They were in the car ten minutes later, and then drove to an empty parking lot to talk in private.
“Let’s hear it.” Derek turned off the ignition and turned to face Sloane. “You look like you’re about to burst.”
“I am.” Sloane sucked in her breath, then began. “Wallace’s girlfriend’s name is Cindy Liu. She’s an architect in Manhattan. I need you to run a background check on her.”
“Fine. Why?”
Sloane fished in her pocketbook and pulled out the photo Lucy had given her. “This is Meili, the girl who sold the Rothberg to Daniel Zhang.” She pointed. “See any resemblance?”
Derek let out a low whistle. “Add a few years, and she and Cindy Liu could be twins.”
“Exactly. My father said pretty much the same thing after he got his first glimpse of Cindy a few minutes ago—and he’s met Meili. I’ll tell you the whole story. But first, I have one question. Do you happen to know a rich, influential man in Hong Kong named Johnny Liu?”
The stunned expression on Derek’s face gave Sloane her answer.
“Johnny Liu’s been on our radar for years. But no one can get anything on him. To the world, he’s a successful businessman. In China, he’s a beloved philanthropist.”
“And to the Bureau?”
“He’s a kingpin in Asian organized crime. Both American and Chinese law enforcement suspect that Liu heads up the Liu Jian Triad. The triad has major illegal operations going on in Hong Kong and Macao.” Derek paused. “But Liu is a very common name, Sloane. So if you’re trying to link…”
“I’m not trying. It’s a fact. Assuming it’s the same Johnny Liu, he’s Cindy’s uncle. And if he is, the story I’m about to tell you could take us in a whole new direction.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
There was no doubt that Johnny Liu had members of the Hong Kong Police Department in his pocket.
It took Derek and Rich all weekend to dig up what they wanted to know. Fortunately, they had their own contacts—honest Hong Kong police who wanted to cooperate and who were willing to work hard to get at the truth.
When the truth was finally unearthed, it dropped the central piece of the puzzle into place.
Johnny Liu had fathered one child, a daughter.
Her name was Meili.
Meili had left home in August 1999, at seventeen years old. A death certificate for a Jane Doe matching Meili’s description did indeed exist, but it had been so deeply buried, it had been virtually impossible to find in Rich and C-6’s first attempt. This time, with the right people at the other end researching, the death certificate was located in a pile of very old, very cold cases.
It was dated January 2006, cause of death unknown.
The dates matched up with Lucy’s story.
Liu had covered things up well. But after additional digging, it was determined that it was he who had identified Meili’s body, and that the cause of death had been suicide. His daughter had slit her wrists and been found alone in a broken-down apartment with a note to her family—one that had mysteriously vanished after being confiscated by the police.
“Sloane’s right,” Derek announced to Rich, after they’d met to compare notes. “This changes everything.” He reached for his half-empty, lukewarm cup of coffee. He’d lost track of how many cups he’d consumed in the past forty-eight hours. “The pieces all have to be rearranged. Your case. My case. Motives. Victims. You name it.”
“My cases,” Rich corrected. “As for Dead or Alive, everything Daniel Zhang told us was true. But we’ve been headed in the wrong direction. Henry Fong’s involvement with the Rothberg began and ended with Meili. The other Rothberg, however, began with Burbank’s art investment group and ended with Meili getting screwed over, staying destitute, and turning to Johnson. So the key here is who Meili stole the paintings from, not who she sold them to.”
“Her father—Johnny Liu.”
“You got it. He’s the common denominator.”
“We also think he’s the Dragon Head of the Liu Jian Triad. So it’s Liu Xiao’s working for, not Fong. And he’s skyrocketing his way up the ladder. Liu probably sent him to the States right after Cai Wen’s murder. That got Xiao out of the country, and gave Liu the opportunity to expand his illegal operations to the U.S.”
“It all fits. Liu’s got a reputation of being a huge patron of the arts,” Rich added, rubbing the back of his neck to get out the kinks. “A generous benefactor to Chinese museums, donating artifacts and pieces of great cultural significance to landmark museums. He’s also an avid collector. And he’s got more than enough capital to fund the Black Eagles, both internationally and here in the U.S.”
“So he’s paying the Black Eagles to rip off valuable paintings for him. He’s probably keeping some of the works and selling the others, making a killing in the process. And he’s got Xiao Long running the show, at least here in the States. It’s a win-win. Liu adds to his fortune, and Xiao takes a giant step into the triad’s inner circle.” Derek blew out a frustrated breath. “You gotta give Liu credit. He’s smart. He does so much good and in such a public way that he’s a folk hero in the Far East, so legendary that law enforcement doesn’t dare touch him. Not to mention he’s buried every shred of evidence so deep, no one could find it anyway.”
“Cai Wen must have been Liu’s front man in the deal with Burbank’s art investment group,” Rich deduced. “That way, Liu could keep a low profile. Cai Wen would seal the deal and get a percentage. Xiao Long would pick up the painting and bring it to Liu. But Cai Wen got greedy. During the exchange, he tried to squeeze more money out of the deal. So Xiao killed him, grabbed the Rothberg and the money, and brought it all to Liu, who’d probably still own the painting if Meili hadn’t taken off with it four years later.”