City of Strangers (Luis Chavez Book 2) (23 page)

“I have the drugs here,” she said. “They’re contained. But we need a decontamination team over here, as well as a group to test the other priests.” She covered the phone with a gloved hand and sent the priest who had let them in a shrug and a smile.
“Sorry,”
she hissed.

When she hung up, she nodded to Luis.

“We have to test these immediately.”

“Your lab?” he asked.

“Hell no,” she said. “CDC lab at Good Samaritan. The outbreak is supposed to be over. If it’s not, everything is by the book. Even one life, including either of ours, is too much to risk. Got it?”

Luis did.

Forty-five minutes later in the lab at Good Samaritan, they had their answer. Two of the bottles were contaminant-free, as if they had never once been touched by human hands. In the third bottle, in a total of thirty pills a single infected pill hid among the others. Almost by a fluke the technician who tested it said that it had been on top, the first pill to come out of the bottle. When the inside of the bottle was tested, SARS was not discovered
except
at the very top.

As if the infected pill had been placed there on purpose.

“It appears the virus was introduced,” the visibly shaken lab technician told Susan, Luis, and a small assemblage of his colleagues that had gathered as word began to spread of what was happening. “If that’s the case, that makes the St. Jerome’s rectory and possibly even St. Augustine’s a crime scene.”

Introduced.

Luis could tell that no one could quite process this. After dealing with SARS as a viral infection for so many days, the idea that it could be used as a weapon did not compute. But to Luis, in a flash it suddenly all made sense.

“They were all murders,” he said. “Every last one of them. And I think I know who did it.”

XXIII

Oscar awoke to light streaming in through the still curtainless windows overlooking the city from their perch on Outpost. There was a bed now, but aside from the table and chairs it was still the only furniture in the place. Even though he’d known his arrangement with Tony Qi could well be fragmenting, he’d impulsively bought the place the morning after he and Helen had made love on the balcony for the first time. Now that it was clear there would be no more birth houses for the triad for the foreseeable future, he figured he should be free to work on any renovations to be done and get it back on the market as quickly as possible.

When Helen walked back into the room carrying breakfast but wearing nothing, Oscar was shocked. He thought she’d left hours ago.

“You’re still here?”

“No, I woke up early, was home in time for the kids to wake up, got them ready for school, dropped them off, and came back. You hadn’t stirred.”

Did you see your husband?
Oscar was dying to ask but didn’t.

“It’s a nice place, isn’t it?” Helen said, glancing around.

“Yeah, it is. It’s away from everything but close,” Oscar agreed. “And those jetliner views. Can’t beat that.”

“During the summer when the Hollywood Bowl is going, apparently you can hear all the concerts. To make it up to residents here, you’re given free tickets.”

“Smart,” Oscar said. “Gotta keep your neighbors on your side.”

Helen knelt beside the bed and placed a hand on Oscar’s shoulder. She met his gaze, and he knew exactly what she was about to say. So he said it first.

“What about this place for us?” he asked. “Room enough for your kids. If they stay with their dad during the week, they’re still going to their same schools, but then weekends and, say, all summer up here. What do you think?”

Helen kissed him. She then pushed herself against his body, effectively lowering him back onto the bed, and kissed him again. She put her arms around his torso and laid her head on his chest.

“Is that a yes?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“What changed between now and ‘Don’t tie me down with all your rules’?” he half joked.

“It didn’t feel right then. It felt reckless and impulsive. But it feels right now.”

Oscar realized that she was right. He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her lightly.

“You talk to Michael about a divorce?”

“He brought it up. Because of the campaign. He either wanted a long, quiet separation or a very quick and painless divorce.”

“And you chose?”

“The latter. And no, not because of you but because maybe I owe him that.”

Oscar didn’t like the idea that Helen thought she owed anything to Michael but kept his mouth shut. That’s when his cell phone rang. He considered not picking up but figured being off the grid for as long as he had been already wasn’t smart.

“Hello?”

“Mr. de Icaza,” said a voice he didn’t recognize. “I am a representative of Mr. Wanquan Yang. We need a word with you.”

“I don’t know any Wanquan Yang,” Oscar said with a hefty helping of bravado. He had a pretty good idea of who Yang must be affiliated with.

“Be that as it may, you have accepted his money this past week after entering into an arrangement with his organization. That arrangement was demolished by the intercession of the city’s prosecutor’s office. The catalyst of this dissolution, however, came from within.”

The list,
Oscar realized.
Oh crap.

“Hey, I’m kind of busy right now,” Oscar said. “Maybe in a day or so?”

“We have a car waiting in front of your house,” the man continued. “Please have Mrs. Story accompany you.”

For the first time in many years, Oscar felt fear. It appalled him, but he knew why it had come. If it had just been him, he would’ve been fine. The cost of doing business. If it had been any other woman, he would’ve also been okay. Again the cost.

But this was the woman he loved. And only seconds after they seemed ready to plot a future together, he’d put her in grave danger.

“And if I don’t?” Oscar snapped.

“Please, Mr. de Icaza,” the voice said sternly.

Before Oscar could respond, the line went dead. He turned to Helen, who’d clearly heard his half of the conversation. She looked terrified but nodded anyway.

“I’ll get dressed.”

Luis didn’t need to return to St. Jerome’s and search through the security camera footage to know who had poisoned Pastor Siu-Tung. He knew the police would, however, and hoped it would buy him and Susan enough time to confront the killer and make him turn himself in.

Not that he was optimistic.

The University of Southern California campus was one of the largest in the country. Stretching over more than two hundred acres, it was bordered on three sides by neighborhoods no one would mistake for anything like a cozy university community, and a museum district on the other. Students were routinely told to stay on campus after dark or limit their excursions into the surrounding area. Police and campus security were everywhere and vigilant about outsiders.

It was a warm Sunday in fall, which meant many students could be found laying out in the grass between buildings, chatting on the numerous benches or low walls, or just in general walking or cycling or skate- or hover-boarding between destinations.

Luis had left his cassock in the car but was still in his black clerical pants and shirt and Roman collar as he stalked onto campus with Susan in tow. They’d parked in a shopping center across the street after having been denied access to the university grounds in the car.

“It’s an emergency,” Luis had said. “A matter of life and death.”

“Did you call 911?” the security guard asked.

Luis had rolled his eyes and reversed out.

He was angry now. He understood the plot, but more than that realized that in order for it to work somebody had to be manipulated into coming along and tripping the dominoes. So even though he’d stopped the SARS outbreak and helped to line up what looked like an endless string of indictments against the LA triad, he’d still just been a puppet on someone else’s strings.

The dorm itself was as secure as the campus, as only students were allowed access to the elevator banks that went up to the rooms. Susan led Luis to one of the stairwells, however, and they simply waited for someone to exit before heading up to the eleventh floor.

“Is Nan here?” Luis demanded when a sleepy-eyed young man finally opened the door to Room 1142.

“Um, no,” the young man said, glancing over his shoulder to an empty bed on the opposite side of a narrow room.

“Any idea where he is?” Luis asked.

“The labs probably,” the student said, then spotted Susan. “Oh, hey. What’s going on?”

Susan pushed past Luis and into the room. Luis followed as she sorted through the piles of paper on Nan’s desk. Luis recognized a handful of the articles printed out immediately as ones relating to Father Chang’s visits to Indonesia. Also, a handful more from Los Angeles papers focused on business dealings in the Chinese-American community over the past several years. Luis saw the names of prominent business leaders circled, men who in recent days had been outed as members of the LA triad. He also saw a photo of Jing Saifai.

Are you going to kill them, too, Nan?

The solution had been staring him in the face all week; he just hadn’t been able to see the whole picture. The triad had killed Father Chang and covered it up. Not only that, they’d provided the police with the shooter and a motive that most believed without question. That should’ve been the end of it. What they hadn’t known was that someone out there not only had loved Father Chang but would be so incensed by their act that he’d concoct a revenge scheme capable of bringing them all down.

“Call the police,” Luis said to the roommate. “And when they come, show them all this.”

“Um, the police?”

“Now,” Susan added as she followed Luis out the door.

As he strode across campus, Luis found his cell phone again and dialed the same number he’d been ringing all week.

“The priest who died just now—that was your parish?” Michael said the second he picked up.

“It was Father Chang’s pastor,” Luis said. “I think you’re going to find a monetary connection at least between him and the triad. You need to seize his bank records and perhaps those of his parish.”

“Done. Are you okay?”

Luis brushed off the question. “The guy who did all this is named Nan Tiu. He was Father Chang’s partner.”

“Partner?” Michael asked. Luis remained silent. “Got it. Wait. What do you mean, ‘did all this’?”

“There was no patient zero from China. Father Chang was investigating counterfeit pharmaceuticals when he was killed and discovered that some of the latest were being manufactured right here in Los Angeles. Before he could report it, though, the triad had him murdered and covered it up. Only they didn’t realize Chang’s partner had a way to beat them at their own game and the access to do it.”

“Access to what?”

“I just asked the CDC where someone could get ahold of a sample of the SARS virus,” Luis continued. “They said it’s very difficult, in fact. There’s the CDC itself and its secure holding facility in Atlanta, or the VECTOR Institute in Koltsovo, Russia. But then there are the biochemistry labs at universities across the country. You can’t keep it in storage, but you can request copies of it for study. Nan Tiu is a biochemical engineering student at USC. And just like the papers believed Father Chang was a child molester because of the other priests that came before him, Nan knew they’d believe the Jiankang-linked pharmaceuticals were tainted because the same company had been guilty of so many violations in the past.”

Even as he said it, Luis couldn’t believe how clever a plan it had been. The deaths of Kirk Asmara and Father Chang could be ignored and the real perpetrators allowed to go free. What couldn’t be ignored was a full-on outbreak in a major American city tied directly to the triad’s counterfeit drugs that looped in their unlicensed pharmacies, slums, and illegal immigration operations. It’d bring the whole thing down in one fell swoop, possibly even taking down his only other friend, who worked in an unlicensed clinic, in the process.

“That’s insane,” Michael said, his voice distant and incredulous. “Can you prove it was him?”

“LAPD is about to find his face on the St. Jerome’s security tapes,” Luis said. “And I’ll bet there are enough security and traffic cameras around the manufacturing facility in the Toy District that you’ll be able to place him there, too. What worries me is where he is now. He must’ve known he’d be caught after Father Siu-Tung’s death. If he has other loose ends to tie up, I’ll bet he’s doing it right now.”

It suddenly occurred to Luis that if he had come to this conclusion, the triad probably had, too.

“I have to go,” Luis said.

“Wait, where are you? You’re not going after him yourself, are you?” Michael protested. “Father Chavez—
Luis
. Come on!”

Luis hung up.

The organic chemistry lab was in the Seaver Science Center on the west side of the campus. When Luis and Susan arrived at its front door moments later, they found four Asian men in suits idling around out front, looking anything but inconspicuous.

“How’d they know?” Susan asked. “Do you think they saw the security footage from their warehouse?”

“If so, this could get bad,” said Luis, perplexed. “We’ve got to get up there.”

Circling to the back of the building, Luis and Susan entered and hurried to the stairs. There were labs on every floor, but Susan pointed out that only on the third floor were there indicators of potentially biohazardous material with attendant safety regulations.

As Luis took the hard concrete steps two at a time, he prayed.

Lord, I don’t know what I’m walking into, but please guide me to do your will. And please comfort the soul of this killer so that he might be receptive to my words.

Two steps from the third-floor landing, they heard screams and a commotion from down the hall. Students and faculty members alike ran from a lab on the far end of the hall as if they were running away from a bomb.

“Get out of here!” one of the faculty members shouted at Luis and Susan. “We have to evacuate the building!”

Luis ignored this and pushed through the crush of students onto the third floor. Where there had been sound and fury moments before, there was now silence. Then the breaking of glass. Luis hurried in the direction of the sound and found an open lab door. When he stepped inside, he found Nan holding a label-less aerosol can and a syringe as he stood in front of a terrified-looking Jing Saifai, huddled in the corner. There were two men dressed similarly to those outside lying on the floor, their faces contorted and discolored, clearly dead.

“Nan,” Luis said calmly.

Nan whipped around and, to Luis’s surprise, his face softened when he saw Luis.

“Father Chavez! My God. You found me.”

“You led me here,” Luis said.

“No, I led you to them, not me,” Nan offered. “Have you called the police?”

“They’re on their way,” Luis said.