‘‘I wish more were as thoughtful of the family as you, Great Lady.’’
‘‘Ya-Moia, you are friend to Peggy Wan.’’
‘‘Yes, Miss Lu.’’
‘‘She say you honest man. This man with you, Mr. Both, he honest man?’’
‘‘As honest and as good a man as any man I know.’’
‘‘That says much, Ya-Moia.’’
LaMoia bowed slightly.
‘‘Tell me about investigation, Mr. Both,’’ she said. There was no mention of which investigation.
‘‘Chinese immigrants are being treated like dogs, shipped here in huge metal boxes, like kennels, without water, without food. It is inhuman and it must stop.’’
‘‘When a person runs from a monster, he is prepared to suffer.’’
‘‘But these people pay for this.’’
‘‘My grandfather and I rode in the bottom of a freighter without sunshine, without fresh air for over a month. My grandfather paid much money for this. Things not so different today. My people have been running from the Red Chinese for many generations now.’’
‘‘People enter this great country in many ways, some legal, some not,’’ Boldt said. ‘‘I am not here to judge that. But three women died in that container. Young women. Their lives ahead of them. Everyone involved is going to jail. Everyone. They will end up in metal boxes just like their victims. Those who cooperate with the police will receive the lightest sentences.’’
Mama Lu did not move, did not twitch. She sat like a piece of stone in her padded throne, all levity, all kindness gone from her face. ‘‘Yes,’’ she said deliberately slowly, ‘‘I agree.’’
Boldt was surprised by this, and spoke what his mind had already prepared to say. ‘‘The young women who survived will not cooperate with us, will not share any information with us.’’
‘‘They scared of you. With good reason, I might add. Police at home not like police here. But there are others. These children, their families, in both countries, will suffer if they cooperate.’’
‘‘And your family.’’
‘‘You give me far too much credit, Mr. Both,’’ she said, her accent suddenly lessened, her voice softer yet more severe, her hard eyes fixed on Boldt and not releasing him. ‘‘I have no influence over these children.’’ She struggled with a deep breath and said, ‘‘Three died. Yes. Very sad. But tell me this please: How many die if they stay behind?’’
‘‘I’m only responsible for Seattle, Great Lady,’’ Boldt announced.
‘‘I will make inquiries,’’ she said, nodding her large head once again. ‘‘Let an old lady see what she can find out.’’
‘‘The ship responsible,’’ Boldt said, ‘‘the captain would be a good place to start.’’
‘‘You travel in the dark, Mr. Both. Move slowly. The dark holds many unseen dangers.’’
‘‘The dark eventually gives way to the light.’’
‘‘Not always. Ask Officer Tidwell. But I will help you. In return, you will tell me of progress of investigation, will keep my good name
out of press. So tired of the lies.’’
‘‘We’re all tired of the lies.’’
‘‘Chinese blood moves in my veins, Mr. Both. These three were my sisters, my children.’’
‘‘Your customers?’’ he dared to ask.
She grinned. ‘‘You bite hand that feeds you?’’
‘‘When I’m hungry enough,’’ he answered.
She lifted her soft pudgy hand and held it for a moment as if expecting he might kiss it. Then she waved, dismissing them.
Boldt stood, and LaMoia along with him.
LaMoia said, ‘‘I thank you, Miss Lu.’’
‘‘You be nice Peggy Wan, Ya-Moia. She my niece.’’ Directing her attention back to Boldt, she said, ‘‘Move slowly. The dark holds many challenges. Maybe I offer some light.’’
‘‘Thank you.’’
‘‘You will visit whenever you like, whenever you have something to tell me. You always welcome.’’
Boldt caught himself in a bow, lifted his head and grinned at her.
Back on the street and well away from the Korean grocery LaMoia
said, ‘‘Are you crazy, Sarge? You basically accused her.’’
‘‘I communicated my suspicions.’’
‘‘Oh, you communicated all right.’’
‘‘If she’s smart, she gives them up. They’ll never bring her into it, not with her reach. They wouldn’t last a week in lock-up. She gives us this operation, and she skates. What was that about Tidwell?’’
LaMoia warned, ‘‘You remember Tidwell. Organized Crime?’’
‘‘Retired?’’
‘‘Retired! He went out for a morning jog, came back on a stretcher. Every damn bone broken. Claimed he’d been hit by a car. Car with four legs is more like it. Left the department on a medical disability ’cause he can’t walk right.’’
‘‘Mama Lu?’’
‘‘Remember that semi with the Mexicans in the back? Dead of fumes? Word was Mama Lu had a piece of that trucking company. That was Tidwell’s baby until his unfortunate accident.’’
‘‘Are you trying to warn me, John?’’
‘‘She was, that’s for sure,’’ he said emphatically, eyes wide. The leather soles of his ostrich boots slapped the sidewalk loudly with each long stride. He said to Boldt, ‘‘I’m just trying to tell you to listen up. Either that, or I’d up my Blue Cross if I was you.’’
CHAPTER 8
Melissa accepted the digital camera from Stevie along with two very small tape cartridges and an extra battery. They talked in the corner of KSTV’s news studio while all around the crew prepared for the live broadcast of News Four at Five. As Stevie handed her the camera bag she felt compelled to caution Melissa. ‘‘This is not a license to take matters into your own hands.’’
‘‘I understand.’’
‘‘Don’t be so glib about it.’’
‘‘I understand that you have to say that. You have to protect yourself and the station.’’
‘‘It’s not that at all. It’s you I’m trying to protect.’’
‘‘Your nurturing instinct?’’ Melissa asked.
‘‘You’re to clear everything with me ahead of time.’’
‘‘Of course I am.’’
‘‘I’m not kidding, damn it!’’
‘‘Ms. McNeal?’’ the floor director called out. ‘‘Two minutes.’’
Stevie dismissed the person with a brutal wave. She looked at Melissa and saw trouble. ‘‘You’ve got something going, don’t you? I know that look.’’
Melissa shook her head.
‘‘What were you saying about the car wash?’’ Stevie asked.
‘‘Nothing but a hunch. A picture’s worth a thousand words, and I’ve got some good pictures. You’ll see.’’
‘‘When?’’ she persisted.
‘‘At the pay phone, I overheard him mention the graveyard,’’ Melissa whispered.
Stevie suffered a bout of chills. ‘‘Who him? What graveyard?’’
‘‘Ms. McNeal?’’ the floor director called out.
‘‘I’m coming!’’ Stevie snapped. When she turned around, Melissa was already leaving the studio. Stevie knew that the thing to do was to go after her, to stop her. Melissa suffered from professional tunnel vision. ‘‘Wait!’’ she called out.
‘‘Sixty seconds!’’ the floor director announced.
‘‘I’ll call you tonight,’’ Melissa mouthed silently, holding her hand to her ear as to a telephone.
‘‘You call me!’’ Stevie demanded, still tempted to abandon the anchor desk and stop her Little Sister. ‘‘I’m going to wait up for that call!’’
An intern held the double doors open for Melissa, who looked back one final time and smiled at Stevie. Again she held her hand to her ear: She would call.
‘‘Thirty seconds! Places, please.’’
Stevie moved reluctantly toward the anchor desk, the pit in her stomach growing ever deeper. If she hadn’t had the interview with the head of the INS lined up, she might have bailed. As it was, she climbed into her anchor chair and reviewed the script while the sound-man wired her. She had a sinking feeling about Melissa that she couldn’t shake: It felt more like a farewell than a good-bye.
The temperature of the studio hovered in the mid-fifties, a concession to the computerized electronics. The floor director reading the shooting script was dressed in a cotton cardigan. Behind the anchor desk things were a little hotter because an intern had delivered Stevie’s latte? with a teaspoon of real sugar instead of sugar substitute. Stevie slid the mug aside combatively and studied her own script one last time. No matter how many times this team prepared for a broadcast, nerves were always taut. News Four at Five’s continuing efforts to keep the number one Nielsen rating in the race for local news viewers had a way of turning up the heat.