Connections in Death (In Death #48)(71)

Eve glanced at the facing apartment. “Anyone else over there now?”

“No.”

“Why don’t we move in there? Detective Strong, you can join Detective Peabody, let her know I’m getting Mr. Ho’s statement in his grandparents’ apartment.”

“Yes, sir.” And as she understood the unstated, Strong took out her PPC as she walked back and began the run.

Ho crossed the hall, tapped numbers into a lock pad, opened the door.

Inside the apartment smelled of herbs and flowers, and held a quiet order and serenity despite its bold colors, shimmers of gold.

Other than the bold, the decor ran to family photos and a collection of statues of the smiling, big-bellied god she recognized as Buddha.

Ho dropped onto a red-and-gold couch, swiped a hand in the air by way of invitation.

“I already told the other cop I was sleeping. My room’s on the other side of the apartment. I didn’t hear anything until my mother came running in. She woke me up, told me somebody was dead in the alley.”

“And what did you do?”

“I got up, went to the kitchen, leaned out the window to look. It wasn’t anybody I knew, so nothing to do with me. I made her some tea because she was upset. That’s it.”

“Do you work in your family’s restaurant?”

The shrug again. “I pitch in sometimes. It’s not my deal.”

“Where were you this morning between midnight and three A.M.?”

“Home for most of it. I was out with friends for a while, got home about twelve-thirty, one o’clock. My father was still up, working on taxes or something.”

His tone, clipped, told her he’d talked to cops often enough to know not to elaborate, to give just enough information to cover.

But under it, she read a simmering fury. Someone had brought cops to his door. He didn’t strike her as the type to let the insult pass.

“Did you see anyone?” she began, already knowing how he’d answer. “Anyone around the building?”

“Didn’t see anything, don’t know anything. Is that it?”

“No. What’s your position within the Dragons?”

He leaned back, crossed his leg over his knee. “Who said I have one?”

“So you’re ashamed or afraid to admit your affiliation.”

That got a rise. His eyes fired—killing lights. “Do I look afraid of some cop with tits?”

“Ashamed then of the trouble and dishonor you bring to your family.”

He surged to his feet, and she to hers. Those killing lights flared as he shifted toward a fighting stance.

“It would be a mistake to take me on in your grandparents’ apartment. And your mother’s already upset. I’d hate to tell her I had to haul her son into a cage.”

“You?” He barked out a laugh. “I could get that stunner away from you in two seconds, give you a good jolt with it.”

With her gaze cool against his heat, Eve placed her right fist into her left palm in Bao Quan Li before shifting her own body “Try, and we’ll finish this conversation at Central.”

She could feel it vibrating from him—the need, almost a lust, to come at her, to cause pain. To win even though, perhaps because, he knew she baited him.

Then he dropped down again, flicked his fingers. “You’re not worth it.”

Some control then, she decided. And maybe some respect for his grandparents, his mother. More, he was more angry and upset about the body on his doorstep than he wanted to show.

“If you looked out the window, as you stated, unless there’s something wrong with your eyes, you saw the Banger tat on the body. And unless you’re an idiot, you knew cops would question you about your gang affiliation, your whereabouts, and whether or not you knew the victim.”

“So you think I killed some Banger trash, then left him where my mother would fucking trip over him? Where it would bring cops to the door?”

“No.”

His eyes sharpened at that, looking for a lie, a ploy.

“I think you know about the body left in the neutral zone, and if you were going to retaliate for that offense, you’d have left a message on Banger turf. Somebody wants you to do just that, and light the fuse that starts a war.”

“Bangers want war, they’ll get one.”

This one and Jones, she thought, same mold.

“I didn’t say Bangers want war. I said somebody. And if you’re stupid enough to take the bait, you’re giving him want he wants. And your family will grieve.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I bet you’ve got cousins, friends with mothers. And there’s a restaurant downstairs that could be a target if you let it go that far. You? I don’t give a rat’s ass about you, but I do about the people who’d get caught up in the violence, and you ought to care what it’ll do to your rep, to your profit margin, to your family’s safety if you light the fuse somebody else primed.”

“Dragons breathe fire.” He tapped a finger on his gang tat. “They disrespected my family.”

“Deliberately. Let it get under your skin, the blood’s going to wash over you, and your family. Let me do my job, and whoever wants that blood will be in a cage.”

“Your job?” He tried for mocking, but the rage won. “You mean nothing here. Whoever wants blood will see their own spill.”