Pearls of Asia: A Love Story (23 page)

Of all the thoughts that sprinted through Mac’s mind last night, updating the fictitious medical condition of Victoria Parker somehow got left off the list. “Mom? Oh…yeah…she’s okay. It had something to do with her hot flashes. The doctor gave her a pill and she was back to her old capitalistic-self in a couple of hours. Thanks for asking.”

“Glad to hear that. Now come with me, Mr. Bloodshot Eyes. I’ve arranged for us to have a nice morning chat with your sparring partner, Fernando Mateo. Let’s see if a couple days behind bars have loosened up his tongue.

“WHERE ARE YOU FROM
, Fernando?”

Mayes rolled up his sleeves and stared a hole through Fernando Mateo, waiting for an answer in the windowless interrogation room at the San Francisco County Jail. The bags under Fernando’s eyes made a strong case that he hadn’t slept in days. His court appointed attorney, a sniveling Legal Aid rookie fluent in Tagalog, who appeared to be more afraid of Mayes than his client, sat next to him. Mac leaned against a corner of the room, fighting the urge to catch some zzz’s.

“Man, I’m from Navotas, a fishing village near Manila. Why the hell do you care?”

“I know where that is, Fernando.” For years, Mayes traveled to the Philippines with members of his church to help build houses for the poor. Every spring Mayes and a hundred or so adults and teenagers would fly to Manila and then travel by bus for up to twelve hours to remote jungle villages outside the Philippine capital. During the next week they would spend their days under a searing sun pounding nails and pouring cement. At night they would quote the Bible while swatting mosquitoes.

“I’ve seen those villages, Fernando. The dirt, the poverty, the hopelessness. Are you sure you want to go back there? Tell me about those knives or else you’ll be riding in the cargo section on the next plane back to Manila.”

Fernando Mateo conferred with his lawyer in Tagalog.
“Seryosa ba s’ya?”
(“Is he serious?”)

“Damn straight, I’m serious,” yelled Mayes, who was fluent in Tagalog, Spanish, French and Italian. He was getting pretty good at Mandarin, too.

“Okay, man, I’ll tell you what you want to know, but you have to promise me I won’t get deported.”

Mac woke up just in time to play the good cop. “I can assure you, Mr. Mateo, that if you cooperate, I’ll make sure my partner treats you right.”

“Okay, man, here’s how it goes down. I go to Oakland and pickup these knives, see. After that I take them to a pier in Hunter’s Point, and deliver them to some dude named ‘RC.’ He then gives me two hundred bucks. I have no idea what he does with them after that. That’s the truth, man. I swear.”

“When were you supposed to meet this ‘RC’ character?” asked Mayes.

“Friday, man.”

“What’s RC’s story?” asked Mac. “What do you know about him?”

“I don’t know, man. I’ve never seen him before. I was told to look for a big dude with long hair and a nasty scar over his eye. That’s it, man. That’s all I know.”

Mayes pushed away his chair and stood up from the table. This interrogation was over. “Fernando Mateo, you’re going to keep that appointment, and my partner and I will be there with you. If everything works out, you won’t have to worry about being deported. At least not this time…man!”

MAC FELT LIKE SIX-POUNDS
of shit in a five-pound bag. Walking back to The Sub with a caffeine-induced headache, the septic combination of guilt and remorse began stirring the acid parked in his stomach. Mayes strode six steps in front of him, chatting on his phone to confirm an appointment with Jim Grisham. What was he going to say to Mayes? Here he was, Inspector Mac Fleet, working on the biggest case of his life, and he’s out on the town sharing soufflés and body fluids with a potential murder suspect. Why was he acting like such a fool? Taking a chance is one thing, but risking everything you’ve worked for because an attractive woman walks into your life is another. There’s a fine line between duty and danger, and Mac had taken an eraser to it.

“Mayes, let’s take a walk. We need to talk.”

After strolling south on Bryant Street toward Eighth, and managing not to step on two homeless men sleeping on steam grates, Mac opened up to his partner underneath a freeway over-pass. “I’ve got good news and bad news, Mayes. Which do you want to hear first?”

“You know I’m a glass-half-full kind of guy. Lay on the good news.”

“Sheyla Samonte is left-handed.”

Mayes nodded. “OK. Good work, partner. It goes with my theory about ‘the other woman.’ It means we’ll have to look closer at those surveillance tapes, or figure out another way she could have gotten into the building. Hell, maybe Paul Osher and Sheyla Samonte were working together. So what’s the bad news?”

“I found out while having dinner with her last night.”

Mayes jaw dropped faster than a suicide jumper off the Golden Gate Bridge. “Did I just hear you say you had dinner with a murder suspect last night?”

“I did. We went to Fleur de Lys. The foie gras was fantastic.”

Volcanoes don’t explode without warning, and neither did the Wrath of Mayes. First, he starts breathing heavily through his nose, like a prairie thunderstorm gathering strength. Then his eyes turn red, like an enraged bull readying to mow down tourists running along the streets of Pamplona. The muscles of his jaw begin to tighten, and if you listen close enough, you can hear him grind the enamel from his teeth. Then, like swollen rivers, the veins on the side of his head threaten to spill over their banks. Once the process is complete, the Wrath of Mayes convulses, releasing the antagonized fury amassed in one very angry black man.

“You sonofabitch,” said Mayes in his normal tone of voice. “You goddamn, sonofabitch,” he repeated, a touch louder and this time uttered with a heightened sense of urgency. “You goddamn, nogood, lying-ass, SONOFABITCH!” This time the cars driving overhead thought they were in an earthquake.

“I know Mayes. I know.”

“You don’t know shit, Mac Fleet,” shouted Mayes. The Wrath was in full force. A look of incredulity crossed his face, like a big brother discovering his little brother had just lied about smoking, drinking, and borrowing the car without permission. All on the same day. “You saw Sheyla Samonte last night? When the hell were you going to tell me?”

“I’m telling you now.”

“So that story about your mom being sick was all bullshit,” screamed Mayes, his voice loud enough to wake up a nearby drunk curled up on the sidewalk using a cardboard box as a blanket. “What the hell were you thinking, Mac? What else haven’t you told me? What other stories have you been lying to me about?”

“I don’t know what’s happening to me, Mayes. I was just going to ask Sheyla Samonte a few questions, and then she drew me in like a fly to honey. I tried to hold back, but I couldn’t help myself. This chick’s gotten into my head.”

Mayes got within an inch of Mac’s face. “It sounds like she’s also gotten into your pants. Is that why you think Sheyla Samonte has nothing to do with Michelle Osher’s murder? Which head are you thinking with, Mac? The one above your neck, or the one below your belt? You didn’t think it was worth checking her alibi, her phone records, her timeline, nothing? I swear, Mac, I should report you to Longley right now. This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. If you think Internal Affairs roughed you up after Larry Kelso got shot, wait until they hear about this. They’ll skin you alive.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Here’s another warning, my friend. How do you know Sheyla Samonte isn’t setting you up? Of course she’s going to say she has no reason to kill Michelle Osher, that all she cared about was her sugar daddy’s money. What did you expect her to say? That she loves him, and now that his wife’s head was nearly cut off she hopes to have him to herself someday? Are you that stupid? For all you know she could be luring you into a trap, making you think she’s interested in you to keep the heat off her. Or even worse, Paul Osher. Get a grip, Mac. You’re better than this.”

Mac backed away from his partner. Mayes was right, but like a cornered animal, Mac had to at least try to defend himself. “I made a mistake, Mayes. No question about it. I’m sorry for lying to you. I thought I’d be able to get away with it, but once I learned she was a lefty I knew I had to tell you. I still believe she’s innocent, though I’m not as sure as I was before.”

Mayes started to calm down, a hint of rationality returning to his voice. “Even if she were innocent, Mac, can you imagine what would happen if the guys on the force found out you were dating a transsexual woman? San Francisco may be a liberal town, but the police department is more homophobic than a Nebraska prayer group. The guys look up to you, Mac, but they will disown you for this. Not to mention that if Stone ever catches wind of this you’d better hope the only thing he would do is fire you.”

“I know, Mayes. You’re right. You’re always right. Something about this woman just got to me. I can’t explain it. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I just couldn’t stop myself.”

“You couldn’t stop yourself?” exclaimed Mayes in disbelief. “Teenage boys have urges, Mac, not hardened detectives. In all the time we’ve been partners, I’ve never known you to be anything less than a professional. You love this job too much. Why would you risk losing it over a woman?”

“Mayes, I don’t know what to say, except that I’ll keep it strictly professional with Sheyla from now on. I need you to do me a favor, though. Let’s just keep this between you and me. I don’t want Longley or Stone to know anything about this. If we end up arresting her, then fine, I’ll come clean and take the bullet.”

“Mac, do you realize what you’re asking me to do? My obligation as an officer of the court is to report what you’ve done. Now you’re asking me to put my career at risk. I’m not like your buddy, Larry Kelso. I’ve got a family to support; two kids, and another one on the way. I don’t know if I can do that.”

Mac was pleading. “Mayes, please. We’re partners. We’re supposed to look out for each other. You know how much I love this job.”

Mayes paused and took a deep breath. Like a Kansas tornado, the Wrath of Mayes had blown itself out. His head told him to go to the brass, but his heart said to give his talented partner another chance.

“Ok, Mac, I’ll do it. But so help me, if you screw up one more time, I’ll go straight to Longley. And if Sheyla Samonte is involved in any way, I’m going to have to tell Stone what I know.”

“Thanks partner. I won’t let you down.”

“You better not. Now let’s go talk to Grisham.”