“Got it.”
“Oh, and find the thermostat. Turn the air down. It’s too warm in here and I don’t want that body to turn.”
Ferras headed down the center aisle. Bosch turned to look back at the counter to take it all in as a whole. The counter was about twelve feet long. The cash register was set up at the center with an open space for customers to put down their purchases. On one side of this were racks of gum and candy. On the other side of the register were other point-of-purchase products like energy drinks, a plastic case containing cheap cigars, and a lotto display case. Overhead was a wire mesh storage box for cigarette cartons.
Behind the counter were shelves where high-end liquors were stored and had to be asked for by customers. Bosch saw six rows of Hennessy. He knew the high-priced cognac was favored by high-rolling gang members. He was pretty sure the location of Fortune Liquors would put it into the territory of the Hoover Street Crips.
Bosch noticed two things and stepped closer to the counter.
The cash register had been turned askew on the counter, revealing a square of grit and dust on the Formica where it had been located. Bosch reasoned that the killer had pulled it toward him while he took the money from the drawer. This was a significant assumption because it meant that Mr. Li had not opened the drawer and given the robber the money. This likely meant he had already been shot. This could be significant in an eventual prosecution in proving intent to kill. More importantly it gave Bosch a better idea of what had happened in the store.
Bosch reached into his pocket and pulled the glasses he wore for close-in work. He put them on, and without touching anything, leaned over the counter to study the cash register’s keyboard. He saw no button that said OPEN or any other obvious indication of how to open the cash drawer. Bosch realized he was unsure how to open the register. How did the killer?
He straightened back up and looked at the shelves of bottles on the wall behind the counter. The Hennessy was front and center with easy access for Mr. Li when Hoover boys came in. But the rows were flush. No bottle was missing.
Again Bosch leaned forward across the counter. This time he tried to reach across to one of the bottles of Hennessy. He realized that if he put his hand down on the counter for balance he would be able to reach the row and take one of the bottles easily.
“Harry?”
Bosch straightened back up and turned to his partner.
“The sergeant was right,” Ferras said. “The camera system records to disc. There’s no disc in the machine. It was either pulled or he wasn’t recording to disc and the camera was just for show.”
“Probably not likely. Are there any back-up discs?”
“There’s a couple back there on the counter but it’s a one-disc system. It just records over and over on the same disc. I worked robbery way back when and we saw a lot of these. They last about a day and then it records over it. You pull the disc if you want to check something but you have to do it in the same day.”
“Okay, make sure we get those extra discs.”
Lucas came back in through the front door.
“ACU is here,” he said. “Should I send him in?”
Bosch looked at Lucas for a long moment before answering.
“No,” he finally said. “I’ll be right out.”
Three
Bosch stepped out of the store into the sunlight. It was still warm, though it was getting late in the day. The dry Santa Ana winds were passing through the city. Fires in the hills had put a pallor of smoke in the air. Bosch could feel the air drying the sweat on the back of his neck.
He was almost immediately met outside the door by a plainclothes detective.
“Detective Bosch?”
“That’s me.”
“Detective Steven Chu, ACU. Patrol called me down. How can I be of help?”
Chu was short and slightly built. There was no trace of accent in his voice. Bosch signaled him to follow as he ducked back under the tape and headed to his car. He took off his suit jacket as he went. He took the matchbook out and put it in his pants pocket, then folded the jacket inside out and put it in a clean cardboard box he kept in the trunk of his work car.
“Hot in there,” he told Chu.
“Hot out here, too,” Chu said.
Bosch opened the middle button of his shirt and stuck his tie inside so it wouldn’t get in the way.
“Okay, what we’ve got is the old man who has run this store for a number of years is dead behind the counter. Shot at least three times in what looks like a robbery. His wife, who does not speak English, came in the store and found him. She called their son, who was the one who called it in. We obviously need to interview her and that’s where you come in. We may also need help with the son when he gets here. That’s about all I know at the moment.”
“And we’re sure they’re Chinese?”
“Pretty sure. The patrol sergeant who made the call knew the victim, Mr. Li.”
“Do you know which dialect Mrs. Li speaks?”
They headed back to the tape.
“Nope. Is that going to be a problem?”
“I am familiar with the five main Chinese dialects and proficient in Cantonese and Mandarin. These are the two we most often encounter here in L.A.”
This time Bosch held the tape up for Chu so he could go back under.
“Which are you?”
“I was born here, Detective. But my family is from Hong Kong and I was raised speaking Mandarin at home.”
“Yeah? I have a kid who lives in Hong Kong with her mother. She’s getting good at Mandarin.”
“Good for her. I hope it will be useful to her.” They entered the store and Bosch gave Chu a quick view of the body behind the counter and then walked him to the rear of the store. They were met by Ferras and then Chu was used to make introductions to Mrs. Li.
The newly widowed woman appeared to be in shock. Bosch saw no indication that she had shed a single tear for her husband so far. She seemed to be in a disassociated state that Bosch had seen before. Her husband was lying dead in the front of the store. She was surrounded by strangers who spoke a different language. Bosch guessed she was waiting for her son to arrive, and then the tears would fall.
Chu was gentle with her and conversational at first. Bosch believed that they were speaking Mandarin. His daughter had told him that Mandarin was more sing-song and less guttural than Cantonese and some of the other dialects.
After a few minutes Chu broke away to report to Bosch and Ferras.
“Her husband was alone in the store while she went home to prepare their supper. When she came back she thought the store was empty. Then she found him behind the counter. She saw no one in the store when she came in. She parked in the back and used a key to open the back door.”
Bosch nodded as he computed all of this.
“How long was she gone? Ask her what time it was when she left the store.”
Chu did as instructed and turned back to Bosch with the answer.
“She leaves at two-thirty every day to pick up the supper. Then she comes back.”
“Are there other employees?”
“No, I asked that already. Just her husband and Mrs. Li. They work every day eleven to ten. Closed Sundays.”
A typical immigrant story, Bosch thought. They just weren’t counting on the bullets coming at the end of it.
Bosch heard voices coming from the front of the store and ducked his head into the rear hallway. The forensics team from SID had arrived and was going to work.
He turned back into the storage room where the interview with Mrs. Li was continuing.
“Chu,” Bosch interrupted.
The ACU detective looked up from him.
“Ask about the son. Was he at home when she called?”
“I already asked. There is another store. It’s in the Valley. He was working there. The family lives together in the middle. In the Wilshire District.”
It seemed clear to Bosch that Chu knew what he w
as doing. He didn’t need Bosch to prompt him with questions.
“Okay, we’re going back up front. You deal with her and after her son arrives it might be better to take everybody downtown. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Chu said.
“Good. Tell me if you need anything.”
Bosch and Ferras went down the hall and to the front of the store. Bosch already knew every body on the forensics team. A team from the medical examiner’s office had also arrived to document the death scene and collect the body.
Bosch and Ferras decided to split up at that point. Bosch would stay on scene. As lead detective he would monitor the collection of forensic evidence and the removal of the body. Ferras would leave the store and go knock on doors. The liquor store was located in a commercial area of small businesses. He would go door-to-door in an effort to find someone who had heard or seen something related to the killing. Both investigators knew this would likely be a fruitless effort, but it was one that needed to be made. A description of a car or a suspicious person could be the piece of the puzzle that would eventually break the case. It was basic homicide work.
Two minutes after Ferras left, Bosch heard a commotion coming from outside at the front of the store. He stepped out and saw two of Lucas’s patrol officers trying to physically detain a man at the yellow tape. The struggling man was Asian and in his mid-twenties. He wore a tight-fitting T-shirt that displayed powerful arms and shoulders. Bosch quickly stepped toward the problem.
“Okay, stop it right there,” he said forcefully, so no one would doubt who was in charge of this situation.
“Let him go,” he added.
“I want to see my father,” the young man said.
“Well, that’s not the way to go about doing it.”
Bosch stepped closer and nodded to the two patrolmen.
“I’ll take care of Mr. Li now.”
They left Bosch and the victim’s son alone.
“What is your full name, Mr. Li?”
“Robert Li. I want to see my father.”
“I understand that. I’m going to let you see your father if you really want to. But you can’t until it’s clear. I’m the detective in charge of this whole thing and I can’t even see your father yet. So I need you to calm down. The only way you will get what you want is if you calm down.”
The young man looked down at the ground and nodded. Bosch reached out and touched him on the shoulder.
“Okay, good,” Bosch said.
“Where’s my mother?”
“She’s inside in the back room being interviewed by a detective.”
“Can I at least see her?”
“Yes, you can. I’ll walk you back there in a minute. I just need to ask you a few questions first. Is that okay?”
“Fine. Go ahead.”
“First of all, let me introduce myself. My name is Harry Bosch. I’m the lead detective on this. I’m going to find whoever killed your father. I promise you that.”
“Don’t tell me promises you don’t intend to keep. You didn’t even know him. You don’t care. He’s just another–never mind.”
“Another what?”
“I said never mind.”
Bosch stared at him for a moment before responding.
“How old are you, Robert?”
“I’m twenty-six and I would like to see my mother now.”
He made a move to turn and head toward the back of the store but Bosch grabbed him on the arm. The younger man was stronger, but Bosch had a strength in his grip that was surprising. The young man stopped and looked down at the hand on his arm.
“Let me show you something and then I’ll take you to your mother.”
He let go of Li’s arm and then pulled the matchbook from his pocket. He handed it over. Li looked at it with no surprise.
“What about it? We used to give these away until the economy went bad and we couldn’t afford the extras.”
Bosch took the matchbook back and nodded.
“I got it in your father’s store twelve years ago,” he said. “I guess you were about fourteen years old then. We almost had a riot in this city. Happened right here. This intersection.”
“I remember. They looted the store and beat up my father. He should have never reopened here. My mother and me, we told him to open a store up in the Valley, but he wouldn’t listen. He wasn’t going to let anybody drive him out and now look what happened.”
He gestured helplessly toward the front of the store.
“Yeah, well, I was here that night, too,” Bosch said. “Twelve years ago. A riot started but it ended pretty quick. Right here. One casualty.”
“A cop. I know. They pulled him right out of his car.”
“I was in that car, but they didn’t get to me. And when I got to this spot I was safe. I needed a smoke and I went into your father’s store. He was there behind the counter, but the looters had taken every last pack of cigarettes in the place.”
Bosch held up the book of matches.
“I found plenty of matches but no cigarettes. And then your father reached into his pocket and pulled out his own. He had one last smoke left and he gave it to me.”
Bosch nodded. That was the story. That was it.
“I didn’t know your father, Robert. But I’m going to find the person who killed him. I promise you that.”
Robert Li nodded.
“Okay, let’s go see your mother now.”
Michael Connelly, The Brass Verdict
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