Murder on Bamboo Lane Page 5

  Damn Rickie, I think. “Uh, he’s kind of a hard guy to pin down.”

  “Do you have any other numbers for him? Or maybe some places where he likes to hang out?”

  I immediately think of Osaka’s, but I know that everyone will refuse to have anything to do with me if Detective Williams starts asking questions there. Aunt Cheryl said that I should be cultivating some confidential informants. Perhaps Detective Williams would forgive me for not being totally upfront?

  “I’ll look into it, Detective,” I tell him. “I’ll tell Rickie to give you a call as soon as he can.” If it meant literally pulling him by the ear to police headquarters, I’d do it.

  “I’d really appreciate it.”

  “So do you think that the murder happened in the middle of a robbery? I saw something over the Internet.”

  “Don’t believe anything online,” Cortez says. “We, of course, can’t rule anything out, but we actually have some leads on some suspects.”

  Tuan? I wonder.

  He waits a beat before continuing. “I go to Central Division from time to time to meet with Captain Randle. Maybe we can get together sometime.”

  I don’t say anything for a few seconds. He isn’t asking me out, is he? Or . . . is he?

  “I’d like to go over some things,” he then quickly says, as if he’s covering himself. “You just joined the force, right?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I say. “Just finished probation.” I can’t believe that I sound so lame.

  He then has to answer another call, so we don’t get a chance to set anything up. Probably my acting like a doofus didn’t help. After our phone conversation, I have a problem concentrating. During my break, I go outside and look him up online on my phone. Like a lot of police officers, Cortez doesn’t have a Facebook page and doesn’t do social networking. There’s a LinkedIn page, but there’s hardly anything on it.

  I wonder how old he is, and, of course, whether he’s been married or has kids. He’s easily old enough to have done both. But I do know that he has a good professional reputation, and that counts for a lot in my book. Plus, he’s so fine—even in his long-sleeve dress shirt, I could tell he works out. Probably lifts weights.

  While I’m out there, I also check my e-mail. Rickie still hadn’t gotten back to me. I try not to let it get to me personally, but it does. It’s obvious that he, like Benjamin, doesn’t respect what I do. To them, I’m a joke in a black pair of shorts.

  • • •

  I’m on the train going home when my phone begins to ring. I check who’s calling and pick up.

  “I’m sorry, okay?” I tell Nay before she can say anything. “I wish I could have told you sooner.”

  “I know, I know. You’re just doing your job. I just can’t get used to you being one of them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, the other side. The boss people. The establishment.”

  “How’s everyone taking the news about Jenny?” I say everyone, but I really mean Benjamin.

  “Well, it’s the talk of school. All these arguments are breaking out. The Chinese American Student Union are going friggin’ ballistic over rumors it was a hit by Chinatown gangsters. Everyone blames the Chinese homeboys, except the people who are saying it was probably some hothead Vietnamese nationalist, and now a leader connected to Little Saigon is up in arms. And the Women’s League is pissed that the administration isn’t doing anything about violence against female students—”

  “Wait, was there another incident—?”

  “Nah. It’s just that everyone is angry or walking around shocked, like zombies. Anyway, I didn’t call you to give you the four-one-one on that. I called you because I have a lead.” Nay sounded a bit breathless.

  “Okay.” I dig into my bag for a pen so I can take notes.

  “Well, I was in the student bookstore. I was tired and needed a sugar rush, so I was thinking about getting a regular Coke, but regular Coke gives me a weird feeling after I drink it. I know there’s Coke Zero, but why even go there if I need sugar, real sugar, right?”

  “Nay, get to the point.”

  “Sooorry.”

  I know at that point that I’ve hurt her feelings and attempt to make amends. “Nay, yes, I’m listening.”

  “Well, I was in the student store, waiting in line to buy my Diet Coke and Red Vines, and I saw Susana.”

  “Susana?” I repeat.

  “Jenny’s best friend? Susana Perez.”

  “Right, of course.” I feel stupid. I’m supposed to be the cop, but Nay is keeping better track of the players in the Jenny Nguyen case.

  “She looked terrible. I mean, a complete mess. Like she hasn’t showered for a couple of days. I think she might’ve had popcorn in her hair.” I hear Nay take a sip. “Anyway, I tell her that I was so sorry to hear about Jenny. And she burst into tears. Right there in line.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “No, I felt so bad for her. So we went outside and just talked for a while.”

  “Did she say anything about Jenny?”

  “She’s completely freaked out about it. Devastated. She feels so bad that she was pissed at Jenny for missing her birthday in Vegas. I told her that she shouldn’t feel guilty. It was totally understandable.”

  “What was going on with Jenny, anyway? Did Susana have any idea?”

  “I couldn’t ask her all those questions. But I did say that my best friend, Ellie Rush, worked for the police and wanted to help. When I said police, Susana like practically jumped out of her Vans. But I calmed her down. I told her that you weren’t regular police. That you were one of us. That you’d even known Jenny a little, here at PPW. That seemed to work.”

  “Is she willing to talk to me?” I asked, trying not to get annoyed by Nay’s comment that I’m not “regular police.”

  “Well, she finally gave me her cell phone number. You better call quick, though, before she changes her mind.” Nay recites Susana’s digits, which I write on the back of the stray business card I grabbed from my backpack. Of course, it has to be Cortez Williams’s card.

  “Do you think that she might be willing to speak to a detective, too?” I ask.

  “No way!” Nay’s voice goes up in volume, causing my right ear to ring. “It’s got to be just you. I promised her.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “I’m serious, Ellie. Oh, and listen, don’t start asking, like, where she’s from and all that.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Just trust me. Don’t ask her, okay? If you do, she won’t talk to you.”

  “Okay,” I relent. At least I made the attempt to do things the official way. “Are you guys going to be at Osaka’s tonight?”

  “No, but tomorrow night. How about you?”

  “Probably,” I say. “I really need to talk to Rickie. He’s been ignoring my messages.”

  “Nah, you know him. He doesn’t bother to call anyone back. It’s a power move. Don’t worry about it.”

  But I can’t help worrying. Is he hiding something? Or worse yet, is he okay?

  “You know, I saw him on campus today.”

  “Oh yeah?” I’m relieved that someone has seen him around. “How was he taking the news about Jenny?”

  “You know him. There could be a nuclear disaster and he’d be complaining that his favorite taco truck wasn’t around anymore.”

  I can’t help myself. “Benjamin?”

  “Well, I did text him last night. He was pretty upset. He wanted to know whether you knew the whole time.”

  I cover my eyes.

  “I didn’t say anything. Just told him that I didn’t know, that he’d have to ask you himself.”

  “He came over last night.” I tell Nay.

  “And . . . ?”

  “We got into another fight.”

  I can picture Nay shaking her head. For some reason, she’s always rooting for us to get back together.

  “He was telling me to stay away from looking into J
enny’s disappearance. Being all protective. We’re not together anymore; he can’t tell me what to do.”

  “Well, he can’t get away from his macho self. Korean raised on Latin soil. Double-scoops of macho.” Nay obviously doesn’t want to keep bad-mouthing Benjamin and changes the subject. “So, what do you say to your BFF who has given you the lead of the century?”

  “Nay, thank you. Thank you, thank you. I owe you big time. A two-liter container of Diet Coke.”

  “Only two liters? Twelve pack, thank you very much.”

  We end the phone call, and I immediately dial Susana’s number.

  “Hello?” The voice on the other end sounds weak and tentative.

  “Hello, this is Nay Pram’s friend, Ellie Rush. She gave me your number.”

  “You’re the cop,” she says. From the tone of her voice, I can tell she regrets saying too much to Nay.

  “Listen, I’d like to get together with you. In person. To talk about Jenny.”

  Just hearing her friend’s name causes Susana to practically squeak.

  “I want to help. This will be just between you and me.” I assure her.

  Silence. Come on, I say silently, come on.

  “Tomorrow night. I only have tomorrow night open,” she says.

  “Okay,” I say, perhaps a little too eagerly.

  She suggests a coffee shop in South Gate called Tierra Café. I’m not that familiar with the neighborhood, but I agree and we decide on a time, seven o’clock, then she clicks off.

  So no Osaka’s for me tomorrow. I text Nay to let her know that I won’t be at the ramen shop, but I still want to know if Rickie shows up.

  OK GOOD LUCK SHERLOCK, she texts back.

  Thank you, Watson, I replied.

  • • •

  The next day I drive the Skylark to work, and after work, I drive it to South Gate and park it on the street, a block away from the coffeehouse.

  Once I enter the Tierra Café, I immediately pick out Susana. First of all, she’s a girl sitting by herself with an open textbook in front of her. The second tip-off is her look of fear as I approach.

  “Susana?” I ask.

  She nods. Susana is a light-skinned Latina with a spray of freckles on her cheeks. Her wavy hair is mid-length, a little past her shoulders. She looks to be in better shape than when Nay ran into her in the student store. There’s no popcorn in her hair, and she seems halfway groomed.

  “Look, I don’t need the trouble, you know?” I can’t quite figure out her accent. It isn’t Mexican or even Central American.

  “I’m not trying to make trouble.”

  “But you’re a cop, right?”

  “I’m off the clock right now.” I sit at the same table across from her.

  She looks at me. “They told me that Jenny’s dead.”

  I nod. “I was the one who first identified her.”

  “Oh my God.” Susana clasps her hands together by her mouth and begins biting her right thumbnail. She looks like a hamster gnawing on her last morsel of food. “School called me to go look at some pictures. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t see her like that. They said that she had some ID on her and were getting her fingerprints or something, so it would be okay.”

  I let her cry for a few minutes, then ask if she wants a drink. “Horchata latte,” she practically whispers. Sounds good to me, so I order two and bring them back to our table.

  I wait until she takes a few sips of her drink before going further. “I’m here because I don’t want whoever did that to Jenny to get away with it,” I tell her. I mean what I say.

  Susana’s eyes flash with anger for a moment, and she nods. It’s enough to convince me she was Jenny’s real friend. “So, what do you want to know?”

  “Where was Jenny living? Nobody seems to know.”

  “We were roommates for a while. Near Alvarado. But I couldn’t cut the rent. At least Jenny had a job.”

  “She had a job?” This was news to me.

  “She worked for the Census.”

  “I thought that was all over.”

  “No, they kept some people to work other surveys year-round. Jenny was good at getting information from people.”

  “So, did Jenny stay at the apartment?”

  Susana shook her head. “She couldn’t afford it by herself. I guess she could have gotten another roommate, but she just started sleeping on different people’s couches. She even stayed at my boyfriend’s apartment for a few days; that’s where I live right now. But my boyfriend didn’t like it, so Jenny was on the move again.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “She lived in the Ratmobile.”

  I frown.

  “Her car. Well, actually, it’s my older brother’s car. I’m supposed to be watching it for him. He’s been deployed for six months. But Jenny was really in trouble, so I said she could borrow it.”

  “So where’s the car now?”

  “I’m not sure. My brother is going to be so mad when he finds out that I lost his car. Is there any way that you think you can find it?”

  “Did she park it anywhere special?”

  “She had scoped out the entire city. She knew all the safe streets, the ones with unlimited night parking, the parking spaces near bathrooms in fast-food restaurants and libraries. She had her regular spots. She was using a small street in Chinatown now and then. Also on campus, at PPW. I’m not sure exactly where.”

  “What’s the year and make of the car?”

  “It’s a black Honda Accord, 1994. So in other words, ancient.” She provides me with her brother’s name, which it’s registered under, and the license plate number. “Will that help?”

  “I can check if there’s been some recent traffic violations.”

  “Tickets? No, Jenny was really careful with that car. I wouldn’t have let her use it otherwise.”

  “Maybe parking tickets, then. She wasn’t able to move the car for the past few days.” I close my notebook. “Did you know her boyfriend, Tuan?”

  She nods. “Ex-boyfriend. I got in touch with him when Jenny was missing. He started looking for her, too.”

  Ex? Okay. “So they were still friends.”

  Susana pressed her lips together before taking a long sip of her horchata latte.

  “They weren’t friends,” I correct myself.

  “Tuan was pretty upset when they broke up. But he wouldn’t hurt her. He wanted her back.”

  “So why did they break up?”

  “I’m not totally sure.” She blinks rapidly.

  “But you kinda know . . .” I push gently. No one wants to talk badly about her BFF, especially if she’s dead.

  “She, well, she cheated on him. But he didn’t know anything about it,” she says.

  Maybe he found out, I think.

  “Jenny couldn’t deal with the guilt. She felt really bad about it.”

  “So who was it with?”

  “It wasn’t just one guy.”

  “How many?”

  Susana bends her head down.

  I narrow my eyes. I’m all for loyalty and friendship, but come on: Jenny’s dead. Finding out who killed her is a lot more important than keeping her reputation pristine.

  “I really didn’t know what was going on with her. After her mom died, she wasn’t the same.”

  “When did her mother die?”

  “Late last year. In Vietnam. Jenny went over there for the funeral.”

  I take a few notes on my phone.

  “After the funeral, Jenny dropped out of school, but she was still all busy. I’m not sure if it was work or what. Did the police find her green notebook?”

  I straighten up. “You mean a journal?”

  “More like a scrapbook, I guess. She would stay up late, cutting stuff out of the paper or even computer printouts and gluing them inside.”

  From what I’d seen, Jenny hadn’t seemed the scrapbooker type. But you never know what people enjoy doing behind closed doors.

  “After my
boyfriend asked her to leave, I didn’t get to see her that much. I think that she was hooking up with the wrong kinds of guys.”

  “Guys in gangs?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  I frown.

  “I’m telling you, I don’t know. But recently, she was afraid. She thought someone was following her. The police didn’t find her cell phone?”

  I tell her no.

  “It was one of those prepaid ones. She switched over after she moved out. Her laptop?”

  I shake my head. “Can you tell me anything else that might be helpful?”

  Susana shakes her head, her lips trembling. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything more.” She then abruptly stands and picks up her textbook. It’s thick with a putrid green cover, a tome that engineering students carry on the other part of campus. “This morning I woke up and thought it was just a bad dream. Maybe I just had a nightmare that Jenny was dead. Then I realized that it wasn’t a dream; it had really happened.” A tear drips down her freckled cheek. “I’m never going to see Jenny again.”

  • • •

  As I’m leaving, I check my phone. Nay texted me about forty minutes ago. RICKIE’S HERE. WANT ME TO ASK HIM SOMETHING?

  I immediately call her back as I head toward my car. The background noise on her side of the line is loud, too loud to be Osaka’s.

  “Nay, it’s me. Where are you?”

  “Oh, oh, hi,” Nay says. Her voice has a fake tone to it. She gets this way when I catch her in a lie. “We left the ramen house.” There’s a muffled sound, like Nay’s covering part of the receiver, but I still hear some high-pitched voices. Nay then comes back on. “We’re on Hill Street, waiting to get into a club.”

  “Is Rickie there?”

  “Ah, I don’t think that he’s in a mood to talk about Jenny.”

  “Where on Hill are you?”

  “It would be a mistake for you to come.” Nay’s voice takes on a more serious tone. The background noises start to drift away, and I know that Nay’s trying to get away from the crowd. Finally, it’s just Nay and me. “Benjamin’s here,” she says.

  “So? I can deal with him.” I look down at my clothes. There are a few crusted grains of rice on my sweater. Certainly not club clothing. But Benjamin’s not the type to care about that. “Is it reggae night at that one place?” Reggae is one of Benjamin’s weaknesses.