Murder on Bamboo Lane (4 page)

The rest of the afternoon is uneventful, almost boring. When no one is looking, I check my personal phone. Nay’s sent me at least six messages during her statistics class. She’s obviously bored out of her mind. Numbers aren’t her thing.

Nothing from Rickie. I had given him a heads-up that Cortez would be contacting him, but he hasn’t bothered to respond to my texts. It’s not unusual for Rickie to ignore my correspondence, but this wasn’t about getting together at Osaka’s or something stupid. It’s about the life, or rather the death, of one of our classmates. I quickly slip my phone into my pocket when I see one of my colleagues approach, but luckily he’s only coming over to tell me we can all leave now.

I go back to the station to file some more papers and change into my street clothes before walking to the train. I have no plans after work, so decide to stop by the farmers’ market in South Pasadena. It’s only one stop north of Highland Park Station, but it’s a whole different world. While my community deals with black and Latino gang rivalries, South Pasadena is pure 1950s, with its brick storefronts and cute train crossing.

I pick up fresh tortilla chips and a small container of guacamole from my favorite stand there. I can’t quite wait until I’m home, so I sneak a few chips while I’m walking from my train stop. I slow when I see a familiar figure in a worn plaid flannel shirt rise from one of my moldy wicker chairs on the porch.

The back of my skull tingles in apprehension.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” Benjamin says. It’s been weeks since I last saw my ex. His hair is still long, past his shoulders. His eyes are the color of the blackest ink.

“What are you doing here?” I try to keep my voice light.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Well, come inside.”

I unlock the double bolt and push open the door. Shippo rushes straight to Benjamin, barely even giving me a sniff hello. Traitor. Benjamin rubs the fat folds around Shippo’s neck. He knows where my dog’s erogenous zones are. Mine, too.

“I’ve missed you,” Benjamin says, looking into Shippo’s black eyes, and I feel a pang of jealousy. Pitiful, I realize.

Benjamin knows my after-work routine. By the time I grab a couple of peach Snapples from my refrigerator, he’s already clipped on Shippo’s leash. Because it’s been a while since he’s done this, I let Benjamin walk the dog while I trail a few steps away with our drinks.

The neighborhood is quiet. We don’t talk much. I’m afraid to. I don’t want to spoil my first time alone with Benjamin since our break-up with another fight.

Benjamin is the first to speak. “I wanted to talk to you about Jenny Nguyen.”

What? My second conversation about Jenny today. I know that I need to be careful what I say because it’s not yet public that the dead body found on Bamboo Lane is her. “You mean the missing-person report you and Rickie filed? I didn’t even realize that you knew her that well.”

“We had a bunch of classes together because we’re both sociology majors. I never talked to her much. She’s really quiet. And private. I think her whole family’s back in Vietnam. She basically only has Susana Perez as a friend. Rickie and I were just trying to help Susana out.”

Quiet and private. I’d had the same impression of Jenny.

“Anyway, I just wanted to explain why I didn’t go straight to you first.”

I stop walking and take a swig of my Snapple. “Okay.” I wait for his explanation.

“I didn’t want to get you involved. I’m worried about her boyfriend, Tuan Le.”

“You know him?” I say a little too fast.

“Played some basketball pickup games with him at Alpine. He’s got a mean temper.”

“You think he could do something to Jenny?” My jaw tightens. Could it be that simple? Could Tuan be Jenny’s killer?

“I don’t know, but he has a lot of enemies. He even stopped playing ball in Chinatown because of them.”

Now I’m really curious. “What are you talking about? Gang members?” A gang-related retaliation killing of some kind?

Benjamin accepts the Snapple from me and twists the cap open. His Adam’s apple moves as he takes a gulp. “No. It was like, political. Some anticommunists came by the gym and apparently threatened him.”

“Anticommunists? You mean Tuan’s a communist?”

“It’s just his artwork. He has a piece that tells about his grandfather fighting for North Vietnam and then coming over here.”

“And that’s enough for people to be out to get him?”

“Well, I guess his work could be interpreted as being sympathetic to North Vietnam.” Seeing my blank face, he lifts an eyebrow. “Didn’t you take Professor Leong’s class on twentieth-century Southeast Asia?”

“You’re the history-sociology double major. Not me.”

“Most of the Vietnamese over here, especially the ones who came over in the seventies, are die-hard anticommunists. They believe that the Viet Cong ruined their lives, massacred their families.”

“But that was way back in the seventies.” A lifetime ago. Neither Benjamin nor I nor any of our friends were even born yet.

“People don’t forget. And even the younger generation has hung on to the old feuds.” He then meets my eyes for a second and I know what’s he’s getting at.

Benjamin never even told his grandmother in Korea that I was part Japanese so as not to “rock the boat.” I should have known from the beginning that Benjamin had doubts about me.

“So some people have issues with Tuan. I’ll keep that in mind,” I say coolly.

“This is serious, Ellie. There was the case of a journalist in OC who was viewed as a communist sympathizer and was burned to death. You have to be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

Benjamin rolls his eyes.

“Listen, you should worry more about your own stuff, okay?” I tell him.

“What do you mean?”

“Your kids. The kids you tutor.”

“What about them?”

I tell him about the truancy citations. That revelation quickly backfires.

“Why are you giving out truancy tickets? Don’t you guys have better things to do?”

“Don’t blame us. The principal at your school is asking us to cite them.”

“And you can’t think for yourselves? That’s why I can’t stand cops. Aren’t you supposedly public servants, not hired guns? These kids don’t need fines and tickets; they need people who are committed to help them.”

I feel that familiar pit in my stomach. Same old, same old argument. “So where were you, then, Mr. Committed, when these kids were running around the streets when they should be in school?”

“This was a mistake,” he says, and we both know what he’s referring to. Coming here to my house. Talking to me.

I place my hands on my hips. “You bet it was.”

• • •

I spend the rest of the evening watching nature cable shows and eating chips and guacamole. Shippo’s tail goes crazy as he laps the salty tortilla crumbs off my hardwood floor.

During a commercial break, I sit up and take a look at what stories about Jenny’s murder are on the Internet. Channel 4 has finally downloaded its six o’clock news broadcast from Saturday. I’m shown only for a few seconds, and I look like a kid in my shorts next to Cortez in his shirt and tie.

A local website has more updated information; the blogger has obviously spoken to Media Relations:

The body of a young Asian female who was apparently fatally shot was discovered on Bamboo Lane in Chinatown on Saturday morning by a volunteer with the Golden Dragon Parade. The victim’s name has been withheld until official notification of her relatives. According to the coroner’s office, the victim most likely died from the bullet wound on Thursday evening. There was no sign of sexual assault. A wallet, which contained some cash, was found on her body, although police have not ruled out robbery as a motive.

• • •

I take out a notebook from my backpack and write in capital letters,
THURSDAY EVENING
. That’s approximately a day and a half before I identified her on Saturday afternoon. I can’t help but wonder where Tuan Le was on Thursday evening.

I check out the Twitter feed of PPW’s campus gossip columnist, @curiouscatPPW and read:

A hot detective was seen in admin asking about Jenny Nguyen. Why? Related to the dead girl in Chinatown?

Oh no. Talk will be spreading on campus tonight. Cortez will have his hands full.

Then I think about Benjamin’s visit tonight. Even though I claim otherwise, I am fully aware that I’m still not over him. I try to convince myself that it’s because he is the one who broke it off. My ego is just bruised. I’m not used to being the one who is rejected.

But it’s more than that. It’s the stuff that you can’t put into words that I miss. His casual touch at a party to let me know he was there. The way he’d rumple my hair in the morning. Laughing at something stupid that had become an inside joke.

He can’t get over what he sees as my going over to the dark side, law enforcement. He cites cases of the homeless and mentally ill being beaten, the high number of men of color being imprisoned.

“But look at my Aunt Cheryl. The LAPD is diversifying,” I told him when I decided to join the police academy after I graduated college early, in three years.

“You’ve just been brainwashed by her,” he said.

“Maybe minority women can help reform the department.”

“You can’t change it, Ellie,” he said. “It’s going to change you.”

• • •

My phone starts to ring, and I think it’s going to be Benjamin, apologizing. But it’s Nay. “Ohmygod, it’s Jenny, isn’t it? The body in Chinatown.”

I take a deep breath. I’m not supposed to say anything. Nay breaks her pledge and starts swearing up a storm. “So you’re not going to say? I know that you’re this official LAPD blue or whatever, but remember that you’re a friend first.”

“Listen, her relatives need to be notified before it goes public.” I know by saying this, I’ve pretty much admitted that Nay’s hunch is correct.

“She has no relatives here. They’re all in Vietnam. They are probably still sleeping over there. It’s not going to matter.”

“Nay, listen, don’t—” I know if I try to make her promise not to say anything to anyone else, she’ll just break her promise. So I stop myself. Before I can say anything more, she gets off the phone.

The next several hours are dead quiet. Nothing from Nay. I know that she’s been busy spreading the news.

It turns out by the eleven o’clock news, Nay is right. It doesn’t matter if all of PPW knows. The police have officially released the news: the dead woman is Jenny Nguyen.

SIXTH STREET

Tuesday morning, the phone next to my computer terminal rings, and I answer.

“Hello, Ellie? This is Cortez Williams.”

My body starts to tingle; I guess that he made more of an impression on me than I care to admit. I finger the sides of my antiquated keyboard. “Oh, hi,” I say.

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of your contact, Rickie Plata. I’ve left some voice mail and e-mail messages, but he has yet to contact me back.”

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 Jenny’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.