FBI: Drawn In Blood Part 9

"No, of course not. I just wasn't expecting you."

"Well, don't blame your doorman. I showed him my ID, and he let me up without a formal an- nouncement. I hope that's all right."

"Yes...of course...it's fine." It occurred to Matthew that Special Agent Williams was still standing in the hallway. Hastily, he moved aside and gestured for him to enter. "Please, come in."

"Thank you." Williams stepped into the foyer. "I noticed your bodyguard hanging out outside the building. A very formidable-looking fellow. I'm sure he'll scare off any additional, or returning, intruders."

Matthew swallowed hard to keep down his coffee. How did Williams know about the bodyguards?

And what did he mean by "returning intruders"?

"My wife hasn't been herself since the burglary," he tried, realizing that lying about the security guy could do nothing but hurt him. "Knowing we have some kind of protection puts her mind at ease."

"Of course." Williams seemed to buy the explanation. He glanced around. "Is your wife home now?"

"No. She's at a client meeting."

"I see. In any case, I had some business on the Upper East Side, so I took the liberty of dropping by here afterward." He reached into the inside pocket of his sport jacket and extracted a note pad and pen. "I reviewed all the interviews I conducted regarding the provenance of Dead or Alive, and a few loose ends presented themselves. I'll just need to ask you a couple of additional questions."

"No problem." Heart pounding, Matthew showed Williams into the den and gestured at the settee.

"Make yourself comfortable." Even as he extended the invitation, he could hear the unsteadiness in his own voice, feel sweat dripping down his spine. "Can I offer you anything-coffee, tea?"

"Nothing, thank you." Williams lowered himself to the settee, perching at the very edge of the cushion. "I'll take up only a few minutes of your time. Also, this will be much less stressful for you than coming down to the Field Office. A quick chat in your own den is a lot more pleasant than a conversation in an interviewing room. Then there's the convenience factor. Your office and your files are just a few rooms away."

Matthew started. "Why? Is there something in them you need to see?"

"You tell me." Williams's expression never changed. "According to your partners, you keep extensive files on the sale of all your paintings, including duplicate sales receipts. Yet I don't remember your producing any of those items at our last meeting. I a.s.sume it was an oversight. Would you mind if I took a look at that file now?"

"I gave you a stack of material on Dead or Alive when I came down to your Field Office."

"True. But all that was related to the buy, not the sale."

"I thought Phil showed you the financial records that..."

"He did. I'm not asking for financial records. I'm asking for the file. Or, at the very least, the duplicate receipt. You do have that, don't you?"

Matthew was drowning, and he knew it. "I gave you all the material I had. It's possible the receipt for that particular painting was misfiled. We're talking about precomputer times."

"Right." Williams nodded, getting to his feet. "That's why I thought the proximity to your office would help. You can show me your filing system. And maybe we can locate that missing receipt."

Silence.

"You don't have it, do you?" Williams asked with quiet a.s.surance.

It was clear that Williams already knew the answer to that question. So all Matthew could do was to try the human error approach and hope it worked.

"Honestly? No. I forgot to get one from Cai Wen. I realized it right after we completed the transaction. I felt like an idiot. So I never mentioned it to my partners."

Williams still didn't avert his gaze. "I can understand your embarra.s.sment. So rather than leave empty-handed, why didn't you go back later and get the receipt? Or, if Cai Wen wasn't available, why didn't you ask him to mail you a duplicate, which you could have signed?"

"I guess I never thought of it."

"I find that very hard to believe. From everything I heard from your partners, you're a meticulous record-keeper. Unless, of course, that one time you were off your game? Maybe something happened that threw you enough to forget about the receipt and to get out of Dodge ASAP? Maybe that same something made you forget to mention any of this to me during our interview?"

That was it. The dam broke.

"I didn't kill Cai Wen," Matthew blurted out. "I just forgot to get the d.a.m.ned receipt. So if you came here to accuse me of something-"

"I didn't," Williams interrupted. "Although I am curious about how you knew Cai Wen was murdered. It didn't exactly make it to the U.S. newspapers."

"I..." Matthew's heart was pounding so hard, he was afraid it would explode from his chest. "We didn't leave Hong Kong until the next day. You saw that on our pa.s.sports. I must have heard or read something..."

"And conveniently forgot to mention it when we spoke? Not likely. Oh, and for the record, Cai Wen wasn't killed until the next day-the day you left Hong Kong. So you would have had to either be at the murder scene or sitting at the Hong Kong police station to have heard about the homicide before boarding that plane. Would you care to revise your story?"

"I didn't kill him. I'm not a murderer. I didn't..."

"Are you covering for one of your partners?" Williams continued to drill away. "Did Leo Fox or Phil Leary kill Cai Wen?"

Matthew's mouth opened, then snapped shut. He gritted his teeth and fought to think straight. "I want my lawyer here," he managed at last.

"No problem." Williams gestured toward the phone. "Give your daughter a call. I'm sure she'll drop whatever she's doing and rush over. Oh, would you mind finding out if she's in the city or at her place in New Jersey? Because if she's got an hour-plus drive, I'll take you up on that cup of coffee."

Leo Fox had just decided that chili red would be the perfect accent for the spare bedroom he was converting into a small home gym for Derek when the telephone rang.

"I'll get that," Sloane told them. Scooting across the hall to the master bedroom, she chuckled as she heard Leo explain to Derek that the chili red would "pop" and energize his workout.

Her humor was short-lived.

"Hi, Dad," she greeted, having noted the caller ID and knowing her mother was at a breakfast meeting. "Everything okay?"

"No." Her father sounded even worse than he had the night he'd called to tell her about the breakin. "I need you to come to the apartment right away."

"What's happened?" Sloane sank down on the edge of the bed, a sick feeling forming in the pit of her stomach.

"That agent from the Art Crime Team, Richard Williams, is here." Her father's voice dropped to a near whisper. "He knows we're hiding information on Cai Wen's murder. He all but accused me of killing him."

Sloane went very still. "He just showed up on your doorstep and started grilling you?"

"Pretty much, yeah. And on the one morning you didn't drop by. He knows I'm calling you. But I said some stupid things...I-"

"Dad, listen to me," Sloane interrupted. "Don't say another word to him. Just give him a cup of coffee and a seat on the sofa. Then, go into the breakfast nook. You'll be in his sight, but you'll have distance between you. Sit there. Keep your back to him. No eye contact. Read the newspaper. Look out the window. But don't even glance his way. And don't engage in any conversation whatsoever.

Do you understand?"

"Yes. I understand." A hard swallow. "Sloane, I'm in trouble. Please hurry."

"I'm on my way."

Sloane grabbed her purse. She was worried. She was badly thrown, not by what had happened, but by the timing. And she was livid.

She marched across the hall and poked her head into the room Derek and Leo were chatting in.

"Excuse me, gentlemen." For Leo's sake, she kept herself in check. "One of my clients has an emergency. I'm going to have to take off."

"Well, of course." Leo looked startled and a tad disappointed. Abruptly, he brightened. "Derek and I can finish up here, and then we can arrange a follow-up for all three of us once I've finalized my ideas. I have some wonderful plans for this place. Oh, and I took some photos. I'll show them to Wallace so he can coordinate the paintings he chooses for you with my design ideas."

"That would be great, Leo. Thanks for understanding." Sloane had no idea what he'd said, nor did she care. Her gaze was on Derek. "Can I speak to you for a moment before I take off?"

"Of course." Derek glanced over at Leo. "I'll be right back."

"Take your time," Leo acknowledged with exaggerated cheer. "I'll be jotting down notes."

Sloane waited until she and Derek were in the front hallway, far out of earshot. Then, she spun around and faced him, eyes blazing.

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d. How could you?"

"With great difficulty." Derek issued no denial and no apology. "I hated having to divert you. But, as I told you, if it came down to protecting you or protecting your father, there'd be no choice. Not in my book. And if he's as innocent as you say, no harm was done." One dark brow rose. "Right?"

Without responding to the question, Sloane s.n.a.t.c.hed up her coat and keys. "We'll deal with this later," she bit out. "In the meantime, I expect Leo to leave ten minutes after I do. You're not taking this opportunity to get him alone and subtly a.s.sess him and how much he knows-the way you have been for the past two hours. That ends now."

She reached for the door, then paused, staring Derek down. "You used me. I won't forget that. Or forgive it."

Sloane was more than halfway to her parents' apartment when her cell phone rang again. She clicked her Bluetooth headset to answer the call. "Sloane Burbank."

"It's me," her father said tersely, keeping his voice as low as possible.

"Dad? What is it?"

"It's bad, Sloane." His voice held that same strained sound it had the night of the robbery when he'd called her from the hospital. But now, it was muted to almost a whisper. He was clearly desperate to keep Rich Williams from overhearing him.

"I just got a call from your mother," he said. "She's in the hospital. In the Bronx. The man who picked her up this morning wasn't her driver. He was some Asian thug. He must have gotten behind the wheel while Fred was getting coffee, and Jake and Tom were changing shifts. The son of a b.i.t.c.h kidnapped her, broke her arm, and was taking her to G.o.d knows where-to kill her."

Sloane felt ill. "How do you know that?"

"Because he told her. He said he was killing her to punish me. That the FBI was about to drop in and I'd talk. How the h.e.l.l he knew Williams was on his way over here, I have no idea. All I know is that there was a traffic incident, your mother jumped out of the car, and she ran for help. I don't have specific details. She's on heavy pain meds and I don't want to grill her. But I can't leave the apartment to go to her. Not without giving Agent Williams an explanation. What should I do?"

Before clamping down on her personal feelings, Sloane asked one question. "Are you sure Mom's all right?"

"Yes. I spoke to her doctor."

"Good." The professional Sloane Burbank kicked in. "Give me her doctor's name and number. I want the hospital staff to keep Mom comfortable-and there-until after I've had my talk with Williams. My goal is to get rid of him without mentioning this-for now. We've got enough on our plate without adding Mom's attack and abduction to the mix. There'll be plenty of time to fill him in later." A pause. "Unless the cops have already been notified."

"No. Your mother's smart. She's using the fact that she's in too much pain and too woozy from the meds to provide a coherent story. So no cops are involved yet."

"G.o.d bless Mom. She's buying us time." Sloane felt a wave of relief. "Let's put it to good use.

First, hang up the phone. We don't want to make Williams suspicious. I should be there in a half hour. Then we can deal with one crisis at a time."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Xiao Long had gotten involved with the triads when he was ten. He'd done two-bit jobs and worked his way up to debt collector and muscle for local brothels and gambling parlors. But he'd spent his entire youth working to get in favor with the Liu Jian Triad and its Dragon Head, Liu Jianyu, or as he was known to the world, Johnny Liu.

The first time Xiao had laid eyes on Liu, Xiao had been eleven, and Liu had been getting out of a huge, expensive car. Flanked by bodyguards, Liu had walked into a business meeting, carrying himself with an air of authority and cold-blooded ruthlessness that resonated inside Xiao. It was as if he were Liu, or, at the very least, Liu in the making.

From that moment on, Liu became Xiao's icon, the inspiration for all he wanted to do and to be.

And nothing would stop him from getting there.

The obstacles would be many. Xiao hadn't been born into the triad leader's world. He was a poor, street-smart kid from Fujian. The only dialect he spoke was the poorly regarded f.u.kienese. Liu hailed from Guangdong, as did his other triad members. Cantonese was the dialect spoken there, as it was in most cosmopolitan regions. So by the time Xiao was twelve, he'd made it his business to learn Cantonese.

He hadn't stopped at that.

Liu was from the village of Loong Doo, which was very close to Macao and just a quick hop from Hong Kong. The Loong Doo were a tight, impenetrable clan, whose loyalties extended first and foremost to one another. They were also resourceful, enterprising, and stubborn. Most of all, they were risk-takers who aspired to raise their social status and took the necessary chances to ensure that it happened. Their dialect was unique to them. It gave them pleasure to speak it to one another so that other Cantonese couldn't understand them. Conversely, they themselves spoke other dialects of Cantonese and Mandarin so that they could converse with nonLoong Doo Chinese.

Xiao Long's next order of business had been to learn the Loong Doo dialect. And he'd done so in record time.

How fitting that Loong Doo translated into "Dragon Society." The Dragon Head of the Liu Jian Triad was a great leader who'd established himself in society. Xiao had dug deep for every shred of background information he could find on Johnny Liu. He knew what Liu was, as well as what he appeared to be. And he knew it took a unique and brilliant mind to walk such a difficult tightrope.

To the Chinese people, Liu was regarded as a wealthy entrepreneur. Also as a philanthropist, who contributed many great works of art-pieces that had deep cultural significance-to China's museums, as well as donating large sums of money to hospitals and charities.

Those who suspected Liu of being involved in criminal enterprise were more than happy to turn a blind eye to it. And the law enforcement community had no concrete evidence of wrongdoing, so they were more than relieved to stay away.

Of course, on that score, Liu had had some help over the years. He'd been of great use to the leaders in Beijing during the Communist takeover of Hong Kong from the British in the early nineties.

Thanks to the information Liu provided, prodemocracy activists disappeared. As a reward, Liu was afforded power and protection. In addition, he had a strong ally in Sergeant David Keong of the Hong Kong Police Department, also a Loong Doo. Keong was a personal friend of Liu's-and a well-rewarded one. He aided Liu in many ways-from keeping the transport of packages from Europe and the States under the radar, to ensuring that visitors like Xiao Long bypa.s.sed customs when getting in and out of the country. He served as a good, loyal a.s.sociate to the triad, as well as to Johnny Liu.

Xiao was single-mindedly determined to become an indispensable part of Liu's world.

Perseverance, ambition, and results paid off. Xiao popped onto Liu's radar. Repeatedly, the Dragon Head heard the name of this smart kid from the Fujian province who'd beaten the odds and busted his a.s.s to make something of himself. So he'd sent for Xiao-one of the most treasured, honored days of Xiao's life-and offered him a place in the Liu Jian Triad. Xiao would start small-smug-gling twenty units of heroin from the Fujian province-and, based upon his loyalty and success, work his way up, handling bigger and bigger drug deals.

Xiao had followed the rules and exceeded expectations. But he was looking for a more impressive opening-one that would propel him into Liu's inner circle.

He'd found it.

Xiao's golden opportunity had presented itself in the most ironic of ways. His older brother, a small-time drug dealer, had been stupid enough to try spreading his wings by interfering with Liu's alien smuggling operation. He'd stolen one of his boats, with a cargo of over two hundred women, paid off the captain, and killed two of the crew members. Worse, one of those crew members turned out to be a cousin of Johnny Liu's.

Xiao had acted instantly, sans guilt or remorse. Killing came easy to him. It always had. Nothing gave him a greater sense of power than that of ending a life. And blood ties? They meant nothing.

His family was the Liu Jian Triad.