James stared at it a moment before picking it up.

“I’m investigating the death of Jun Wah Zhang,” Jack said.

James said nothing, waiting for the rest of it, with the frozen smile on his face.

“Know him?” Jack asked.

“No.” James frowned.

“Never seen him?” pressed Jack.

“Never.” He slid the snapshot back to Jack, shook his head. “It’s sad when people die.”

Jack nodded his agreement, adding, “He worked at one of your restaurants.”

“That may be,” James acknowledged. “But I don’t know all the workers in all my businesses. There must be hundreds.”

“He may have had problems in your restaurants,” Jack added.

“I have no idea about that,” James said coolly. “I leave that to the managers.” He flashed his Cheshire Cat grin again. Like he knew it’d come to nothing, thought Jack. If anything, he’d throw one of the managers under the bus.

“So you have no idea what might have led to his death, Gee saang?”

“Absolutely no idea.”

Both men took a breath at the pause.

“Where were you four nights ago, Gee saang?” Jack asked abruptly, “between eight and ten P.M.?”

An incredulous look froze James’s face. “You actually think I killed someone, Detective?”

“It’s just to eliminate you as a suspect,” Jack answered deftly with copspeak. “Just a formality.”

“A formality, sure,” with a snicker, humoring the jook-sing cop now. He casually checked the calendar blotter on his desk. It didn’t take a minute.

“I was at a Chinatown fund-raiser. At On Luck restaurant.” He said it confidently, like he knew it would be verified. An airtight alibi. “Ask any of the managers.”

“What if I tell you”—Jack leaned forward—“that Jun’s death leads back to your house?” He watched as smooth James Gee saang slowly became Bossy Gee.

“My house?” Bossy looked puzzled. “Get to the point, Detective. What are you implying?”

“It may have to do with the home invasion you suffered recently.”

Bossy leaned back, frowned toward the file cabinets. “I don’t see any connection to that. And I don’t like to talk about it. My family is still in mourning. And I explained everything to the New Jersey police already.”

“I understand your grief,” Jack said.

“I don’t think you do,” Bossy said. “My father died a horrible death, suffocating, and a heart attack.”

“It’s possible Jun gave your address to the home invaders,” Jack continued.

Bossy shook his head, annoyed now, the chaai lo trying his patience. Not so friendly anymore, thought Jack.

“Where are you getting all this?” Bossy asked skeptically. “My family doesn’t need any more bad news.”

“It may have to do with a gambling debt,” suggested Jack. Bossy took a breath, sighed. “Troubled employee, gambling debt, home invasion,” he said dismissively. “Aren’t you taking this a bit far, Yu?”

“Only as far as I need to, sir,” Jack countered.

Bossy paused, his annoyance quickly switching to resignation. “What does your father do?” he finally asked.

“Keuih jouh yee gwoon,” Jack answered. “He was a laundryman.”

Bossy cracked a smile that was almost a sneer, trying hard to mask his disdain for the American-born son of a laundryman. Jack didn’t miss the contempt in his eyes.

“My father,” Bossy said, glowing with arrogant pride, “was a hero in Chinatown. Ask anyone. A great man.”

A great man, thought Jack sardonically, who made dirty money off the vices that tugged at the souls of the lonely, isolated bachelors of Pa’s generation. A “great” man, who was a tong member and Triad leader who trafficked in paper sons and concubine wives, and alcohol and opium. Jack bit his tongue to keep the words from coming out.

“Isn’t that even more reason to bring to justice those who cost him his life?” he asked instead.

“Look, suppose what you say is true,” Bossy said. “Who do you think did it?”

“That’s what I want to ask you. And I can’t comment on an open investigation,” Jack responded with more copspeak.

“Of course not.” Bossy smirked. “How convenient.”

“How’s that?” Jack narrowed his eyes.

“That you can make these allegations, without substantiating what your sources are.”

“C’mon,” Jack jabbed. “Who did it, Gee saang? Who do you think the perpetrators are?”

Bossy took a shallow breath through his nose. “I have no idea. That’s what I told the New Jersey police.”

“White, black, Asian?” Jack pressed.

“They wore ski masks and gloves. And it happened so fast I never got a good look. They all wore black sneakers or work boots. One of them had a shotgun.”

“Your gut feeling?”

Bossy shrugged. “The Jersey police seemed like they thought it was a ‘Chinese thing.’ But they could be gwai lo devils for all I know. Maybe people who worked on the house. Deliverymen. It could be anyone.”

“Why’s that?”

“Someone said ‘no fears’ when they were beating me.”

“‘No fears’?”

“Right. In English.”

“But why your house?”

“Who knows? There are people in this neighborhood who objected to me building this house. There are people who resent us for being successful.”

“You mentioned that to the police?”

“They didn’t want to hear it. I guess a ‘Chinese thing’ is more convenient.”

“They just blurted out ‘no fears’?”

“No. When they were pushing us around, I told them they were making a big mistake. They were binding my father at the other end of the living room.”

“‘A big mistake’?” Arrogance even in the clutch of armed thugs?

“I said it in English first. When I didn’t get an answer, I repeated it in Chinese. Then one of them belted me a couple of times with his gun. That’s when someone punched me and said, ‘No fears.’ I was down and bound before I knew it.” He took another breath before continuing. “Since then, I’ve discovered there have been a number of home invasions in this county. Some of the victims were Asian. The only ones arrested were gwai lo whites—I guess they resented tong yen for having money.” He checked his watch, a shiny gold Rolex, showing his impatience now.

“I have a meeting to get to, Detective,” he said.

“If you know who did this, and you want to keep the police out of it so you can resolve matters yourself, it’s a bad idea.”

A sneer muscled onto Bossy’s lips again. “I’ve cooperated fully with the police. I hope they do their job.”

“And if Jun did get killed because he gave up your address,” Jack continued, “and you know something about it and keep it from us, that could incriminate you as well.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide.”

Almost as if on cue, the receptionist’s voice came over the phone speaker on his desk. “Your car is waiting downstairs now,” she announced. Bossy stood up behind the desk, indicating the meeting was over.

Jack stood up as well. “Thanks for your time, Gee saang,” Jack said coolly, heading for the door before turning back again. “Just one more thing. I’ll need to speak to your son. Frank, is it?” He watched Bossy’s face turn pink, then red.

“Why?” Bossy’s eyes narrowed. “He wasn’t there that night.”

“Just routine.” Jack smiled into Bossy’s taut mask. “Just to eliminate him from the scenario.”

“Well, he doesn’t come home much. And he keeps changing his phone number.” Bossy’s eyes showing Jack to the door now.

The son trying to evade law enforcement? Jack dropped another NYPD detective’s card on the desk.

“If you speak with him, please ask him to call me.”

“Certainly,” Bossy replied, but the look on his face said, Like hell I will.

Jack went out and nodded to the smiling receptionist as he left. When he got downstairs, the street was crowded with late-afternoon activity, but he didn’t see Bossy’s car waiting anywhere.