some discomfort to the situation. If Li was on the defensive he’d be more forthcoming and willing to try to please his interviewers.
“Well, I am sorry. I thought all I needed to do was sign my statement, anyway.”
“We have your statement but it’s a little more involved than signing papers, Mr. Li. It’s an ongoing investigation. Things change. More information comes in.”
“All I can do is apologize. Have a seat, please. I’m sorry the space is so tight in here.”
The office was narrow and Bosch could tell it was a shared office. There were two desks side by side against the right wall. Two desk chairs and two folding chairs, probably for sales representatives and job interviews.
Li picked up the phone on his desk, dialed a number and told someone he was not to be disturbed. He then made an open-hands gesture, signaling he was ready to go.
“First of all, I’m a little surprised that you are working today,” Bosch said. “Your father was murdered yesterday.”
Li nodded solemnly.
“I am afraid that I have been given no time to grieve for my father. I must run the business or there will be no business to run.”
Bosch nodded and signaled to Chu to take over. He had typed up Li’s statement. As he went over it with Li, Bosch looked around the office. On the wall over the desks were framed licenses from the state, Li’s 2004 diploma from the business school at the University of Southern California and an honorable-mention certificate for best new store of 2007 from the American Grocers Association. There were also framed photos of Li with Tommy Lasorda, the former manager of the Dodgers, and a teenage Li standing at the steps of the Tian Tan Buddha in Hong Kong. Just as he had recognized Lasorda, Bosch recognized the one-hundred-foot-high bronze sculpture known as the Big Buddha. He had once journeyed with his daughter to Lantau Island to see it.
Bosch reached across and straightened the cockeyed frame of the USC diploma. In doing so he noticed that Li had graduated from the school with honors. He thought for a moment about Robert going off to the university and getting the opportunity to take his father’s business and turn it into something bigger and better. Meantime, his older sister dropped out of school, came home and made the beds.
Li asked for no changes to his statement and signed the bottom of each page. When he was finished he looked up at a wall clock hung over the door and Bosch could tell he thought they were done.
But they weren’t. Now it was Bosch’s turn. He opened his briefcase and removed a file. From it he took the photo print of the bagman who had collected money from Li’s father. Bosch handed it to Li.
“Tell me about this guy,” he said.
Li held the printout in both hands and knitted his eyebrows as he looked at it. Bosch knew that people did this to show they were earnestly concentrating, but it usually was a cover for something else. Bosch knew that he had probably taken a call in the last hour from his mother and had known that he might be shown the printout. However Li responded, Bosch knew he would not be truthful.
“I can’t tell you anything,” Li said after a few seconds. “I don’t recognize him. I’ve never seen him.”
He handed the printout back to Bosch but Harry didn’t take it.
“But you know who he is, don’t you.”
It wasn’t really said as a question.
“No, actually, I don’t,” Li said, mild annoyance in his voice.
Bosch smiled at him but it was one of those that carried no warmth or humor.
“Mr. Li, did your mother call you and tell you we would be showing you that picture?”
“No.”
“We can check the phones, you know.”
“So what if she did? She didn’t know who it was and neither do I.”
“You want us to find the person who killed your father, right?”
“Of course! What kind of question is that?”
“It’s the kind of question I ask when I know somebody is holding something back from me and that
“Well, I am sorry. I thought all I needed to do was sign my statement, anyway.”
“We have your statement but it’s a little more involved than signing papers, Mr. Li. It’s an ongoing investigation. Things change. More information comes in.”
“All I can do is apologize. Have a seat, please. I’m sorry the space is so tight in here.”
The office was narrow and Bosch could tell it was a shared office. There were two desks side by side against the right wall. Two desk chairs and two folding chairs, probably for sales representatives and job interviews.
Li picked up the phone on his desk, dialed a number and told someone he was not to be disturbed. He then made an open-hands gesture, signaling he was ready to go.
“First of all, I’m a little surprised that you are working today,” Bosch said. “Your father was murdered yesterday.”
Li nodded solemnly.
“I am afraid that I have been given no time to grieve for my father. I must run the business or there will be no business to run.”
Bosch nodded and signaled to Chu to take over. He had typed up Li’s statement. As he went over it with Li, Bosch looked around the office. On the wall over the desks were framed licenses from the state, Li’s 2004 diploma from the business school at the University of Southern California and an honorable-mention certificate for best new store of 2007 from the American Grocers Association. There were also framed photos of Li with Tommy Lasorda, the former manager of the Dodgers, and a teenage Li standing at the steps of the Tian Tan Buddha in Hong Kong. Just as he had recognized Lasorda, Bosch recognized the one-hundred-foot-high bronze sculpture known as the Big Buddha. He had once journeyed with his daughter to Lantau Island to see it.
Bosch reached across and straightened the cockeyed frame of the USC diploma. In doing so he noticed that Li had graduated from the school with honors. He thought for a moment about Robert going off to the university and getting the opportunity to take his father’s business and turn it into something bigger and better. Meantime, his older sister dropped out of school, came home and made the beds.
Li asked for no changes to his statement and signed the bottom of each page. When he was finished he looked up at a wall clock hung over the door and Bosch could tell he thought they were done.
But they weren’t. Now it was Bosch’s turn. He opened his briefcase and removed a file. From it he took the photo print of the bagman who had collected money from Li’s father. Bosch handed it to Li.
“Tell me about this guy,” he said.
Li held the printout in both hands and knitted his eyebrows as he looked at it. Bosch knew that people did this to show they were earnestly concentrating, but it usually was a cover for something else. Bosch knew that he had probably taken a call in the last hour from his mother and had known that he might be shown the printout. However Li responded, Bosch knew he would not be truthful.
“I can’t tell you anything,” Li said after a few seconds. “I don’t recognize him. I’ve never seen him.”
He handed the printout back to Bosch but Harry didn’t take it.
“But you know who he is, don’t you.”
It wasn’t really said as a question.
“No, actually, I don’t,” Li said, mild annoyance in his voice.
Bosch smiled at him but it was one of those that carried no warmth or humor.
“Mr. Li, did your mother call you and tell you we would be showing you that picture?”
“No.”
“We can check the phones, you know.”
“So what if she did? She didn’t know who it was and neither do I.”
“You want us to find the person who killed your father, right?”
“Of course! What kind of question is that?”
“It’s the kind of question I ask when I know somebody is holding something back from me and that
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