The Stone Monkey

haven of the job they did together. He’d pretended to be frustrated to draw her attention back to him and ease her out of the darkness.
    A misrepresentation, she supposed, but it is in such feints as this that love is found.
    “Thanks.”
    “I promised I’d get you back. Now, go do some vacuuming.”
    Sachs swept the floor under and around the chair and then removed the filter from the portable vacuum and placed it in a plastic evidence bag.
    “What happens next?” Rhyme asked.
    She judged the angle of the blood spatter from the bullets that killed Tang. “Looks like when Tang finally passed out from the pain the Ghost stood up and shot him. Then he leaves and the assistants trash the place.”
    “How do you know things happened in that order?”
    “Because there was debris covering one of the shell casings. And there was broken glass and some torn poster paper on the chair the Ghost’d been sitting in.”
    “Good.”
    Sachs said, “I’m going to do electrostatic prints of the shoes.”
    “Don’t tell me, Sachs,” Rhyme muttered, being Rhyme once again. “Just do it.”
    She stepped outside and returned with the equipment. In this process, a plastic sheet is placed over a shoeprint and an electric charge is sent through the sheet. The result is an image, like a plastic Xerox copy, of a foot- or shoeprint.
    It was as she was crouching down, her back to the dark warehouse, that she smelled the cigarette smoke. Oh, Jesus, she thought suddenly—one of the killers was back, maybe aiming his weapon on the radiant white suit.
    Maybe the Ghost himself . . .
    No, she realized, it was the missing bangshou!
    Sachs dropped the electrostatic equipment with a crashand spun around, falling hard to the floor on her back, her Glock .40 in her hand. The notch and blade sight rested squarely on the intruder’s chest.
    “What the fuck’re you doing here?” she raged, in agony from the jarring fall.
    Sonny Li, smoking a cigarette, was wandering through the office, looking around.
    “What I doing? I investigate too.”
    “What’s going on, Sachs!” Rhyme asked.
    “Li’s in the perimeter. He’s smoking.”
    “What? Get him the hell out.”
    “I’m trying to.” She rose painfully and stormed up to the Chinese cop. “You’re contaminating the scene.”
    “A little smoke. You Americans are worry too much—”
    “And the trace on your shoes, on your clothes, your footprints . . . You’re ruining the scene!”
    “No, no, I investigate.”
    “Get him out of there, Sachs!” Rhyme called.
    She took him by the arm and walked him to the door. She called to Deng and Coe. “Keep him out.”
    “Sorry, Officer,” Eddie Deng said. “He said he was going to help you run the scene.”
    “I am doing,” Li said, perplexed. “What is problem?”
    “Keep him here. Cuff him if you have to.”
    “Hey, Hongse, you got temper. You know that?”
    She stormed back to the scene and finished the printing.
    Rhyme said, “Is Eddie Deng there?”
    “He’s outside,” Sachs replied.
    “I know the company’s supposedly clean but have him go through the files anyway—I assume they’re in Chinese. See if he can find anything about the Ghost or smuggling, other snakeheads. Anything helpful.”
    Outside, she waved to Eddie Deng. He plucked a telephone earbud out of his ear and joined her. She relayed Rhyme’s request and, as the Photo and Identification Units took over for Sachs, Deng dug through the desks and file cabinets. After a half hour of diligent work he told her, “Nothing helpful. It’s all about restaurant supplies.”
    She told this to Rhyme and added, “I’ve got everything here. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
    They disconnected the radio.
    Massaging her sore spine, she reflected, And what about the Ghost’s bangshou? Was he in the city? Was he really a threat to them?
    Watch your backs . . .
    She was just at the doorway when her cell phone rang. She answered it and was surprised, and pleased, to hear John Sung identify himself.
    “How are you?” she asked.
    “Fine. The wound itches some.” He then added, “I wanted to tell you—I got some herbs for your arthritis. There’s a restaurant downstairs in my building. Could you meet me there?”
    Sachs looked at her watch. What could it hurt? She wouldn’t be long. Handing off the evidence to Deng and Coe, she told them she had a stop to make and would be at Rhyme’s in a half hour. They and Sonny Li got a ride back to Rhyme’s