Part 33 (1/2)
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.