Free The Deepest Cut by Dianne Emley Page A

distracted by something. Vining turned to see the yellow-and-black butterfly that had flown up from beneath Scrappy’s wig. It now flitted above her right shoulder. She ducked, but it landed on her anyway.
    She blew at it. It leaned away from the wind on its slender legs and folded its wings.
    Kissick was surprised by the visitor.
    Lam said, “You’re lucky, Detective. In the Chinese culture, butterflies symbolize happiness and young love.”
    Zhang shifted her gaze from the butterfly to look intently at Vining, as if only now becoming aware of a characteristic that had been there all along, but that she had overlooked.
    Vining gave her a wry smile and said, “See. I really am a sweet person.”
    Zhang turned to her son. “Ken, let’s go. It’s late.” On her way out, she shot over her shoulder, “My crew starts work at eight in the morning.”
    Kissick walked after her. “Officers will be posted here around the clock. They’re instructed to arrest anyone who comes onto my crime scene.”
    Vining trailed behind with Lam, asking him, “How much do you think she knows?”
    He replied, “More than she’s going to tell us.”
    “How did she get inside the perimeter?” Vining watched Ken accompany his mother, his long legs taking one step for every two of hers.
    “She parked on the street below and cut between two buildings where no one was posted.”
    Caspers was standing in the street, flirting with a young female officer.
    Kissick called to him. “Caspers, did you find Scrappy’s car?”
    The female officer sped away toward the command post, leaving Caspers in midsentence.
    Vining told Kissick, “I’ll escort them out.”
    Lam joined Kissick with Caspers.
    “I did find Scrappy’s car,” Caspers said energetically. “It’s a pimped-out Honda Civic, lowered to the ground, wide rims, parked over on Dayton. There’s a big, plastic arrow on the seat. I called for a tow.”
    “So Scrappy was one of those arrow guys, like we thought,” Kissick said. “Why aren’t you with the vehicle?”
    “I told an officer to wait there.”
    Kissick regarded him dubiously. Caspers was working in Detectives, but he was new to the unit and held the rank of officer himself. It had been noticed that he was enjoying his new status a little too much.
    “It’s cool, Corporal. I cleared it with the ell-tee.”
    Kissick gave him a slap on the arm. “Good work.” He turned to watch as Vining lit the way for Zhang and her son with her flashlight and the three disappeared between two buildings.
    “Who are they?” Caspers asked Kissick.
    “Pearl Zhang and her son Lincoln Kennedy, known as Ken. Her property development company owns this building. They know who China Dog is, but they’re not talking. Cam, what was the big discussion you and Pearl were having in Chinese?”
    “She wanted to know who my family is. How long we’d been here. She’s from a province in Mainland China that’s notorious for organized crime triads. My family background isn’t as exotic. Both my parents are from Taiwan. My father is a dentist in San Gabriel. She knows of him. She asked if my father is proud of his son, the police officer. I told her that he’s very proud.”
    “Why would she ask that?” Caspers wanted to know.
    “In the Chinese culture, being a police officer is not a respected occupation,” Lam said. “She wondered why the son of a dentist would carry a gun for gwailos.”
    “Gwhy-lows?” Kissick repeated.
    “That’s Cantonese slang for Caucasians, but it’s used to refer to anyone who’s not Chinese. It means ‘ghost people.’”
    “So even an African-American is a ghost person,” Kissick said.
    “That’s right.”
    “She sounds like a dragon lady,” Caspers said.
    Lam added, “In Armani.”
    WALKING IN SILENCE, VINING FOLLOWED PEARL ZHANG THROUGH A NARROW, trash-strewn breezeway between a closed florist shop and a small brick apartment building. They exited onto a quiet, narrow street lined with small