“That might not be doable, but I can arrange an insurance policy. Just in case Xiao Long manages to slip away from us. He’s smart and he’s well connected. But his loyalty to Liu—even posthumously—will always be his Achilles’ heel. Let’s use it.” A smug expression accompanied Derek’s cryptic statement.
“How?” Rich asked. “As I said, we’ve got nothing on Liu or his loved ones. By the time we got our warrant and had Cindy Liu’s apartment searched, there wasn’t a shred of evidence there. Nothing to incriminate her or Peggy Sun.”
“Does that really surprise you?” Derek leaned forward to shuffle through a pile of material on his desk. “I figured that finding anything was a long shot. By the time Liu called us, he’d probably made sure that all physical evidence and documentation tying Cindy and Peggy to anything illegal was long gone or destroyed.”
“But you pushed for the search warrant anyway,” Rich pointed out.
“Of course. We needed it to get into the apartment, just in case. That doesn’t mean I relied on it. A contingency plan is always a good thing to have.”
“Meaning…” Sloane folded her arms across her breasts, leveling an anticipatory stare at Derek. “Okay, Mr. Cat-that-swallowed-the-canary. Out with it. What did you do that we don’t know about?”
“Something that will keep Liu and Xiao in line. And keep them from going after your father or his partners again.”
With that, Derek found what he was looking for on his desk—a padded mailing pouch that had arrived for him a few days ago, with no return address on it. He opened it as he spoke. “You know, it’s amazing what can be found right out in the open, no search warrant needed, if you know where to look.” He pulled out the contents of the mailing pouch—a few photos and several Ziploc bags. “Take these, for example.”
He laid out the two high-quality photographs, taken with a sophisticated digital camera and a zoom lens.
Photo #1: Cindy Liu meeting with Xiao Long on a busy Chinatown street under the canopy of a local produce store. Time stamp: 3:35 p.m., three days before Cindy’s debut at Wallace’s art gallery.
Photo #2: Cindy and Xiao in heated conversation outside Cindy’s apartment. Time stamp: 6:45 a.m., just after dawn on the day Johnny Liu had called Derek.
While Sloane and Rich were staring
at the photos, Derek placed the Ziploc bags in front of them. “These were removed from the trash outside Cindy Liu’s apartment.” He pointed to the first bag. “Oil paints and varnish. Made out of some very unusual ingredients. The kind used a hundred and fifty years ago. None of the commercial pigments and finishes made today. All natural-based.” He indicated the second bag. “Swatches. Specific color mixtures of oil paints. Colors I’m sure Rich can match to one or more specific masterpieces—paintings that only a top-notch forger would want to reproduce.” He moved on to the third bag. “Finally, brushes. Very small brushes, the ones used by the masters more than a century ago. All natural horsehair. I’ve been told that DNA testing, done by the right expert, could reveal the approximate time period when the horse this belonged to lived. I’m sure we’ll find Peggy Sun’s fingerprints all over every one of these bagged items.”
Derek leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. “And that, as they say, is that. Other than the phone call to Johnny Liu I’m about to make while I e-mail him pictures of all the evidence. You’re both welcome to stay. It should be fun.”
“You’ve outdone yourself on this one.” Rich shook his head in disbelief. “You even one-upped me. How in the hell did you arrange this in time?”
“The phone call you ran out to make right before we took off for Wallace’s place,” Sloane remembered aloud. “You were giving instructions to your informant.”
“Yup. He knew just what to do.”
Restudying the photos, Sloane narrowed her eyes in a quizzical look. “What about this first photo?” She indicated the one taken outside the produce store. “This meeting happened before we were on to Cindy Liu. How did you know to have it taken?”
“That was pure luck,” Derek replied. “C-6 has dozens of photos of Xiao Long taken during our investigative surveillance. We ran through the ones that fit the right time period. This one turned up. Handy, don’t you think?”
“I think your whole plan was a stroke of genius,” Sloane stated flatly. “It doesn’t matter what’s admissible in court. What matters is what Johnny Liu believes. And what he’s willing to do, or order Xiao Long to do, to protect Cindy.”
“Exactly.” Derek sat up, his hands going to his computer keyboard. He clicked on “New,” opening up a fresh e-mail message. To: Johnny Liu’s personal e-mail address. From: Derek’s FBI e-mail address. In the subject box, Derek typed: “Interesting Acquisitions.” Then, he clicked on the paper clip and attached his digital photos of all the evidence.
He pressed “Send” as he flipped open his cell phone.
The connection went through. Derek was greeted by silence.
“Hello, Liu,” Derek began. “It’s Special Agent Parker. I thought it was time I contacted you directly.” Purposely, Derek parroted the same words Liu had used with him. Only this time the tables were turned.
“Parker.” Liu’s voice was emotionless.
“Were you about to ask how I got this number?” Derek inquired. “I would think by now you’d realize I’m a resourceful man. There’s very little I can’t acquire.”
“What is the purpose of your call?”
“To give you a heads-up. Check your e-mail. I just sent something your way. I’ll wait while you open it.”
Another silence, this one longer than the first. But Derek could hear Liu clicking buttons to open the e-mail, followed by several additional clicks as he viewed each attachment.
“I have fingerprints and DNA evidence to go along with those,” Derek informed him. “I could have copies of the analysis forwarded to you.”