Read Online City of Strangers (Luis Chavez Book 2) by Mark Wheaton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mark Wheaton
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this case as a model of what to do right next time.”
“Because with the Catholic Church and statutory rape there’s always a next time,” deGuzman said.
Michael sighed. He wasn’t getting anywhere with this man, who clearly enjoyed thumbing his nose at an office that he’d likely sat across from in contentious situations for decades. Michael realized he’d probably have had more of a shot if he’d announced himself as a ditch digger or trash collector. Saying he was from the DA’s office meant deGuzman was more than prepared to stonewall and toy with him for as long as he sat there.
But then something occurred to him.
“You called Yamazoe your client. When did that become the case?”
“What do you mean?” deGuzman replied quietly, though his face said he was rapidly searching back over his words to check for miscues.
Not quite a Supreme Court–worthy poker face there, Counselor.
“I’ve read the confession. He didn’t ask you to be his attorney. You only inferred that from the fact that he sent you the e-mail. How did you know he didn’t send it to twenty lawyers, hoping one would show up?”
DeGuzman shrugged. “I didn’t.”
“But when you spoke to officers you called him by name,” Michael said. “You said that you were there because of Shu Kuen Yamazoe . Correct?”
“Yes,” deGuzman said warily.
Michael took out his iPhone and found the copy of Yamazoe’s confession that had been sent to him by Detective Whitehead. He stared at it for a long moment before looking back up at deGuzman.
“How did you know his name?” Michael asked simply.
“It was at the end of the letter.”
Michael held up the letter on his screen in the original hanzi . To a native Mandarin speaker, he was sure it looked just fine. To someone familiar with the Roman alphabet, it looked like Chinese logograms. But unlike a letter written by a Westerner, there was no real signature. Shu’s name was simply the last three letters on the page.
“There are about a dozen words here that don’t properly translate when plugged into a translation app. How did you know the difference between the ones that were actual mistakes and then the ones that were your soon-to-be-client’s full name?”
DeGuzman said nothing, choosing to merely eye Michael through his thick glasses as if waiting for the younger man to continue. Michael simply sat back in his chair.
“So, you can either tell me how you came to know Shu Yamazoe’s name,” Michael said. “Or I can get a warrant from a judge to search your offices and suspend your license.”
DeGuzman took off his glasses and placed them on the conference table. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighed, and leaned over the table toward Michael.
“I guess you’ll just have to go see that judge then.”
Luis had believed finding Shu Yamazoe’s house wouldn’t be easy. But then a simple search of the archdiocese’s parishioners’ mailing list database during his off period revealed an address of an apartment in Monterey Park straightaway. This was unlucky. A house he could’ve probably broken into if he needed to get a look around. An apartment meant a building manager and likely a sealed-off door.
Rats.
Still, at the end of the school day he hurried to take out a parish car to check out the space before he had to return to help with evening Mass. He had told Pastor Whillans in vague terms what he was doing. Whillans gave his equally vague approval.
“If you get arrested, say you were impersonating a priest,” the pastor had said.
Luis had considered wearing street clothes when he went to the apartment. The problem was, he more often than not felt this invited trouble, as if announcing that he was denying the Lord in some way, which in turn would make the universe deny him. So he kept on the collar, drove to Monterey Park, and parked in front of the building.
All he really wanted was that one piece of evidence telling him that the girl, whatever her name might
“Because with the Catholic Church and statutory rape there’s always a next time,” deGuzman said.
Michael sighed. He wasn’t getting anywhere with this man, who clearly enjoyed thumbing his nose at an office that he’d likely sat across from in contentious situations for decades. Michael realized he’d probably have had more of a shot if he’d announced himself as a ditch digger or trash collector. Saying he was from the DA’s office meant deGuzman was more than prepared to stonewall and toy with him for as long as he sat there.
But then something occurred to him.
“You called Yamazoe your client. When did that become the case?”
“What do you mean?” deGuzman replied quietly, though his face said he was rapidly searching back over his words to check for miscues.
Not quite a Supreme Court–worthy poker face there, Counselor.
“I’ve read the confession. He didn’t ask you to be his attorney. You only inferred that from the fact that he sent you the e-mail. How did you know he didn’t send it to twenty lawyers, hoping one would show up?”
DeGuzman shrugged. “I didn’t.”
“But when you spoke to officers you called him by name,” Michael said. “You said that you were there because of Shu Kuen Yamazoe . Correct?”
“Yes,” deGuzman said warily.
Michael took out his iPhone and found the copy of Yamazoe’s confession that had been sent to him by Detective Whitehead. He stared at it for a long moment before looking back up at deGuzman.
“How did you know his name?” Michael asked simply.
“It was at the end of the letter.”
Michael held up the letter on his screen in the original hanzi . To a native Mandarin speaker, he was sure it looked just fine. To someone familiar with the Roman alphabet, it looked like Chinese logograms. But unlike a letter written by a Westerner, there was no real signature. Shu’s name was simply the last three letters on the page.
“There are about a dozen words here that don’t properly translate when plugged into a translation app. How did you know the difference between the ones that were actual mistakes and then the ones that were your soon-to-be-client’s full name?”
DeGuzman said nothing, choosing to merely eye Michael through his thick glasses as if waiting for the younger man to continue. Michael simply sat back in his chair.
“So, you can either tell me how you came to know Shu Yamazoe’s name,” Michael said. “Or I can get a warrant from a judge to search your offices and suspend your license.”
DeGuzman took off his glasses and placed them on the conference table. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighed, and leaned over the table toward Michael.
“I guess you’ll just have to go see that judge then.”
Luis had believed finding Shu Yamazoe’s house wouldn’t be easy. But then a simple search of the archdiocese’s parishioners’ mailing list database during his off period revealed an address of an apartment in Monterey Park straightaway. This was unlucky. A house he could’ve probably broken into if he needed to get a look around. An apartment meant a building manager and likely a sealed-off door.
Rats.
Still, at the end of the school day he hurried to take out a parish car to check out the space before he had to return to help with evening Mass. He had told Pastor Whillans in vague terms what he was doing. Whillans gave his equally vague approval.
“If you get arrested, say you were impersonating a priest,” the pastor had said.
Luis had considered wearing street clothes when he went to the apartment. The problem was, he more often than not felt this invited trouble, as if announcing that he was denying the Lord in some way, which in turn would make the universe deny him. So he kept on the collar, drove to Monterey Park, and parked in front of the building.
All he really wanted was that one piece of evidence telling him that the girl, whatever her name might
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