FBI: Drawn In Blood Part 33

This time, Wallace jerked backward as if he'd been punched. "What?"

"Johnny Liu. Meili was his only child. That explains her strong resemblance to Cindy. They were cousins. And Wallace, Meili left a suicide note. Her father knows everything-your name, the way your art investment group offered her an absurdly low price for the second Rothberg, the bet you guys made during your poker game, the fact that Meili ended your relations.h.i.+p when you told her about it-everything."

Wallace had gone so still and was staring so intently into s.p.a.ce that Sloane wondered if he was absorbing all her information.

When he spoke, she realized he was, and that he'd been processing everything she'd said and all the ramifications a.s.sociated with it.

"If Liu's known all this time, he must despise me. I don't blame him. I'm not sure I don't despise myself. But the pretense he's kept up..."

"It was planned. Liu has spent these past few years obsessed with getting revenge."

"All our business dealings, the favor he asked of me when it came to Cindy..." A painful pause.

"Cindy's appearance in my life isn't a coincidence. And the relations.h.i.+p is all a facade. Liu wanted to rub my nose in her resemblance to Meili, and then make sure I relived our break-up as painfully as possible."

"Cindy and her uncle are very close," Sloane confirmed softly. "I haven't confronted her, but my guess is you're right."

"I am. The way she said good-bye to me today seemed oddly final, considering we'd just spent the weekend together. And in the car, she apologized for how her priorities would affect us. I a.s.sumed she meant her being a workaholic. I told her that I understood, that I'd been there. She averted her gaze and said she doubted that. Now it all makes sense. And that exquisite painting she gave me of the little Chinese girl-she said it was a heartfelt thank-you gift from her uncle and herself. I a.s.sumed it was meant to be a tribute to Sophie. Now I know it wasn't. It was a reminder of Liu's loss, a way of taunting me about my own, rubbing salt in wounds that will never heal. My precious Sophie. And the unborn child I never even knew existed..."

Sloane saw where this was headed. Wallace's thoughts were turning in the exact direction she'd feared. Soon he'd come to the logical conclusion about Sophie's death that would send him into a murderous rage. She had to tell him the truth. She had no choice.

"Wallace, this is even bigger than you realize," she began. "Liu isn't just a wealthy entrepreneur.

He's head of the Liu Jian Triad. He has loyal members helping him with this plot to avenge Meili's death. And that plot doesn't just involve you, although you're his prime target. All your partners are on his victim list. He's slowly destroying each of them because of the slimy way the group did business with Meili, topped off by that ludicrous bet you all made. He's going for everyone's jugular-especially yours. Which brings me to Sophie..."

Sloane was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. She was tempted to ignore it, but given the precarious state of the investigation, she couldn't.

"I have to take this," she apologized to Wallace.

Vaguely, he nodded. His mind had already returned to processing mode.

"h.e.l.lo?" Sloane said into the phone.

"Sloane? Thank G.o.d you answered. I just got it. It's a year and a half later, and I just got it. They made sure I got it. I read it three times. Then I saw the Post-it they attached. They're going to kill her. I'm sick to my stomach. And I don't know who to call-the police, the FBI. Tell me what to do."

It was Leo. His voice was tear-clogged. And he was distraught to the point of hysteria.

"Leo, calm down," Sloane directed. "You're not making sense. What is it you just got and read, and what Post-it was attached? Who's going to kill who, and how do you know the information is authentic?" She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. "Something's happened at Leo's end. I need a few minutes."

"Take them. I need time to think, anyway." Wallace crossed over and left the office. He looked ill.

Sloane was just finis.h.i.+ng up with Leo, a.s.suring him she'd take immediate action with regard to his situation, when Wallace stormed back into the office. He was positively shaking with rage, out of control in a way Sloane had never seen him.

"A messenger service was here," he announced, ignoring the phone in her hand. "They delivered these."

He opened the manila envelope, pulled out the contents, and flung what turned out to be some photos and a newspaper clipping across the desk at Sloane.

She glanced down at them and froze.

The photos were of Ben. Pa.s.sed out drunk at the wheel of his white Mercedes. His front fender was badly dented. Blood was splattered all over the front grill and hood of the car.

The date stamp on the photos was April 11, 2006. And the newspaper clipping was Sophie's obit-uary, dated a few days later.

The nightmare had just exploded into a h.e.l.lish reality.

"Leo, I've got to go," Sloane said into the phone. "Don't touch the letter, the Post-it, or the envelope again. I'll have someone at the FBI pick them up. The Evidence Response Team will check for fingerprints. But we both know who's responsible. I'll call you back."

She snapped her phone shut and reached for the photos, holding them gingerly at the very edges in case there were prints to pull off. But there wouldn't be. Any more than there'd be prints on Leo's letter.

"Ben killed my child," Wallace said tonelessly. "Ben. Sophie's G.o.dfather. My lifelong friend. He helped make her birth possible. He was there the day she was born. He was there the day she died.

He stood by my side at the funeral. He puts daisies on her grave every month. She adored him. He killed her. Then he drove away. He didn't even stay to help her or to see if she was alive. He didn't turn himself in. He didn't come to me. He ran and hid, pa.s.sed out in a drunken stupor. And when he came to..."

"Wallace," Sloane tried. "Johnny Liu is the one who arranged..."

"I know who sent me these pictures," Wallace snapped. "I'm not an idiot. But that's irrelevant." His index finger jabbed at the images. "Ben killed Sophie. The evidence is staring us in the face. I'm sure Liu's been blackmailing him. None of that matters. My friend killed my little girl."

"No. He didn't." Sloane gave a hard shake of her head as she finished scrutinizing the photos. "Wallace, this is a setup. Ben didn't kill Sophie. Xiao Long did."

That name made Wallace go very still. "What the h.e.l.l does Xiao Long have to do with this?"

"He's Liu's henchman, a valued member of his triad. He's loyal to his Dragon Head. And he's the instrument Liu's using to carry out his vendetta."

A spark of realization flashed in Wallace's eyes, and Sloane could see his wheels turning. What he was thinking, she wasn't sure. Nor did she have time to ponder it.

"But it's Ben who's behind the wheel," Wallace maintained. "The car is definitely his. I recognize the Saint Jude medal hanging from his rearview mirror. How do you explain that?"

"I can't speak to how Xiao pulled it off. Only Ben can. But I can tell you that these photos have been doctored. Look. Ben is posed. He's completely unconscious, literally drooling. His head is propped against the headrest, yet his hands are on the wheel."

Wallace was staring at the photos. Sloane didn't know if he was buying her explanation. But at least he was hearing her. She was thankful for that.

"See the background here behind the car?" she pressed on, pointing. "The sun is barely up. That means these photos were taken at the approximate time Sophie was killed. There's no way Ben would have been cognizant enough to drive. But even if he had been, he'd be out of control, physically and mentally. He could never have made the rational decision to speed off after plowing into the car Sophie was in. It doesn't make sense."

"Your points are well taken. But..."

"Think about it. The accident happened on Eighty-ninth Street, near Sophie's school. That's a busy residential neighborhood. Ben would have swerved all over the road. Cars would have been bashed in. Pedestrians would have been injured or killed. And Ben would have ended up cras.h.i.+ng into a tree or causing a pileup at the intersection of Eighty-ninth and Park. The cops and PIs who investigated the accident were convinced that the hit-and-run driver was fleeing from something or racing to something. He was purposeful, deliberate. So much so that not one of the dozen witnesses interviewed managed to identify his vehicle as anything but a white Mercedes sedan. They didn't catch the model, or make out even a few letters or numbers off his license plate. The driver was too quick and too focused." Again, Sloane pointed at the photos. "Does that man look like he's either of those?"

Wallace shut his eyes and sucked in his breath. He was clearly desperate to believe her.

"Coincidentally, Leo just told me he got a delivery about the same time you did." Sloane went for her trump card. "It was from a courier service. Inside was a handwritten letter from his fiancee. The envelope it came in was addressed to Leo and was postmarked June 23, 2007-their scheduled wedding day. It had clearly been stolen from his mailbox. In the letter, she begged his forgiveness and understanding. It seems that some Asian thugs had just left her condo, having held guns to her two children's heads, threatening to kill them. She was informed that the only way her children would remain alive and unharmed is if she packed her bags immediately, took her children, and moved away. Her orders were to disappear and to never contact Leo again. If she did, or if Leo discovered her whereabouts and tried to contact her, her children would die. She had no choice but to run. But I don't need to tell you what her leaving Leo standing at the altar did to him."

"No, you don't," Wallace replied, still hovering between shock, anger, and pain.

"There's more. Evidently, Liu is having Xiao Long track down Amalie. Because there's a cryptic Post-it attached to the letter, telling Leo as much, and informing him that once Amalie's been found, he'll have the luxury of watching her die."

Wallace swore, squeezing his eyes shut.

Sloane gripped his arm. "Don't you see what's happening here? Liu has ordered Xiao to destroy every member of your group. His timing is based on circ.u.mstances, some of which I can't share with you, some of which I don't even understand. But I will tell you that Phil's bookie was paid off by Xiao-and now Phil is dead. Ben's employment agency was purchased by Xiao in March 2006-and Ben is about to self-destruct. My mother was kidnapped and almost killed, and I was attacked at knifepoint. And you? You've had your soul torn out. Sophie died a few months after Meili committed suicide. Cindy-who's a dead ringer for Meili-came into your life less than a month ago. Now, these photos of Ben arrive. Don't you see the pattern?"

Slowly, Wallace nodded. "I see the pattern. I see what Liu is doing. But all that proves is that he's trying to destroy us. It doesn't prove that Ben wasn't driving the car that killed Sophie."

"There's only one person who can confirm my theory-Ben. I'm heading over to his factory now."

Carefully, she slipped the photos and news clipping back into the manila envelope. "I a.s.sume I can borrow these?"

"There's no need. I'm going with you." Wallace grabbed his sport coat. "Whatever the truth is, I have to hear it directly from Ben."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX.

Ben crawled out of the bathroom and back to his desk. That was the third time he'd been sick in the past hour. This time he'd stayed inside the toilet stall forever, kneeling on the floor, his head against the cool wall. He was just too d.a.m.ned weary to get up. Besides, there was nothing to get up for.

Finally, his legs had started to cramp. He'd crept out of the stall, dunked his head under the faucet to drench his face and head with cold water, then grabbed a wad of paper towels to dry himself off.

His hair was still wet and his s.h.i.+rt was sticking to his body. He didn't give a d.a.m.n.

Now, he dropped heavily into his chair and let the chill permeate his body. Maybe if he stayed cold, he wouldn't puke again.

He opened his top drawer and pulled out a stale pack of peppermint Life-Savers, popping one in his mouth. A sucking candy. It was the first solid food he'd had since yesterday. Or was it the day before? He'd lost count.

The door to his office swung open. He didn't bother glancing up. With any luck, it was Xiao Long, here to blow his brains out. It was exactly what he wanted, but he was too spineless to do it for himself.

Jin Huang had said something about that when he'd been here earlier. Something in response to Ben's plea that Xiao put an end to all this and just kill him.

He'd enjoy. Jin Huang's taunt drifted through Ben's groggy mind. But maybe he not come in time.

Maybe you kill you first. Or maybe Johnson kill you...Johnson kill you...Johnson kill you...

Abruptly, the implication of Jin Huang's prediction struck home.

He didn't have time to react. Wallace was standing in front of him, with a deadly expression that told Ben all he needed to know.

"s.h.i.+t," he muttered, dropping his head in his hands and starting to tremble. Bile rose up in his throat. "He sent them to you. That son of a b.i.t.c.h sent them to you. Why? Why? Just to twist the knife in your gut? To kill you altogether? Because it's not me he's punis.h.i.+ng. I'm already dead."

Sloane had followed Wallace in. Now she went around to the side of Ben's desk, spoke to him quietly. "So you know about the photos?"

His head came up when he heard her voice. "How could I not? They've been shoved in my face a dozen times. And each time, another piece of my soul gets eaten away." Ben forced himself to look at Wallace. "Go ahead. Do what you have to. G.o.d knows, I deserve it."

Wallace's breath was coming fast, and his fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides. Exerting this self-control was clearly the hardest thing he'd ever done.

"If it comes down to it, I will," he answered, his steely tone rife with suppressed rage. "I'll kill you with my bare hands. But not until I get some answers."

"I don't know what to say." Ben spread his hands wide, palms up in helplessness. "I don't remember anything. I didn't then. I don't now. All I know is that I must be the lowest form of sc.u.m on earth."

"Ben, listen to me." Sloane touched his sleeve, intervening before the scene turned far uglier than she believed was necessary. "I need to know if you're sober right now."

"Unfortunately, sober enough. I donated a day's supply of booze to the toilet, and stuck my head under a faucet of cold water."

"Good. Then I want you to tell me everything you remember about the morning Sophie died. Every single detail."

"Why? The photos say it all. Certainly more than I can."

"No, they don't. They only say you're in your car, after it clearly was in a violent accident. What memories do you have about that morning before the hit-and-run? Do you remember getting into your car, or what your destination was?"

A hard shake of his head. "I've spent two and a half years racking my brain. I remember the night before. I'd just been given a new monthly rate by Xiao Long's employment agency. I was frantic.

He'd doubled prices since he bought the agency from its previous owner the month before. I couldn't make the payments. So I called him. He said that we should discuss terms, that he'd review my previous contract and sit down with me in the morning. I agreed. I met him at six a.m. so we could talk alone."

"Where?" Sloane asked.

"Some sleazy dive in Chinatown that Xiao owns. I think it was off Mott Street, south of Ca.n.a.l. It didn't matter. I wasn't hungry. All I cared about was that no one was around except him and me."

"So you two talked."

"Not that it did any good, but yes. He was nauseatingly solicitous-buying me drinks, explaining how the cost of labor had gone up since my previous contract with the old owner. But in the end, nothing changed."

"In other words, he said he wasn't budging on the rates."

"I don't know what the h.e.l.l he said. I can't remember that part. But it turned out to be moot. The next day, he showed me those vile photos. We both knew he had me. I'd pay anything to keep him from sending them to Wallace. So the rates, and the threats, remained the same."

Wallace's jaw was working furiously. He opened his mouth to say something, but Sloane held up her hand to silence him.

"Let's back up," she instructed Ben. "You met Xiao at six a.m. He'd reviewed your contracts, but brought nothing new to the table. Clearly, he'd decided he wasn't bringing down his rates. So what was the point of the meeting?"

"To make me feel like an even bigger a.s.s? Who knows? Does it matter? With the ammunition he wound up getting to use against me, any chance I had of negotiating a compromise was over."

"It matters. Xiao Long doesn't waste time. He always has an agenda. You said he bought you drinks. A little odd at the crack of dawn."

Ben's laugh was hollow. "Maybe. But with the state of mind I was in, booze sounded good at any hour."

"What kind of drinks were they?"

"Some traditional three-flower Chinese liquor called Sanhua Jiu. It was so strong, so bitter and nasty, I could barely choke it down. But Xiao Long made it sound like some kind of ritual. And I sure as h.e.l.l didn't want to offend the guy. So I drank it-two shots, in fact. I pa.s.sed out right on the table. That's why I don't know what I did or where I went."

"Who served you the drinks?"

"One of Xiao's girls. She was there when I came in. She must have been finis.h.i.+ng up her late-night s.h.i.+ft."

"I'm sure she was. I'm also sure she followed instructions-two rounds of Sanhua Jiu spiked with G.o.d knows what."

"Huh?" Ben looked utterly lost.