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Hulan chose her next words carefully. “We are at a cusp in China. Deng Xiaoping, our paramount leader, is old. No one knows what will happen when he dies. Our government believes that the country will go on as before. After all, Deng has already picked his successor. But we must be prepared for other eventualities.”
“Such as?”
“Some say his death could bring back the warlords. Some say China could disintegrate in much the same way that Russia has. Others predict that a new leader will come from the provinces. But there is yet another possibility. As I have already pointed out, the triads have found their greatest strength in times of political unrest. We understand that you are worried about the influx of triad members to Los Angeles after Hong Kong rejoins China. But we are worried that upon Deng’s death, the triads will grab that opportunity to solidify their positions in China. They are rich, they are many, and their guanxi are undeniable.”
“Now that we’re finally being frank, Inspector, why haven’t you discussed these issues with me before?” David asked.
“Because, unlike you, I don’t believe that the triads are involved in these murders. Look at the facts. All three murders took place in China. We have nothing to connect those deaths to triad activity in the U.S. except that Guang Henglai was found on board the Peony.”
“And the money.”
“Perhaps the money. Can you tie the money back to the Rising Phoenix?”
David looked at his charts, then surveyed the faces in the room. “That’s what we’re going to try to do, because I think that even if the killer isn’t in the States, the reason is.” He considered, then said, “You have told us a lot about the history of the triads, but maybe we should take a minute or two to look at their activities in the U.S. today.”
He went to the chart that outlined the family tree of the Rising Phoenix. At the top where the “dragon head” should be was an empty space. From the dragon head, a line led down, then split into three others leading to boxes representing the top lieutenants. Of these, only the names for Spencer Lee and Yingyee Lee were known. From here, the lines branched again and again, with about half of the names filled in. There were no photographs in the top half of the pyramid. Those at the base were mug shots taken of the few gang members who’d been arrested over the years. The next chart outlined the triad’s legitimate and illegitimate businesses, which ranged from tea shops and bean-curd factories to floating gambling clubs and prostitution rings.
“You know all this?” Peter asked. When David said yes, the young agent asked, “And you don’t arrest them?”
Jack Campbell grunted. “We can’t get authorization for wiretaps on Spencer Lee or the others unless we can provide the court with hard evidence that these men are involved in criminal activities, and we can’t get that evidence unless we get the wiretaps.”
Peter looked at Campbell in disbelief. “You know what they’re doing is illegal but you can’t do anything about it?”
“It’s the American way,” Campbell said and heaved a shrug.
Peter leaned over and asked Hulan a question in Chinese, which she answered. The Caucasians in the room looked to her for an explanation. “He’s wondering why you Americans keep moving your shoulders like that,” she said. “In China, we don’t shrug. I was just explaining what you were doing and what it meant.”
Campbell shrugged theatrically. Peter nodded and laughed. He liked this man.
“So, does anyone have any suggestions for what we should do next?” David asked the group.
After a moment of silence, Hulan said, “In China what I would do is cast a flower net.” She looked to Peter for agreement before continuing. “This method of fishing goes back many centuries. The flower net is a round, hand-woven net with weights on the edges. The fisherman throws it out into the air, where it opens like a flower, settles on the surface of the water, sinks to the dark depths, and traps everything within its circumference.” She turned to David. “We’ll do as you say. We’ll follow the money, but we’ll also look at everything that comes in contact with our net.”
They spent the next couple of hours brainstorming. Peter suggested that they go back and interview everyone that David and the FBI had ever suspected of being involved with the Rising Phoenix. Hulan wanted to go to Chinatown to restaurants, herbal shops, grocery stores, sweatshops. “Let’s talk to real people—common people,” she said. “It’s a small community. Maybe someone will have heard something. I think they will talk to one of their countrymen before they would ever talk to you.”
David preferred a more direct approach. He wanted to go to the handful of banks where the financial transactions had taken place and to investigate other businesses that fell under the auspices of the China Land and Economics Corporation. “It can’t be a coincidence that Guang Mingyun owns the Chinese Overseas Bank, that his son laundered—for want of a better word—money in that bank, and that he was found dead on a boat used by the Rising Phoenix to transport illegal immigrants.”
They would also have to find time to interview Guang Mingyun’s relatives and business associates, especially those who had come in contact with Henglai. “I don’t want to forget Billy Watson,” Hulan added to the growing to-do list. “Let’s go to the university and see what we can find out.”
Noel Gardner, with his accounting background and Peter Sun’s assistance, worked at one of the computer terminals, inputting data from the bankbooks found in Guang Henglai’s apartment with those found in Cao Hua’s, then comparing the financial transactions with the exit and entry stamps in their respective passports. Sometimes the two men had traveled on the same day, often separately. Either way, deposits and withdrawals had been made either just before or just after a trip. Beyond this, Gardner and Peter determined that certain deposits had leaped from bank to bank, probably as a way of hiding the trail.
By the end of Gardner and Sun’s session, they had pieced together a pattern. Guang and Cao had traveled to Los Angeles on the first and third Tuesdays of every month. Cao Hua had continued with this itinerary even after Henglai’s death. The first Tuesday of February was two days away. Would someone take Cao’s place? And for what purpose? Campbell called an old friend who worked for U.S. Customs at LAX and arranged for the group to be down there when the earliest flight from China came in.
For the first time since he got on the helicopter to fly out to the Peony, David felt that the investigation was going forward in a way he could understand. Peter was surprisingly receptive to Campbell’s and Gardner’s ideas. In fact, these three men from two very different cultures had found common ground in law enforcement. As they laughed and kidded one another about the relative superiority of weapons and techniques, David regretted that Campbell and Gardner hadn’t been able to come with him to China. It might have broken the ice sooner.
But then he thought that maybe it just came down to home-court advantage. David was in his own country. He was surrounded by his charts and support staff. He understood how things worked in Los Angeles. From here on out, he would act, not react. He would pursue, not be pursued. He would push, not be pushed. He would watch, not be watched. He would apply the pressure that his title provided him, bringing all the power of the U.S. Attorney’s Office to bear on those who lied to him. To use Hulan’s words, he would cast a flower net and trap anyone or anything that lay within its reach.
At two in the afternoon, dizzy with excitement and fatigue, everyone piled back into the van and drove the few blocks to the Biltmore Hotel. David walked the Chinese agents up to the front desk. While Hulan filled out registration forms, Peter gaped at the lobby’s elegance—the huge bouquets of fresh-cut flowers, the lush carpets that lay resplendent beneath their feet, the sweeping double staircase, the ceilings with their hand-stenciled designs. David reminded everyone to be ready in two hours. They would just have time to take a quick nap and clean up before they met again for the first of Campbell’s excursions.
Campbell then drove David, who felt focused and very mu
ch awake, up Beachwood Canyon to his home. He changed into his running clothes and jogged around the Lake Hollywood Reservoir. Then he showered, slipped on khakis, a clean shirt, and a cashmere sweater, and drove down to the Biltmore to join the others.
As Campbell navigated the van out west to the beach, Peter fiddled with his camera and talked animatedly to Gardner. David and Hulan sat in the last seat. She, too, had changed clothes. She wore a peach silk skirt cut on the bias and an embroidered blouse of creamy silk. Just as on the plane, David felt breathless being so close to her.
In Venice, Campbell turned down a side street and pulled to a stop in front of 72 Market Street, a restaurant one block from the ocean. He handed the keys to the parking attendant, saying, “We’re going for a walk before the sun goes down. We’ll be back for dinner.”
As they stood together on the sidewalk, David saw just how “foreign” Peter looked in his polyester plaid business suit and knit sweater vest. David suddenly worried that they would lose Peter, but Campbell was already on top of it. “Investigator Sun, this is very important. You stick with us. Okay? If you get lost, remember where we left the car. Come back here. You understand?”
