From across the room, the manager barked something in Chinese at Chun.
She flinched and then nodded rapidly. “I will request your food now.” Before Mia could say another word, the girl hurried back to the kitchen. She was sure Chun had not only understood what she was asking but that the mention of Lihong’s name had startled her.
“Did you see the bruises on her arm?” Charlie asked.
Mia nodded, feeling grim.
“The body you looked at yesterday had bruises like that too. But I guess that doesn’t prove anything. They both got grabbed, but human beings like to grab each other’s arms. It could be whoever killed our floater grabbed him before shooting him. It could be that our waitress is in a domestic violence situation. She could even have gotten the bruises from practicing wrist grabs in kung fu. Bruises don’t tell you how they came to be there.”
When a young man came to pour tea, Mia tried again. “Is Lihong working tonight? In the back?”
His eyes widened at the mention of Lihong’s name, but she wasn’t sure if he understood more than that. He shook his head and left, not making eye contact.
When Chun brought their food, Mia looked over her shoulder for the guy with the bow tie. He had his back to them, talking to some diners on the other side of the room, but she still kept her voice low. “Could we talk to you during your break?”
The girl hesitated and then finally said, “No break.”
Mia would not be deterred. “How about after work?”
“Too late.”
Her eyes cut to one side. She stiffened. The manager had turned back around and was now watching them, his face stony.
“Here is your order,” she said in a louder voice. “Sweet-and-sour chicken and vegetable stir-fry with egg flower soup. Please to enjoy.”
Even when Chun had left, the manager was still eyeing them. Mia picked up her fork. The food, which had smelled so delicious before, now just reminded her of the rotting reek behind the restaurant. Which was true and which was illusion? Or was it all just a matter of perception?
“Do you think they don’t understand or they don’t want to say?” she asked Charlie.
Charlie’s mouth twisted. “If you don’t want to talk about something, pretending not to understand goes a long way. Either way, it’s clear they’re not comfortable talking about Lihong.”
They were just finishing their food—Charlie appeared to be having no trouble polishing off his—when a small Chinese man came in the front door.
Kenny Zhong. Charlie and Mia exchanged a look.
Kenny came up to their table. “Mia, Charlie,” he said, inclining his head. “How nice to see you here again.”
“The food’s always good,” Charlie said, putting the last forkful into his mouth.
“I understand you have been asking questions about one of my employees,” he said with disconcerting directness. “Or should I say, my ex-employee. Would you like to speak in my office?”
Ex-employee. Mia exchanged a look with Charlie as they both got to their feet. As Charlie reached for his wallet, Kenny waved his hand. “No, no, it is my pleasure.”
“I insist.” Charlie’s voice had enough steel in it that Kenny didn’t persist.
Mia caught a glimpse of the bills as Charlie laid them on the table. It was enough to pay for their meal twice over. Maybe it would be a start on helping Chun get out of whatever situation she was in.
Kenny took Mia’s elbow and steered her through a narrow hallway, with Charlie following. They went past a kitchen where cooks tended woks nestled in flames, down a short hall, and into his small office. Mia and Charlie sat in two chairs that looked like they had been retired from the dining room after they had gotten too battered. The only thing that wasn’t utilitarian was the large fish tank behind him, filled with a half dozen silver fish that swam in sync with one another.
“So why were you asking about Lihong?”
Kenny’s expression was mild, but she remembered the way he had yelled at the young man, not knowing he was being observed, and then dealt him a stinging slap.
Mia had spoken with Lihong twice. He had called her Mrs. Scott. And he had tried to tell her something about Scott, saying, “He help.”
His words had lit a tiny wavering flame of hope in Mia. Sure, Scott had cheated on her, and he had helped many of his clients avoid taxes, but he had also drawn the line at assisting a drug dealer with money laundering—a decision that had ultimately cost him his life. However Scott had helped Lihong, it had made it possible for Mia not to be so angry at him.
Mia answered Kenny Zhong’s question with a question. “You said Lihong no longer works here?” She did not want to get him into trouble.
Kenny shook his head. “I had to let him go two weeks ago.”
“The last time I was here, I happened to talk to him. He said that Scott had been helping him.”
Kenny’s brows drew together. “Helping him? Did Scott tell you about it?”
“No,” Mia admitted. But by that time Scott hadn’t really been talking to her. Not about anything that mattered. “And then Lihong asked if I could help him.”
“But help him with what?”
“That’s just the thing. He seemed to know only a few words of English. And he seemed frightened. He left before I could figure out what he wanted.” She skipped over the part about how Kenny had yelled at him and then slapped him.
Kenny’s face smoothed out. “I am too soft. People come to me with very low-level language skills. They do not realize that in America you must speak English to get a job. But I still try to help out people from my homeland. Lihong was one of those people.” He shook his head, his expression changing to one of disgust. “And how did he repay me? Every time I came looking for him, he was out in the back taking a cigarette break. We have a saying. ‘When a lazy donkey is turning a grindstone, it will take a lot of breaks to pee and poop.’ I told him again and again that it wasn’t acceptable, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Mia nodded, remembering the flare of Lihong’s lighter, how it had revealed how thin his face was, how drawn.
“But it turns out he had taken advantage of me in other ways as well,” Kenny continued. “And that was probably how he wanted Scott to help him. With something illegal.”
Mia blinked. “Illegal?”
“Two weeks ago, I learned that Lihong’s papers were false. Of course I fired him on the spot. He may have asked Scott to help him get a better set of documents.”
It felt like she had swallowed a boulder. She hadn’t even considered that possibility when Lihong had said Scott was helping him. To Lihong, a better set of false papers would have been a good thing, allowing him the flexibility to find employment somewhere else without the risk of being deported.
“Do you look at the papers for all your restaurant workers?” Charlie asked.
“Certainly. But I’m not an expert. If it looks right to me, how am I to know it’s wrong?”
“Then how did you figure out it was wrong?”
Did Kenny hesitate? “Another worker told me.”
And what had Lihong said to her, at least what had her phone translation app said he said? He pay, so they will look the other way. Your husband is trying to help. Was Kenny bribing someone to look the other way about people’s immigration status? Maybe he had decided, for whatever reason, that it wasn’t worth keeping Lihong.
“Why didn’t you report his immigration status to the authorities?” Mia asked.
He leaned across his desk. “We all have problems within our family.” He looked at her for a long moment. “But we don’t talk about them outside our family.”
Mia heard the subtext. As far as the wider world was concerned, Scott had died in an accident. Scott’s mistakes had died along with him. They hadn’t been paraded before the public.
“Do you have an address for Lihong?” Charlie asked.
Kenny shrugged. “I do not know where he is.”
“Are any of the staff here friends with him?” Mia asked.
“No.” A decisive shake of the head. “He worked here for less than a year and he kept to himself.”
“A man’s body was found in Puget Sound two days ago,” Charlie said. “Mia thought it looked like Lihong. I have a photo of the man’s face on my cell phone. Would you mind looking at it?”
He stiffened. “I am not sure I could be of help, but of course I will look.”
Mia didn’t say anything. Officially, Charlie should be showing Kenny a sketch made by a forensic artist, not a snapshot of an actual corpse, especially one that wasn’t in the best shape. But Charlie had never been one to play by the rules, and clearly there had been no love lost between Kenny and Lihong.
Charlie pulled his cell phone from his pocket, found the photo, and handed it over.
Kenny looked at it for a long moment. He pressed his lips together. Then he handed it back. “It could be him. But with the condition of his face, I am not certain. I am sorry.” He tilted his head. “Did this man kill himself?” The thought did not seem to particularly bother him.
“The cause of death is still being determined.” Charlie scrolled forward. “Let me show you another photo. There were some marks on his wrists. They looked like burns.”
When he saw the second photo, Kenny nodded. “Those are burns from the edge of a wok. I do not know if it is Lihong, but I believe whoever it is worked at a Chinese restaurant.”