Racing the Light (Elvis Cole #19; Joe Pike #8)(42)

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The twenty-seven PDFs in Josh’s secret stash didn’t take long to read. Most were only three or four paragraphs. I skimmed through them for a general sense, then read them more slowly and took notes. The name Grady Locke did not appear, but LWL Development Inc., the Crystal Emperor Hotel, and the Crystal Future Hospitality Group were prominent.

I read all twenty-seven articles and had no idea why Josh had researched these subjects. No crimes were reported or alleged. No criminal activity was suggested. Most of the articles simply described upcoming civic development projects, the movers and shakers behind those projects, and the usual quotes from rah-rah supporters and outraged opponents. The only thread between them was LWL Development Inc., Crystal Future Hospitality Group, and Sanford L. Richter, the council member representing Council District 16 on the Los Angeles City Council. LWL was mentioned in eighteen of the twenty-seven articles, Crystal Future was mentioned in thirteen, and Richter was mentioned in nine. This suggested they were the focus of Josh’s attention, but nothing in the articles suggested why.

I read the articles a third time and listed every person and developer mentioned. I ended up with a list of twenty-three individuals and businesses. I leaned back and studied Pinocchio. I got up, took a bottle of water from the little fridge, drank some, replaced the cap, and returned to my desk.

I put the list aside and googled Grady Locke. The facts thereafter should have been surprising, but left me with a sort of jaded irritation. Grady Locke was Sanford Richter’s chief of staff.

I tipped back again and considered Pinocchio.

“Well?”

Pinocchio didn’t have an opinion.

I scrolled through the photos Pike had taken at the airport and studied the balding man from the PRC. This time he looked familiar. I opened the CFHG website and went to the company’s mission statement page. Above the statement was a stodgy corporate portrait of a balding man in his late fifties or early sixties wearing a conservative gray suit, white shirt, and dark red tie. Determined eyes made him appear commanding, responsible, and fiscally conservative. I compared the portrait to the pixelated picture Pike had taken. If I squinted, they could pass for the same person. The website’s English version translated his title as “leader.” His name was translated to Chow Wan Li.

I pulled the Mickey phone close and called Joe.

I said, “The man who got off the jet is named Chow Wan Li. He runs the Crystal Future Hospitality Group. His job title is ‘leader.’?”

Pike said, “Zongtong.”

I said, “Okay. I give.”

“It’s the word for president in Standard Chinese.”

“You don’t speak Chinese.”

“Jon Stone.”

Of course. Stone was multilingual. He was fluent in Spanish, Korean, Arabic, Russian, and now, apparently, Chinese. And these were only the languages I had personally heard him speak. Some guys were born annoying.

“What did Jon learn from the bugs?”

“They’re of Chinese origin, but the PRC tech he’s seen is usually cloned from our stuff or EU gear. These aren’t. He’s checking with people who know.”

“More spooks.”

“If they know, they know.”

“Are you still watching the bungalow?”

“Yes.”

“No gardeners?”

“No.”

“Has Jon learned anything about the Schumachers?”

“No.”

“Heard any good jokes lately?”

Pike hung up. Mr. Conversation.

I leaned back and reread my list. Then I opened my email account, wrote a note to Eddie Ditko, attached the list and folder of articles to the email, and sent it.

Eddie was a reporter for most of his eighty-plus years. He’d covered the city beat for every major news organization in town and had been hired and fired a hundred times. When the newspaper business shriveled at the cold hand of the internet, Eddie jumped online and cranked out more copy than ever. He also smoked three packs a day and didn’t care who liked it or not.

I was looking up his number to call, but Eddie beat me to it.

“Why’d you send this email? What is this?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Hang on.”

Eddie made a long hacking cough, then gurgled and hawked again.

I said, “You okay?”

“That one damn near got me.”

“Anyway, I’m not sure. They’re all tied in with downtown development.”

“Sure. Sanford ‘the Sandman’ Richter. You know why they call him the Sandman?”

I didn’t know they called him anything.

“He puts people to sleep?”

“What the hell? I thought you didn’t know.”

“Lucky guess.”

“Ya got Wilson Torres, ya got Zelman from Planning, fucking Robbie Early, man, talk about a douche.”

Eddie was going through the list.

“Know anything about Grady Locke?”

“I know everything about everyone. Best you remember.”

Eddie suddenly snorted, coughed, and spit.

He said, “Allergies. The crap they sell over the counter is bullshit.”

“Grady Locke.”