know anything about this A-P-A-P-O-A?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Apa-poa.”

  “Is that a new kind of restaurant or something?”

  “No, it’s a policemen’s group.”

  “Oh, APAPOA. It’s short for Asian Pacific American Police Officers Association.” I get solicitation e-mails on a regular basis, but I haven’t yet gone to any of their meetings.

  “Well, they are honoring your Aunt Cheryl.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Cheryl was saying that it’s not a big deal, and your mother says that we don’t have to go, but I want to go.”

  “Okay.”

  “So, can you get me information about it? It’s on a Monday afternoon. I don’t know if I need tickets. And I’ll need a ride. And also, I’ll need to know what to wear.”

  “Of course, Grandma. I’ll look into it and make the arrangements.” I rub the loose skin underneath Shippo’s chin. “By the way, how is Mom?”

  “Nuts. She keeps driving over to Estel’s house and Noah’s school. I’ve had to go with her sometimes. She parks and just watches for Noah. She even brings opera glasses. ‘Go and just talk to him,’ I tell her. But she’s stubborn. Always has been. She’s too goody-two-shoes for her own good.”

  Then, how about Aunt Cheryl? I feel like asking her. Unlike my mother, does she compromise her values to get her way?

  After I get off the phone with Grandma Toma, I sit back on my couch. Shippo senses that I’m in a contemplative mood—the best time for him to get a rubdown—and he lies on my lap, his head resting on his paws. As I rub and pet Shippo’s back, I think. I’m not sure what to make of Aunt Cheryl. I mean, I love her. She’s been my hero for most of my life. If anyone asks me who my role model is, it’s LAPD Assistant Chief Cheryl Toma.

  But now that I’m officially part of her world, I’m seeing things that I kind of wish I didn’t. I’ve been pretending that the flaws and danger signs weren’t there, but I realize that I can’t ignore them any longer.

  “Shippo, wanna go for a ride?” I say, getting out his leash.

  • • •

  Aunt Cheryl knows that we are on our way up, because the doorman in her marble-floored lobby has already buzzed to announce us. As soon as we come out of the elevator, her door flies open.

  “Shippo,” she cries, bending down and, on cue, my dog jumps onto her lap. Wet dog kisses are planted all over her face.

  After Aunt Cheryl comes up for air, she notices the look on my face. My body language is apparently communicating my message well. I stand straight, my legs planted firmly on the ground. I am ready for battle.

  She waves me inside, then asks if I want anything to drink. I shake my head.

  We sit in her living room. The curtains are pulled back, revealing her spectacular view of lower downtown, all lit up neon in the night sky. The thin blue wisp of a hotel, all twenty-six floors of it, looks surreal and mythical, a towering flame above Staples Center and the Nokia Theatre. Based on the specks of people flowing into the arena, there must be a basketball game today.

  Aunt Cheryl is all brass tacks at work, but at home she reveals her inner self: French romanticism. Her condo is drenched in pink and mauve, from the upholstery to the embroidered pillows. Even her furniture has fancy carved legs shaped like sharp bird claws, ready to pounce on passing prey.

  “Have you talked to Mom or Grandma recently?” I ask.

  “No, not since Grandma’s birthday. Why, is something wrong?”

  I shake my head. Getting Aunt Cheryl involved will probably only make things worse, but since I’ve tipped my hand, I have no doubt that Grandma Toma will be getting a phone call from her favorite elder daughter. But I’m not here about Noah; I’m here about Jenny.

  “
Aunt Cheryl, I need to know something.”

  “Sure.” Shippo has made himself at home in Aunt Cheryl’s lap.

  “Did you purposely bring me to Metro Club to parade me around?”

  “You sound like I was treating you like a show dog.”

  “Either that or fresh bait.”

  No response. Just the manic stroking of Shippo’s back.

  “You haven’t told me everything. Councilman Beachum told you something, didn’t he?”

  Aunt Cheryl breaks out in a huge smile. She leans back and releases a couple of noiseless laughs.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You are born to do this. I didn’t know if joining the LAPD was just my influence. But it’s in your blood, just like it’s in mine.” She stops petting Shippo, and he lifts his head to see if anything is wrong.

  “You are absolutely correct. I used you. You were my ‘bait.’” Her eyes bore into mine, and for a moment I feel afraid. “The chief was giving me pressure about this case as soon as Jenny’s body was found. We were told to look at Tuan Le two hours after the discovery of Jenny’s body. I didn’t like it. The investigation had just started. When I challenged the chief, he said that he was getting directives from City Hall. He wouldn’t say who, but I assumed that he was talking about someone from the city council. Then I saw you on television at the scene of the crime, and I figured that together we could shake the tree and see what came down.”

  “But I wasn’t in on what you were trying to do. You kept me in the dark, Aunt Cheryl.” You used me, I think.

  “If I had told you, you would have been more vulnerable. This way, you were just doing your job. Nothing more.”

  “Well, some anonymous source complained to my sergeant. Said that I was acting inappropriately. I almost got written up.”

  My aunt gets quiet. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t expect that they would go after you. You’re just a rookie. Just a—” Aunt Cheryl stops herself, but I could complete the sentence for her. Just a bicycle cop.

  “What do you want me to do?” she says. “Call your sergeant? Tell Detective Williams that I was the one who initiated your involvement in the first place?”