Manhattan Mayhem (45 page)

“I want her to find Valerie.”

“That’s ridiculous. This is a crime, a police matter. Call Carl Ting.”

Carl Ting was a friend of my son’s when they were very young, until one day in the sandbox, when Carl Ting dumped a bucket of sand over my son’s head. Ever since, they’ve been rivals. This is odd, because they are so similar. They both grew into very stolid young men, Carl Ting even more humorless than my son. Carl Ting, however, is also, like Mary Kee, a police detective.

“No police!” said Tien Hua. “The kidnappers said if the Lims call the police, they’ll kill Valerie for sure.”

“The Lims will not call. You will call.”

“They’ll still know.”

“How?”

“I don’t know! But it’s too risky.” He paused. “Ma, if Valerie’s mom found out I did that, even if nothing bad happened,
she’d
kill
me.
” Another voice spoke in the background, sounding more insistent this time.

I sighed. “All right, give me the details, then go to your meeting.”

“You’ll find Lydia?” The background voice came once more.

“I think you’d better hurry.”

My son gave me all the details he had. I wrote them down in a little notebook I bought for cases. After he hung up, I sat. I looked at the notebook. I looked at my watch. I looked at the rice cooker, poured in water, then set the timer in case I didn’t come home in time to turn it on before dinner. For half an hour after, I folded the laundry and did the ironing. When my daughter’s blouses were hung in their proper closet, I put on my sneakers. Locking only the two top locks on my door—leaving the bottom ones open so that any lock pickers would pick them closed—I went downstairs to the street.

My destination was the Mott Street branch of Sweet Tasty Sweet. This is the original location of this bakery chain that now has three Chinatown shops—two in Flushing, Queens; one in Sunset Park, Brooklyn; plus two in Jersey City, New Jersey. The menu tells you that there are
More coming soon! In Manhattan! Queens! Brooklyn! Westchester! Long Island!
The Sweet Tasty Sweet chain, apparently soon to take over the world, is owned by Valerie Lim’s father.

Two hundred thousand dollars is not so very much money in America, where they have television shows about wanting to be millionaires. It is a great deal of money to a Chinese immigrant poor enough to have smuggled himself into this country, however. In detecting, it is important to understand all the clues you find. In my experience, a person’s enemy is most often a former lover, a business rival, or someone who feels misused. If Lim Xiao’s enemy were an ex-lover or a rival, the amount of money demanded for the return of his only daughter would, I felt, have been much higher. But to a new immigrant, two hundred thousand dollars might seem the highest mountain Lim Xiao could possibly be asked to climb.

I don’t care for Lim Xiao, any more than I do for his wife. Or his daughter. They’re clay pots trying to sound like thunder. Lim Xiao started in the kitchen of another man’s restaurant, working alongside my late husband. Fortune smiled on each of them in different ways. My husband and I had five smart, handsome, accomplished children.
The Lims had only one, their daughter Valerie. My family remained in Chinatown. Although my husband died fifteen years ago, our lives have been happy. My children properly revere their father’s memory. The Lims became wealthy. They moved away to the kind of neighborhood my daughter says is called “upscale.” Valerie Lim went to an exclusive school. She’s never worked in a restaurant. Perhaps if she had, she wouldn’t pout so often. Her profession now is “party planner.” All this is their good luck, but the Lims have chosen to act as if it was all expected, no more than they deserved. They pretend they were never peasants. In America you can do this, but that doesn’t make it true.

“Chin Yong-Yun!” Fay Di, the manager of Sweet Tasty Sweet, smiled from behind the pastry counter. “You’re looking well! Have you come for a sweet?”

“A sweet tasty sweet. Are the red bean buns fresh?”

My old friend leaned forward with a sparkle in her eye. “Yesterday’s,” she whispered. “The lemon tarts are better.”

“I’ll have a lemon tart, then. With a cup of tea. Not black tea, real tea. Also, I need the answer to a question.”

“From me?”

“Yes, of course, from you, that’s why I’m asking you.”

I took my plastic tray to a small table near the server’s counter. Fay Di spoke to the young girl who was working at the cash register, then came around the counter. “Luckily, we’re not busy right now. I’ll sit with you a moment.”

This was not a matter of luck. It was why I had delayed coming out until the lunch rush was over. But we had no time to go into that. “Excellent. Now tell me who would want to do harm to Lim Xiao.” Her eyes went wide. “No one.”

“You mean, everyone. But I’m referring to a particular person.”

“Who?”

“If I knew, why would I ask?” Really, Fay Di is kind-hearted but sometimes she is slow. “Lim Xiao is in a difficulty. I’m looking into it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know my daughter is in the investigating business. I sometimes
work with her on her cases.”

“You do?”

I narrowed my eyes over the steam from my tea. “We have no time for so many questions, Fay Di. Because of the nature of Lim Xiao’s trouble, I believe the wrongdoer may be an employee of Sweet Tasty Sweet. Now, please. This is urgent. Can you think of someone who has reason to dislike Lim Xiao more than most?”

Fay Di’s gaze went to the tabletop. In detecting, it is important sometimes to let the suspect think in silence. I do not mean I suspected Fay Di of this kidnapping, but the principle is the same. I bit into the lemon tart. It was lemony but too sweet, unlike my own, which have the perfect amount of sugar.

Fay Di rose without answering. I was surprised at such rudeness but did not speak, for my mouth was full of lemon tart. I watched as she went behind the counter to speak low words to the girl at the cash register. The girl shook her head. Fay Di spoke again. She put her hands on the girl’s shoulders, propelling her—the girl’s nametag read “Sarah”—to my table, where she sat her down.

“This is my friend,” Fay Di said. “Tell her what you told me.”

The girl turned to say something, but Fay Di went back behind the counter. A young man came from the kitchen with a tray of pastries. Fay Di busied herself with putting them in the proper cases, refusing to look at the girl.

“Sarah?” I said. “Is that your name?”

The girl whipped her head back to me. She didn’t answer, as though I had asked a dangerous question. She was very pretty, with smooth skin. Unlike my daughter, she wore a touch of lipstick, a modest pink, very becoming. Her white bakery cap sat fetchingly on her shining black hair.

“My name for America,” she said, eyes downcast.

“Sarah, this is very important. Do you know something about someone who would perhaps enjoy causing trouble for Lim Xiao?”

Again, she didn’t answer. She seemed very nervous. I have lived in Chinatown many years, so I thought I might know why. Leaning
forward, I whispered, “You are in America illegally, am I correct?”

She started to jump up, but I put my hand over hers. “Don’t worry. I haven’t come to cause you problems. In fact, if you help me, perhaps I can help you.”

She looked around again to find Fay Di staring calmly at her from behind the counter. She turned back to me, then looked down at the hands in her lap. “Li Qiu,” she whispered, so quietly I almost didn’t hear her.

“Li Qiu? Who is that?”

“He comes from village close mine, in Fukien.” Her Cantonese was poor, but I thought it enterprising of her to attempt to learn to speak it, just as it was for her to take an American name. All dialects of Chinese are written with the same characters, but they are spoken differently. Most of the new immigrants now are from Fukien province, not Guangdong, as my generation was. Their language is Fukienese. Many of them also speak Mandarin, but that’s not much use in Chinatown, either. These people can get only the worst jobs until they learn either English or Cantonese. Most decide on English because it’s a simpler language, Cantonese being very subtle, very complex. This Sarah, I decided, must be hardworking, hoping to better herself, plus she must be intelligent.

She spoke up again. “Li Qiu, not a nice man.” She squirmed a little in her seat. “Thinks, because I Fukiense also, I friends of him. Tells things I do not want to hear.”

“What sorts of things?”

“Tries impress me, make me think he’s big. Not big, just nasty. Takes job at Sweet Tasty Sweet only so to learn things about rich owner. Says, rich owner going make him rich also. Says, I go with him, we be rich both.”

“Do you know what he meant?”

“No. But since yesterday, Li Qiu doesn’t come to work.”

From the records in the tiny office in the back, Fay Di showed me a photograph of Li Qiu. I asked for his address. “I shouldn’t be doing this!” she hissed. “I could get fired!”

“You are the manager. Unless Lim Xiao comes here himself, who’ll
fire you? Right now Lim Xiao is worried about other things.” I tried to sound reassuring. Often in the course of a case, an investigator must convince people to do things they probably should not do.

Shaking her head, Fay Di quickly scribbled some Chinese characters on a counter check.

The address for Li Qiu was a rundown building on East Broadway. Standing outside looking at it, I cannot say I approved of the condition it was in. It was probably owned by a Hong Kong Chinese. They are investors who take very poor care of their buildings. I am not someone who likes to tell other people what to do, but the Hong Kong Chinese should go back to Hong Kong, taking their money with them.

I had many ideas of how I might gain entry to the building, but I was not forced to use any of them. The lock on the front door was broken. As I might have expected.

Li Qiu lived on the third floor. I myself live on the fourth floor, so climbing these stairs presented no difficulty. An investigator must be prepared to expend physical effort at any time if an investigation requires it.

When I found apartment 3D, I stood for a moment to catch my breath. I wouldn’t have done so, but I needed the full power of my lungs. Finally, I pounded on the door, screaming, “You make too much noise! All the time, noise, noise, noise! You have to stop! Be quiet!”

I went on like that until the door opened. It was only a tiny crack, but I shoved the door, still screaming, waving my arms. I am not a large woman. The man peering through the crack seemed startled when I pushed. “I live downstairs! How can I sleep? How can I play with my grandchildren? How can I do anything? Much too noisy up here! You shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” I ran out of things to scream, but I just started over.

Now I could recognize Li Qiu, standing at the half-opened door, glaring at me. He must have thought I was crazy. If I’d been able to understand him, I might have learned whether I was right, but he replied in angry Fukienese whispers. It was clear to me he didn’t want me to disturb the neighbors.

He tried to shut the door, but I jumped up as though to scratch out his eyes. Out of instinct he leapt back, as I’d planned. I was able to see into the room. No one else was visible, but I could see a closed door leading to another room. The place Li Qiu lived was quite untidy, with a bad smell. Clothes were strewn on the couch, take-out containers on the floor. The windows, which looked out onto a brick wall in any case, were covered by bed sheets hammered onto the frames.

The place was disgusting. I’d be humiliated if any of my children lived like this, even for five minutes.

Yet a Chloé handbag, open, its contents scattered, sat on a pizza box on a rickety table.

Chinatown is New York City’s center for knock-off designer goods. I’ve seen them all my life. I am not a person who likes to boast, but I can tell the real from the false on sight.

This handbag was real. It had cost its owner a good deal of money.

Li Qiu pushed my shoulder. I stopped screaming, as though he had frightened me. Shaking my head, I backed away. I walked down the stairs muttering.

Out on the street, I almost used the small telephone in my purse to call Carl Ting at his police precinct. Then I remembered my daughter telling me she had been able to find lawbreakers by their telephone numbers. I was not a lawbreaker, of course, but I didn’t want Carl Ting to find me. I called from a public telephone with a roof like a pagoda.

“A woman has been kidnapped,” I told Carl Ting. “She is in an apartment on East Broadway. You must hurry.” I gave him the address.

“Who is this?”

“A neighbor. The kidnapper is Li Qiu. He lives upstairs. He is a bad man.”

“Is this a joke?”

“Is it the kind of thing policemen think is funny?” I’m sure there’s nothing Carl Ting thinks is funny, as he has no sense of humor at all. “You must hurry to save her.” Remembering what my son had said, I added, “This information comes from Chin Tien Hua.”

“Tim Chin? What does he have to do with this?”

“Nothing. He wants someone to rescue her. He thinks you’re the
best man to do it.”

“Why didn’t he call me himself?”

“He’s in a meeting. You cannot reach him. Rescue the woman. Then call my—call Chin Tien Hua.” Quickly, I hung up the phone.

Valerie Lim was rescued within the hour. I learned this because my son called me later, very upset.

“The cops told the Lims I was the one who told them! They’re furious!”

“But it was not you. Was it?”

“It must have been Lydia! I’ll kill her.”

“It could not have been your sister. She knows nothing about this case. I never reached her.”

“Then why do they think that?”

“I have no idea. It must have been someone whose name sounds similar. But why are the Lims upset? Their daughter was returned to them.”

“That’s a disaster, too! Do you know who rescued her? Carl Ting!”

“Did he? I think that’s lovely. I must congratulate his mother that her son is a hero.”

“That’s what Valerie thinks, too.” I could hear the disgust in my son’s words. “All she can talk about is how brave he is. How scared she was, but then how safe she felt, tied up in the bathroom, the minute she heard his voice. The only reason she called me, besides to thank me for telling the police—which her parents will never forgive me for, even though I didn’t do it!—is to find out if I know Carl. She wants to know everything about him.”